3 1822 01223 5396 
 
 t SHORT PLAYS 
 
 ABOUT 
 
 FAMOUS AUTHORS 
 
 •JVUUDE -MORRISON 'FRAiNR
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 ITY Op
 
 ORNia SAN OIEGO 
 
 3 1822 01223 5396 1 
 
 N 
 F55
 
 SHORT PLAYS ABOUT 
 FAMOUS AUTHORS 
 
 BY 
 
 MAUDE MORRISON FRANK 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1915
 
 Copyright, 1915, 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 Published February, 1915 
 
 For permission to produce any of the plays in this volume at an 
 entertainment for which an admission fee is charged, application 
 should be made to the author, in care of the publishers. No per- 
 mission is necessary unless an admission fee is charged. 
 
 THE QUINN « BODEN CO. PRESS
 
 For love of unforgotten times — 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 When a writer of stories or plays chooses well- 
 known characters for his chief personages, he finds him- 
 self obliged to take certain liberties with the facts as set 
 down in the printed page of history or biography. As 
 Sir Walter Scott once put it, stories of things that really 
 happened must be given a stick and a cocked hat, before 
 they can be introduced to readers as novels or dramas. 
 In the plays contained in this volume there has been 
 some shifting of dates to help out the plots, and Time 
 has been made to go at a less dawdling pace than is his 
 habit, in order to bring necessary happenings within 
 the compass of a single act. But these changes are 
 fairly entitled to indulgence, if, in spite of them, the 
 familiar figures that appear against backgrounds more 
 or less closely copied from actual life are not unfaith- 
 fully portrayed. The writer hopes that such is the case, 
 and that Goldsmith, Dickens, and the others whom 
 we know and care for may become in some slight de- 
 gree more real to the young people who read and act 
 these little plays about great authors. 
 
 Experience has shown that the production of the 
 plays need present few difficulties, even to players of 
 very limited resources. The setting is in all cases ex- 
 ceedingly simple. The costumes required for all the
 
 vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 characters, with the exception of those in the Christmas 
 pageant and the fairy plaj-, belong to the eighteenth or 
 the early nineteenth centur3\ In planning these cos- 
 tumes, Hugh Thomson's or C. E. Brock's illustrations 
 to books dealing with the periods in question will serve 
 as helpful and readily accessible guides. A good and in- 
 expensive quartet of books describing and illustrating 
 costumes is the series " English Costumes," prepared by 
 D. C. Calthrop, and published by A. C. Black and 
 Company. The costumes of the characters in the 
 Christmas pageant are traditional, and are fully de- 
 scribed in the stage directions. For the elves in " The 
 Fairies' Plea " there are useful suggestions in the ex- 
 cellent little book, " The Bankside Costume Book for 
 Children," by Melicent Stone, published recently by 
 Wells, Gardner, Darton, and Company.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction v 
 
 A Mistake at the Manor .... i 
 
 When Heine Was Twenty-One ... 33 
 
 Miss Burney at Court 65 
 
 A Christmas Eve with Charles Dickens . 97 
 
 The Fairies' Plea 133
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR
 
 This play is based on an incident in the early life of 
 Oliver Goldsmith, which is related as follows by Aus- 
 tin Dobson: 
 
 " Having set ofi for school on a borrowed hack, and 
 equipped with boundless riches in the shape of a guinea, 
 given him by a friend, he amused himself by viewing 
 the neighboring country seats on the road, intending 
 ultimately to put up like a gentleman at an inn. Night 
 fell, and he found himself at Ardagh, half-way on his 
 journey. Casting about for information as to the best 
 house, that is to say, the best inn in the neighborhood, 
 he unluckily hit upon one Cornelius Kelly, who had 
 been fencing-master to the Marquis of Granby, but, 
 what is more to the purpose, a confirmed wag and prac- 
 tical joker. Amused with Oliver's schoolboy swagger, 
 he gravely directed him to the mansion of the local 
 magnate, Squire Featherston. To Squire Featherston 
 the lad accordingly repaired, and called hastily for some- 
 one to take his horse. Being ushered into the presence 
 of the supposed landlord and his family, he ordered a 
 good supper, invited the rest to share, treated to a bottle 
 or two of wine, and finally retired to rest, leaving care- 
 ful instructions that a hot cake should be prepared for 
 his breakfast on the morrow. His host, who was a 
 humorist, and, moreover, knew something of his visitor's 
 father, never undeceived him, and it was not until he 
 
 3
 
 4 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 quitted the supposed inn the next day that he learned to 
 his confusion that he had been entertained at a private 
 house. Thus early in Oliver Goldsmith's career was 
 rehearsed the first sketch of the successful comedy, ' She 
 Stoops to Conquer.' "
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Squire Featherston, a country gentleman. 
 
 Mrs. Featherston, his wife. 
 
 Grady, a butler. 
 
 Molly, a maid. 
 
 Cornelius Kelly, a groom. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith, aged 15. 
 
 Time: 1743. 
 Scene: The dining-hall at Featherston Manor. In 
 the center of the hall is a table set for three. To the 
 left is another table on which are various pieces of 
 silver. Grady is vigorously polishing the silver as 
 Kelly enters from the right. Kelly wears high 
 boots, and carries his hat, in which is fastened a cockade 
 of white ribbon. 
 
 Grady 
 Is it yourself, then, Corney Kelly, coming around so 
 early? And what might be the matter with the stables, 
 that you're after quitting them at this time of the day ? 
 
 Kelly 
 Sure, I just stepped over to wish you the top o' the 
 morning, and to ask how the world was treating you 
 all here. 
 
 5
 
 6 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Grady 
 
 [Angrily.] How the world is treating me, is it? 
 'Tis not a good time to ask me that, then. There's a 
 scrap of the world that's treating me as bad as pos- 
 sible this very minute. Hot cakes, indeed ! I'd hot 
 him, if I had the chance. " And don't go wool-gather- 
 ing and forget to put the plates in the platewarmer, old 
 cock," he says to me — me, that's waited on Squire 
 Featherston and all his friends for four and twenty 
 year! 
 
