Chapter I: Part 1

Why The Chimes Rang: A Play in One Act: by Elizabeth Apthorp McFadden:

Adapted from the story of the same name: by Raymond McDonald Alden

Samuel French: Publisher 25 West Forty-fifth Street: New York LONDON

Samuel French, Ltd. 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND

COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY E.A. MCFADDEN

WHY THE CHIMES RANG.

This play is fully protected by copyright.

Permission to act, read publicly or make any use of it must be obtained of Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York. It may be presented by amateurs upon payment of the following royalties:

1. This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of Five Dollars for each performance, payable to Samuel French, at 25 West 45th Street, New York, or at 811 West 7th Street, Los Angeles, Calif., one week before the date when the play is given.

2. Professional rates quoted on application.

3. Whenever this play is to be produced the following note must appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the play:

This play is a dramatization of the story by Raymond MacDonald Alden entitled "WHY THE CHIMES RANG," published by The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

This version of Raymond MacDonald Alden's story is published with permission of the Bobbs-Merrill Company of Indianapolis, Indiana, the publishers of Professor Alden's story and the holders of the copyright.

_WARNING_

The copying, either of separate parts or the whole of this work by any process whatsoever, is forbidden by law and subject to the penalties prescribed by Section 28 of the Copyright Law, in force July 1, 1909.

PREFACE.

This little play is prentice work done in Professor George P. Baker's class, English 47 at Radcliffe College in the fall of 1908. Several years later it was staged by Professor Baker in the "47 Workshop," his laboratory for trying out plays written in the Harvard and Radcliffe courses in dramatic technique.

I am glad to acknowledge here my indebtedness to the "Shop" and its workers for this chance of seeing the play in action. Of the various advantages which a "Workshop" performance secures to the author none is more helpful than the mass of written criticism handed in by the audience, and representing some two or three hundred frank and widely varying views of the work in question. I am especially grateful for this constructive criticism, much of which has been of real service in the subsequent rewriting of the piece.

"Why the Chimes Rang" was again tried out the next year in seven performances by the "Workshop" company in various Boston settlements. Other groups of amateurs have given it in Arlington, Massachusetts, Los Angeles, California and in Honolulu. These performances have proved that while its setting may seem to call for the equipment of a theatre, the play can be acceptably given in any hall or Sunday school room.

Suggestions for the simplest possible staging have been added to the present publication in an appendix which contains data on the scenery, music, lighting, costumes and properties for the piece.

ELIZABETH APTHORP McFADDEN.

WHY THE CHIMES RANG.

CHARACTERS.

HOLGER......................._A peasant boy_ STEEN........................_His younger brother_ BERTEL......................._Their uncle_ AN OLD WOMAN LORDS, LADIES, _etc._--

TIME:--_Dusk of a day of long ago_.

* * * * *

SCENE:--_The interior of a wood-chopper's hut on the edge of a forest_.

Why the Chimes Rang.

The scene is laid in a peasant's hut on the edge of a forest near a cathedral town. It is a dark low-raftered room lit only by the glowing wood fire in the great fireplace in the wall to the right, and by a faint moonlight that steals in through the little window high in the left wall. This window commands a view of the cathedral and of the road leading down into the town. The only entrance into the hut is the front door near the window.

The furnishings are few: two substantial stools, one near the window, the other before the fire, logs piled up near the hearth, and on the chimney shelf above a few dishes, three little bowls, three spoons and a great iron porridge pot. A wooden peg to the right of the chimney holds Steen's cap and cape, one to the left an old shawl. Near the door Holger's cap and cape hang from a third peg.

Despite its poverty the room is full of beautiful coloring as it lies half hidden in deep shadow save where the light of the fire falls on the brown of the wood and the warmer shades of the children's garments, illuminates their faces and gleams on their bright hair.

When the curtain is raised Steen is sitting disconsolately on the stool near the fire. He is a handsome sturdy little lad of nine or ten, dressed in rough but warm garments of a dark red. Holger a slender boy some four years older, bends over Steen patting him comfortingly on the shoulder.

There is petulance and revolt in the expression of the younger boy but Holger's face is full of a blended character and spirituality that makes him beautiful. He is clad like his brother in comfortable but worn jerkin and hose of a dark leaf green. His manner to the little boy is full of affection, though occasionally he is superior after the manner of big brothers. Throughout the play, two moods alternate in Holger, a certain grave, half-mystical dreaminess and bubbling through it, the high spirits of his natural boyish self.

HOLGER. Take heart, Steen, perhaps we can go next year.

STEEN. Next year! Next year I'll be so old I won't want to go.

HOLGER. Oh, quite old folks go to the Christmas service. Come, let's watch the people going down to town.

STEEN. No.

HOLGER. The road'll be full, grand folk! (_He crosses to the window_) Come watch, Steen.

STEEN. No!

HOLGER. (_Looking out_) Why the road's all empty again!

STEEN. (_In a wailing tone_) Everybody's gone!

HOLGER. (_Trying to be brave_) They're lighting the cathedral!

STEEN. I don't care!

HOLGER. Oh, Steen, come see,--like the stars coming out!

STEEN. I won't see! Mother said way last summer that we could go to-night, and now--(_His voice breaks in a sob_)

HOLGER. She meant it! She didn't know that the grandmother would be ill, and she and father'ud have to go to _her_. Be fair, Steen!

STEEN. They might let us go alone. "Too little!" Bah!

HOLGER. (_In a low almost frightened tone_) Steen, come here!

(_The tone, rather than the words, take_ STEEN _quickly to_ HOLGER'S
_side_.)

STEEN. What?

