Chapter X: Part 10

THE OLD MAN [_looking at the boards_]. Are there nails with them?

CATHLEEN. There are not, Colum; we didn't think of the nails.

ANOTHER MAN. It's a great wonder she wouldn't think of the nails, and all the coffins she's seen made already.

CATHLEEN. It's getting old she is, and broken. [_MAURYA stands up again very slowly and spreads out the pieces of MICHAEL's clothes beside the body, sprinkling them with the last of the Holy Water._]

NORA [_in a whisper to CATHLEEN_]. She's quiet now and easy; but the day Michael was drowned you could hear her crying out from this to the spring well. It's fonder she was of Michael, and would anyone have thought that?

CATHLEEN [_slowly and clearly_]. An old woman will be soon tired with anything she will do, and isn't it nine days herself is after crying and keening, and making great sorrow in the house?

MAURYA [_puts the empty cup mouth downwards on the table, and lays her hands together on BARTLEY's feet_]. They're all together this time, and the end is come. May the Almighty God have mercy on Bartley's soul, and on Michael's soul, and on the souls of Sheamus and Patch, and Stephen and Shawn [_bending her head_]; and may He have mercy on my soul, Nora, and on the soul of everyone is left living in the world. [_She pauses, and the keen rises a little more loudly from the women, then sinks away._]

MAURYA [_continuing_]. Michael has a clean burial in the far north, by the grace of the Almighty God. Bartley will have a fine coffin out of the white boards, and a deep grave surely. What more can we want than that? No man at all can be living forever, and we must be satisfied. [_She kneels down again and the curtain falls slowly._]

A NIGHT AT AN INN[45]

_A PLAY IN ONE ACT_

By LORD DUNSANY

[Footnote 45: Copyright, 1916, by The Sunwise Turn, Inc. All
rights reserved. The professional and amateur stage rights on
this play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications
for permission to produce the Play should be made to The
Neighborhood Playhouse, 466 Grand Street, New York.

Any infringement of the author's rights will be punished by
the penalties imposed under the United States Revised
Statutes, Title 60, Chapter 3.]

Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, eighteenth baron Dunsany, was born in 1878, a lord of the British Empire, heir to an ancient barony, created by Henry VI in the middle of the fifteenth century. He went from Eton to Sandhurst, the English military college, held a lieutenancy in a famous regiment, the Coldstream Guards, saw active service in the South African War and served in the Great War as an officer in the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers. He turned aside from his career as a soldier in 1906 to stand for West Wiltshire as the Conservative candidate, but he was defeated. He writes enthusiastically always of his interest in sport; he has gone to the ends of the earth to shoot big game. His first book, _The Gods of Pegana_, was published in 1905. He has since written sketches, fantastic tales, and plays,[46] and latterly introductions to the poems of Francis Ledwidge, the Irish peasant poet, who fell in battle in 1917. Dunsany's early plays were put on at the Abbey Theatre where Yeats produced _The Glittering Gate_ in 1909.

[Footnote 46: For bibliography see E. A. Boyd, _The
Contemporary Drama of Ireland_, Boston, 1917.]

The initial American productions were also made in Little Theatres, under the auspices of the Stage Society of Philadelphia and at The Neighborhood Playhouse in New York, where the first performance on any stage of _A Night at an Inn_ was given on April 22, 1916. It was an immediate success and aroused great general interest in Dunsany's other plays. It was remarked at the time that its scene on an English moor was far from "his own Oriental Never Never Land," and that it recalled in its substance _The Moonstone_ by Wilkie Collins and _The Mystery of Cloomber_ by A. Conan Doyle. Dunsany, unlike the other playwrights associated with the Irish National Theatre, has borrowed the glamour of the Orient rather than that of Celtic lore, to heighten his dramatic effects. There is, in fact, much that is Biblical in his mood and in his diction.

When, at a later date, Lord Dunsany saw the production of _A Night at an Inn_ at The Neighborhood Playhouse, the effect of the play "exceeded his own expectations, and he was surprised to note the thrill which it communicated to his audience. 'It's a very simple thing,' he said,--'merely a story of some sailors who have stolen something and know that they are followed. Possibly it is effective because nearly everybody, at some time or other, has done something he was sorry for, has been afraid of retribution, and has felt the hot breath of a pursuing vengeance on the back of his neck.... _A Night at an Inn_ was written between tea and dinner in a single sitting. That was very easy.'"[47]

[Footnote 47: Clayton Hamilton, _Seen on the Stage_, New
York, 1920, p. 238; p. 239.]

_A Night at an Inn_ is one of Dunsany's contributions to the revival of romance in our generation. In an article published ten years ago, called _Romance and the Modern Stage_, he wrote: "Romance is so inseparable from life that all we need, to obtain romantic drama, is for the dramatist to find any age or any country where life is not too thickly veiled and cloaked with puzzles and conventions, in fact to find a people that is not in the agonies of self-consciousness. For myself, I think it is simpler to imagine such a people, as it saves the trouble of reading to find a romantic age, or the trouble of making a journey to lands where there is no press.... The kind of drama that we most need to-day seems to me to be the kind that will build new worlds for the fancy; for the spirit, as much as the body, needs sometimes a change of scene."

A NIGHT AT AN INN

CHARACTERS

A. E. SCOTT-FORTESQUE (The Toff), _a dilapidated gentleman._
WILLIAM JONES (Bill) }
ALBERT THOMAS } _merchant sailors._
JACOB SMITH (Sniggers) }
First Priest of Klesh.
Second Priest of Klesh.
Third Priest of Klesh.
Klesh.

_The curtain rises on a room in an inn. SNIGGERS and BILL are talking, THE TOFF is reading a paper. ALBERT sits a little apart._

SNIGGERS. What's his idea, I wonder?

BILL. I don't know.

SNIGGERS. And how much longer will he keep us here?

BILL. We've been here three days.

SNIGGERS. And 'aven't seen a soul.

BILL. And a pretty penny it cost us when he rented the pub.

SNIGGERS. 'Ow long did 'e rent the pub for?

BILL. You never know with him.

SNIGGERS. It's lonely enough.

BILL. 'Ow long did you rent the pub for, Toffy? [_THE TOFF continues to read a sporting paper; he takes no notice of what is said._]

SNIGGERS. 'E's _such_ a toff.