 Kelly 
 Who's this you're distressing yourself about? 
 
 Grady 
 
 'Tis a young sprig that dropped in here last night to 
 visit the master, and is like to drive us all distracted 
 with his impudent ways. " Don't you be after filling 
 your pockets more than half full up with his oats," he 
 says to Tim O'Rourke, when he gives him his horse to 
 feed. Tim was that angry when he came in and told 
 us in the servants' hall about it that we could hardly 
 keep him from going back and putting up his fists at 
 him. And ]\Iolly 
 
 Kelly 
 
 [Interrupting.] Molly! What did he have to be 
 after saying anything at all to Molly for?
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 7 
 
 Grady 
 
 [Laughing.l Ah, there, now; there's no need to be 
 troubling yourself about anything he might say to 
 Molly, even though 'tis her bachelor you'd like to be. 
 'Tis only a youngster that he is, though a more for- 
 ward, swaggering jackanapes I never set eyes on. 
 [Enter Molly.] Here's Molly herself now. Do you 
 ask her if I'm not in the right about him. 
 
 Molly 
 
 I've a message for you, Mr. Grady. [Seeing 
 Kelly.] A pleasant good-morning to you, Mr. Kelly, 
 
 Kelly 
 
 Sure, 'tis always a pleasant morning when I see you, 
 Molly. 
 
 Grady 
 
 [To Molly.] Have jou forgotten my message 
 entirely ? 
 
 Molly 
 
 'Tis from the j'oung gentleman in the guest-chamber. 
 He called out to me, that you were to look sharp with 
 his breakfast, and not forget the cake, for he'd be down 
 directly. 
 
 Grady 
 
 Did anyone ever hear the like of that, now ? I won- 
 der did he have no more orders to give? 
 
 [Bell rings violently.
 
 8 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Molly 
 
 There's his bell now. I'll run up and see what he'll 
 be needing, or he'll be after breaking the bell-pull. 
 
 [Exit Molly. 
 
 Grady 
 
 Perhaps his boots weren't blacked to his liking, and 
 he'd be wanting the master to do them for him, or 
 maybe he'd wish the mistress to mend the tear in his 
 ruffles. [Re-enter Molly, laughing. 
 
 Grady 
 
 And what was his will, then ? 
 
 Molly 
 
 Faith, I couldn't keep from laughing in the face of 
 him. He wanted shaving-water, and him no more than 
 a slip of a boy that's hardly loosed from his mother's 
 apron-strings. " Is it yourself you're going to shave? " 
 says I. " And maybe when I bring you up the water 
 I'll bring you up the cat, too, and you can shave her." * 
 
 Kelly 
 
 [Admiringly.] Ah, you've always got the ready 
 tongue, Molly. 
 
 * Molly must have told this joke about the cat to her 
 friends, for we find Sullivan, Captain Fitzsimons's man in 
 Thackeray's " Barry Lyndon," making the same remark to 
 young Redmond Barry under similar circumstances.
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 9 
 
 Grady 
 
 I'll have to be going in to the cook now, I expect, 
 and giving her the visitor's orders. Was the like of 
 such a visitor ever seen, I ask you? Ordering his own 
 breakfast in the Squire's house, and telling me to look 
 sharp about it, too! [To Molly and Kelly.] Do 
 you two, now, get away out of here. It's little I care 
 about the young jackanapes, but the Squire and the 
 mistress'll be along presently, and the hall's no place 
 for you, Corney Kelly, even if the Squire does think a 
 deal of you for keeping his horses in good trim. 
 
 [Exit Grady. 
 
 Molly 
 
 He's angry in good earnest. But sure 'tis a queer 
 thing for the master to be having a lad with ways like 
 those in the house, and him always so particular with 
 everybody. Why, when I passed the door last night, 
 'twas sitting in the best armchair he was, with the 
 Squire and the mistress both standing up, and his legs 
 crossed before him, as comfortable as a lord. 
 
 Kelly 
 
 [In a confidential tone.~\ Would you like me to tell 
 you a fine secret, Molly? 
 
 Molly 
 
 Why wouldn't I like to know a secret of any kind 
 whatever ?
 
 10 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Kelly 
 
 Will you dance with me at the village to-night, if 
 I tell it you? 
 
 Molly 
 
 I will that. But be quick with your secret, for I'll 
 have to be getting back to my work before the mistress 
 comes along. 
 
 Kelly 
 
 'Tis all a trick of my own about the lad above- 
 stairs. 
 
 Molly 
 
 A trick, you say? What kind of a trick, then? 
 
 Kelly 
 
 Well, 'tis this way. Last night, as I was walking 
 down the road smoking my pipe, there comes along this 
 young bantam-cock of a fellow. He pulls up his horse 
 and says to me, as patronizing as if he was King George 
 himself, " Can you tell me, my man, if there's any 
 place hereabouts where a gentleman could lie for the 
 night? None of your cabins," he says, flourishing his 
 whip, " but a place where a gentleman that could pay 
 for real comfort would be at home. The best house 
 in the district is what I'm looking for, my good fel- 
 low," says he again. " Is it the very best house here- 
 abouts you're looking for?" says I. "And what else 
 would a gentleman like me be wanting? " says he.
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR ii 
 
 " Well, then," says I, " you go on half a mile down the 
 road, and then take the turn to the left, and you'll see 
 the house that's the best in Ardagh." " There's good 
 quarters there? " he asks. " As good as any in all Ire- 
 land," says I, speaking nothing but the truth. " Well, 
 then, good-night to you, my man," says he, and rides 
 off, as proud as you please. 
 
 Molly 
 
 [In a tone of consternation^ And 'twas here you 
 sent him! 
 
 Kelly 
 Isn't this the best house in Ardagh, I'd like to know? 
 