HOLGER. (_Pointing out the window_) Look, by the dead pine yonder, an old woman facing us, kneeling in the snow, see? praying!

STEEN. (_In an awed tone_) She's looking at us!

HOLGER. She's raising her hand to us!

STEEN. She's beckoning!

HOLGER. No, she's making the Sign of the Cross.

(_Both boys drop their heads devoutly._)

STEEN. Who is she, Holger?

HOLGER. I don't know.

STEEN. (_Drawing back from the window and crossing the room to the fire_) Oh, Holger, I'm afraid!

HOLGER. No, no! Look, she has turned away,--she's deeper in the shadow,--why, she's gone! (_Following_ STEEN _with all his bright courage bubbling high again, and speaks in a bantering tone_) Just some old granny going down to town, and thou afraid!

STEEN. (_Recovering also_) And _thou_ afraid!

HOLGER. I was not!

STEEN. (_Derisively_) Oh-h-h-h!

HOLGER. Well, I was just a little bit afraid--lest she might frighten thee. (_Steps are heard outside the house. Both boys start and look frightened again_) Hush,--steps--coming here!

STEEN. (_Backing from the door_) The old woman!

HOLGER. (_Crosses the room, looks cautiously out of the window, then cries joyously_) No,--Uncle Bertel!

BERTEL. (_Off stage_) Hullo, there,--open, Holger!

(STEEN _and_ HOLGER _make a dash for the door, fling it open and_
BERTEL _enters. He is a jolly robust peasant uncle of early middle
life, clad in rough gray jerkin and hose, with a dark gray cloak
wrapped about him. He so radiates cheer that the room seems warmer
for his presence in it. Nothing to be afraid of about him, the
children adore him._)

STEEN. (_Clinging to him, happily_) Oh, Uncle, Uncle, Uncle Bertel!

HOLGER. (_Seizing_ BERTEL _on his other side_) Uncle Bertel, welcome!

BERTEL. (_Tousling their hair and shaking himself loose in pretended dismay_) Help, help!--Robbers!--I'm beset!--Gently, youngsters!--(_He goes over to the fire and stands warming himself_) Brrrrr! It's cold in the forest to-night!--Well, (_He faces them genially_) why am I come?--Tell me that!

STEEN. (_Exultantly_) To take us to the Christmas Service?

HOLGER. Uncle! How didst thou know we were not going?

BERTEL. I met a fox--who said--

HOLGER. Oh-h!--Thou hast seen mother and father!

BERTEL. (_Draws the stool nearer the fire and sits, the children promptly drop on the floor beside him_) By our Lady, yes!--and walking so fast they had only time to throw me a word from the sides of their mouths. "Go up," cried Mother,--"I wist my boys are deep in tears!"--and I, not wishing to see you drown in so much water--

HOLGER. (_Patting his arm_) Dear Uncle Bertel!

STEEN. (_Rising on his knees_) Come, let's go quick!

BERTEL. Patience, patience, young colt, plenty of time, mother said something else.

STEEN. What?

BERTEL. (_His eye on the shelf above the fire_) That I should find some warm porridge for my pains.

HOLGER. (_Springing to his feet_) Why, of course, there _is_ porridge! (_He goes to the shelf_) Nice and warm it is! All ready for supper. (_He hands the first bowl to_ BERTEL, STEEN _capers nimbly across the intervening space and seats himself on the side of the hearth, facing_ BERTEL, _his back to the audience_)

STEEN. Supper! How could we forget supper?--Give me a _big_ bowlful, Holger.

HOLGER. (_Handing_ STEEN _his porridge_) There isn't a _big_ bowlful here.

STEEN. (_Taking the bowl and hugging it_) Nice kind good supper, umh! (_Begins to eat eagerly_)

HOLGER. (_Suddenly looking toward the door_) Listen!

BERTEL. To what?

HOLGER. (_Awed, hesitant_) Someone--sobbing--at the door! (_He goes to it, the others watching him startled, he opens the door, finds nothing, closes it and comes back_) Nothing there!

BERTEL. The wind!--Thy old tricks, Holger,--always dreaming some strange thing.

HOLGER. (_Recalled by_ BERTEL'S _words to something else_) Didst thou pass an old woman on the road--near here?

BERTEL. Not a soul nearer than the town gate. (HOLGER _stands thinking, absorbed_) Come, boy, eat,--_eat_! See how Steen eats!

HOLGER. (_Breaks through his abstraction and reverts to his bright self_) Oh, Uncle Bertel,--I'm too glad to eat!

BERTEL. (_More seriously_) Thou art right, lad,--fasting were better than feasting this day in Tralsund!--they say,--do you know what they say in the town?

HOLGER. What?

BERTEL. They say--that to-night in the great church--when the offerings are laid upon the altar for the Christ child,--_something will happen_!

(STEEN _has finished his porridge, puts the bowl on the shelf near
him, seizes his cloak and cap from the peg near the hearth and
stands eager to be gone._)

HOLGER. What?

BERTEL. Who can say? All day the folk have been pouring into the town as never before. The market place is crowded, every inn is full. No church but the cathedral could hold such a multitude. Never have I seen such excitement, such fervor!

HOLGER. There will be many gifts!

BERTEL. --the rich are bringing their treasure, gold and jewels, king's ransoms, aye and the King comes. (BERTEL _finishes his porridge and hands the bowl to_ STEEN)

HOLGER. The King?

BERTEL. The King Himself!

STEEN. Oh, and shall we see Him, Uncle, and the fine gifts and everything?

BERTEL. Why not?--Even the poorest may go up and give--what hast thou to offer?