BILL. Yet 'e's clever, no mistake.

SNIGGERS. Those clever ones are the beggars to make a muddle. Their plans are clever enough, but they don't work, and then they make a mess of things much worse than you or me.

BILL. Ah!

SNIGGERS. I don't like this place.

BILL. Why not?

SNIGGERS. I don't like the looks of it.

BILL. He's keeping us here because here those niggers can't find us. The three heathen priests what was looking for us so. But we want to go and sell our ruby soon.

ALBERT. There's no sense in it.

BILL. Why not, Albert?

ALBERT. Because I gave those black devils the slip in Hull.

BILL. You give 'em the slip, Albert?

ALBERT. The slip, all three of them. The fellows with the gold spots on their foreheads. I had the ruby then and I give them the slip in Hull.

BILL. How did you do it, Albert?

ALBERT. I had the ruby and they were following me....

BILL. Who told them you had the ruby? You didn't show it.

ALBERT. No.... But they kind of know.

SNIGGERS. They kind of know, Albert?

ALBERT. Yes, they know if you've got it. Well, they sort of mouched after me, and I tells a policeman and he says, O, they were only three poor niggers and they wouldn't hurt me. Ugh! When I thought of what they did in Malta to poor old Jim.

BILL. Yes, and to George in Bombay before we started.

SNIGGERS. Ugh!

BILL. Why didn't you give 'em in charge?

ALBERT. What about the ruby, Bill?

BILL. Ah!

ALBERT. Well, I did better than that. I walks up and down through Hull. I walks slow enough. And then I turns a corner and I runs. I never sees a corner but I turns it. But sometimes I let a corner pass just to fool them. I twists about like a hare. Then I sits down and waits. No priests.

SNIGGERS. What?

ALBERT. No heathen black devils with gold spots on their face. I give 'em the slip.

BILL. Well done, Albert!

SNIGGERS [_after a sigh of content_]. Why didn't you tell us?

ALBERT. 'Cause 'e won't let you speak. 'E's got 'is plans and 'e thinks we're silly folk. Things must be done 'is way. And all the time I've give 'em the slip. Might 'ave 'ad one o' them crooked knives in him before now but for me who give 'em the slip in Hull.

BILL. Well done, Albert! Do you hear that, Toffy? Albert has give 'em the slip.

THE TOFF. Yes, I hear.

SNIGGERS. Well, what do you say to that?

THE TOFF. O.... Well done, Albert!

ALBERT. And what a' you going to do?

THE TOFF. Going to wait.

ALBERT. Don't seem to know what 'e's waiting for.

SNIGGERS. It's a nasty place.

ALBERT. It's getting silly, Bill. Our money's gone and we want to sell the ruby. Let's get on to a town.

BILL. But 'e won't come.

ALBERT. Then we'll leave him.

SNIGGERS. We'll be all right if we keep away from Hull.

ALBERT. We'll go to London.

BILL. But 'e must 'ave 'is share.

SNIGGERS. All right. Only let's go. [_To THE TOFF._] We're going, do you hear? Give us the ruby.

THE TOFF. Certainly. [_He gives them a ruby from his waistcoat pocket; it is the size of a small hen's egg. He goes on reading his paper._]

ALBERT. Come on, Sniggers. [_Exeunt ALBERT and SNIGGERS._]

BILL. Good-by, old man. We'll give you your fair share, but there's nothing to do here--no girls, no halls, and we must sell the ruby.

THE TOFF. I'm not a fool, Bill.

BILL. No, no, of course not. Of course you ain't, and you've helped us a lot. Good-by. You'll say good-by?

THE TOFF. Oh, yes. Good-by. [_Still reads his paper. Exit BILL. THE TOFF puts a revolver on the table beside him and goes on with his papers. After a moment the three men come rushing in again, frightened._]

SNIGGERS [_out of breath_]. We've come back, Toffy.

THE TOFF. So you have.

ALBERT. Toffy.... How did they get here?

THE TOFF. They walked, of course.

ALBERT. But it's eighty miles.

SNIGGERS. Did you know they were here, Toffy?

THE TOFF. Expected them about now.

ALBERT. Eighty miles!

BILL. Toffy, old man ... what are we to do?

THE TOFF. Ask Albert.

BILL. If they can do things like this, there's no one can save us but you, Toffy.... I always knew you were a clever one. We won't be fools any more. We'll obey you, Toffy.

THE TOFF. You're brave enough and strong enough. There isn't many that would steal a ruby eye out of an idol's head, and such an idol as that was to look at, and on such a night. You're brave enough, Bill. But you're all three of you fools. Jim would have none of my plans, and where's Jim? And George. What did they do to him?

SNIGGERS. Don't, Toffy!

THE TOFF. Well, then, your strength is no use to you. You want cleverness; or they'll have you the way they had George and Jim.

ALL. Ugh!

THE TOFF. Those black priests would follow you round the world in circles. Year after year, till they got the idol's eye. And if we died with it, they'd follow our grandchildren. That fool thinks he can escape from men like that by running round three streets in the town of Hull.

ALBERT. God's truth, _you_ 'aven't escaped them, because they're _'ere_.

THE TOFF. So I supposed.

ALBERT. You _supposed_!

THE TOFF. Yes, I believe there's no announcement in the Society papers. But I took this country seat especially to receive them. There's plenty of room if you dig, it is pleasantly situated, and, what is more important, it is in a very quiet neighborhood. So I am at home to them this afternoon.

BILL. Well, _you're_ a deep one.

THE TOFF. And remember, you've only my wits between you and death, and don't put your futile plans against those of an educated gentleman.

ALBERT. If you're a gentleman, why don't you go about among gentlemen instead of the likes of us?

THE TOFF. Because I was too clever for them as I am too clever for you.

ALBERT. Too clever for them?

THE TOFF. I never lost a game of cards in my life.

BILL. You never lost a game?

THE TOFF. Not when there was money in it.

BILL. Well, well!

THE TOFF. Have a game of poker?

ALL. No, thanks.

THE TOFF. Then do as you're told.

BILL. All right, Toffy.

SNIGGERS. I saw something just then. Hadn't we better draw the curtains?

THE TOFF. No.

SNIGGERS. What?