 Molly 
 
 You sent him to Squire Featherston's when he was 
 looking for an inn ! Sure the Squire'U not forgive you 
 if he finds it out. 'Tis a kind master that he is, but 
 he'll not be for putting up with the like of that, I'm 
 thinking, 
 
 Kelly 
 
 Ah, then, I've not much fear of his finding out at 
 all, that 'twas myself that sent him here, for the young 
 sprig had no knowledge of me, whatever. And if he 
 did — why, the Squire's fond of a joke himself, they've 
 all been telling me ever since I came on to Ardagh. 
 And if ever anyone needed to have his comb cut, 'twas
 
 12 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 my young gentleman of last night, with his airs and his 
 flourishes, and the Squire's the right one to be doing 
 it for him. 
 
 Molly 
 
 [In a puzzled tone.] The Squire never let on the 
 least bit in the world that the lad was no friend of his. 
 
 Kelly 
 
 I wonder now what that was for. But we've a good 
 tale to tell, whichever way the cat jumps. Let's be 
 off now, for here's the master and mistress coming. 
 I'll go below stairs with you, and maybe we'll hear 
 something from Mr. Grady when breakfast's over. 
 
 Molly 
 
 Ah, sure, 'tis you that has the head for a clever 
 trick, Mr. Kelly. I wish there may no harm come 
 to you for this one, though. 
 
 Kelly 
 
 I'll not mind anything whatever, if you'll keep your 
 promise about the dance to-night, Molly. 
 
 [Exeunt Molly and Kelly. Enter 
 Squire Featherston and Mrs. 
 Featherston. Mrs. Featherston 
 goes up to one of the chairs at the table 
 and is about to be seated, when the 
 Squire checks her.
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 13 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 [In a tone of pretended concern.] For shame, my 
 dear! It would never do for the landlord and land- 
 lady to take their places before their guest was seated. 
 We must e'en stand and wait for him, willy-nilly. 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 I protest, the part grows too difficult for me to play. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 Nay, as for me, I find it a pleasant enough change to 
 be Boniface for a while, instead of the Squire — to be 
 bullied a trifle, instead of being made obeisance to. 
 'Tis a moment's breath of reality such as seldom touches 
 us little great folk of the landed gentry'. I have my 
 fill of seeing everybody about me hat in hand, and I 
 should be but ungrateful not to welcome anyone who 
 says a few rude words to me — even though 'tis only a 
 foolish lad making a foolish blunder. 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 
 [Petulantly.] Well, Mr. Featherston, I am less 
 fond of rude words than you, and I shan't be sorry 
 when the jest is over. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 A little patience, madam, and the game will play 
 itself out. [A noise is heard as if of furniture being
 
 14 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 pushed about.] Hark, I think I hear my gentleman 
 bestirring himself. We must take pains not to make it 
 too hard for him when he comes to his senses, — eh, my 
 dear? I confess, I've taken a liking to the scapegrace, 
 in spite of his impudence. 
 
 [Enter Goldsmith, humming a tune 
 loudly. He strides up to the table, 
 draws the chair up as noisily as possible, 
 and throws himself back in it with an air 
 of great importance. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 [Boiving low.] Good-morning to you, sir. I hope 
 you rested well. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 {^IVith an air of nonchalance.] Ha! landlord, at 
 j'our post? Never fear; I'll not forget to call for a 
 morning tankard to make the reckoning longer. The 
 house shan't suffer that has 7ne for a guest, I promise 
 you. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 [Deprecatingly.] Nay, sir, I but inquired how you 
 had slept. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 Oh, as to that, so-so.
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 15 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 Was the bed not to your liking, sir? 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 [Carelessly.] 'Twas not so ill for an inn, maybe. 
 But you should get fresher hangings when the next 
 packman comes to your gate. Mistress Boniface. 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 
 [Bridling.] 'Tis a pity that our tapestries did not 
 please you. They have some value in the eyes of 
 judges of the art. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 A fig for all musty, fusty hangings of any sort what- 
 ever, say I. But I vow I shall be starved if you 
 dawdle away the time much longer with your talk of 
 tapestries and such. What about breakfast, pray? 
 What can you give me, now? 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 [Rubbing his hands.] We have in the larder, I 
 believe, a joint of cold beef, a leg of cold veal, a ham, 
 and a pigeon-pie, from which we should be honored to 
 have you select your meal. I can especially vouch for 
 the merits of the pie. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 None of your cold victuals for me. 'Tis quite 
 enough to have them offered you at night, after a ride
 
 i6 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 of a dozen miles or more, without beginning the next 
 day upon them. You're a prettj' landlord, man! I 
 warrant you've forgotten the hot cake I bespoke last 
 night. [To Mrs. Featherston.] You should jog 
 his memory, hostess! 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 I protest, I had forgotten. But I make no doubt that 
 the butler — I should say rather, the factotum — to whom 
 your honor was pleased to give the order, has kept your 
 honor's wishes in mind better than I. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 Have the fellow in, then, and waste no time about 
 it. I must be getting on my way as quick as may be, 
 and I have no mind to go on with only your cold com- 
 fort in my stomach. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 He shall be here directly, sir. 
 
 [Rings bell. 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 I wish, sir, that we might have succeeded better in 
 winning your favor. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 Nay, Madam Boniface, never heed me overmuch. 
 'Tis only a traveler's way, after all. Who would give
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 17 
 
 a snap of his fingers for us travelers if we were always 
 content? \^Enter Grady. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 [fVith a change of manner.^ Ah, here's the old cock 
 himself. [Grady starts indignantly, but controls him- 
 self.] The solemn look of him's worth an extra shilling 
 in the reckoning. [To Grady.] Did you remember 
 what I bespoke for breakfast, now ? 
 
 Grady 
 
 [Very gravely.] I did, sir. The cook's only just 
 now drawing the cake out of the oven. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 Up with it then, double-quick. And a draught of 
 your best ale with it — your best, mind you — none of 
 your second brew. 
 