STEEN. (_Abashed_) I?--Nothing! (_Puts his porridge bowl and_ BERTEL'S _on the shelf then goes restlessly to the door_)

HOLGER. (_Breaking in with eagerness_) Oh, I have, see, Uncle? (_Feels in his pocket and brings out two pennies_) See!--Last week I was gathering sticks in the forest and a fine gentleman rode past and asked the way of me. I showed him the path and he gave me these! (_Holds up the pennies_)

BERTEL. (_Rising and going to_ HOLGER _who is in the middle of the room_) Faith, real money in the family. (_Stoops and looks at the pennies as though they were a rare sight_)

STEEN. Oh, I thought we were going to buy cakes with those, Holger.

HOLGER. But it's better to give it to the Christ Child. You see He is a little child, smaller than even you,--and I think He would like a little gift,--a little bright gift that would buy cakes for Him. (HOLGER _goes toward the window and stands looking dreamily out at the lights of the church_)

BERTEL. Aye, to-night we must think of Him,--there in His Holy Church.

HOLGER. It _is_ a holy place, the church!--I feel it every time I go,--it's like God's forest,--the pillars like old oaks and the great windows all colors like sunsets through the trees.

BERTEL. _'Tis_ like the forest.

HOLGER. And when the organ plays that's like a storm gathering in the mountains.

BERTEL. A storm?--Aye!--"The Lord hath His way in the whirlwind and in the storm and the clouds are the dust of His feet!"--Why should He not do a wonder as of old? Perhaps the great miracle will come again!

HOLGER. Oh, which, Uncle?--There are so many in the Bible!

STEEN. Yes, which?--Would there be a whale now to swallow a priest?

BERTEL. Thou goosey! This was no Bible miracle,--it happened there, _there_, where we see the lights,--hundreds of years ago. (BERTEL _has followed_ HOLGER _to the window and_ STEEN _joins them. As he speaks_ BERTEL _slips his arms affectionately round both children and the three stand looking out. At this moment something stirs in the dim shadows that shroud the corner up above the fire-place. Suddenly out of the dark the_ OLD WOMAN _emerges. A tall figure, if she were not so bent, wrapped in a black cloak. There is nothing grotesque or sinister in her appearance, she might have stood for a statue of old age, impressive in its pathos. As she sits on the stool near the fire she throws back the cloak disclosing the plain straight dress of gray beneath. The light of the fire reveals her crouched, swaying back and forth praying silently, her face still shaded by the heavy hood of her cloak. The others gazing intently out at the church do not see her._ BERTEL _continues speaking_) Surely thou hast heard of the Miracle of the Chimes?

HOLGER. I've heard folks speak of it,--but I never knew just what happened.

STEEN. Oh, tell us, Uncle Bertel.

BERTEL. Aye, listen then!--You see the great tower there?--(_Both children nod emphatically_) It goes so high into the clouds that no one can see it's top!--No one even knows how high it is for the men who built it have been dead for hundreds of years.

STEEN. But what has that to do with the chimes?

HOLGER. Hush, Steen, let uncle speak!

BERTEL. The chimes are up at the top of the tower--and they are holy bells,--miraculous bells, placed there by sainted hands,--and when they rang 'twas said that angels' voices echoed through them.

STEEN. Why doesn't someone ring them _now_?

BERTEL. Ah, that is not so easy!--They are said to ring on Christmas Eve when the gifts are laid on the altar for the Christ-child,--but not every offering will ring them, it must be a perfect gift. And for all these years not one thing has been laid upon the altar good enough to make the chimes ring out.

HOLGER. Oh, that's what the priest was talking about to mother, then. He said it mustn't be just a fine gift for show but something full of love for the Christ-child.

STEEN. Oh, I want to hear them!

BERTEL. _We shall!_--The very air is full of holy mystery! The Spirit of Christ will be there in the church to-night! (_To_ HOLGER) Thy cap, boy!

(HOLGER _stands wrapt in thought gazing out at the cathedral._)

STEEN. (_Taking the cap and cloak from the peg near the door and bringing them down and piling them into_ HOLGER'S _arms_) Here they are, old dreamer!--(_He turns back up toward the door in such a way that he does not see the silent figure in the corner_) _And hurry!_

(BERTEL _too turns toward his left hand and does not see the
woman._)

HOLGER. (_In a tone of bright happiness, roused from his dreaming_) I'm coming!--Nothing can happen to stop us now, can it? (_As he says this he wheels to his right in a way that brings the chimney corner in his line of vision. He starts, bends forward staring as the others open the door, then he speaks in a tone that is little more than a gasp_) _Steen!_

(_The others stop and stare at him, then in the direction of his
look._)

STEEN. Oh!--The Old Woman!

BERTEL. (_Looking to_ STEEN) When did she come in?

STEEN. I didn't see her!

(HOLGER _crosses timidly towards her. As he approaches the_ OLD
WOMAN _turns her eyes on him and holds out her hands in pitiful
appeal._)

HOLGER. What dost thou want, dame?

OLD WOMAN. (_In a voice that is harsh and broken_) Refuge--from the storm of the world!

HOLGER. Surely thou shalt rest here.

OLD WOMAN. (_Half rises stiffly as_ HOLGER _draws nearer_) Oh, son, I am so weary and so heavy laden. (_She sways and_ HOLGER _runs forward, catching her in his arms and supporting her on the stool. The others stand watching. She sits huddled forward in a position that suggests collapse_)

HOLGER. She's faint! (_He touches her hands_) She's so cold! Quick, Steen, build up the fire! (STEEN _goes to the fire and puts on another log, the flames blase up_. HOLGER _busies himself chafing the woman's hands and covering her with the old cloak that has dropped back from her shoulders_) She must have lost her way in the forest.