THE TOFF. Don't draw the curtains.

SNIGGERS. O, all right.

BILL. But, Toffy, they can see us. One doesn't let the enemy do that. I don't see why....

THE TOFF. No, of course you don't.

BILL. O, all right, Toffy. [_All begin to pull out revolvers._]

THE TOFF [_putting his own away_]. No revolvers, please.

ALBERT. Why not?

THE TOFF. Because I don't want any noise at my party. We might get guests that hadn't been invited. _Knives_ are a different matter. [_All draw knives. THE TOFF signs to them not to draw them yet. TOFFY has already taken back his ruby._]

BILL. I think they're coming, Toffy.

THE TOFF. Not yet.

ALBERT. When will they come?

THE TOFF. When I am quite ready to receive them. Not before.

SNIGGERS. I should like to get this over.

THE TOFF. Should you? Then we'll have them now.

SNIGGERS. Now?

THE TOFF. Yes. Listen to me. You shall do as you see me do. You will all pretend to go out. I'll show you how. I've got the ruby. When they see me alone they will come for their idol's eye.

BILL. How can they tell like this which of us has it?

THE TOFF. I confess I don't know, but they seem to.

SNIGGERS. What will you do when they come in?

THE TOFF. I shall do nothing.

SNIGGERS. What?

THE TOFF. They will creep up behind me. Then, my friends, Sniggers and Bill and Albert, who gave them the slip, will do what they can.

BILL. All right, Toffy. Trust us.

THE TOFF. If you're a little slow, you will see enacted the cheerful spectacle that accompanied the demise of Jim.

SNIGGERS. Don't, Toffy. We'll be there, all right.

THE TOFF. Very well. Now watch me. [_He goes past the windows to the inner door R. He opens it inwards, then under cover of the open door, he slips down on his knee and closes it, remaining on the inside, appearing to have gone out. He signs to the others, who understand. Then he appears to re-enter in the same manner._]

THE TOFF. Now, I shall sit with my back to the door. You go out one by one, so far as our friends can make out. Crouch very low to be on the safe side. They mustn't see you through the window. [_BILL makes his sham exit._]

THE TOFF. Remember, no revolvers. The police are, I believe, proverbially inquisitive. [_The other two follow BILL. All three are now crouching inside the door R. THE TOFF puts the ruby beside him on the table. He lights a cigarette. The door at the back opens so slowly that you can hardly say at what moment it began. THE TOFF picks up his paper. A native of India wriggles along the floor ever so slowly, seeking cover from chairs. He moves L. where THE TOFF is. The three sailors are R. SNIGGERS and ALBERT lean forward. BILL's arm keeps them back. An arm-chair had better conceal them from the Indian. The black Priest nears THE TOFF. BILL watches to see if any more are coming. Then he leaps forward alone--he has taken his boots off--and knifes the Priest. The Priest tries to shout but BILL's left hand is over his mouth. THE TOFF continues to read his sporting paper. He never looks around._]

BILL [_sotto voce_]. There's only one, Toffy. What shall we do?

THE TOFF [_without turning his head_]. Only one?

BILL. Yes.

THE TOFF. Wait a moment. Let me think. [_Still apparently absorbed in his paper._] Ah, yes. You go back, Bill. We must attract another guest.... Now, are you ready?

BILL. Yes.

THE TOFF. All right. You shall now see my demise at my Yorkshire residence. You must receive guests for me. [_He leaps up in full view of the window, flings up both arms and falls to the floor near the dead Priest._] Now, be ready. [_His eyes close. There is a long pause. Again the door opens, very, very slowly. Another priest creeps in. He has three golden spots upon his forehead. He looks round, then he creeps up to his companion and turns him over and looks inside of his clenched hands. Then he looks at the recumbent TOFF. Then he creeps toward him. BILL slips after him and knifes him like the other with his left hand over his mouth._]

BILL [_sotto voce_]. We've only got two, Toffy.

THE TOFF. Still another.

BILL. What'll we do?

THE TOFF [_sitting up_]. Hum.

BILL. This is the best way, much.

THE TOFF. Out of the question. Never play the same game twice.

BILL. Why not, Toffy?

THE TOFF. Doesn't work if you do.

BILL. Well?

THE TOFF. I have it, Albert. You will now walk into the room. I showed you how to do it.

ALBERT. Yes.

THE TOFF. Just run over here and have a fight at this window with these two men.

ALBERT. But they're ...

THE TOFF. Yes, they're dead, my perspicuous Albert. But Bill and I are going to resuscitate them.... Come on. [_BILL picks up a body under the arms._]

THE TOFF. That's right, Bill. [_Does the same._] Come and help us, Sniggers.... [_SNIGGERS comes._] Keep low, keep low. Wave their arms about, Sniggers. Don't show yourself. Now, Albert, over you go. Our Albert is slain. Back you get, Bill. Back, Sniggers. Still, Albert. Mustn't move when he comes. Not a muscle. [_A face appears at the window and stays for some time. Then the door opens and, looking craftily round, the third Priest enters. He looks at his companions' bodies and turns round. He suspects something. He takes up one of the knives and with a knife in each hand he puts his back to the wall. He looks to the left and right._]

THE TOFF. Come on, Bill. [_The Priest rushes to the door. THE TOFF knifes the last Priest from behind._]

THE TOFF. A good day's work, my friends.

BILL. Well done, Toffy. Oh, you are a deep one!

ALBERT. A deep one if ever there was one.

SNIGGERS. There ain't any more, Bill, are there?

THE TOFF. No more in the world, my friend.

BILL. Aye, that's all there are. There were only three in the temple. Three priests and their beastly idol.

ALBERT. What is it worth, Toffy? Is it worth a thousand pounds?

THE TOFF. It's worth all they've got in the shop. Worth just whatever we like to ask for it.

ALBERT. Then we're millionaires now.

THE TOFF. Yes, and, what is more important, we no longer have any heirs.

BILL. We'll have to sell it now.

ALBERT. That won't be easy. It's a pity it isn't small and we had half a dozen. Hadn't the idol any other on him?

BILL. No, he was green jade all over and only had this one eye. He had it in the middle of his forehead and was a long sight uglier than anything else in the world.

SNIGGERS. I'm sure we ought all to be very grateful to Toffy.