 [Grady goes out. Goldsmith lolls back 
 in his chair and sings " Barbara Allen " 
 quite audibly, continuing while Grady 
 re-enters bearing a tankard, and followed 
 by Molly, who carries a plate with 
 a hot cake. Grady and Molly set the 
 plate and tankard before Goldsmith, 
 ivho still sings away, regardless of 
 Grady's looks of offended astonishment 
 and Molly's only half-suppressed 
 amusement. Exit MoLLY.
 
 i8 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 BARBARA ALLEN 
 
 In Scar - let Town, where 
 
 was born, 
 
 ±1 
 
 There 
 
 was 
 
 a fair maid dwel - lin' 
 
 i 
 
 ^'- 
 
 Who made the youths sigh Well - a - day! 
 
 Her 
 
 name was Bar - b'ra Al - len. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 [Eating.] 'Tis not so well-flavored a cake as is to 
 be had at the Bull in Edgeworthstown. [Takes up the 
 tankard.] This ale is something too thin for me. 
 [To the Squire.] Have you none headier? 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 How is our cellar, Grady? Have we another brew 
 of ale? 
 
 Grady 
 
 [Stiffly.] Never a one, sir.
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 19 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 Ah, well, a poor drink is better than none. [Drains 
 the tankard.] 'Tis but a thin brew to travel on, none 
 the less. I warrant you our friend yonder [pointing to 
 Grady] knows a secret or two about it. The water- 
 butt's a trusty helper when the keg's half dry, eh? 
 Nay, 'tis no matter [as Grady seejns about to speak]. 
 I bear no ill-will, 'Tis all in the day's journey when 
 one takes the road. And now, my man [to Grady], 
 do you tell the stable-lad to give my horse another 
 measure of oats. [Grady is about to leave.] And 
 tell him, too, that he's not to let more than half the 
 measure find the way into his pocket. Will you mind 
 the message, now ? 
 
 Grady 
 
 [Wfio has started for the door, turns about, facing 
 Goldsmith, and gesticulates violently as he begins to 
 speak, angrily.] No, I'll not be after minding any 
 such message as that. I've heard enough from you 
 now. I'll carry no such word to Tim O'Rourke, my 
 own cousin's nephew's son, that's known to everyone 
 as the honestest lad in the parish, and me recommend- 
 ing him to the master for the place here. Is it in a 
 thieving tavern that you think you are, indeed, with 
 your talk of stealing oats and watering the drink? 
 Sure, it's in a low-lived shebeen that you deserve to be, 
 with your manners and your doings, and not in a gen- 
 tleman's house, at all !
 
 20 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 [Who has listened to the tirade in open-mouthed 
 astonishment.] A gentleman's house! 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 [To Mrs. Featherston.] Ah, madam, now that 
 honest Grady has taken a hand, our game is over, j'ou 
 see. 
 
 Grady 
 
 [Subsiding somewhat.} Your honor'll not hold it 
 against me, I hope, that I've forgot myself for a min- 
 ute, and given a taste o' the rough side of my tongue to 
 a lad that's got no kind of manners at all ! 'Twas as 
 much as flesh and blood could stand to see a buckeen 
 like him yonder misbehaving to you and the mistress, 
 and you so considerate-like, because, faith, it's your 
 visitor he is. But I know your honor'd never wish the 
 characters to be taken away from your servants, and me 
 not to speak for them, that's so proud of their service 
 with the Squire. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 [Who has grown more and more uneasy. '\ Proud — 
 of their service — with the Squire? 
 
 Grady 
 [Turning sharply on Goldsmith.] Ah, and I may 
 well say that, for Squire Featherston's known far and 
 wide to be the best master, and the finest gentleman 
 too, in all the county !
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 21 
 
 Goldsmith 
 [Looking from one to the other.~\ Squire Feather- 
 ston? 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 [Bowing low.^ At your service, my young friend. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 [Excitedly.'] What's this house called, then? Has 
 it any name? Tell me, madam [to Mrs. Feather- 
 ston], pray! 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 This house has always been called Featherston 
 Manor since Sir Richard Featherston built it, a hun- 
 dred and fifty years ago. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 [Rising and slapping his knee.] Then I've been a 
 bigger fool than anyone ever took me for — and that's 
 saying a great deal ! 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 [Taking seat.] Well, at any rate, I suppose I may 
 sit down in my own house now. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 [Genially.] Nay, never mind a bit of folly, my 
 lad. There's many a wise man has been a fool, and 
 the world no whit the worse for it.
 
 22 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Goldsmith 
 But I've been the very greatest fool in all Ireland! 
 Here have I tumbled myself headforemost into a gen- 
 tleman's house, and given everybody tlie same orders 
 as though 'twas my own, and misconducted myself 
 mightily altogether, the more shame to me, when all 
 the while 'twas only the guinea I had to spend at an 
 inn, that was burning a hole in my pocket! 
 
 Grady 
 
 An inn, indeed ! And was it an inn you took the 
 Squire's home for, and his honor himself for the inn- 
 keeper? Sure that caps all! 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 But tell us, pray, how you came to think this was 
 an inn. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 I was directed here straight enough, and told I'd 
 find the best inn in all the countryside. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 An honor, I'm sure. But who paid us the compli- 
 ment of commending us so highly? 
 
 Goldsmith 
 A smooth-spoken young fellow in riding-boots who 
 was strolling along the road a half-mile or so from
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 23 
 
 here, as I was coming up it. He was so ready with his 
 tongue — ah! Fd like nothing better than to say a few 
 words to him this minute. 
 
 Grady 
 
 Riding-boots, is it? And did you take any notice of 
 his hat, now? 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 There was a sizable cockade in it — yes, and 'twas 
 a white one. 
 