BERTEL. (_Stands watching the woman rather suspiciously, now comes to_ HOLGER _taps him on the arm and draws him a little apart, speaking in an undertone_) We have scant time to lose with that old beggar.

HOLGER. What'll I do with her?

BERTEL. Leave her and come on.

STEEN. And _come_--before it is to-morrow! (_He is back by the door, his hand on the latch_)

HOLGER. (_Turns and looks at the old woman and then back to_ BERTEL) Oh, I--ought we to go and leave her?

STEEN. Not go?

BERTEL. Go, of course we'll go, she'll warm herself and march along.

HOLGER. But she is ill. (_Turns to_ STEEN _with new decision in his manner_) Thou shalt go with Uncle but I--must stay with her.

BERTEL. Nonsense, Holger!

HOLGER. No, it isn't!--If we should all go now, the fire would go out and the light,--and she would wake up in the cold darkness and not know where to turn for help.

BERTEL. Na, by Saint Christopher!--Miss a miracle to keep company with a beggar!--Who held her hand before thou camest along? Send her packing and make haste, Holger.

STEEN. Oh, do, Holger!

HOLGER. If there were some place near that we could take her.

BERTEL. There isn't a place on the road,--they've all gone to town long ago. Bid her fare there also!

HOLGER. (_Looks at the_ OLD WOMAN, _then at_ BERTEL, _then back to the_ OLD WOMAN, _then he shakes his head_) Mother wouldn't treat her so,--she'd be good to her.

BERTEL. Think of what you'll miss! (_An expression of anguish passes over_ HOLGER'S _face, but he shakes his head and turns toward the old woman_) Well, this is idle talk, thou and I will go, Steen.

STEEN. Oh, come,--let's go!

BERTEL. (_To_ STEEN, _but for_ HOLGER'S _benefit_) Thou and I will see the King, perchance--The Christ! Thou art stubborn, Holger, I who am older tell thee what to do! (HOLGER _shakes his head again_) Come, Steen! (_He opens the door and goes out_)

STEEN. (_Following him_) Good-bye, Holger.

HOLGER. Good-bye! (STEEN _goes out and shuts the door. There is a moment's pause while_ HOLGER _stands staring at the closed door, then he suddenly runs toward it_) Oh, wait, wait for me, Uncle, I will go! (_He opens the door, starts to go through it, then stops, turns and looks at the Woman, is drawn slowly backward by his gaze and comes in closing the door_) No!

WOMAN. (_Moaning_) The path--is so--steep!

HOLGER. (_Goes to her and bends over her_) Didst thou speak, dame? (_The_ WOMAN _does not answer_) Thou art like Grandmother, and I know what Mother would do for _her_! (_Feeling her hands_) Art warmer, dame?--still cold!--The covers aren't very thick. (_He looks about the bare room, sees the old shawl hanging from the peg near the fire, takes it down and spreads it over the woman_) Thou must get warm! (_Goes to the fire and builds it higher_)

WOMAN. (_Still wandering in her mind_) Berries,--yes, find berries.

HOLGER. Oh, thou art hungry! (_He turns to the shelf, takes his own untasted bowl of porridge, brings it to her_) Dame, here is food!

WOMAN. (_Rousing_) Food, give it to me, child, I am dying for food!

(HOLGER _gives her the porridge and sits down on the floor beside
her._)

HOLGER. (_Watching her as she devours the porridge_) _Ah, poor soul!_--Why, thou wert starving!--Na, just see!--Mother says that's what makes my little brother so round and rosy, because he eats so much porridge,--you like it, don't you?

WOMAN. It is life itself! (_Her voice has grown young and strong. Sinks back again as she has eaten it all_) Bless thee, Child!

(HOLGER _sets the empty dish aside on the hearth and turns to feel
her hands._)

HOLGER. Oh, thou art warm!

WOMAN. Aye, warm! (_In a voice increasingly rich and sweet. At this moment there comes the distant sound of organ music._ HOLGER _straightens suddenly in a listening attitude_) Listen,--is that music?

HOLGER. From the Cathedral!--Aye, it must be,--last summer we could hear it plain, and now with so many thousands there! (_Leaves the woman and stands in the center of the room listening attentively_) It's beginning!--(_Pause_) Everyone is there!

WOMAN. Why are they there.

HOLGER. It's the great service! (_He goes toward the window and stands looking out. He talks on half to her, half to himself_) All the world is there, the village folk, and strangers from afar, great court folk, too,--aye, and the King,--our King! And He will give a gift,--a King's gift! (_She rises erectly and follows him across the room. There is the strength and poise of youth in her walk. The heavy black hood has fallen back revealing a head covering of white linen that suggests a sister of Charity and gives her face a look of austerity and sweetness. She is strong, maternal, beautiful. Intuitively,_ HOLGER, _in his disappointment begins to lean upon her sympathy. The music grows a little louder and floats into the room_) Look, dame, you can even see the windows gleam! It is so near! It's all beginning and--I--am not there! (_A sob creeps into his voice_)

WOMAN. Son!

HOLGER. Aye, dame? (_He turns and comes toward her, she seats herself on the stool near the window, reaches out a hand and draws him down beside her_)

WOMAN. Thou, too, wouldst go? (HOLGER, _too moved by her sympathy to speak, nods silently and puts up a hand to hide the trembling of his lips. She slips her hand to his shoulder_) Another time thou'll go!

