diff options
Diffstat (limited to '2920-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 2920-h/2920-h.htm | 3754 |
1 files changed, 3754 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/2920-h/2920-h.htm b/2920-h/2920-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d293f64 --- /dev/null +++ b/2920-h/2920-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3754 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Hall-marked and Others, by John Galsworthy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hall-Marked and Others + + by John Galsworthy + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + Title: Hall-Marked and Others (From Six Short Plays) + + Author: John Galsworthy + + Release Date: September 26, 2004 [EBook #2920] + Last Updated: October 28, 2012 + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: ASCII + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALL-MARKED AND OTHERS *** + + Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + HALL-MARKED AND OTHERS + </h1> + <h3> + From Six Short Plays + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> HALL-MARKED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> DEFEAT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE SUN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> PUNCH AND GO </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + HALL-MARKED + </h2> + <h3> + A Satiric Trifle + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CHARACTERS + + HERSELF. + LADY ELLA. + THE SQUIRE. + THE MAID. + MAUD. + THE RECTOR. + THE DOCTOR. + THE CABMAN. + HANNIBAL and EDWARD +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HALL-MARKED + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + The scene is the sitting-room and verandah of HER bungalow. The room is + pleasant, and along the back, where the verandah runs, it seems all + window, both French and casement. There is a door right and a door left. + The day is bright; the time morning. [HERSELF, dripping wet, comes + running along the verandah, through the French window, with a wet Scotch + terrier in her arms. She vanishes through the door left. A little pause, + and LADY ELLA comes running, dry, thin, refined, and agitated. She halts + where the tracks of water cease at the door left. A little pause, and + MAUD comes running, fairly dry, stolid, breathless, and dragging a + bull-dog, wet, breathless, and stout, by the crutch end of her + 'en-tout-cas']. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Don't bring Hannibal in till I know where she's put Edward! + </p> + <p> + MAUD. [Brutally, to HANNIBAL] Bad dog! Bad dog! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HANNIBAL snuffles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Maud, do take him out! Tie him up. Here! [She takes out a lace + handkerchief ] No—something stronger! Poor darling Edward! [To + HANNIBAL] You are a bad dog! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HANNIBAL snuffles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MAUD. Edward began it, Ella. [To HANNIBAL] Bad dog! Bad dog! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HANNIBAL snuffles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Tie him up outside. Here, take my scarf. Where is my poor + treasure? [She removes her scarf] Catch! His ear's torn; I saw it. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. [Taking the scarf, to HANNIBAL] Now! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HANNIBAL snuffles.] [She ties the scarf to his collar] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + He smells horrible. Bad dog—getting into ponds to fight! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Tie him up, Maud. I must try in here. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Their husbands, THE SQUIRE and THE RECTOR, come hastening along the + verandah.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MAUD. [To THE RECTOR] Smell him, Bertie! [To THE SQUIRE] You might have + that pond drained, Squire! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She takes HANNIBAL out, and ties him to the verandah. THE SQUIRE and + RECTOR Come in. LADY ELLA is knocking on the door left.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HER VOICE. All right! I've bound him up! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. May I come in? + </p> + <p> + HER VOICE. Just a second! I've got nothing on. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LADY ELLA recoils. THE SQUIRE and RECTOR make an involuntary movement + of approach.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh! There you are! + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Doubtfully] I was just going to wade in—— + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Hannibal would have killed him, if she hadn't rushed in! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Done him good, little beast! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Why didn't you go in, Tommy? + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Well, I would—only she—— + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. I can't think how she got Edward out of Hannibal's awful mouth! + </p> + <p> + MAUD. [Without—to HANNIBAL, who is snuffling on the verandah and + straining at the scarf] Bad dog! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. We must simply thank her tremendously! I shall never forget the + way she ran in, with her skirts up to her waist! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. By Jove! No. It was topping. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Her clothes must be ruined. That pond—ugh! [She wrinkles + her nose] Tommy, do have it drained. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Dreamily] I don't remember her face in church. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Ah! Yes. Who is she? Pretty woman! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. I must get the Vet. to Edward. [To THE SQUIRE] Tommy, do exert + yourself! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MAUD re-enters.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. All right! [Exerting himself] Here's a bell! + </p> + <p> + HER VOICE. [Through the door] The bleeding's stopped. Shall I send him in + to you? + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh, please! Poor darling! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They listen.] [LADY ELLA, prepares to receive EDWARD. THE SQUIRE and + RECTOR stand transfixed. The door opens, and a bare arm gently pushes + EDWARD forth. He is bandaged with a smooth towel. There is a snuffle—HANNIBAL + has broken the scarf, outside.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Aghast] Look! Hannibal's loose! Maud—Tommy. [To THE + RECTOR] You! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The THREE rush to prevent HANNIBAL from re-entering.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [To EDWARD] Yes, I know—you'd like to! You SHALL bite him + when it's safe. Oh! my darling, you DO——[She sniffs]. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MAUD and THE SQUIRE re-enter.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Have you tied him properly this time? + </p> + <p> + MAUD. With Bertie's braces. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh! but—— + </p> + <p> + MAUD. It's all right; they're almost leather. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE RECTOR re-enters, with a slight look of insecurity.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Rector, are you sure it's safe? + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Hitching at his trousers] No, indeed, LADY Ella—I—— + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Tommy, do lend a hand! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. All right, Ella; all right! He doesn't mean what you mean! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Transferring EDWARD to THE SQUIRE] Hold him, Tommy. He's sure + to smell out Hannibal! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Taking EDWARD by the collar, and holding his own nose] Jove! + Clever if he can smell anything but himself. Phew! She ought to have the + Victoria Cross for goin' in that pond. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The door opens, and HERSELF appears; a fine, frank, handsome woman, in + a man's orange-coloured motor-coat, hastily thrown on over the substrata + of costume.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SHE. So very sorry—had to have a bath, and change, of course! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. We're so awfully grateful to you. It was splendid. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Quite. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Rather holding himself together] Heroic! I was just myself + about to—— + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Restraining EDWARD] Little beast will fight—must + apologise—you were too quick for me—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks up at her. She is smiling, and regarding the wounded dog, her + head benevolently on one side.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SHE. Poor dears! They thought they were so safe in that nice pond! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Is he very badly torn? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Rather nasty. There ought to be a stitch or two put in his ear. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. I thought so. Tommy, do—— + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. All right. Am I to let him go? + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. No. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. The fly's outside. Bertie, run and tell Jarvis to drive in for the + Vet. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Gentle and embarrassed] Run? Well, Maud—I—— + </p> + <p> + SHE. The doctor would sew it up. My maid can go round. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HANNIBAL. appears at the open casement with the broken braces dangling + from his collar.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Look! Catch him! Rector! + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Bertie! Catch him! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE RECTOR seizes HANNIBAL, but is seen to be in difficulties with his + garments. HERSELF, who has gone out left, returns, with a leather strop + in one hand and a pair of braces in the other.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SHE. Take this strop—he can't break that. And would these be any + good to you? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SHE hands the braces to MAUD and goes out on to the verandah and + hastily away. MAUD, transferring the braces to the RECTOR, goes out, + draws HANNIBAL from the casement window, and secures him with the strap. + THE RECTOR sits suddenly with the braces in his hands. There is a + moment's peace.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Splendid, isn't she? I do admire her. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. She's all there. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Feelingly] Most kind. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks ruefully at the braces and at LADY ELLA. A silence. MAUD + reappears at the door and stands gazing at the braces.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Suddenly] Eh? + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Yes. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Looking at his wife] Ah! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Absorbed in EDWARD] Poor darling! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Bluntly] Ella, the Rector wants to get up! + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Gently] Perhaps—just for a moment—— + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh! [She turns to the wall.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE RECTOR, screened by his WIFE, retires on to the verandah to adjust + his garments.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Meditating] So she's married! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Absorbed in EDWARD] Why? + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Braces. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh! Yes. We ought to ask them to dinner, Tommy. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Ah! Yes. Wonder who they are? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE RECTOR and MAUD reappear.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Really very good of her to lend her husband's—I was— + er—quite—— + </p> + <p> + MAUD. That'll do, Bertie. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THEY see HER returning along the verandah, followed by a sandy, + red-faced gentleman in leather leggings, with a needle and cotton in his + hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HERSELF. Caught the doctor just starting, So lucky! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh! Thank goodness! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. How do, Lady Ella? How do, Squire?—how do, Rector? [To MAUD] + How de do? This the beastie? I see. Quite! Who'll hold him for me? + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh! I! + </p> + <p> + HERSELF. D'you know, I think I'd better. It's so dreadful when it's your + own, isn't it? Shall we go in here, doctor? Come along, pretty boy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She takes EDWARD, and they pass into the room, left.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. I dreaded it. She is splendid! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Dogs take to her. That's a sure sign. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Little things—one can always tell. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Something very attractive about her—what! Fine build of + woman. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. I shall get hold of her for parish work. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Ah! Excellent—excellent! Do! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Wonder if her husband shoots? She seems quite-er—quite—— + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Watching the door] Quite! Altogether charming; one of the + nicest faces I ever saw. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE DOCTOR comes out alone.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Oh! Doctor—have you? is it——? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Right as rain! She held him like an angel—he just licked + her, and never made a sound. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Poor darling! Can I—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She signs toward the door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + DOCTOR. Better leave 'em a minute. She's moppin' 'im off. [He wrinkles his + nose] Wonderful clever hands! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. I say—who is she? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. [Looking from face to face with a dubious and rather quizzical + expression] Who? Well—there you have me! All I know is she's a + first-rate nurse—been helpin' me with a case in Ditch Lane. Nice + woman, too—thorough good sort! Quite an acquisition here. H'm! + [Again that quizzical glance] Excuse me hurryin' off—very late. + Good-bye, Rector. Good-bye, Lady Ella. Good-bye! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes. A silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. H'm! I suppose we ought to be a bit careful. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JARVIS, flyman of the old school, has appeared on the verandah.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JARVIS. [To THE RECTOR] Beg pardon, sir. Is the little dog all right? + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Yes. + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. [Touching his hat] Seein' you've missed your train, m'm, shall I + wait, and take you 'ome again? + </p> + <p> + MAUD. No. + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. Cert'nly, m'm. [He touches his hat with a circular gesture, and is + about to withdraw.] + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Oh, Jarvis—what's the name of the people here? + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. Challenger's the name I've driven 'em in, my lady. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Challenger? Sounds like a hound. What's he like? + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. [Scratching his head] Wears a soft 'at, sir. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. H'm! Ah! + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. Very nice gentleman, very nice lady. 'Elped me with my old mare + when she 'ad the 'ighsteria last week—couldn't 'a' been kinder if + they'd 'a' been angels from 'eaven. Wonderful fond o' dumb animals, the + two of 'em. I don't pay no attention to gossip, meself. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Gossip? What gossip? + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. [Backing] Did I make use of the word, m'm? You'll excuse me, I'm + sure. There's always talk where there's newcomers. I takes people as I + finds 'em. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Yes, yes, Jarvis—quite—quite right! + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. Yes, sir. I've—I've got a 'abit that way at my time o' life. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. [Sharply] How long have they been here, Jarvis? + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. Well—-er—a matter of three weeks, m'm. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A slight involuntary stir.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [Apologetic] Of course, in my profession I can't afford to take notice of + whether there's the trifle of a ring between 'em, as the sayin' is. + 'Tisn't 'ardly my business like. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Suddenly] Er—thank you, Jarvis; you needn't wait. + </p> + <p> + JARVIS. No, m'lady. Your service, sir—service, m'm. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes. A silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Drawing a little closer] Three weeks? I say—er— + wasn't there a book? + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Abstracted] Three weeks——I certainly haven't seen + them in church. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. A trifle of a ring! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Impulsively] Oh, bother! I'm sure she's all right. And if she + isn't, I don't care. She's been much too splendid. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Must think of the village. Didn't quite like the doctor's way + of puttin' us off. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. The poor darling owes his life to her. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. H'm! Dash it! Yes! Can't forget the way she ran into that + stinkin' pond. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Had she a wedding-ring on? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They look at each other, but no one knows.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Well, I'm not going to be ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. It'd be dashed awkward—mustn't take a false step, Ella. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. And I've got his braces! [He puts his hand to his waist.] + </p> + <p> + MAUD. [Warningly] Bertie! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. That's all right, Rector—we're goin' to be perfectly + polite, and—and—thank her, and all that. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. We can see she's a good sort. What does it matter? + </p> + <p> + MAUD. My dear Ella! "What does it matter!" We've got to know. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. We do want light. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. I'll ring the bell. [He rings.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They look at each other aghast.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. What did you ring for, Tommy? + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Flabbergasted] God knows! + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Somebody'll come. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Rector—you—you've got to—— + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Yes, Bertie. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Dear me! But—er—what—er——How? + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Deeply-to himself] The whole thing's damn delicate. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The door right is opened and a MAID appears. She is a + determined-looking female. They face her in silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Er—er——your master is not in? + </p> + <p> + THE MAID. No. 'E's gone up to London. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Er——Mr Challenger, I think? + </p> + <p> + THE MAID. Yes. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Yes! Er——quite so + </p> + <p> + THE MAID. [Eyeing them] D'you want—Mrs Challenger? + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Ah! Not precisely—— + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [To him in a low, determined voice] Go on. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Desperately] I asked because there was a—a—Mr. + Challenger I used to know in the 'nineties, and I thought—you + wouldn't happen to know how long they've been married? My friend marr—— + </p> + <p> + THE MAID. Three weeks. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Quite so—quite so! I shall hope it will turn out to be——Er—thank + you—Ha! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Our dog has been fighting with the Rector's, and Mrs Challenger + rescued him; she's bathing his ear. We're waiting to thank her. You + needn't—— + </p> + <p> + THE MAID. [Eyeing them] No. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She turns and goes out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Phew! What a gorgon! I say, Rector, did you really know a + Challenger in the 'nineties? + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [Wiping his brow] No. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Ha! Jolly good! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Well, you see!—it's all right. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. Yes, indeed. A great relief! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Moving to the door] I must go in now. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Hold on! You goin' to ask 'em to—to—anything? + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Yes. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. I shouldn't. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Why not? We all like the look of her. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. I think we should punish ourselves for entertaining that + uncharitable thought. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Yes. It's horrible not having the courage to take people as + they are. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. As they are? H'm! How can you till you know? + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Trust our instincts, of course. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. And supposing she'd turned out not married—eh! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA! She'd still be herself, wouldn't she? + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Ella! + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. H'm! Don't know about that. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Of course she would, Tommy. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [His hand stealing to his waist] Well! It's a great weight off + my——! + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. There's the poor darling snuffling. I must go in. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She knocks on the door. It is opened, and EDWARD comes out briskly, + with a neat little white pointed ear-cap on one ear.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. Precious! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SHE HERSELF Comes out, now properly dressed in flax-blue linen.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. How perfectly sweet of you to make him that! + </p> + <p> + SHE. He's such a dear. And the other poor dog? + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Quite safe, thanks to your strop. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HANNIBAL appears at the window, with the broken strop dangling. + Following her gaze, they turn and see him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MAUD. Oh! There, he's broken it. Bertie! + </p> + <p> + SHE. Let me! [She seizes HANNIBAL.] + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. We're really most tremendously obliged to you. Afraid we've + been an awful nuisance. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Not a bit. I love dogs. + </p> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. Hope to make the acquaintance of Mr——of your + husband. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [To EDWARD, who is straining] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Gently, darling! Tommy, take him.] [THE SQUIRE does so.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MAUD. [Approaching HANNIBAL.] Is he behaving? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She stops short, and her face suddenly shoots forward at HER hands that + are holding HANNIBAL'S neck.