BILL. And, indeed, we ought.

ALBERT. If it hadn't been for him....

BILL. Yes, if it hadn't been for old Toffy....

SNIGGERS. He's a deep one.

THE TOFF. Well, you see I just have a knack of foreseeing things.

SNIGGERS. I should think you did.

BILL. Why, I don't suppose anything happens that our Toff doesn't foresee. Does it, Toffy?

THE TOFF. Well, I don't think it does, Bill. I don't think it often does.

BILL. Life is no more than just a game of cards to our old Toff.

THE TOFF. Well, we've taken these fellows' trick.

SNIGGERS [_going to window_]. It wouldn't do for anyone to see them.

THE TOFF. Oh, nobody will come this way. We're all alone on a moor.

BILL. Where will we put them?

THE TOFF. Bury them in the cellar, but there's no hurry.

BILL. And what then, Toffy?

THE TOFF. Why, then we'll go to London and upset the ruby business. We have really come through this job very nicely.

BILL. I think the first thing that we ought to do is to give a little supper to old Toffy. We'll bury these fellows to-night.

ALBERT. Yes, let's.

SNIGGERS. The very thing!

BILL. And we'll all drink his health.

ALBERT. Good old Toffy!

SNIGGERS. He ought to have been a general or a premier. [_They get bottles from cupboard, etc._]

THE TOFF. Well, we've earned our bit of a supper. [_They sit down._]

BILL [_glass in hand_]. Here's to old Toffy, who guessed everything!

ALBERT and SNIGGERS. Good old Toffy!

BILL. Toffy, who saved our lives and made our fortunes.

ALBERT and SNIGGERS. Hear! Hear!

THE TOFF. And here's to Bill, who saved me twice to-night.

BILL. Couldn't have done it but for your cleverness, Toffy.

SNIGGERS. Hear, hear! Hear! Hear!

ALBERT. He foresees everything.

BILL. A speech, Toffy. A speech from our general.

ALL. Yes, a speech.

SNIGGERS. A speech.

THE TOFF. Well, get me some water. This whisky's too much for my head, and I must keep it clear till our friends are safe in the cellar.

BILL. Water? Yes, of course. Get him some water, Sniggers.

SNIGGERS. We don't use water here. Where shall I get it?

BILL. Outside in the garden. [_Exit SNIGGERS._]

ALBERT. Here's to future!

BILL. Here's to Albert Thomas, Esquire.

ALBERT. And William Jones, Esquire. [_Re-enter SNIGGERS, terrified._]

THE TOFF. Hullo, here's Jacob Smith, Esquire, J. P., alias Sniggers, back again.

SNIGGERS. Toffy, I've been thinking about my share in that ruby. I don't want it, Toffy; I don't want it.

THE TOFF. Nonsense, Sniggers. Nonsense.

SNIGGERS. You shall have it, Toffy, you shall have it yourself, only say Sniggers has no share in this 'ere ruby. Say it, Toffy, say it!

BILL. Want to turn informer, Sniggers?

SNIGGERS. No, no. Only I don't want the ruby, Toffy....

THE TOFF. No more nonsense, Sniggers. We're all in together in this. If one hangs, we all hang; but they won't outwit me. Besides, it's not a hanging affair, they had their knives.

SNIGGERS. Toffy, Toffy, I always treated you fair, Toffy. I was always one to say, Give Toffy a chance. Take back my share, Toffy.

THE TOFF. What's the matter? What are you driving at?

SNIGGERS. Take it back, Toffy.

THE TOFF. Answer me, what are you up to?

SNIGGERS. I don't want my share any more.

BILL. Have you seen the police? [_ALBERT pulls out his knife._]

THE TOFF. No, no knives, Albert.

ALBERT. What then?

THE TOFF. The honest truth in open court, barring the ruby. We were attacked.

SNIGGERS. There's no police.

THE TOFF. Well, then, what's the matter?

BILL. Out with it.

SNIGGERS. I swear to God....

ALBERT. Well?

THE TOFF. Don't interrupt.

SNIGGERS. I swear I saw something _what I didn't like_.

THE TOFF. What you didn't like?

SNIGGERS [_in tears_]. O Toffy, Toffy, take it back. Take my share. Say you take it.

THE TOFF. What has he seen? [_Dead silence, only broken by SNIGGERS'S sobs. Then steps are heard. Enter a hideous idol. It is blind and gropes its way. It gropes its way to the ruby and picks it up and screws it into a socket in the forehead. SNIGGERS still weeps softly, the rest stare in horror. The idol steps out, not groping. Its steps move off, then stop._]

THE TOFF. O, great heavens!

ALBERT [_in a childish, plaintive voice_]. What is it, Toffy?

BILL. Albert, it is that obscene idol [_in a whisper_] come from India.

ALBERT. It is gone.

BILL. It has taken its eye.

SNIGGERS. We are saved.

A VOICE OFF [_with outlandish accent_]. Meestaire William Jones, Able Seaman. [_THE TOFF has never spoken, never moved. He only gazes stupidly in horror._]

BILL. Albert, Albert, what is this? [_He rises and walks out. One moan is heard. SNIGGERS goes to the window. He falls back sickly._]

ALBERT [_in a whisper_]. What has happened?

SNIGGERS. I have seen it. I have seen it. O, I have seen it! [_He returns to table._]

THE TOFF [_laying his hand very gently on SNIGGERS's arm, speaking softly and winningly._] What was it, Sniggers?

SNIGGERS. I have seen it.

ALBERT. What?

SNIGGERS. O!

VOICE. Meestaire Albert Thomas, Able Seaman.

ALBERT. Must I go, Toffy? Toffy, must I go?

SNIGGERS [_clutching him_]. Don't move.

ALBERT [_going_]. Toffy, Toffy. [_Exit._]

VOICE. Meestaire Jacob Smith, Able Seaman.

SNIGGERS. I can't go, Toffy. I can't go. I can't do it. [_He goes._]

VOICE. Meestaire Arnold Everett Scott-Fortescue, late Esquire, Able Seaman.

THE TOFF. I did not foresee it. [_Exit._]

[THE CURTAIN.]