HOLGER. (_Fighting back his tears_) It'll never be the same again! To-night the Christ comes. Bertel said--"The Christ!"

WOMAN. Nay, son, pray to the Christ-child, pray that He does not pass thee by! (_She sits facing the back wall of the hut._ HOLGER _kneels before her, and drops his head in her lap. She lays her hand gently upon his hair and makes the sign of the cross above him_)

(_As they have been talking together, the fire on the hearth has
burned itself out and the shadows in the room have crept forward and
closed around them till only a faint outline of_ HOLGER _and the_
WOMAN _can be distinguished in the glimmer of moonlight shining
through the window nearby. There is a long pause broken only by the
boy's sobbing which gradually sinks to silence. As he prays, a faint
light begins to grow behind him. The smoke-grimed back wall of the
hut has vanished and in its place appears a vision of the cathedral
chancel.--One by one objects emerge from the darkness. The light
touches the golden altar, the gleaming appointments upon it, the
jewel-like tones of the stained glass window above, and the rich
carpet under foot; it shows the marble arches at the sides and
shines softly on the robe of the kneeling_ PRIEST. _As the dim
vision grows to clearness, so the music comes nearer and swells
forth softly into the Christmas processional. Unconscious of it all_
HOLGER _looks up at the_ WOMAN, _his face swept with despair_.)

HOLGER. Oh, it's no use! I'd rather be all blind and never see than miss the vision that the Christ will send!

WOMAN. (_Gazing at the vision_) Look, look what comes!

HOLGER. (_Staring at the woman's face illuminated by the light from the chancel_) Dame! (_He turns to see where the light comes from and the vision meets his eye_) Oh-h-h-h! (_He crouches back at the_ WOMAN'S _feet, held spell-bound by the sight. As the music changes the_ PRIEST _rises slowly to his feet, faces the congregation and makes a gesture of approach. The voices of the choir join the music, and from the left side of the chancel, people begin to enter carrying their gifts_)

(_An imperious looking man, richly dressed in black and gold comes
first, bearing a heavy box. He approaches the altar, kneels and puts
the chest in the_ PRIEST'S _hands, and, that the full value of his
gift may be publicly recognised, he throws back the lid, heaping up
the gold coin with which the box is filled. The_ PRIEST _turns, goes
up the steps to the altar and raises the chest as high as its weight
will permit. The man still kneeling awaits the chimes with superb
selfconfidence. The bells do not ring. Slowly the_ PRIEST _lowers
the gold to the altar, turns, raises his hand in blessing and
dismissal. The rich man rises, looking bewildered at his failure,
crosses to the right and stands near the altar as the pageant moves
on._)

(_The_ PRIEST _turns to the next comer_, A COURTIER _brave in green
and gold, who enters with an air of great elegance, bearing daintily
a gilded jewel casket. He kneels, lays it in the_ PRIEST'S _hands.
The latter turns to go but the_ COURTIER _detains him a second,
raises the lid of the box and holds up string after string of rich
gems. The_ PRIEST _carries the jewels to the altar and offers them.
The bells do not ring. The_ PRIEST _dismisses the_ COURTIER, _and
the young man rises, turns back with assumed lightness of manner and
stands at the left of the chancel, watching with great interest._)

(_A beautiful_ WOMAN _clad in flame colored velvet sweeps proudly up
to the steps of the altar, kneels, takes from her neck a long strand
of pearls and offers it to the_ PRIEST. _The_ PRIEST _receives the
necklace, ascends to the altar and offers the jewels. The woman
smiling listens tensely for the chimes. They do not ring. The smile
fades as the_ PRIEST _turns and blesses her. She rises trying to
hide her chagrin in a look of great hauteur, crosses to the right
and stands near the man in black and gold with whom she exchanges
disdainful smiles over the next arrival._)

(_An old white haired man clad in a scholar's robes totters on,
bearing with difficulty a large vellum bound book. The_ PRIEST
_takes a step forward to relieve the Old Man of his burden, and as
he goes up the altar steps the Sage sinks exhausted to his knees,
listening with straining senses for the bells.--They do not ring.
The_ PRIEST _blesses the old man and helps him to rise. He turns
back and stands near the_ COURTIER _at the left._)

(_A lovely young girl enters, dressed in pale green satin, her arms
filled with a sheaf of white lilies. The very way she carries them
and bends her head to catch their fragrance shows that to her they
are the most beautiful things in the world. Kneeling she gives them
into the hands of the_ PRIEST, _and as he offers them, she listens
with childish confidence for the ringing of the bells.--Still there
is no sound save the organ music and the singing of the choir,
subdued almost to a breath as the gifts are offered. Abashed as the_
PRIEST _blesses and dismisses her, the young girl steps back and
stands near the old Sage._)

(_There is a stir in the chancel, even the_ PRIEST _turning to
watch. The_ KING _enters. He is a man of forty with tall
distinguished figure and a proud face. His purple robes, richly
jeweled, trail far behind him and on his head he wears his crown.
Everyone leans forward watching with the greatest tension. The_
KING, _exalted with his mood of selfsacrifice kneels, removes his
crown and lays it in the hands of the_ PRIEST. HOLGER _crouching in
the shadow quivers with anticipation. Again the pantomime of hope
and failure. The_ PRIEST _turns back to the_ KING _and raises his
arm in the customary gesture. The_ KING _starts to rise then
suddenly as though overcome at this spiritual defeat sinks again to
his knees before the altar and buries his face in his hands,
praying. The_ PRIEST _stands with arms crossed upon his breast,
regarding him sorrowfully._)

HOLGER. (_Overwhelmed with disappointment, softly to the woman_) Perhaps there are no chimes, perhaps the Christ hears us not!