 Grady 
 
 The rascal! I've got him, sure enough! 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 Ah, Grady, can you help us to find our amiable 
 patron and our young friend's kind guide? 
 
 Grady 
 
 I can fetch him up here in no more than the shake 
 of a lamb's tail, if your honor will give me leave. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 By all means, let us make his acquaintance. 
 
 Grady 
 
 Very well, your honor. 
 
 [Exit.
 
 24 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Goldsmith 
 [Hanging his head.] 'Tis not the first blunder I've 
 made, nor is it likely to be the last ; but I'm distressed 
 that I cut so sorry a figure in this house. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 Nay, a word has set it all straight. 'Twas a trans- 
 parent blunder enough, and our evening here, as 
 Madam will tell you, has been the less dull for your 
 little adventure; so there is something to be counted 
 on the credit side of your score. 
 
 [Grady appears in the doorway, followed 
 by Kelly^ who has as ?nuch of a siuog- 
 gering air about him as is compatible 
 with his respect for the Squire. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 There's the very fellow now! [To the Squire.] 
 Do you but ask him what he told me. 
 
 Grady 
 
 I've got him to come up, your honor; but he de- 
 clares he told the young gentleman not a word but what 
 was true, and how to come at the rights of that I don't 
 know. [To Molly, who enters with a tray.] You've 
 no need here at all, my girl. 
 
 Molly 
 [Timidly.] I thought his honor might be wanting 
 the dishes cleared off.
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 25 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 I suspect Molly has something besides dishes on her 
 mind. Let her stay, Grady, if her mistress [boiuing to 
 Mrs. Featherston] is willing. [To Kelly.] Well, 
 Kelly, my young friend here has a crow to pluck with 
 you, and I've a mind to stand by and see the plucking. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 IRuefully.} A crow, indeed ! The bird in that bar- 
 gain was more likely a gull! [To Kelly.] What 
 did you make a fool of me last night for, misdirecting 
 me when I asked a straight question? 
 
 Kelly 
 I didn't misdirect you, anyway whatever. 
 
 Grady 
 Hark to that now! 
 
 Goldsmith 
 [Indignantly.'] How have you the face to tell me 
 that! Didn't I ask you for the best house in all the 
 countryside, and didn't you tell me to go on till I came 
 here? 
 
 Kelly 
 Well, and where will you find a better house in 
 Ardagh than Featherston Manor, I'd like to know? 
 [Pause. The Squire begins to chuckle.
 
 26 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Goldsmith 
 But it was an inn I asked you for, man! 
 
 Kelly 
 'Twas a house you said, and 'twas a house I sent 
 you to, and never a better one in all Ireland, nor one 
 with a better master or mistress to it. Who's to blame 
 if we were at cross-purposes in our talk? Sure, you 
 were so proud-like that there was no stopping you when 
 you once got started on your road. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 The clouds begin to lift. [To Goldsmith.] Do 
 you see, now, how we came by the honor of j^our 
 patronage ? 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 I see that I'd best have stayed at old Paddy Byrne's 
 school and minded my book with him, blockhead that I 
 am ! 'Twould have been better than going to the fine 
 school at Edgeworthtown, that I'm on my way home 
 from now, and disgracing everybody there, and my 
 poor father at Lissoy into the bargain. Won't they all 
 say when they hear of it, " What else but folly did 
 anyone ever expect of Parson Goldsmith's Noll ? Sure, 
 he was born a fool, and a fool he'll stay." 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 Parson Goldsmith of Lissoy, you say your father is? 
 Not the Charles Goldsmith who took orders in the 
 year fourteen?
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 27 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 He was ordained in the very year the Queen died, 
 I've often heard him say. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 Why, this is a meeting, indeed ! My dear [to Mrs. 
 Featherston], allow me to present to you the son 
 of my old college-mate at Trinity. [Mrs. Feather- 
 ston courtesies. Goldsmith bows.^ Many a lec- 
 ture his father and I dozed through side by side, while 
 good Dr. Longley was droning his way through the 
 metaphysics. But I woke up and went on to livelier 
 doings, while he had to put on the surplice and bands at 
 his patron's bidding. Ah, well, he was cut out for a 
 parson, and I'll warrant he makes a good one. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 The Lissoy people can tell you enough about that. 
 There's no vicar that they'll admit to be the equal of 
 theirs. But [hanging his head] I'm afraid they'd not 
 give the same character to his son Noll. They'd have 
 fine tales to tell you of his blunderings, and now here's 
 another added to them, and the worst of them all. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 
 Nay, my lad, the blunder is over and done with, and 
 a friend — or two friends, if I know Madam as well 
 as I should — come out of it for you. I suppose.
 
 28 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 though, there's a score to be settled with your guide 
 here. [Looking at Kelly, with something of an air 
 of severity.] — 'Twas not precisely in the bargain, when 
 I hired him to see to my horses, that he should turn 
 me into an innkeeper. 
 
 Molly 
 [Coming forward, deprecatingly.] Oh, sure, your 
 honor'd not be too hard on the lad for a bit of a joke! 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 Well, we shall hear how our guest is minded in 
 the matter. [To Goldsmith.] Should not my 
 ready-tongued gentleman yonder pay something of a 
 penalty for his prank? 
 
 Goldsmith 
 Why, sir, if you will hearken to me. Master Kelly 
 may go back to his stables with a clean slate. 'Twas 
 nothing but my own folly that led to it all, and I want 
 no one else to do the paying for it. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 [To Mrs. Featherston.] What say j^ou, madam? 
 Shall it be as our young friend would have it? 
 
 Mrs. Featherston 
 'Twas a sad idle trick to be sure, to make an inn of 
 Featherston Manor, and an innkeeper's wife of its mis-
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 29 
 
 tress. But — bygones are best let to be bygones, I 
 suppose. 
 