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SHE. Oh! yes—he's a love. + </p> + <p> + MAUD. [Regaining her upright position, and pursing her lips; in a peculiar + voice] Bertie, take Hannibal. + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR takes him. + </p> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [Producing a card] I can't be too grateful for all you've done + for my poor darling. This is where we live. Do come— and see—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MAUD, whose eyes have never left those hands, tweaks LADY ELLA's + dress.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. That is—I'm—I—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HERSELF looks at LADY ELLA in surprise.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. I don't know if your husband shoots, but if—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MAUD, catching his eye, taps the third finger of her left hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + —er—he—does—er—er—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HERSELF looks at THE SQUIRE surprised.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MAUD. [Turning to her husband, repeats the gesture with the low and simple + word] Look! + </p> + <p> + THE RECTOR. [With round eyes, severely] Hannibal! [He lifts him bodily and + carries him away.] + </p> + <p> + MAUD. Don't squeeze him, Bertie! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She follows through the French window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE SQUIRE. [Abruptly—of the unoffending EDWARD] That dog'll be + forgettin' himself in a minute. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He picks up EDWARD and takes him out.] [LADY ELLA is left staring.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY ELLA. [At last] You mustn't think, I——You mustn't think, + we ——Oh! I must just see they—don't let Edward get at + Hannibal. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She skims away.] [HERSELF is left staring after LADY ELLA, in + surprise.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SHE. What is the matter with them? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The door is opened.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE MAID. [Entering and holding out a wedding-ring—severely] You + left this, m'm, in the bathroom. + </p> + <p> + SHE. [Looking, startled, at her finger] Oh! [Taking it] I hadn't missed + it. Thank you, Martha. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE MAID goes.] [A hand, slipping in at the casement window, softly + lays a pair of braces on the windowsill. SHE looks at the braces, then + at the ring. HER lip curls.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Sue. [Murmuring deeply] Ah! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + CURTAIN + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEFEAT + </h2> + <h3> + A Tiny Drama + </h3> + <blockquote> + <p> + CHARACTERS THE OFFICER. THE GIRL. DURING THE GREAT WAR. EVENING. An + empty room. The curtains drawn and gas turned low. The furniture and + walls give a colour-impression as of greens and beetroot. There is a + prevalence of plush. A fireplace on the Left, a sofa, a small table; the + curtained window is at the back. On the table, in a common pot, stands a + little plant of maidenhair fern, fresh and green. Enter from the door on + the Right, a GIRL and a YOUNG OFFICER in khaki. The GIRL wears a + discreet dark dress, hat, and veil, and stained yellow gloves. The YOUNG + OFFICER is tall, with a fresh open face, and kindly eager blue eyes; he + is a little lame. The GIRL, who is evidently at home, moves towards the + gas jet to turn it up, then changes her mind, and going to the curtains, + draws them apart and throws up the window. Bright moonlight comes + flooding in. Outside are seen the trees of a little Square. She stands + gazing out, suddenly turns inward with a shiver. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. I say; what's the matter? You were crying when I spoke to you. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [With a movement of recovery] Oh! nothing. The beautiful + evening-that's all. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Looking at her] Cheer up! + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Taking of hat and veil; her hair is yellowish and crinkly] Cheer + up! You are not lonelee, like me. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Limping to the window—doubtfully] I say, how did you how + did you get into this? Isn't it an awfully hopeless sort of life? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Yees, it ees. You haf been wounded? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Just out of hospital to-day. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. The horrible war—all the misery is because of the war. When + will it end? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Leaning against the window-sill, looking at her attentively] I + say, what nationality are you? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [With a quick look and away] Rooshian. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Really! I never met a Russian girl. [The GIRL gives him another + quick look] I say, is it as bad as they make out? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Slipping her hand through his arm] Not when I haf anyone as ni-ice + as you; I never haf had, though. [She smiles, and her smile, like her + speech, is slow and confining] You stopped because I was sad, others stop + because I am gay. I am not fond of men at all. When you know—you are + not fond of them. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Well, you hardly know them at their best, do you? You should + see them in the trenches. By George! They're simply splendid—officers + and men, every blessed soul. There's never been anything like it—just + one long bit of jolly fine self-sacrifice; it's perfectly amazing. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Turning her blue-grey eyes on him] I expect you are not the last at + that. You see in them what you haf in yourself, I think. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Oh, not a bit; you're quite out! I assure you when we made the + attack where I got wounded there wasn't a single man in my regiment who + wasn't an absolute hero. The way they went in—never thinking of + themselves—it was simply ripping. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [In a queer voice] It is the same too, perhaps, with—the + enemy. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Oh, yes! I know that. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Ah! You are not a mean man. How I hate mean men! + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Oh! they're not mean really—they simply don't understand. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Oh! You are a babee—a good babee aren't you? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The YOUNG OFFICER doesn't like this, and frowns. The GIRL looks a + little scared.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. [Clingingly] But I li-ke you for it. It is so good to find a ni-ice + man. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Abruptly] About being lonely? Haven't you any Russian friends? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Blankly] Rooshian? No. [Quickly] The town is so beeg. Were you at + the concert before you spoke to me? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Yes. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. I too. I lofe music. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. I suppose all Russians do. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [With another quick look tat him] I go there always when I haf the + money. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. What! Are you as badly on the rocks as that? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Well, I haf just one shilling now! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She laughs bitterly. The laugh upsets him; he sits on the window-sill, + and leans forward towards her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. I say, what's your name? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. May. Well, I call myself that. It is no good asking yours. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [With a laugh] You're a distrustful little soul; aren't you? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. I haf reason to be, don't you think? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Yes. I suppose you're bound to think us all brutes. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Sitting on a chair close to the window where the moonlight falls on + one powdered cheek] Well, I haf a lot of reasons to be afraid all my time. + I am dreadfully nervous now; I am not trusding anybody. I suppose you haf + been killing lots of Germans? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. We never know, unless it happens to be hand to hand; I haven't + come in for that yet. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. But you would be very glad if you had killed some. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Oh, glad? I don't think so. We're all in the same boat, so far + as that's concerned. We're not glad to kill each other—not most of + us. We do our job—that's all. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Oh! It is frightful. I expect I haf my brothers killed. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Don't you get any news ever? + </p> + <p> + GIRL. News? No indeed, no news of anybody in my country. I might not haf a + country; all that I ever knew is gone; fader, moder, sisters, broders, + all; never any more I shall see them, I suppose, now. The war it breaks + and breaks, it breaks hearts. [She gives a little snarl] Do you know what + I was thinking when you came up to me? I was thinking of my native town, + and the river in the moonlight. If I could see it again I would be glad. + Were you ever homeseeck? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Yes, I have been—in the trenches. But one's ashamed with + all the others. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Ah! Yees! Yees! You are all comrades there. What is it like for me + here, do you think, where everybody hates and despises me, and would catch + me and put me in prison, perhaps. [Her breast heaves.] + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Leaning forward and patting her knee] Sorry—sorry. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [In a smothered voice] You are the first who has been kind to me for + so long! I will tell you the truth—I am not Rooshian at all —I + am German. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Staring] My dear girl, who cares. We aren't fighting against + women. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Peering at him] Another man said that to me. But he was thinkin' of + his fun. You are a veree ni-ice boy; I am so glad I met you. You see the + good in people, don't you? That is the first thing in the world—because—there + is really not much good in people, you know. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Smiling] You are a dreadful little cynic! But of course you + are! + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Cyneec? How long do you think I would live if I was not a cyneec? I + should drown myself to-morrow. Perhaps there are good people, but, you + see, I don't know them. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. I know lots. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Leaning towards him] Well now—see, ni-ice boy—you haf + never been in a hole, haf you? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. I suppose not a real hole. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. No, I should think not, with your face. Well, suppose I am still a + good girl, as I was once, you know; and you took me to your mother and + your sisters and you said: "Here is a little German girl that has no work, + and no money, and no friends." They will say: "Oh! how sad! A German + girl!" And they will go and wash their hands. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The OFFICER, is silent, staring at her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. You see. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Muttering] I'm sure there are people. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. No. They would not take a German, even if she was good. Besides, I + don't want to be good any more—I am not a humbug; I have learned to + be bad. Aren't you going to kees me, ni-ice boy? + </p> + <p> + She puts her face close to his. Her eyes trouble him; he draws back. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Don't. I'd rather not, if you don't mind. [She looks at him + fixedly, with a curious inquiring stare] It's stupid. I don't know—but + you see, out there, and in hospital, life's different. It's—it's—it + isn't mean, you know. Don't come too close. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Oh! You are fun——[She stops] Doesn't it light. No Zeps + to-night. When they burn—what a 'orrble death! And all the people + cheer. It is natural. Do you hate us veree much? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Turning sharply] Hate? I don't know. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. I don't hate even the English—I despise them. I despise my + people too; even more, because they began this war. Oh! I know that. I + despise all the peoples. Why haf they made the world so miserable —why + haf they killed all our lives—hundreds and thousands and millions of + lives—all for noting? They haf made a bad world— everybody + hating, and looking for the worst everywhere. They haf made me bad, I + know. I believe no more in anything. What is there to believe in? Is there + a God? No! Once I was teaching little English children their prayers—isn't + that funnee? I was reading to them about Christ and love. I believed all + those things. Now I believe noting at all—no one who is not a fool + or a liar can believe. I would like to work in a 'ospital; I would like to + go and 'elp poor boys like you. Because I am a German they would throw me + out a 'undred times, even if I was good. It is the same in Germany, in + France, in Russia, everywhere. But do you think I will believe in Love and + Christ and God and all that—Not I! I think we are animals —that's + all! Oh, yes! you fancy it is because my life has spoiled me. It is not + that at all—that is not the worst thing in life. The men I take are + not ni-ice, like you, but it's their nature; and—they help me to + live, which is something for me, anyway. No, it is the men who think + themselves great and good and make the war with their talk and their hate, + killing us all—killing all the boys like you, and keeping poor + People in prison, and telling us to go on hating; and all these dreadful + cold-blood creatures who write in the papers —the same in my country—just + the same; it is because of all of them that I think we are only animals. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The YOUNG OFFICER gets up, acutely miserable.] [She follows him with + her eyes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. Don't mind me talkin', ni-ice boy. I don't know anyone to talk to. + If you don't like it, I can be quiet as a mouse. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Oh, go on! Talk away; I'm not obliged to believe you, and I + don't. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She, too, is on her feet now, leaning against the wall; her dark dress + and white face just touched by the slanting moonlight. Her voice comes + again, slow and soft and bitter.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. Well, look here, ni-ice boy, what sort of world is it, where + millions are being tortured, for no fault of theirs, at all? A beautiful + world, isn't it? 'Umbog! Silly rot, as you boys call it. You say it is all + "Comrades" and braveness out there at the front, and people don't think of + themselves. Well, I don't think of myself veree much. What does it matter? + I am lost now, anyway. But I think of my people at 'ome; how they suffer + and grieve. I think of all the poor people there, and here, how lose those + they love, and all the poor prisoners. Am I not to think of them? And if I + do, how am I to believe it a beautiful world, ni-ice boy? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He stands very still, staring at her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. Look here! We haf one life each, and soon it is over. Well, I think + that is lucky. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. No! There's more than that. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Softly] Ah! You think the war is fought for the future; you are + giving your lives for a better world, aren't you? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. We must fight till we win. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Till you win. My people think that too. All the peoples think that + if they win the world will be better. But it will not, you know; it will + be much worse, anyway. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He turns away from her, and catches up his cap. Her voice follows him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. I don't care which win. I don't care if my country is beaten. I + despise them all—animals—animals. Ah! Don't go, ni-ice boy; I + will be quiet now. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He has taken some notes from his tunic pocket; he puts then on the + table and goes up to her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Good-night. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Plaintively] Are you really going? Don't you like me enough? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Yes, I like you. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. It is because I am German, then? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. No. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Then why won't you stay? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [With a shrug] If you must know—because you upset me. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Won't you kees me once? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He bends, puts his lips to her forehead. But as he takes them away she + throws her head back, presses her mouth to his, and clings to him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Sitting down suddenly] Don't! I don't want to feel a brute. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Laughing] You are a funny boy; but you are veree good. Talk to me a + little, then. No one talks to me. Tell me, haf you seen many German + prisoners? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [Sighing] A good many. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Any from the Rhine? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Yes, I think so. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Were they veree sad? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Some were; some were quite glad to be taken. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Did you ever see the Rhine? It will be wonderful to-night. The + moonlight will be the same there, and in Rooshia too, and France, + everywhere; and the trees will look the same as here, and people will meet + under them and make love just as here. Oh! isn't it stupid, the war? As if + it were not good to be alive! + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. You can't tell how good it is to be alive till you're facing + death. You don't live till then. And when a whole lot of you feel like + that—and are ready to give their lives for each other, it's worth + all the rest of life put together. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He stops, ashamed of such, sentiment before this girl, who believes in + nothing.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. [Softly] How were you wounded, ni-ice boy? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Attacking across open ground: four machine bullets got me at + one go off. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Weren't you veree frightened when they ordered you to attack? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He shakes his head and laughs.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. It was great. We did laugh that morning. They got me much too + soon, though—a swindle. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. [Staring at him] You laughed? + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Yes. And what do you think was the first thing I was conscious + of next morning? My old Colonel bending over me and giving me a squeeze of + lemon. If you knew my Colonel you'd still believe in things. There is + something, you know, behind all this evil. After all, you can only die + once, and, if it's for your country—all the better! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Her face, in the moonlight, with, intent eyes touched up with black, + has a most strange, other-world look.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. No; I believe in nothing, not even in my country. My heart is dead. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Yes; you think so, but it isn't, you know, or you wouldn't have + 'been crying when I met you. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. If it were not dead, do you think I could live my life-walking the + streets every night, pretending to like strange men; never hearing a kind + word; never talking, for fear I will be known for a German? Soon I shall + take to drinking; then I shall be "Kaput" veree quick. You see, I am + practical; I see things clear. To-night I am a little emotional; the moon + is funny, you know. But I live for myself only, now. I don't care for + anything or anybody. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. All the same; just now you were pitying your folk at home, and + prisoners and that. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Yees; because they suffer. Those who suffer are like me—I pity + myself, that's all; I am different from your English women. I see what I + am doing; I do not let my mind become a turnip just because I am no longer + moral. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. Nor your heart either, for all you say. + </p> + <p> + GIRL. Ni-ice boy, you are veree obstinate. But all that about love is + 'umbog. We love ourselves, noting more. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + At that intense soft bitterness in her voice, he gets up, feeling + stifled, and stands at the window. A newspaper boy some way off is + calling his wares. The GIRL's fingers slip between his own, and stay + unmoving. He looks round into her face. In spite of make-up it has a + queer, unholy, touching beauty. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + YOUNG OFF. [With an outburst] No; we don't only love ourselves; there is + more. I can't explain, but there's something great; there's kindness—and—and——- + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The shouting of newspaper boys grows louder and their cries, + passionately vehement, clash into each other and obscure each word. His + head goes up to listen; her hand tightens within his arm—she too + is listening. The cries come nearer, hoarser, more shrill and clamorous; + the empty moonlight outside seems suddenly crowded with figures, + footsteps, voices, and a fierce distant cheering. "Great victory—great + victory! Official! British! 'Eavy defeat of the 'Uns! Many thousand + prisoners! 'Eavy defeat!" It speeds by, intoxicating, filling him with a + fearful joy; he leans far out, waving his cap and cheering like a + madman; the night seems to flutter and vibrate and answer. He turns to + rush down into the street, strikes against something soft, and recoils. + The GIRL stands with hands clenched, and face convulsed, panting. All + confused with the desire to do something, he stoops to kiss her hand. + She snatches away her fingers, sweeps up the notes he has put down, and + holds them out to him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. Take them—I will not haf your English money—take them. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Suddenly she tears them across, twice, thrice, lets the bits. flutter to + the floor, and turns her back on him. He stands looking at her leaning + against the plush-covered table, her head down, a dark figure in a dark + room, with the moonlight sharpening her outline. Hardly a moment he + stays, then makes for the door. When he is gone, she still stands there, + her chin on her breast, with the sound in her ears of cheering, of + hurrying feet, and voices crying: "'Eavy Defeat!" stands, in the centre + of a pattern made by the fragments of the torn-up notes, staring out + unto the moonlight, seeing not this hated room and the hated Square + outside, but a German orchard, and herself, a little girl, plucking + apples, a big dog beside her; and a hundred other pictures, such as the + drowning see. Then she sinks down on the floor, lays her forehead on the + dusty carpet, and presses her body to it. Mechanically, she sweeps + together the scattered fragments of notes, assembling them with the dust + into a little pile, as of fallen leaves, and dabbling in it with her + fingers, while the tears run down her cheeks. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. Defeat! Der Vaterland! Defeat!.... One shillin'! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Then suddenly, in the moonlight, she sits up, and begins to sing with + all her might "Die Wacht am Rhein." And outside men pass, singing: + "Rule, Britannia!"] CURTAIN + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SUN + </h2> + <h3> + A Scene + </h3> + <blockquote> + <p> + CHARACTERS THE GIRL. THE MAN. THE SOLDIER. THE SUN A Girl, sits crouched + over her knees on a stile close to a river. A MAN with a silver badge + stands beside her, clutching the worn top plank. THE GIRL'S level brows + are drawn together; her eyes see her memories. THE MAN's eyes see THE + GIRL; he has a dark, twisted face. The bright sun shines; the quiet + river flows; the Cuckoo is calling; the mayflower is in bloom along the + hedge that ends in the stile on the towing-path. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE GIRL. God knows what 'e'll say, Jim. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Let 'im. 'E's come too late, that's all. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. He couldn't come before. I'm frightened. 'E was fond o' me. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. And aren't I fond of you? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. I ought to 'a waited, Jim; with 'im in the fightin'. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Passionately] And what about me? Aren't I been in the fightin'—earned + all I could get? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Touching him] Ah! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Did you—? [He cannot speak the words.] + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Not like you, Jim—not like you. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Have a spirit, then. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. I promised him. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. One man's luck's another's poison. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. I ought to 'a waited. I never thought he'd come back from the + fightin'. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Grimly] Maybe 'e'd better not 'ave. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Looking back along the tow-path] What'll he be like, I wonder? + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Gripping her shoulder] Daisy, don't you never go back on me, or + I should kill you, and 'im too. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE GIRL looks at him, shivers, and puts her lips to his.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE GIRL. I never could. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Will you run for it? 'E'd never find us! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE GIRL shakes her head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE MAN [Dully] What's the good o' stayin'? The world's wide. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. I'd rather have it off me mind, with him home. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Clenching his hands] It's temptin' Providence. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. What's the time, Jim? + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Glancing at the sun] 'Alf past four. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Looking along the towing-path] He said four o'clock. Jim, you + better go. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Not I. I've not got the wind up. I've seen as much of hell as he + has, any day. What like is he? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Dully] I dunno, just. I've not seen him these three years. I + dunno no more, since I've known you. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Big or little chap? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. 'Bout your size. Oh! Jim, go along! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. No fear! What's a blighter like that to old Fritz's shells? We + didn't shift when they was comin'. If you'll go, I'll go; not else. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Again she shakes her head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE GIRL. Jim, do you love me true? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [For answer THE MAN takes her avidly in his arms.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + I ain't ashamed—I ain't ashamed. If 'e could see me 'eart. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Daisy! If I'd known you out there, I never could 'a stuck it. + They'd 'a got me for a deserter. That's how I love you! + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Jim, don't lift your hand to 'im! Promise! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. That's according. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Promise! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. If 'e keeps quiet, I won't. But I'm not accountable—not + always, I tell you straight—not since I've been through that. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [With a shiver] Nor p'raps he isn't. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Like as not. It takes the lynch pins out, I tell you. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. God 'elp us! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Grimly] Ah! We said that a bit too often. What we want we take, + now; there's no one else to give it us, and there's no fear'll stop us; we + seen the bottom of things. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. P'raps he'll say that too. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Then it'll be 'im or me. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. I'm frightened: + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Tenderly] No, Daisy, no! The river's handy. One more or less. 'E + shan't 'arm you; nor me neither. [He takes out a knife.] + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Seizing his hand] Oh, no! Give it to me, Jim! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Smiling] No fear! [He puts it away] Shan't 'ave no need for it + like as not. All right, little Daisy; you can't be expected to see things + like what we do. What's life, anyway? I've seen a thousand lives taken in + five minutes. I've seen dead men on the wires like flies on a flypaper. + I've been as good as dead meself a hundred times. I've killed a dozen men. + It's nothin'. He's safe, if 'e don't get my blood up. If he does, nobody's + safe; not 'im, nor anybody else; not even you. I'm speakin' sober. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Softly] Jim, you won't go fightin' in the sun, with the birds + all callin'? + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. That depends on 'im. I'm not lookin' for it. Daisy, I love you. I + love your hair. I love your eyes. I love you. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. And I love you, Jim. I don't want nothin' more than you in all + the world. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Amen to that, my dear. Kiss me close! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The sound of a voice singing breaks in on their embrace. THE GIRL starts + from his arms, and looks behind her along the towing-path. THE MAN draws + back against, the hedge, fingering his side, where the knife is hidden. + The song comes nearer. "I'll be right there to-night, Where the fields + are snowy white; Banjos ringing, darkies singing, All the world seems + bright." + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE GIRL. It's him! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Don't get the wind up, Daisy. I'm here! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The singing stops. A man's voice says "Christ! It's Daisy; it's little + Daisy 'erself!" THE GIRL stands rigid. The figure of a soldier appears + on the other side of the stile. His cap is tucked into his belt, his + hair is bright in the sunshine; he is lean, wasted, brown, and + laughing.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SOLDIER. Daisy! Daisy! Hallo, old pretty girl! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE GIRL does not move, barring the way, as it were.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE GIRL. Hallo, Jack! [Softly] I got things to tell you! + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. What sort o' things, this lovely day? Why, I got things that'd + take me years to tell. Have you missed me, Daisy? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. You been so long. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. So I 'ave. My Gawd! It's a way they 'ave in the Army. I said when + I got out of it I'd laugh. Like as the sun itself I used to think of you, + Daisy, when the trumps was comin' over, and the wind was up. D'you + remember that last night in the wood? "Come back and marry me quick, + Jack." Well, here I am—got me pass to heaven. No more fightin', no + more drillin', no more sleepin' rough. We can get married now, Daisy. We + can live soft an' 'appy. Give us a kiss, my dear. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Drawing back] No. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. [Blankly] Why not? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE MAN, with a swift movement steps along the hedge to THE GIRL'S + side.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE MAN. That's why, soldier. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. [Leaping over the stile] 'Oo are you, Pompey? The sun don't shine + in your inside, do it? 'Oo is he, Daisy? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. My man. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. Your-man! Lummy! "Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief!" Well, + mate! So you've been through it, too. I'm laughin' this mornin' as luck + will 'ave it. Ah! I can see your knife. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Who has half drawn his knife] Don't laugh at me, I tell you. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. Not at you, not at you. [He looks from one to the other] I'm + laughin' at things in general. Where did you get it, mate? + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Watchfully] Through the lung. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. Think o' that! An' I never was touched. Four years an' never was + touched. An' so you've come an' took my girl! Nothin' doin'! Ha! [Again he + looks from one to the other-then away] Well! The world's before me! [He + laughs] I'll give you Daisy for a lung protector. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [Fiercely] You won't. I've took her. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. That's all right, then. You keep 'er. I've got a laugh in me you + can't put out, black as you look! Good-bye, little Daisy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE GIRL makes a movement towards him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE MAN. Don't touch 'im! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE GIRL stands hesitating, and suddenly bursts into tears.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SOLDIER. Look 'ere, mate; shake 'ands! I don't want to see a girl cry, + this day of all, with the sun shinin'. I seen too much of sorrer. You and + me've been at the back of it. We've 'ad our whack. Shake! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Who are you kiddin'? You never loved 'er! + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. [After a long moment's pause] Oh! I thought I did. + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. I'll fight you for her. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He drops his knife. ] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SOLDIER. [Slowly] Mate, you done your bit, an' I done mine. It's took us + two ways, seemin'ly. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Pleading] Jim! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. [With clenched fists] I don't want 'is charity. I only want what + I can take. + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. Daisy, which of us will you 'ave? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Covering her face] Oh! Him! + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. You see, mate! Put your 'ands down. There's nothin' for it but a + laugh. You an' me know that. Laugh, mate! + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. You blarsted——! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE GIRL springs to him and stops his mouth.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SOLDIER. It's no use, mate. I can't do it. I said I'd laugh to-day, and + laugh I will. I've come through that, an' all the stink of it; I've come + through sorrer. Never again! Cheerio, mate! The sun's a-shinin'! He turns + away. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Jack, don't think too 'ard of me! + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. [Looking back] No fear, my dear! Enjoy your fancy! So long! Gawd + bless you both! + </p> + <p> + He sings, and goes along the path, and the song fades away. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + "I'll be right there to-night Where the fields are snowy white; Banjos + ringing, darkies singing All the world seems bright!" + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE MAN. 'E's mad! + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [Looking down the path with her hands clasped] The sun has + touched 'im, Jim! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + CURTAIN + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PUNCH AND GO + </h2> + <h3> + A Little Comedy + </h3> + <blockquote> + <p> + "Orpheus with his lute made trees And the mountain tope that + freeze....." PERSONS OF THE PLAY JAMES G. FRUST..............The Boss E. + BLEWITT VANE.............The Producer MR. FORESON.................The + Stage Manager "ELECTRICS"..................The Electrician + "PROPS".....................The Property Man + HERBERT.....................The Call Boy OF THE PLAY WITHIN THE PLAY GUY + TOONE...................The Professor VANESSA HELLGROVE...........The + Wife GEORGE FLEETWAY.............Orpheus MAUDE HOPKINS...............The + Faun + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SCENE: The Stage of a Theatre. + </p> + <p> + Action continuous, though the curtain is momentarily lowered according to + that action. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + PUNCH AND GO The Scene is the stage of the theatre set for the dress + rehearsal of the little play: "Orpheus with his Lute." The curtain is up + and the audience, though present, is not supposed to be. The set scene + represents the end section of a room, with wide French windows, Back + Centre, fully opened on to an apple orchard in bloom. The Back Wall with + these French windows, is set only about ten feet from the footlights, + and the rest of the stage is orchard. What is visible of the room would + indicate the study of a writing man of culture. ( Note.—If found + advantageous for scenic purposes, this section of room can be changed to + a broad verandah or porch with pillars supporting its roof.) In the + wall, Stage Left, is a curtained opening, across which the curtain is + half drawn. Stage Right of the French windows is a large armchair turned + rather towards the window, with a book rest attached, on which is a + volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica, while on a stool alongside are + writing materials such as a man requires when he writes with a pad on + his knees. On a little table close by is a reading-lamp with a dark + green shade. A crude light from the floats makes the stage stare; the + only person on it is MR FORESON, the stage manager, who is standing in + the centre looking upwards as if waiting for someone to speak. He is a + short, broad man, rather blank, and fatal. From the back of the + auditorium, or from an empty box, whichever is most convenient, the + producer, MR BLEWITT VANE, a man of about thirty four, with his hair + brushed back, speaks. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Mr Foreson? + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. We'll do that lighting again. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON walks straight of the Stage into the wings Right.] [A pause.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Mr Foreson! [Crescendo] Mr Foreson. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON walks on again from Right and shades his eyes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. For goodness sake, stand by! We'll do that lighting again. Check + your floats. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Speaking up into the prompt wings] Electrics! + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF ELECTRICS. Hallo! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Give it us again. Check your floats. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The floats go down, and there is a sudden blinding glare of blue + lights, in which FORESON looks particularly ghastly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Great Scott! What the blazes! Mr Foreson! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON walks straight out into the wings Left. Crescendo.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Mr Foreson! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Tell Miller to come down. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Electrics! Mr Blewitt Vane wants to speak to you. Come down! + </p> + <p> + VANE. Tell Herbert to sit in that chair. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON walks straight out into the Right wings.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Mr Foreson! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Don't go off the stage. [FORESON mutters.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ELECTRICS appears from the wings, Stage Left. He is a dark, thin-faced + man with rather spikey hair.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ELECTRICS. Yes, Mr Vane? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Look! + </p> + <p> + ELECTRICS. That's what I'd got marked, Mr Vane. + </p> + <p> + VANE. Once for all, what I want is the orchard in full moonlight, and the + room dark except for the reading lamp. Cut off your front battens. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ELECTRICS withdraws Left. FORESON walks off the Stage into the Right + wings.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Mr Foreson! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. See this marked right. Now, come on with it! I want to get some + beauty into this! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [While he is speaking, HERBERT, the call boy, appears from the wings + Right, a mercurial youth of about sixteen with a wide mouth.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FORESON. [Maliciously] Here you are, then, Mr Vane. Herbert, sit in that + chair. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HERBERT sits an the armchair, with an air of perfect peace.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Now! [All the lights go out. In a wail] Great Scott! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A throaty chuckle from FORESON in the darkness. The light dances up, + flickers, shifts, grows steady, falling on the orchard outside. The + reading lamp darts alight and a piercing little glare from it strikes + into the auditorium away from HERBERT.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [In a terrible voice] Mr Foreson. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Look—at—that—shade! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON mutters, walks up to it and turns it round so that the light + shines on HERBERT'S legs.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + On his face, on his face! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON turns the light accordingly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FORESON. Is that what you want, Mr Vane? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Yes. Now, mark that! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Up into wings Right] Electrics! + </p> + <p> + ELECTRICS. Hallo! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Mark that! + </p> + <p> + VANE. My God! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The blue suddenly becomes amber.] [The blue returns. All is steady. + HERBERT is seen diverting himself with an imaginary cigar.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Mr Foreson. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Ask him if he's got that? + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Have you got that? + </p> + <p> + ELECTRICS. Yes. + </p> + <p> + VANE. Now pass to the change. Take your floats off altogether. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Calling up] Floats out. [They go out.] + </p> + <p> + VANE. Cut off that lamp. [The lamp goes out] Put a little amber in your + back batten. Mark that! Now pass to the end. Mr Foreson! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Black out + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Calling up] Black out! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The lights go out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Give us your first lighting-lamp on. And then the two changes. Quick + as you can. Put some pep into it. Mr Foreson! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Stand for me where Miss Hellgrove comes in. FORESON crosses to the + window. No, no!—by the curtain. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON takes his stand by the curtain; and suddenly the three lighting + effects are rendered quickly and with miraculous exactness.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Good! Leave it at that. We'll begin. Mr Foreson, send up to Mr Frust. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He moves from the auditorium and ascends on to the Stage, by some steps + Stage Right.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FORESON. Herb! Call the boss, and tell beginners to stand by. Sharp, now! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HERBERT gets out of the chair, and goes off Right.] [FORESON is going + off Left as VANE mounts the Stage.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Mr Foreson. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. I want "Props." + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [In a stentorian voice] "Props!" + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Another moth-eaten man appears through the French windows.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Is that boulder firm? + </p> + <p> + PROPS. [Going to where, in front of the back-cloth, and apparently among + its apple trees, lies the counterfeitment of a mossy boulder; he puts his + foot on it] If, you don't put too much weight on it, sir. + </p> + <p> + VANE. It won't creak? + </p> + <p> + PROPS. Nao. [He mounts on it, and a dolorous creaking arises.] + </p> + <p> + VANE. Make that right. Let me see that lute. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [PROPS produces a property lute. While they scrutinize it, a broad man + with broad leathery clean-shaven face and small mouth, occupied by the + butt end of a cigar, has come on to the stage from Stage Left, and + stands waiting to be noticed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PROPS. [Attracted by the scent of the cigar] The Boss, Sir. + </p> + <p> + VANE. [Turning to "PROPS"] That'll do, then. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + ["PROPS" goes out through the French windows.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. [To FRUST] Now, sir, we're all ready for rehearsal of "Orpheus with + his Lute." + </p> + <p> + FRUST. [In a cosmopolitan voice] "Orphoos with his loot!" That his loot, + Mr Vane? Why didn't he pinch something more precious? Has this high-brow + curtain-raiser of yours got any "pep" in it? + </p> + <p> + VANE. It has charm. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. I'd thought of "Pop goes the Weasel" with little Miggs. We kind of + want a cock-tail before "Louisa loses," Mr Vane. + </p> + <p> + VANE. Well, sir, you'll see. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. This your lighting? It's a bit on the spiritool side. I've left my + glass. Guess I'll sit in the front row. Ha'f a minute. Who plays this + Orphoos? + </p> + <p> + VANE. George Fleetway. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Has he got punch? + </p> + <p> + VANE. It's a very small part. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Who are the others? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Guy Toone plays the Professor; Vanessa Hellgrove his wife; Maude + Hopkins the faun. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. H'm! Names don't draw. + </p> + <p> + VANE. They're not expensive, any of them. Miss Hellgrove's a find, I + think. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Pretty? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Quite. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Arty? + </p> + <p> + VANE. [Doubtfully] No. [With resolution] Look here, Mr FRUST, it's no use + your expecting another "Pop goes the Weasel." + </p> + <p> + FRUST. We-ell, if it's got punch and go, that'll be enough for me. Let's + get to it! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He extinguishes his cigar and descends the steps and sits in the centre + of the front row of the stalls.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Mr Foreson? + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Appearing through curtain, Right] Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Beginners. Take your curtain down. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He descends the steps and seats himself next to FRUST. The curtain goes + down.] [A woman's voice is heard singing very beautifully Sullivan's + song: "Orpheus with his lute, with his lute made trees and the mountain + tops that freeze'." etc.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FRUST. Some voice! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The curtain rises. In the armchair the PROFESSOR is yawning, tall, thin, + abstracted, and slightly grizzled in the hair. He has a pad of paper + over his knee, ink on the stool to his right and the Encyclopedia volume + on the stand to his left-barricaded in fact by the article he is + writing. He is reading a page over to himself, but the words are drowned + in the sound of the song his WIFE is singing in the next room, partly + screened off by the curtain. She finishes, and stops. His voice can then + be heard conning the words of his article. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PROF. "Orpheus symbolized the voice of Beauty, the call of life, luring us + mortals with his song back from the graves we dig for ourselves. Probably + the ancients realized this neither more nor less than we moderns. Mankind + has not changed. The civilized being still hides the faun and the dryad + within its broadcloth and its silk. And yet"—[He stops, with a + dried-up air-rather impatiently] Go on, my dear! It helps the atmosphere. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The voice of his WIFE begins again, gets as far as "made them sing" and + stops dead, just as the PROFESSOR's pen is beginning to scratch. And + suddenly, drawing the curtain further aside] [SHE appears. Much younger + than the PROFESSOR, pale, very pretty, of a Botticellian type in face, + figure, and in her clinging cream-coloured frock. She gazes at her + abstracted husband; then swiftly moves to the lintel of the open window, + and stands looking out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE WIFE. God! What beauty! + </p> + <p> + PROF. [Looking Up] Umm? + </p> + <p> + THE WIFE. I said: God! What beauty! + </p> + <p> + PROF. Aha! + </p> + <p> + THE WIFE. [Looking at him] Do you know that I have to repeat everything to + you nowadays? + </p> + <p> + PROF. What? + </p> + <p> + THE WIFE. That I have to repeat—— + </p> + <p> + PROF. Yes; I heard. I'm sorry. I get absorbed. + </p> + <p> + THE WIFE. In all but me. + </p> + <p> + PROF. [Startled] My dear, your song was helping me like anything to get + the mood. This paper is the very deuce—to balance between the + historical and the natural. + </p> + <p> + THE WIFE. Who wants the natural? + </p> + <p> + PROF. [Grumbling] Umm! Wish I thought that! Modern taste! History may go + hang; they're all for tuppence-coloured sentiment nowadays. + </p> + <p> + THE WIFE. [As if to herself] Is the Spring sentiment? + </p> + <p> + PROF. I beg your pardon, my dear; I didn't catch. + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [As if against her will—urged by some pent-up force] Beauty, + beauty! + </p> + <p> + PROF. That's what I'm, trying to say here. The Orpheus legend symbolizes + to this day the call of Beauty! [He takes up his pen, while she continues + to stare out at the moonlight. Yawning] Dash it! I get so sleepy; I wish + you'd tell them to make the after-dinner coffee twice as strong. + </p> + <p> + WIFE. I will. + </p> + <p> + PROF. How does this strike you? [Conning] "Many Renaissance pictures, + especially those of Botticelli, Francesca and Piero di Cosimo were + inspired by such legends as that of Orpheus, and we owe a tiny gem—like + Raphael 'Apollo and Marsyas' to the same Pagan inspiration." + </p> + <p> + WIFE. We owe it more than that—rebellion against the dry-as-dust. + </p> + <p> + PROF. Quite. I might develop that: "We owe it our revolt against the + academic; or our disgust at 'big business,' and all the grossness of + commercial success. We owe——". [His voice peters out.] + </p> + <p> + WIFE. It—love. + </p> + <p> + PROF. [Abstracted] Eh! + </p> + <p> + WIFE. I said: We owe it love. + </p> + <p> + PROF. [Rather startled] Possibly. But—er [With a dry smile] I + mustn't say that here—hardly! + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [To herself and the moonlight] Orpheus with his lute! + </p> + <p> + PROF. Most people think a lute is a sort of flute. [Yawning heavily] My + dear, if you're not going to sing again, d'you mind sitting down? I want + to concentrate. + </p> + <p> + WIFE. I'm going out. + </p> + <p> + PROF. Mind the dew! + </p> + <p> + WIFE. The Christian virtues and the dew. + </p> + <p> + PROF. [With a little dry laugh] Not bad! Not bad! The Christian virtues + and the dew. [His hand takes up his pen, his face droops over his paper, + while his wife looks at him with a very strange face] "How far we can + trace the modern resurgence against the Christian virtues to the symbolic + figures of Orpheus, Pan, Apollo, and Bacchus might be difficult to + estimate, but——" + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [During those words his WIFE has passed through the window into the + moonlight, and her voice rises, singing as she goes: "Orpheus with his + lute, with his lute made trees..."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PROF. [Suddenly aware of something] She'll get her throat bad. [He is + silent as the voice swells in the distance] Sounds queer at night-H'm! [He + is silent—Yawning. The voice dies away. Suddenly his head nods; he + fights his drowsiness; writes a word or two, nods again, and in twenty + seconds is asleep.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The Stage is darkened by a black-out. FRUST's voice is heard speaking.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FRUST. What's that girl's name? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Vanessa Hellgrove. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Aha! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The Stage is lighted up again. Moonlight bright on the orchard; the + room in darkness where the PROFESSOR'S figure is just visible sleeping + in the chair, and screwed a little more round towards the window. From + behind the mossy boulder a faun-like figure uncurls itself and peeps + over with ears standing up and elbows leaning on the stone, playing a + rustic pipe; and there are seen two rabbits and a fox sitting up and + listening. A shiver of wind passes, blowing petals from the + apple-trees.] [The FAUN darts his head towards where, from Right, comes + slowly the figure of a Greek youth, holding a lute or lyre which his + fingers strike, lifting out little wandering strains as of wind + whinnying in funnels and odd corners. The FAUN darts down behind the + stone, and the youth stands by the boulder playing his lute. Slowly + while he plays the whitened trunk of an apple-tree is seen, to dissolve + into the body of a girl with bare arms and feet, her dark hair unbound, + and the face of the PROFESSOR'S WIFE. Hypnotized, she slowly sways + towards him, their eyes fixed on each other, till she is quite close. + Her arms go out to him, cling round his neck and, their lips meet. But + as they meet there comes a gasp and the PROFESSOR with rumpled hair is + seen starting from his chair, his hands thrown up; and at his horrified + "Oh!" the Stage is darkened with a black-out.] [The voice of FRUST is + heard speaking.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FRUST. Gee! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The Stage is lighted up again, as in the opening scene. The PROFESSOR is + seen in his chair, with spilt sheets of paper round him, waking from a + dream. He shakes himself, pinches his leg, stares heavily round into the + moonlight, rises. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PROF. Phew! Beastly dream! Boof! H'm! [He moves to the window and calls.] + Blanche! Blanche! [To himself] Made trees-made trees! [Calling] Blanche! + </p> + <p> + WIFE's VOICE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + PROF. Where are you? + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [Appearing by the stone with her hair down] Here! + </p> + <p> + PROF. I say—I—-I've been asleep—had a dream. Come in. + I'll tell you. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She comes, and they stand in the window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PROF. I dreamed I saw a-faun on that boulder blowing on a pipe. [He looks + nervously at the stone] With two damned little rabbits and a fox sitting + up and listening. And then from out there came our friend Orpheus playing + on his confounded lute, till he actually turned that tree there into you. + And gradually he-he drew you like a snake till you—er—put your + arms round his neck and—er—kissed him. Boof! I woke up. Most + unpleasant. Why! Your hair's down! + </p> + <p> + WIFE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + PROF. Why? + </p> + <p> + WIFE. It was no dream. He was bringing me to life. + </p> + <p> + PROF. What on earth? + </p> + <p> + WIFE. Do you suppose I am alive? I'm as dead as Euridice. + </p> + <p> + PROF. Good heavens, Blanche, what's the matter with you to-night? + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [Pointing to the litter of papers] Why don't we live, instead of + writing of it? [She points out unto the moonlight] What do we get out of + life? Money, fame, fashion, talk, learning? Yes. And what good are they? I + want to live! + </p> + <p> + PROF. [Helplessly] My dear, I really don't know what you mean. + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [Pointing out into the moonlight] Look! Orpheus with his lute, and + nobody can see him. Beauty, beauty, beauty—we let it go. [With + sudden passion] Beauty, love, the spring. They should be in us, and + they're all outside. + </p> + <p> + PROF. My dear, this is—this is—awful. [He tries to embrace + her.] + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [Avoiding him—an a stilly voice] Oh! Go on with your writing! + </p> + <p> + PROF. I'm—I'm upset. I've never known you so—so—— + </p> + <p> + WIFE. Hysterical? Well! It's over. I'll go and sing. + </p> + <p> + PROF. [Soothingly] There, there! I'm sorry, darling; I really am. You're + kipped—you're kipped. [He gives and she accepts a kiss] Better? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He gravitates towards his papers.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + All right, now? + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [Standing still and looking at him] Quite! + </p> + <p> + PROF. Well, I'll try and finish this to-night; then, to-morrow we might + have a jaunt. How about a theatre? There's a thing—they say —called + "Chinese Chops," that's been running years. + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [Softly to herself as he settles down into his chair] Oh! God! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [While he takes up a sheet of paper and adjusts himself, she stands at + the window staring with all her might at the boulder, till from behind + it the faun's head and shoulders emerge once more.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PROF. Very queer the power suggestion has over the mind. Very queer! + There's nothing really in animism, you know, except the curious shapes + rocks, trees and things take in certain lights—effect they have on + our imagination. [He looks up] What's the matter now? + </p> + <p> + WIFE. [Startled] Nothing! Nothing! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Her eyes waver to him again, and the FAUN vanishes. She turns again to + look at the boulder; there is nothing there; a little shiver of wind + blows some petals off the trees. She catches one of them, and turning + quickly, goes out through the curtain.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PROF. [Coming to himself and writing] "The Orpheus legend is the— er—apotheosis + of animism. Can we accept——" [His voice is lost in the sound + of his WIFE'S voice beginning again: "Orpheus with his lute—with his + lute made trees——" It dies in a sob. The PROFESSOR looks up + startled, as the curtain falls]. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Fine! Fine! + </p> + <p> + VANE. Take up the curtain. Mr Foreson? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The curtain goes up.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FORESON. Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Everybody on. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He and FRUST leave their seats and ascend on to the Stage, on which are + collecting the four Players.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Give us some light. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Electrics! Turn up your floats! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The footlights go up, and the blue goes out; the light is crude as at + the beginning.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FRUST. I'd like to meet Miss Hellgrove. [She comes forward eagerly and + timidly. He grasps her hand] Miss Hellgrove, I want to say I thought that + fine—fine. [Her evident emotion and pleasure warm him so that he + increases his grasp and commendation] Fine. It quite got my soft spots. + Emotional. Fine! + </p> + <p> + MISS H. Oh! Mr Frust; it means so much to me. Thank you! + </p> + <p> + FRUST. [A little balder in the eye, and losing warmth] Er—fine! [His + eye wanders] Where's Mr Flatway? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Fleetway. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FLEETWAY comes up.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FRUST. Mr Fleetway, I want to say I thought your Orphoos very remarkable. + Fine. + </p> + <p> + FLEETWAY. Thank you, sir, indeed—so glad you liked it. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. [A little balder in the eye] There wasn't much to it, but what + there was was fine. Mr Toone. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FLEETWAY melts out and TOONE is precipitated.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Mr Toone, I was very pleased with your Professor—quite a + character-study. [TOONE bows and murmurs] Yes, sir! I thought it fine. + [His eye grows bald] Who plays the goat? + </p> + <p> + MISS HOPK. [Appearing suddenly between the windows] I play the faun, Mr + Frost. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Introducing] Miss Maude 'Opkins. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Miss Hopkins, I guess your fawn was fine. + </p> + <p> + MISS HOPK. Oh! Thank you, Mr Frost. How nice of you to say so. I do so + enjoy playing him. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. [His eye growing bald] Mr Foreson, I thought the way you fixed that + tree was very cunning; I certainly did. Got a match? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He takes a match from FORESON, and lighting a very long cigar, walks up + Stage through the French windows followed by FORESON, and examines the + apple-tree.] [The two Actors depart, but Miss HELLGROVE runs from where + she has been lingering, by the curtain, to VANE, Stage Right.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MISS H. Oh! Mr Vane—do you think? He seemed quite—Oh! Mr Vane + [ecstatically] If only—— + </p> + <p> + VANE. [Pleased and happy] Yes, yes. All right—you were splendid. He + liked it. He quite—— + </p> + <p> + MISS H. [Clasping her hand] How wonderful Oh, Mr Vane, thank you! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She clasps his hands; but suddenly, seeing that FRUST is coming back, + fits across into the curtain and vanishes.] [The Stage, in the crude + light, as empty now save for FRUST, who, in the French windows, Centre, + is mumbling his cigar; and VANE, Stage Right, who is looking up into the + wings, Stage Left.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. [Calling up] That lighting's just right now, Miller. Got it marked + carefully? + </p> + <p> + ELECTRICS. Yes, Mr Vane. + </p> + <p> + VANE. Good. [To FRUST who as coming down] Well, sir? So glad—— + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Mr Vane, we got little Miggs on contract? + </p> + <p> + VANE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Well, I liked that little pocket piece fine. But I'm blamed if I + know what it's all about. + </p> + <p> + VANE. [A little staggered] Why! Of course it's a little allegory. The + tragedy of civilization—all real feeling for Beauty and Nature kept + out, or pent up even in the cultured. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Ye-ep. [Meditatively] Little Miggs'd be fine in "Pop goes the + Weasel." + </p> + <p> + VANE. Yes, he'd be all right, but—— + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Get him on the 'phone, and put it into rehearsal right now. + </p> + <p> + VANE. What! But this piece—I—I——! + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Guess we can't take liberties with our public, Mr Vane. They want + pep. + </p> + <p> + VANE. [Distressed] But it'll break that girl's heart. I—really—I + can't—— + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Give her the part of the 'tweeny in "Pop goes". + </p> + <p> + VANE. Mr Frust, I—I beg. I've taken a lot of trouble with this + little play. It's good. It's that girl's chance—and I—— + </p> + <p> + FRUST. We-ell! I certainly thought she was fine. Now, you 'phone up Miggs, + and get right along with it. I've only one rule, sir! Give the Public what + it wants; and what the Public wants is punch and go. They've got no use + for Beauty, Allegory, all that high-brow racket. I know 'em as I know my + hand. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [During this speech MISS HELLGROVE is seen listening by the French + window, in distress, unnoticed by either of them.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Mr Frost, the Public would take this, I'm sure they would; I'm + convinced of it. You underrate them. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. Now, see here, Mr Blewitt Vane, is this my theatre? I tell you, I + can't afford luxuries. + </p> + <p> + VANE. But it—it moved you, sir; I saw it. I was watching. + </p> + <p> + FRUST. [With unmoved finality] Mr Vane, I judge I'm not the average man. + Before "Louisa Loses" the Public'll want a stimulant. "Pop goes the + Weasel" will suit us fine. So—get right along with it. I'll go get + some lunch. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As he vanishes into the wings, Left, MISS HELLGROVE covers her face + with her hands. A little sob escaping her attracts VANE'S attention. He + takes a step towards her, but she flies.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. [Dashing his hands through his hair till it stands up] Damnation! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON walks on from the wings, Right.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FORESON. Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. "Punch and go!" That superstition! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FORESON walks straight out into the wings, Left.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VANE. Mr Foreson! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir? + </p> + <p> + VANE. This is scrapped. [With savagery] Tell 'em to set the first act of + "Louisa Loses," and put some pep into it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes out through the French windows with the wind still in his + hair.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FORESON. [In the centre of the Stage] Electrics! + </p> + <p> + ELECTRICS. Hallo! + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Where's Charlie? + </p> + <p> + ELECTRICS. Gone to his dinner. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Anybody on the curtain? + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. Yes, Mr Foreson. + </p> + <p> + FORESON. Put your curtain down. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He stands in the centre of the Stage with eyes uplifted as the curtain + descends.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC_"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + + End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hall-Marked and Others (Six Short + Plays), by John Galsworthy + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALL-MARKED AND OTHERS *** + + ***** This file should be named 2920-h.htm or 2920-h.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/2920/ + + Produced by David Widger + + Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions + will be renamed. + + Creating the works from public domain print editions 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-tm electronic works to + protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project + Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you + charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you + do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the + rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose + such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and + research. They may be modified and printed and given away—you may do + practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. 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-tm 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-tm License (available with this file or online at + https://gutenberg.org/license). + + Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm + electronic works + + 1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm + 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-tm electronic works in your possession. + If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project + Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement + and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the + collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an + individual work is in the public domain 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-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by + freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of + this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning + the copyright status of any work in any country outside 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-tm License must appear prominently + whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm 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 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 + + 1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived + from the public domain (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-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or + 1.E.9. + + 1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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-tm + License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this + work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + + 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-tm 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-tm work in a format other than + "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version + posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (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-tm + 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-tm 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-tm electronic works provided + that + + - You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm + 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-tm 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-tm works. + + 1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm + electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set + forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from + both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael + Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm 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 + public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm + collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project + Gutenberg-tm 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 F3. 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 MERCHANTIBILITY 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-tm electronic works in accordance + with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, + promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm + work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any + Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + + Project Gutenberg-tm 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, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's + goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm 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-tm 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 web page at https://www.pglaf.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. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at + https://pglaf.org/fundraising. 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 principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. + Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered + throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at + 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email + business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact + information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official + page at https://pglaf.org + + For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation + + Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide + spread 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 https://pglaf.org + + 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 including checks, online payments and credit card + donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic + works. + + Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm + concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared + with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project + Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed + editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain 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 Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + + This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, + 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. + subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + </body> +</html> |