WOMAN. Have faith,--have faith in God.

HOLGER. I would that I could give my pennies to the Child.

(_The_ KING _rises from his prayer and goes sadly to the right,
standing near the lady in red._)

WOMAN. (_In a low ringing voice that thrills like the call of a trumpet_) Go up, my son,--fear not--The Christ-Child waits for all!

(HOLGER _breathless with the adventure rises and goes timidly
forward out of the gloom of the hut into the splendor of the
chancel, looking very small and poorly dressed beside all the great
ones. He holds out his pennies to the_ PRIEST _who bends and takes
them with a tender little smile, and_ HOLGER, _crossing himself, too
abashed to stand and wait, shrinks back into the darkness and the
sheltering arms of the Woman._)

(_The_ PRIEST _goes up the steps of the altar and holds the pennies
high above his head in consecrating gesture, and as he does so, the
organ music breaks off with an amazed suddenness for from above
there comes the far triumphant ringing of the chimes, mingled with
ethereal voices singing The Alleluia._)

(_A wave of awe sweeps over everyone in the chancel and as the_
PRIEST _wheels and gestures them to their knees, they prostrate
themselves quickly._ HOLGER, _too, kneels awe-struck but the woman
rises to her full height and stands watching. From this time on, she
withdraws gradually into the deeper shadows of the hut and is seen
no more._)

(_As they all kneel the Angel enters from the right, ascends the
steps of the altar and stands beside the huddled figure of the_
PRIEST. _As she stands there, a single pencil of light shines down
upon her from above, a ray of light so brilliant that everything
around seems dull in comparision, and while she gives her message,
the light above grows till it floods her hair and garments with a
miraculous radiance. The_ ANGEL _smiles at_ HOLGER _and chants in a
lovely voice._)

ANGEL. Verily, verily, I say unto you, it is not gold nor silver nor rich pearls but love and selfsacrifice that please the Lord. The Christ-Child was hungered and you gave him meat,--a stranger and you took Him in.

HOLGER. (_In an awed tone_) But I--I have not seen the Christ-Child.

ANGEL. Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these His Brethern, you have done it unto Him! (_The_ ANGEL _stands with one hand uplifted, as the music rises in a great crescendo of triumph_. HOLGER, _quite overcome, drops his face in his hands and as the climax of the singing is reached, the whole tableau is held for a moment, then blotted out in darkness_.)

(_There is a pause, then the light on the hearth flares up revealing
the boy alone, still on his knees, looking up bewildered at the back
wall of the hut, where the vision had been. Swiftly he rises to his
feet and turns to face the Woman._)

HOLGER. Dame,--dame!--The Chimes,--the star--did you see? (_She is gone, he stares about him looking for her_) Gone! Gone! (_The music still rings softly_) But the Chimes! (_He turns, runs to the window, and flings open the casement. A soft light, half moonlight, half something more luminous pours in upon him. He speaks in a tone of infinite happiness, looking upward_) The stars!--God's Chimes!

THE CURTAIN FALLS SLOWLY.

THE APPENDIX

The accompanying scenery plates are not intended to be followed in all their elaborate detail but merely to give an idea of the effect to be worked toward in planning the scenery.

APPENDIX.

The following suggestions for a simplified staging of "Why The Chimes Rang" are offered, not to college dramatic societies or other expert amateurs but to the many young people in the secondary schools, Sunday schools and country districts, who would enjoy staging short plays if it could be done without elaborate scenery or lighting equipment and without previous experience in stage management.

Simplicity aided by imagination goes far upon the stage, and it should always be remembered that the real aim is the creation of a given emotion in the minds of the audience rather than the creation of a given thing upon the stage. If a circle of gilt paper on the head of a fine looking lad can create a vivid impression of kingly dignity, all the crown jewels of Europe cannot better the paper for stage purposes.

In producing a play, it should first be carefully read to see what main impression is to be conveyed, and what chief elements are to be emphasized to make up this impression. The details can then be worked out in harmony with the more important factors.

In "Why The Chimes Rang," religious exaltation is the mood to be created, and the divine beauty of charity is the main theme.

Three sharply contrasted effects are called for: the wood-chopper's hut, dark and humble; and, set against this, the earthly splendor of the cathedral chancel, which in its turn is dimmed by the miraculous presence of the angel.

It is expected that this play will be adapted, by those giving it, to the form and degree of ritual desired. Censers and candles may be used or not, altar appointments and priestly vestments may be chosen to suit the taste of those concerned. Indeed, in all respects, a play must be suited to the conditions under which it is presented and the audience before whom it is given; and while the text may not be altered or added to, lines may be omitted if desired.

The information here given has been gathered from frequent working over of the material but at best it can only help in a general way. Any one producing a play must work out his own problems in detail. One of the things that makes the staging of plays such fascinating work is the exercise it affords the imagination in overcoming obstacles.

SCENERY

SCENERY.

For the sake of facing the most difficult form of the problem of amateur staging, let us suppose that this play is to be given in a parlor or hall, without platform, without proscenium arch or curtains, with the walls, floor and ceiling of such material and finish that no nails may be driven into them, and that the depth of the stage is only nine feet. It looks hopeless but it can be done.

Under such conditions the only possible form of scenery is the screen. If the "scenery-man" is a bit of a carpenter, he can build the screens himself, making them as strong and as light as possible, with four leaves a few inches shorter than the height of the room in which they are to be used, and proportionately wide.--The framework should be braced by cross pieces in the middle of each leaf, and should have stout leather handles nailed to them for convenience in lifting the screen. The right side should be covered with canvas such as is used for scenery, and the screens can then be easily repainted or recovered for later plays.