THE TWILIGHT SAINT[48]

By STARK YOUNG

[Footnote 48: Copyright, 1921, by Stark Young. Acting rights,
amateur and professional, must be secured from the author,
care of the New York Drama League, 7 East 42 Street, New
York.]

Stark Young, dramatist and critic, the author of _The Twilight Saint_, was born in Como, Mississippi, on October 11, 1881. He was graduated from the university of his native state and a year later took his master's degree at Columbia University. From 1907 to 1915 he taught at the University of Texas, and from 1915 to 1921 he was professor of English at Amherst College. His travels have taken him to Greece, and to Spain, and to Italy where he has lingered, making a special study of the native drama.

The text of _The Twilight Saint_ has undergone revision by the author since its first appearance. It was acted in 1918 with _Madretta_, another of the author's plays, at the dramatic school of the Carnegie Institute of Technology in Pittsburgh, under the direction of Thomas Wood Stevens. The author writes: "The only instruction I should like to propose is that the actor of St. Francis keep him very simple, not get him moralizing and long-faced. In Egan's book on St. Francis[49] there is a picture of the preaching to the birds in which Boutet de Monvel shows a Tuscan type that is my idea of the man simplified." The play itself suggests charming by-ways of literature that lead in one direction perhaps to Hewlett's _Earthwork Out of Tuscany_ and Josephine Preston Peabody's _The Wolf of Gubbio_, and in another possibly to the Saint's own _Little Flowers_, and _Canticle to the Sun_.

[Footnote 49: Maurice F. Egan, _Everybody's St. Francis_,
with pictures by M. Boutet de Monvel, New York, 1912.]

THE TWILIGHT SAINT

CHARACTERS

GUIDO, _the husband, a young poet._
LISETTA, _his wife._
PIA, _a neighbor woman._
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI.

_In the year 1215 A.D._

_A room in GUIDO's house, on a hillside near Bevagna. It is a poor apartment, clumsily kept. On your left near the front is a bed; on the floor by the bed lie scattered pages of manuscript. A table littered with manuscripts and crockery stands against the back wall of the room to the right. On the right hand wall is a big fireplace with copper vessels and brass. A bench sits by the fireplace and several stools about the room. On the stone flags two sheepskins are spread._

_Through the open door in the middle of the back wall rises the slope of a hill, green with spring and starred with flowers. A stream is visible through the grass and the drowsy sound of the water fills the air. The late yellow sunlight falls through a window over the bed like gilding and floods the hill without._

_LISETTA lies on the bed, still, her eyes closed. PIA sits on the ingle bench, halfway in the great fireplace, shelling peas. She is a little peasant woman with a kerchief on her head and a wrinkled face as brown as a nut._

_GUIDO sits at the table, his face to the wall, his chin on his palm._

PIA.

Guido, Guido, thou hast not spoke this hour,
Nor read one word nor written aught. Dear Lord,
The lion on the palace at Assisi
Sits not more still in stone! Guido, look thou!

GUIDO [_turning round without looking at her_].

Yes, old Pia, good neighbor.

PIA.

Yes, old Pia! Guido, grieve not so much,
Lisetta will be well before the spring
Comes round again.

GUIDO.

Yes, Lisetta will be well perhaps. God grant!

PIA.

Well, what then?

GUIDO.

'Tis not only of her I think, Pia, here am I
Shut in this house from month to month a nurse;
Here lies she sick, this child, and may not stir;
And I, lacking due means to hire, must serve
The house; while my best self, my soul, my art,
Rust. My soul is scorched with holy thirst,
My temples throb, my veins run fire; but yet,
For all my dim distress and vague desire,
No word, no single song, no verse, has come--
O Blessed God!--stifled with creature needs,
And with necessity about my throat!

PIA.

Thy corner is too hot, the glaring sun
Is yet on the wall.

GUIDO.

'Tis not that sun that maddens me, O Pia!
Can you not see me shrunk? Have you not heard
That other Guido of Perugia
How he is grown? How lately at the feast
That Ugolino, the great cardinal,
Spread at Assisi Easter night, Guido
Read certain of his verses and declaimed
Pages of cursed sonnets to the guests.

PIA.

Young Guido of Perugia, thy friend?

GUIDO.

Yea. And when he ended, came the Duke
Down from the dais to kiss that Guido's hand
Humbly, and said that poesy was king.

PIA.

Madonna, kissed by the Duke!

GUIDO.

And I, O God, I might have honor too
Could I but break this prison where I drudge!

PIA.

Speak low, her sleep is light. Her road is hard
As well as thine. For all this year, since thou
Didst bring her to Rieto here to us,
Hath she lain on her bed, broken with pain,
This child that is thy wife and loveth thee.

GUIDO.

Aye, yes, 'tis true, she loveth me, she loveth me,
And I love her. 'Tis worse--add grief to care,
And Poesy fares worse.

PIA.

And she is grown most pale and still of late.

GUIDO.

Look, Pia, how she lieth there like death,
That far-off patience on her face. Now, now,
Surely I needs must make a song! And yet
I may not; ashes and floor-sweeping clog
My soul within me!

PIA.

Nay, let thy dreams pass. Look thou, how pale!
Dear Lord, how blue her little veins do shine!

GUIDO.

Thou art most kind, good neighbor, to come here
Helping our house. And it is very strange
That when we are so kind we cannot know
The heart also. For in my soul I hear
A bell summoning me always--

PIA.

If I should stew in milk the peas, maybe--
Do you think the child would eat it?

GUIDO.

For thy world is not my world, kind old friend.

PIA.

Why do you not walk, Guido, for a while,
I have an hour yet.

GUIDO.

Then I will go, Pia. But not for long,
I will come back soon enough to my chores, be sure;
Mine is a short tether.

[_He goes out. LISETTA on the bed opens her eyes._]

LISETTA.

Pia.

PIA.

Yes, dear child.

LISETTA.

Pia, turn my pillow, I am stifled.

PIA.

There! Thou hast slept well?

LISETTA.

I have not slept.

PIA.

Holy Virgin, thou hast not slept!

LISETTA.

Pia, think you I did not know? This month
I scarce have slept for thinking on his lot.
I read his fighting soul. Where are his songs,
The great renown that waited him? Down, down,
Struck by the self-same hand that shattered me.
I listen night on night and hear him moan
In his sleep--

PIA.

It is his love for thee, Lisetta.