 Squire Featherston 
 [To Kelly.] Well, since the two ladies are for 
 having it so, there's naught for it but to wipe out the 
 score. So get you back to the stables, and see that our 
 visitor's horse is ready for the road. [To Molly.] 
 And do you go with the rascal and preach him a 
 sound sermon about keeping out of mischief. 
 
 Molly 
 I will that, your honor. And thank you kindly for 
 not holding his mischievous ways against him. [To 
 Goldsmith.] And I'll say thank you to you, too, 
 sir, for bearing no malice. 
 
 Kelly 
 
 [To Squire and Mrs. Featherston.] Service, 
 
 your honors! [To Goldsmith.] 'Twas a good house 
 
 with a good master I sent you to after all, you see, sir. 
 
 [Molly pulls him sharply by the sleeve. 
 
 Exeunt Kelly and Molly. 
 
 Grady 
 [To Goldsmith.] Sure, and if I may be so bold, 
 I'd like to say myself that I'm sorry for having been 
 so free with my tongue to a young gentleman that's 
 got the kind heart like your own.
 
 30 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 Ah, well, the wiseacres will be shaking their head 
 over Noll Goldsmith's folly many a time, I make no 
 doubt. Town or country, man or boy, 'twill be all 
 one to him, I'm thinking; for his soft heart will lead 
 him into many a scrape that a better head than his 
 would be bothered to get out of. The best he can do 
 will be to make a bit of a song or tell a merry tale 
 about his silly doings, so that the other folk may have a 
 laugh when they are well over. And that reminds me. 
 Squire, there were some lines came into my foolish 
 noddle, as I was riding through the lane yesterday, 
 about the death of a mad dog. 'Tis a sweet subject. 
 Shall I make a shift to let you hear them before I go ? 
 'Tis all that I can do to make amends for my misdoings 
 at Featherston Manor. [To Mrs. Featherston.] 
 Have I your leave, madam? [Mrs. Featherston 
 inclines her head.'\ \_To the Squire.] And yours, 
 sir? [The Squire nods assent.'] 'Twill not be long, 
 I promise you. 
 
 [Goldsmith takes center of stage, and be- 
 gins to sing * (or recite), " Good people 
 all — " Grady, at side table, beats 
 time; Squire and Mrs. Featherston 
 follow attentively, smiling. Molly and 
 Kelly are seen listening at door. 
 
 ♦Madame Liza Lehmann's very effective setting to this 
 ballad may be procured at any establishment where music 
 is sold. If the Goldsmith of the occasion prefers to omit 
 the singing, the " Elegy " may be recited instead of sung.
 
 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR 31 
 
 SONG 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG 
 
 Good people all, of every sort, 
 
 Give ear unto my song; 
 And if you find it wondrous short 
 
 It cannot keep you long. 
 
 In Islington there lived a man 
 
 Of whom the world did say 
 That still a godly race he ran 
 
 Whene'er he went to pray. 
 
 A kind and gentle heart he had 
 
 To comfort friends and foes; 
 The naked every day he clad. 
 
 When he put on his clothes. 
 
 And in that town a dog was found, 
 
 As many dogs there be. 
 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound. 
 
 And curs of low degree. 
 
 This dog and man at first were friends, 
 
 But when a pique began. 
 The dog, to gain his private ends, 
 
 Went mad, and bit the man. 
 
 Around from all the neighboring streets 
 
 The wondering neighbors ran. 
 And swore the dog had lost his wits 
 
 To bite so good a man.
 
 32 A MISTAKE AT THE MANOR. 
 
 The wound it seem'd both sore and sad 
 
 To every Christian eye, 
 And while they swore the dog was mad, 
 
 They swore the man would die. 
 
 But soon a wonder came to light 
 That show'd the rogues they lied ; 
 
 The man recover'd of the bite, 
 The dog it was that died.
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY- 
 ONE
 
 The incidents in this play are suggested by the facts 
 of Heinrich Heine's life as related by his biographers 
 and revealed in his poems and letters. We know that 
 the poet's unrequited love for his cousin Amalie 
 (Molly) was the theme of most of the beautiful lyrics 
 that appeared In his first volume of poetry; and we 
 know that the wealthy banker, Salomon Heine, would 
 have preferred a steady-going nephew with a talent for 
 finance to the erratic genius who formed part of the 
 Hamburg household about the year 1820. 
 
 35
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY- 
 ONE 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Heinrich Heine, aged twenty-one. 
 
 Salomon Heine, a banker, Heinrich's uncle. 
 
 Kellermann, a clerk. 
 
 Christian Sethe, a student of jurisprudence, Hein- 
 rich Heine's friend. 
 
 Herr Maier, a merchant, Salomon Heine's friend. 
 
 Professor Mertens, head of the Hamburg Gym- 
 nasium. 
 
 Molly, Salomon Heine's daughter. 
 
 A maid. 
 
 Time: 1821. 
 
 The Scene is the living-room in the house of Salo- 
 mon Heine, in Hamburg. The furniture is solid 
 and comfortable, but very ugly. On each side of the 
 room is a large desk well supplied with writing ma- 
 terials. At the desk to the right is seated Heinrich 
 Heine, writing a letter. Christian Sethe is in an 
 armchair beside a table, reading a small volume. 
 Heine lays down his quill pen, sprinkles sand over his 
 paper, then after a moment, folds the letter, picks up his 
 pen, and writes the superscription. 
 
 37
 
 38 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Sethe 
 [Reading aloud.'\ 
 
 * Ein Fichtenhaum stelit cinsam, 
 Im Norden, attf kahler Ilbh' ; 
 Iliii scliUifert; mit njsdsser Decke 
 Umhiillen ihn Eis und Schnee. 
 
 Er fraumt 'von e'uicr Palme, 
 
 Die, fern im Morgenland, 
 Einsam mid scliwcigend trauert 
 
 Auf hrennender Felsennsjand. 
 
 (Alone in the dreary northland, 
 
 A pine-tree stands on a height, 
 Asleep, while about his branches 
 Fall snowflakes thick and white. 
 