If it is not possible to have the screens made to order, ordinary Japanese screens may be borrowed or rented, and made to serve as front curtain, and framework for scenery.

Those indicated in the plan as A A and B B serve as the front curtains, the center sections (marked B B) being drawn aside by persons stationed behind them to show the interior of the hut when the play begins. The four screens marked C D and E E form the walls of the hut. In using screens it will be necessary to do without the window and the actual door unless the person in charge of the scenery is clever enough to paint in a window on one panel of the screen and make a door in another. If not, turn the end panel of the screen marked C to run at right angles with the other part, giving the impression of a passage with an imagined door at the unseen end, and wherever in the business of the parts, the children are said to look out of the window, let them instead look down this passage, as though they were looking through the open doorway.

On the right side of the room in the screen marked D, a fire-place may be constructed by cutting away a portion of the screen to suggest the line of the fire-place, putting back of this opening a box painted black inside to represent the blackened chimney, and finishing with a rough mantel stained brown to match the wall tint. Of course if the screens are borrowed the fire-place will have to be dispensed with.

At the moment when the vision of the cathedral is to appear, the screens marked E E are parted and folded back disclosing the chancel. Perhaps some church nearby has stored in its basement an old stained glass window, which may be borrowed and used as background for the church scene. Such a window was used in a performance of "Much Ado About Nothing" given some years ago at one of the Eastern colleges. It was dimly lit from behind by electric globes and proved very successful in creating a churchly atmosphere. If this can not be done, cover two of the tallest possible screens with any rich sombre colored drapery and stand them against the back wall. In the Los Angeles production, the chancel was represented by a curtain of black velvet, flanked by two silver pillars, between them the altar. Black makes an exceedingly rich and effective foil for bright colored costumes. Whatever is used for backing in the chancel can be masked if unsatisfactory by Christmas greens, which should be arranged in long vertical lines that carry the eye up as high as possible and give a sense of dignity, or in the Gothic curves suggestive of church architecture.

Against this background, and in the center of the space, place the altar. This can be made of a packing box painted gold or covered with suitable hangings. In one performance of this play a sectional bookcase which stood in the room was hung with purple cheese cloth and served as an altar. Should the stage space be deep enough broad steps before the shrine will give an added height to the priest and the angel.

If it is possible to have real scenery the most illusive method of revealing and hiding the chancel is to have the back of the hut painted on a gauze drop, which is backed by a black curtain. At the cue for showing the chancel the lights in front of the gauze go out leaving the stage dark, then the black opaque curtain is rolled up or drawn aside and as the light is slowly turned on the chancel, the vision begins to take form through the gauze, the latter becoming invisible and transparent when there is no light in front of it. The gauze prevents Holger from actually placing the pennies in the priest's hand but if the two approach the gauze as though it were not there, and stretch out their hands so that they seem to touch, the priest being provided with additional pennies which he holds up at the altar, no one in the audience would guess that the coins had not been given him by the child.

Very few halls ostensibly built to house amateur play-giving are adequate for the purpose.--Often the stage is merely a shallow platform without curtains to separate the actors from the audience, and the ceiling and walls surrounding the stage are so finished that the necessary screws for hanging curtains, may not be driven into them. The amateur manager reaches the depths of despair when he finds that even the floor of the shallow platform offered him, is of polished hardwood and may not be marred by the screws of stage braces.

Amateurs who have any voice in the preparation of the stage being built for them, should urge the following specifications:

1. The ceiling of the stage to be at least twice as high as the proscenium arch.

2. The depth of the stage to be at least fifteen feet, deeper if the size of the place permits.

3. The flooring, walls and ceiling of the stage to be of soft wood, into which nails and screws may be driven; or if the main construction is of brick, concrete or metal, some inner wooden scaffolding or other overhead rigging capable of supporting scenery should be provided.

4. There should be some space on both sides of the stage for keeping scenery and properties to be used later in the play, and as a waiting place for actors temporarily off the stage. The platform forming the stage proper should be continued over these wings so that actors leaving the scene may walk off on a level and not seem to plunge cellarward in making their exits.

LIGHTING.

The important thing to be remembered about the lighting is the crescendo of light which occurs as the play runs its course. First the dim little hut so lit by the firelight, that the expressions on the faces of the actors can just be seen without straining the eyes of the audience. Then the rich but subdued lighting of the chancel and finally the brilliant radiance shining on the angel.

Experiments with electricity should not be attempted by persons who do not understand its use, but if there is a competent electrician in the group putting on the play, use electric lighting by all means. No other form of light is so easily controlled or begins to give such effects for stage purposes.

The problems of theater lighting differ with each set of conditions and the best results can only be obtained by actual experiment with the means at hand. Do not feel that because you are an amateur, working with limited equipment, real beauty is beyond you. I have seen a stage picture approaching a Rembrandt in its charm of coloring and skilful use of shadows, created on a tiny stage with few appliances by an amateur who understood his lights.

If electricity is to be had, use three or four incandescent globes for the fire on the hearth, arranging logs of wood around them to simulate a fire. Additional lights as needed can be placed at the side off stage, or in the footlights; or better, if the stage has a real proscenium these supplementary lights can be put in a "trough" that protects and intensifies them and hung overhead in the center against the back of the proscenium arch.

As all these lights are to give a firelight effect, the incandescent globes should be dipped in a rich amber shade of coloring medium which may be bought at any electrical supply house for sixty cents per half pint. If gas or oil is used a firelight effect can be obtained by slipping amber gelatine screens in front of the lamps. These "gelatines" are about two feet square and cost only ten cents apiece.