LISETTA.

The padre from the village hemmed and said
That God had sent me and my sickness here
For Guido's cross to bear, his scourge. They thought
I slept--

PIA.

Thou hast dreamed this, he loveth thee, Lisetta.

LISETTA.

Yea, loveth me somewhat but glory more.
And I would have it so. O Mother of God,
When wilt thou send me death? O Blessed Mother,
I have lain so still!

PIA.

Beware, Lisetta, tempt not God!

LISETTA.

Death is the sister of all them that weep, Pia.

PIA.

Child, child, try thou to sleep.

LISETTA.

For thy sake will I try.

PIA.

Aye, sleep now. I will smooth thy bed.
[_PIA begins to draw up the covers smooth. She stops suddenly
to listen._]
Hist!

LISETTA.

What, good Pia?

PIA.

Footsteps. Look, it is a monk.

[_FRANCIS OF ASSISI comes to the door._]

FRANCIS.

I have not eaten food this day. Hast thou
Somewhat that I may eat?

PIA.

Alas, poor brother, sit thee here; there's bread
And cheese and lentils, eat thy store. Poor 'tis,
But given in His name.

FRANCIS.

I will eat then and bless thee.

PIA.

He taketh but a crust!

FRANCIS.

It is enough. He that hath eaten long
The bread of the heart hath little hunger in him.

PIA.

Sit thou and rest, poor soul.

FRANCIS.

Nay, I must go on. My daughter, child,
Thou sleepest not for all thy lowered lids.
Tears quiver on thy lashes, hast thou pain?

LISETTA.

The tears of women even in dreams may fall,
Good brother. Wilt thou not bide?

FRANCIS.

I must fare on.

LISETTA.

Aye, aye, the world lies open to thy hand,
But unto me this twelvemonth is a death.
The flesh is dead, and dying lies my soul,
Shrunk like a flower in my fevered hand.

FRANCIS [_he goes over and stands beside the bed_].

My dear.

LISETTA.

I may not see the stars rise on the hills,
Nor tend the flocks at even, nor rise to do
Aught of the small sweet round of duties owed
To him I love; but lie a burden to him,
Calling on death who heareth not.

FRANCIS.

My life hath given me words for thee to hear.

LISETTA.

Surely thy life is peace.

FRANCIS.

There is a life larger than life, that dwells
Invisible from all; whose lack alone
Is death. There in thy soul the stars may rise,
And at the even the gentle thoughts return
To flock the quiet pastures of the mind;
And in the large heart love is all thou owest
For service unto God and thy Beloved.

LISETTA.

Little Brother!

FRANCIS.

May you have God's peace, dear friends. Farewell.

[_He goes out. PIA stands a moment wiping her eyes, then returns to shelling the peas. There is a silence for a while._]

PIA.

Why dost thou look so long upon the door?

LISETTA.

Pia, the spring smiles on the tender grass,
Surely the sun is brighter where he stood.

PIA.

'Tis a glaring sun for twilight.

LISETTA.

Pia, 'twill be the gentlest of all eves.
Surely God sent the brother for my need,
To give His peace.

PIA.

Aye, and my old heart ripens at his words
Like apples in the sun. 'Tis a sweet monk.

LISETTA.

Who is he, think you?

PIA.

One of the Little Poor Men, by his brown.
They are too thin, these brothers, and do lack
Stomach for life. [_She returns to the peas._] Mark, oh, 'tis merry now
To see the little beggars from their pods
Popping like schoolboys from their shoes in spring!
The season hath been so fine and dry this year
My peas are smaller and must have more work.
Well, well, labor is good, and things made scarce
Are better loved.

LISETTA.

Pia, thou art a good woman.

PIA.

Child, do not make me cry. 'Tis thy pure heart
Deceives thee. Stubborn I am and full of sloth,
And a wicked old thing.

LISETTA.

I would not grieve thee. Pia, 'twas my love
That sees thy goodness better than thyself.

PIA [_hanging the kettle of peas over the coals_].

Lisetta, I see the sky at the chimney top.

[_PIA begins to sing in her sweet, old, cracked voice, as she stirs the pot_:]

_Firefly, firefly, come from the shadows,
Twilight is falling over the meadows,
Burn, little garden lamps, flicker and shimmer,
Shine, little meadow stars, twinkle and glimmer.
Firefly, firefly, shine, shine!_

LISETTA.

Pia.

PIA.

Yes.

LISETTA.

Pia, come near me here. [_PIA kneels by the bed._] Can you not see
How much I love? If I could only speak
To him or he to me, Guido, my love!

PIA.

Surely he is beside thee often.

LISETTA.

His hand is near, but not his heart.

PIA.

Nay, child, 'tis Guido's way. He speaks but little.
When I speak to him look what he says,
"Yes, good Pia," 'tis not much.

LISETTA.

Aye, tell me not. On winter nights I lay
Hearing the tree limbs rattle there like hail,
And from the corner eaves the dropping rain
Like big dogs lapping all about--and he
Spoke not to me. He sat beside his taper
But never a line wrote down. Once I had words,
Bright dreams, that shone through him, the same fire shone
Through both, his songs were mine!

PIA.

Yes, thine--rest thee, rest thee!

LISETTA.

But more his, Pia, more his!

PIA.

Aye, his. Wilt thou not eat the broth?

LISETTA.

Not now, good Pia, 'tis not for food I die.
'Tis not for food.

PIA.

Yet thou must eat.

LISETTA.

Wilt thou not read one song of these to me?

PIA.

Close then thine eyes and rest.

[_LISETTA closes her eyes. A shepherd's pipe far-off and faint begins to play; from this on to the end of the play you can hear the shepherd's pipe. PIA takes up at random a sheet of the manuscripts. She sighs a great sigh, and begins to mimic LISETTA's voice._]

THE BALLAD OF THE RUNNING WATER

O music locked amid the stones,
Beside the--amid the--

LISETTA.

Read on--and thou hast told me day by day
Thou couldst not read.

PIA.

I read from hearing thee from day to day
Repeat the verses.

LISETTA.

Fie! Give them to me here.