 His dreams are all of a palm-tree, 
 
 Afar in the southern land, 
 That grieves through the weary hours, 
 
 Alone 'mid the burning sand.) 
 
 [Laying the book down.] 
 
 That deserves a bravo, old comrade! But I beg your 
 pardon. I should not interrupt. 
 
 Heine 
 
 [Flinging his pen dozen and springing up noisily.] 
 There ! I have made my bow to the very last corre- 
 spondent of the morning who wants to cheat my uncle 
 or be cheated by him ! 
 
 Sethe 
 
 [A?nused.~\ Apparently your uncle has curious cor- 
 respondents. 
 
 ♦The translations of the German poetry may be substi- 
 tuted for the original in case audience or players are un- 
 familiar with German.
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 39 
 Heine 
 
 Not curious in the least. What I remarked was 
 that I had finished answering the business letters of 
 the bank of Salomon Heine and Company for to-day. 
 [In a tone of disgust.] Pah! This house reeks of 
 business! There's no escaping from it! Here in the 
 living-room, where every other fat and greasy citizen 
 of Hamburg is content to smoke, and read The 
 Watchman, and leave other folks in peace, my uncle 
 must have a couple of desks set up — one for me and one 
 for old Kellermann — so that on days when the counting- 
 house is closed, the machinery of answering the eternal 
 letters can be kept revolving as steadily as ever. Two 
 hours of my morning gone to-day, — when the evening 
 must be wasted in being polite to the stupid merchants 
 and their stupider wives who are coming to the indi- 
 gestible dinner my uncle is going to give them to-night! 
 But now I am free for a time — free for a walk and a 
 talk — a talk of the old times in Diisseldorf and the 
 new times in Hamburg! Ah! [placing his hands on 
 Christian's shoulders] but it is good to see you again, 
 Christian, old fellow! How I grudge the minutes you 
 had to spend in waiting for me to break loose from my 
 chains ! 
 
 Sethe 
 
 The time passed pleasantly enough for me. Was I 
 not reading the works of a poet who will surely be 
 known as one of the first men of his century?
 
 40 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Heine 
 
 [Laughing.] So you remember that old jest of 
 mine? What a pity that it can never be quite true! 
 
 Sethe 
 From December 13, 1799, to January i, 1800, is 
 only a few days. You were born only a little on the 
 wrong side of the century, after all. 
 
 Heine 
 That was a bad beginning. I shall always be just a 
 little on the wrong side of the things I should like to 
 claim as my own, I fear. 
 
 Sethe 
 Does that mean that she has been less kind than usual 
 since you last wrote to me, I wonder? 
 
 Heine 
 
 Molly? She is always kind. She doesn't know how 
 to be anything else. She is kind to the little errand-boys 
 in the counting-house, kind to the stupid stock-brokers 
 of forty that come to dine here so that they may hear all 
 the latest rates of exchange quoted over their strong 
 coffee; and kindest of all to me and to her mother's 
 fat old lapdog. For twenty-three hours and forty-five 
 minutes out of the twenty-four hours I can succeed in 
 forgetting about the errand-boys and the money-chang- 
 ers and the lapdog, and remember only that she smiles
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 41 
 
 when I speak to her; but then there are the other fifteen 
 minutes, and they come every day, and they give me a 
 wickedly bad quarter of an hour, I assure you. 
 
 Sethe 
 
 Can you not depend on your poems to give you an 
 advantage over the others? 
 
 Heine 
 
 Ah, yes; the poems — they ought to go on the credit 
 side of the ledger. But then there is my promise to her 
 father to give up meddling with rhymes and to use 
 pen and ink and paper only for adding up marks and 
 pfennigs — that will have to be put dow^n on the debit 
 side. Isn't that a pretty commercial metaphor? You 
 see, I have not lived in Hamburg for two years with- 
 out profiting by it. 
 
 [Goes to a table at the side of the room and 
 
 busies himself with a pack of cards lying 
 
 on it. 
 
 Sethe 
 What are you doing? 
 
 Heine 
 
 Hush ! don't speak so loud ! I am building a wonder- 
 ful house of cards. See how high it is! And on the 
 very summit Molly and I are standing quite alone to- 
 gether, and my arms are clasped about her. Ah! but
 
 42 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 it takes only a breath to wreck it all! [In a changed 
 tone, as the door opens.'\ There! It is down! 
 
 [Kellermann enters. He is about fifty- 
 five, slow of speech, short-sighted, ivith 
 spectacles pushed up on his forehead, 
 and a quill pen stuck behind his ear. 
 He carries a bundle of letters, and is at 
 first much preoccupied luith his business 
 duties. 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 Good-morning, Herr Heinrich. Are the letters for 
 the Frankfort post ready? [Perceiving Sethe.] Your 
 servant, Sir. 
 
 Heine 
 
 Here they are, Kellermann. [Crossing to desk and 
 taking letters.] Every i is nicely dotted and every lie 
 is told as politely as even j'ou could do it with all your 
 forty years' experience as corresponding clerk. 
 
 Kellermann 
 [Deprecatingly.] But, Herr Heinrich! 
 
 Heine 
 
 Oh! I know you have the utmost respect for the 
 lies that a banker's figures tell. To be sure they have 
 always told the same tale to my uncle Salomon, and 
 it has been a tale well worth listening to when the
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 43 
 
 balance is struck at the end of each year. It is only 
 poetry that doesn't tell lies profitably; eh, Kellermann? 
 But you must let me present my friend Christian Sethe, 
 student of jurisprudence, from Diisseldorf. Think of 
 it, he has come all the distance out of his way from 
 Hildesheim, where his errand was, to see for himself 
 how the good-for-nothing idler, Harry Heine, managed 
 to breathe in this money-laden Hamburg air of yours. 
 