If the fire-place cannot be made, then a charcoal brazier will serve as an excuse for light and give a sense of warmth to the scene. The brazier can easily be made by any tinsmith from a piece of sheet iron supported on three legs, and there is an illustration of it in the right hand corner of the accompanying scenery plate.--An electric torch or even an ordinary lantern can be slipped inside the little stove to give out a faint glow. A piece of one of the amber screens put over the torch or lantern will warm the light and the brazier can be placed anywhere in the hut.

The chancel may be lighted by a number of incandescent bulbs hidden at the sides of the scene, with the light so shielded that it shines on the altar and not into the hut. An especially effective place to put a strong light is inside the box representing the altar, with a hole cut in the top of the box so that the light shines up, giving a central radiance to the appointments of the altar and throwing into prominence the face and costume of each person who approaches it. If any of this light seems glaring it can be softened and diffused by masking it with amber or straw colored cheesecloth.

Some form of search light is practically a necessity for producing the heavenly radiance that shines upon the angel. If procurable, a "baby spot light" is the best appliance, but lacking this, an automobile lamp and its battery can be used.

It is important that all light in the hut should go out when the vision of the chancel appears so that the hut becomes merely an inner proscenium or dark frame around the rich picture of the altar. This of course does not mean that the lantern in the brazier need be extinguished as the light given by that is negligible.

After the angel ceases speaking the tableau of the altar scene should be held as the music grows louder and louder through the final crescendo; then, when the final note has been sung, blot out the stage by extinguishing all lights. Give a moment of darkness during which the back wall of the hut is replaced, and the old woman slips out of the nearest opening in the scenery. Then turn on the front lights which illuminated the hut during the first part of the play.

MUSIC.

The three pieces of music required for this play are as follows:

"The Sleep of the Child Jesus" part song for mixed voices by F.A. Gevaert.

Eightfold Alleluia composed for "Why the Chimes rang" by Percy Lee Atherton.

These two pieces come published together in a special edition for use with this play by The Boston Music Company. Price 15 cents per copy, postpaid.

The bell movement (in five flats) (Postlude) by J. Guy Ropartz. Published by The Boston Music Company. Price 30 cents per copy, postpaid.

For all the music, address The Boston Music Company, 116 Boylston Street, Boston, Mass.

The pieces by Ropartz and Gevaert were chosen for the Workshop production by Dr. A.T. Davison, organist at Appleton Chapel, Harvard University, and are admirably fitted to the play. Mr. Atherton's Alleluia is also just what is needed, both in length and in the triumphant crescendo which carries the piece fittingly and dramatically to its close. It would be difficult to replace this finale except by other music written for the purpose.

The music is perhaps the most important single element in the play. In the original version the scene in the chancel was carried by dialogue but production showed the mistake. From the time that the music begins, it, with the pantomimic action of the actors is all sufficient to interpret the mood and meaning of the scene.

A small parlor organ is practically a necessity and can probably be procured for the cost of the cartage.

A choir of men's and women's voices is best for the singing but a good quartette will serve.

For the bells, the long tubular chimes which are suspended by one end and struck with a wooden hammer are the most satisfactory. If they seem too metallic, try covering the head of the hammer with folds of chamois skin. If such a set of chimes is not to be had a substitute can be found in the phonograph, for which there are a number of chimes records.--The tune played on the phonograph must not be a modern one; Luther's Hymn "Great God, what do I see and hear?" (A Columbia record) is the best. The tune can be disguised by lifting the needle occasionally and setting it down gently on another part of the record. As far as I know, no phonograph record presents chimes pure and simple. It should be remembered however that the phonograph record lacks the vitality of tone and the note of jubilant triumph which a good musician can bring from the bells themselves.

With the exception of the crescendo at the end of the Alleluia, the music is kept soft and dreamy throughout. It is a temptation to try to achieve this effect by placing singers and organ back, off stage, so that the sound may come from a distance but it has been found that the whole performance gains immeasurably if the organist is in front where he can watch every movement of the actors and interpret them in his playing.

The music begins on Holger's speech: "Oh thou art warm" and continues in one form or another throughout the play.--The organist commences in the middle of the Ropartz "Sortie," at the top of page 6 and continues this until the back of the hut is withdrawn when he drifts into the accompaniment of the Gevaert song, and plays it through once without the voices. As Holger cries "Dame!"--and sinks back against the woman's knee, this verse should end, and the voices of the choir take up the song with the organ.

From this point on every movement in the chancel is paced to the rhythm of the music. It has been found that a verse of the Gevaert song is just long enough to fit the following action.

A person in the procession enters the chancel, walks to the center before the altar, kneels and presents his gift to the priest. The priest accepts the gift, turns, goes up the steps to the altar, and raises the offering high above his head holding it there a moment waiting for the chimes to ring, then brings his arms down, lays the gift on the altar, turns back to the kneeling figure, and raises his hand in blessing. The person then rises, and steps back to his appointed place to the left or right of the altar, coming to a standstill just as the music ends. As the next verse begins, the next person enters the chancel. The movements should be made with deliberation and dignity and so thoroughly rehearsed that keeping time to the music becomes instinctive, that the actor's mind may be on the expressing of the emotions of assurances that his gift will ring the chimes, and later disappointment that the chimes do not ring.

When it comes Holger's turn to offer the pennies, the music begins again as with the others and accompanies the action through to the moment when the priest holds the pennies high above his head,--here the organ and singing break off abruptly, the chimes ring out and keep pealing for a moment, without other music.