[_She takes the paper and holds it in her hands on her breast, and reads without looking at it._]

_O music locked amid the stones,
My love hath spoken like to thee,_

Pia, think you--Pia, do you not hear
The mowers and the reapers in the fields
Singing the evening song, and the twilight pipes?
The twilight is the hour when hearts break!
How many lonely twilights will there be
Ere God will spare me?

PIA [_kneeling_].

Hush, child, hush, darling!

[_LISETTA turns her face to the window by the bed. PIA strokes her hand and sings softly:_]

_Firefly, firefly, come from the shadows--_

There!--he is coming now, I hear his steps
Upon the gravel road. Good-night, sweet child,
I'll get me home.

LISETTA.
Pia, good-night once more.

[_PIA slips away. GUIDO enters softly. The twilight is gone and the moon falls through the window over the bed. The hill outside is bright with moonlight._]

GUIDO [_softly_].

Asleep, Lisetta?

LISETTA.

Guido! Ah, I have need of naught, Guido.
Thou needst not leave yet the pleasant air.

GUIDO.

Lisetta, my love, I have been long from thee.

LISETTA.

Let not that trouble thee, my needs are few,
And Pia is most kind.

GUIDO.

So little I may do.

LISETTA.

Thou hast already served to weariness.

[_He kneels beside her bed._]

GUIDO.

My love, I have been long from thee, but now
I will not leave thee any more. Oh, God,
Let these kisses tell my heart to her.

LISETTA.

Guido, my love, perhaps I dream of thee!
Perhaps God sends a dream to solace me.

GUIDO.

Along the stream I went and where it crossed
Bevagna road--where the chestnut grows, thou knowest--
Lisetta, I saw him.

LISETTA.

Yes, yes, I know, whom sawest thou?

GUIDO.

The brother, Francis of Assisi.

LISETTA.

Guido, sawest thou him?

GUIDO.

Aye, him. There had he stopped to rest, being spent;
And round him came the birds, beating their wings
Upon his cloak and lighting on his arm.
I saw him smile on them and heard him speak!
"My brother birds, little brothers, ye should love God
Who gave you your wings and your bright songs and spread
The soft air for you." He stroked their necks
And blessed them. And then I saw his eyes.
"Father," I cried, "speak thou to me, I faint
Beside my way!"

LISETTA.

Aye, and he said? Guido, what said he?

GUIDO.

"Thou art as one that lieth at the gate
Of Paradise and entereth not. For God
Hath given thee thy soul for its own life,
And not for glory among men."

LISETTA.

Guido!

GUIDO.

Lisetta, from his kind eyes I drank, and knew
How God had magnified my soul through him,
And sent me peace. And I returned to thee;
For here in thee have I my glory.

LISETTA.

Guido, the old spring comes back again. And now
I may speak. Guido, look through my window vines there
Where the stars rise. O Love, I have not slept
For lacking thee. And often have I seen
The moonlight lie like sleep upon the hill,
And in the garden of the sky the moon
Drift like a blown rose, Guido, and yet
I might not speak.

GUIDO.

Thou art my saint and shrine!

LISETTA.

Now shall my dream become thy song again,
And the long twilight be more sweet, Guido!

GUIDO.

I pray thee rest thee now and sleep. Good-night.
My full heart breaks in song; and I will sit
Hearing the blessed saints within my soul,
And will not stir from thee lest thou shouldst wake
When I might not be near to serve thy need.

[_The shepherd pipe far-off and faint is heard playing._]

[THE CURTAIN.]

THE MASQUE OF THE TWO STRANGERS[50]

By LADY ALIX EGERTON

[Footnote 50: Reprinted by special arrangement with Gowans &
Gray. Ltd., Glasgow. The acting rights are reserved.]

Between the Lady Alice Egerton, who acted in the masque of _Comus_, which Milton composed for presentation before John, earl of Bridgewater, then President of Wales, and the Lady Alix Egerton, author of _The Masque of the Two Strangers_, lie three hundred years; but throughout these centuries the descendants of the first earl of Bridgewater have cherished consistently the great traditions of English literature. The family has owned for many generations the Ellesmere Chaucer and the Bridgewater manuscript of _Comus_, both of which have recently been edited by the twentieth century Lady Alix Egerton.

Her _The Masque of the Two Strangers_ here reprinted was given at the Washington Irving High School in March, 1921. The designs for the costumes used in this production are here illustrated. The following notes will help the reader to reconstruct the costumes from the pictures:

I. _The Princess_
White soft material.
Spangled trimming.
Mantle of blue.
Veil of blue net.
Hennin (head dress) in silver.

II. _Hope_
Glass ball.
Lavender under slip.
Veil of rose pink.

III. _Joy_
Draping of orange yellow.
Flowers of various colors.
Vermilion scarf.

IV. _Love_
Long, full cape of deep purple; cowl falling back.
Cerise costume.
Silver surcoat and helmet.

V. _Laughter_
Yellow and black.
Trimming of bells.

VI. _Poetry_
Light green with silver; paper design on border.

VII. _Song_
Robe dyed in rainbow hues.
Silver wings.

VIII. _Dance_
Vermilion.

IX. _Power_
Bright blue.
Gems.
Gilt headpiece jeweled.
Mantle and sash of purple.

X. _Fame_
Robe of deep green.
Gold border.
Laurel leaves on gold crown.

XI. _Riches_
Knight's close-fitting short coat of henna.
(Flannel dyed to represent felt or leather.)
Gold lacings; gold paper design on coat; gold and henna helmet.

XII. _Service_
Soft yellow shaded to brown at bottom of skirt and sleeves.
Front panel of dark green forming part of head drapery.

XIII. _Sorrow_
Gray.

XIV. _Herald_
Dark red and gold.

_PROLOGUE_

[_Enter a JESTER._]

Good people, of your gentle courtesy,
I pray your patience, now, and list to me.
Before you I will here present to-day
A story told in the medieval way.
Now sad--now merry--here and there a song,
While through it all a meaning runs along.
On this side is the Court of Youth where dwells
A Princess who is held by magic spells.
On that is the vast Otherworld from whence
The great Immortals come for her defense.
Betwixt the greater and the lesser Power,
That duel that goes on from hour to hour
Throughout the ages, I would have you see
Depicted in this passing phantasy.

[_Music of Masque begins._]

The players come and I had best away;
I'll come back afterwards and end my say.

THE MASQUE OF THE TWO STRANGERS[51]

[Footnote 51: I am indebted to Miss Italia Conti for the
original scenario of the Masque, and to former Editors of
_Vanity Fair_ and _The Crown_ for permission to reprint the
two songs which were published in their journals.--ALIX
EGERTON.]

CHARACTERS

JOY.
LAUGHTER.
SONG.
DANCE.
SERVICE.
POETRY.
HOPE.
JOY.
PRINCESS DOUCE-COEUR.
SORROW.
FAME.
RICHES.
POWER.
LOVE.

_JOY and LAUGHTER run in laughing, chase each other round the stage and pelt each other with flowers._

LAUGHTER [_flinging herself on the ground, breathless_].
Ah, it is good to run and laugh again.
I am so weary of these somber days.

JOY.
And I of sitting silent in the house.
We used before to have such merry games,
Now Douce-coeur will not even smile.

LAUGHTER [_mysteriously_].
She says that she will never laugh again.

JOY.
And when I called to her to come and play
At hide-and-seek down in the rose-garden,
She said her playing days were over now.

LAUGHTER.
It seems so strange. Only a while ago
We played at ball across the laurel hedge,
And when the ball fell in the fountain-court
And rolled into the water, floating out
To where the lilies lay half closed in sleep,
'Twas she who went in barefoot, with her dress
Kilted above her knees, and laughed to feel
The flicking of the golden fishes' tails.
She said her pink toes looked like coral shells,
And splashed the water just to see it shine
Like diamonds in the sun upon my hair.
A while ago she was a child with us.

JOY [_sighs_].
Laughter, I like not living at the Court. [_Starting._]
Someone is coming.

[_They run and hide behind a seat. SONG enters, humming to herself and twisting flowers into a garland. JOY and LAUGHTER spring out upon her and catch hold of her hands one on each side._]

LAUGHTER. Why, 'tis only Song.
For three days now we have not heard thy voice.

SONG.
No, Douce-coeur says life is too sad for songs.
Yet music is a gift of the high gods
And like the birds I sing or I must die.

JOY [_coaxingly_].
Sing us a ballad while we are alone.
Old Service is asleep beside the well
And will not hear thee.

SONG [_sitting on the seat_].
Well, what shall I sing?
How would you like "All on an April Day?"

JOY [_clapping her hands_].
About the knight who rode to Amiens Town?

LAUGHTER.
Then will we sing the refrain, Joy and I.

SONG [_begins very softly, and, forgetting, sings louder to the end_].

_A lover rode to Amiens town
(All on an April day);
He looked not up, he looked not down
But fixed his gaze on Amiens town
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_The cuckoo sang above his head
(All on an April day);
The blossoming trees were white and red,
Yet still he never turned his head
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_The dappled grass with daisies strewn
(All on an April day)
Was trodden by his horse's shoon;
He heeded not those daisies strewn
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_He wore a ragged surcoat green
(All on an April day)
But no device thereon was seen.
Nor blazon on that surcoat green
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_He rode in by the Eastern Gate
(All on an April day);
Though poor and mean was his estate
Kings have gone through that Eastern Gate
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_He stood by the Cathedral door
(All on an April day)
And watched of ladies fair a score
Pass in through the Cathedral door
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_A knot of ribbon at his feet
(All on an April day)
And one swift smile, such radiance sweet
Fell with the ribbon at his feet
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_He hid the token in his breast
(All on an April day)
Yet to his lips full oft he prest
The ribbon hidden in his breast
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

_A lover rode to Amiens town
(All on an April day),
A beggar wore a starry crown
And a King rode out of Amiens town
(Sing hey!--the Lover's Way)._

[_After the 4th verse enter DANCE, who dances through the remaining verses._]

[_Enter SERVICE hurriedly._]

SERVICE. How now, what noise is this? Thou knowest, Song, thy voice may not be heard at all, and ye children too, ye will get sent away. Sure, that ye will. Here am I sent packing off to seek for the Wise Woman Poetry. The heralds too are up and down the land with proclamations. Go in, go in; Douce-coeur is wandering with the Gray Stranger in the garden, and when she comes, may want your company.

[_Enter POETRY._]

POETRY.
I am the mouthpiece of the Eternal Gods,
And in my voice, that down the ages rings,
Men hear the ceaseless heart-beats of the world.
Without me all that has been would have died
And lain forgotten in a silent grave.
The present echoes what I once have sung,
The future holds the secrets I have read.

SERVICE. Hail, and well met! I was but starting forth to seek thee. Thou who hast the wisdom of all time mayst help us in our hour of need; an evil spell has been cast about the Princess, and how it is to be broken, none of us know.

POETRY.
Good Service, tell me all; for I presume,
Despite the tender care which through her life
Has shielded Douce-coeur like a ring of steel,
That to her side some foe has won his way
And dimmed the peaceful mirror of her soul.

SERVICE. Yea, truly, one evening as the sun was setting a woman clad in long gray robes entered the Palace gates and meeting the Princess on the terrace walk led her down among the cypresses. They sat long together in the twilight and ever since Douce-coeur is changed. No smile curves her lips, the sunlight is gone from her face, and she goes always with veiled head, and sad unseeing eyes. I heard but now her companions are to be sent away. Joy, Laughter, Song and Dance, all to be banished. This is the Gray Woman's doing, but why, no man can say.

POETRY.
The stranger in gray robes of whom ye speak
Is Sorrow's self, whose other name is Pain.
She comes, and when she comes none may resist.
Against her none have power to bar their gates.
Ye who have always cherished Douce-coeur
And guarded her from knowledge of the World,
Have left her ignorance a prey to pain.
Thus night has fallen on a tender heart
That never saw the shadows for the sun.
Queen Sorrow, who can hide the stars of heaven,
Has torn the golden veil from top to hem,
And in the outer darkness Douce-coeur stands,
Seeing no rift to tell of light eclipsed,
Knowing no key to all the mystery.

SERVICE. The King, her father, has sent proclamations forth that whoso can bring back the smiles to Douce-coeur's lips, the sunshine to her face, whoso can win her from the Gray Woman's side, on him shall half the kingdom be bestowed and Douce-coeur's hand in marriage. The Heralds have gone crying this abroad, and we have word three suitors are traveling here post-haste.