 Kellermann 
 Ach, Herr Sethe, you must not believe all that 
 Herr Heinrich says of himself. We are so proud of 
 him here since he really began to think of business. At 
 first, of course, the poetry-making got in his way a 
 little. But now, ever since he promised his uncle to 
 give it up, no one could do better than he. 
 
 Sethe 
 So? He has promised to give it up? 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 Yes; it is over a year ago since his uncle made the 
 bargain with him. I heard it made. [With dignity. ~\ 
 Ah, I may say that I am almost one of the family about 
 such affairs. Herr Salomon always takes me into his 
 confidence when there are any business matters going 
 on. 
 
 Heine 
 
 \^Drily.~\ And when are there not business matters 
 going on in this house ; eh, Kellermann ?
 
 44 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 [In a tone of great pride.] Yes, you may well ask 
 that. No house in Hamburg can equal the house of 
 Salomon Heine for business. But as I was saying, 
 Herr Sethe — over a year ago, in this very room, Herr 
 Salomon found Herr Heinrich making rhj'mes when 
 there was a letter from the Herr von Rothschild in 
 England to be answered, and he said, " Now, I have 
 had enough of this folly. H you want to be a poet, 
 then be a poet; if you want to be a banker, you shall 
 have your chance with me ; but poetry and banking do 
 not belong together in the house of Salomon Heine. 
 Take your choice," said he, just so, " stop this rhym- 
 ing nonsense, stick to your work, and in two years' 
 time I will give you a business for yourself such as my 
 nephew ought to have ; or go on with your poetry and 
 see what you can make of that. But not here in Ham- 
 burg," he said, " where we have other things to think 
 of than whether ' love ' goes with ' dove.' " And so 
 Herr Heinrich, like a sensible young gentleman, made 
 his bargain, and gave up all his poetry-making, and one 
 of these days the world will hear of the great banker 
 Heinrich Heine — is it not so, Herr Heinrich? 
 
 Heine 
 
 Yes, Kellermann, there is no telling what the world 
 may hear of Heinrich Heine. Meanwhile there is 
 something that my uncle is going to hear about him — 
 and I think he had better hear it from you.
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 45 
 
 Kellermann 
 [Anxiously.] You have not been getting into any 
 trouble, I hope, Herr Heinrich? 
 
 Heine 
 Who knows? I have been getting into print, at any 
 rate. I have had a volume of my poems published, and 
 the publisher has written to me to say that the Ham- 
 burg papers are going to print reviews of it to-day. 
 You had better break the news to my uncle while I 
 show Herr Sethe the sights of the Alster Bassin. 
 Never mind, old friend. [Clapping Kellermann on 
 the back.] Uncle Salomon is in a specially good humor 
 to-day about something, I am sure. He invited Herr 
 Sethe to the dinner party to-night as hospitably as if 
 he had discounted a score of bills for his father at the 
 most favorable rates. 
 
 Kellermann 
 [In a tone of consternation.] But, Herr Heinrich, 
 you can never mean it, that after all your uncle said 
 you have really been writing more of your poetry! 
 
 Sethe 
 It's really very nice poetry, Herr Kellermann. I 
 have the volume here. Listen to some of it. [Reads] : 
 
 Im ivundersc/idnen Monat Mat, 
 
 Als alle Knospen sprangen, 
 Da ist in meinem Herzen 
 
 Die Liebe aufgegangen.
 
 46 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Im ivunderschonen Monat Mai, 
 
 A Is alle Vogel sang en. 
 Da hah' ich ilir gestanden 
 
 Mein Sehnen und I'erlangen. 
 
 (In the month of the lovely Majtime, 
 
 When the buds thrilled with the spring. 
 Then first I heard within my heart 
 Love's tender whispering. 
 
 In the month of the lovely Maytime, 
 
 When the birds sang on each spray, 
 I found courage then to tell her 
 
 All that my heart would say.) 
 
 Now isn't that pretty? 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 Herr Sethe, Herr Sethe, what do I know about 
 such things? All that I have to do is to see that my 
 books balance, and then I can smoke my pipe and take 
 a walk in the evening without troubling myself about 
 birds and buds and sprays. But what will Herr 
 Salomon say? After Herr Heinrich's promise and 
 all — just when he was so proud of him. 
 
 Heine 
 
 [Nonchalantly.] Well, Kellermann, you must do 
 your best for me. The fat will be in the fire by 
 the time my uncle goes out for his afternoon 
 walk, — if it hasn't got there by now. Don't let me 
 get too badly burned by it if you can help it, old 
 colleague. You know you always said I could make 
 the neatest figures of anyone in the office. Come,
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 47 
 
 Christian [to Sethe], if we staj' too long my uncle 
 will be here, and we must not intrude upon any 
 confidential communications Kellermann may have to 
 make to him. Auf wiedersehen, Kellermann! We 
 shall not be away very long, so get it over comfort- 
 ably, do you hear? [Exeunt Heine and Sethe. 
 [Kellermann walks up and down, shak- 
 ing his head, catches sight of the volume 
 of poetry which Sethe has left behind, 
 picks it up, opens it, and begins to read: 
 
 Ich iveiss n't c lit ivas soil es bedeuten, 
 Dass ich so traurig bin. 
 
 (I know not what is the meaning 
 That I am sad at heart.) 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 Traurig indeed ! 
 
 [The door opens, and Salomon Heine 
 appears. He is about fifty, pompous 
 and important, luith a touch of irri- 
 tability evident in his tnanner. He 
 wears a smoking jacket, and carries a 
 pipe in one hand, some folded news- 
 papers in the other. 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 [Stopping short in his walk and hastily stuffing the 
 book into his pocket.^ Good morning, Herr Heine!
 
 48 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Salomon 
 [Drawing the armchair up to a table and seating 
 himself comfortably. He does not look at Keller- 
 MANN while speaking, and so does not observe the 
 latter s perturbation.] Morning, Kellermann! Every- 
 thing in order? 
 
 Kellermann 
 Yes, Herr Heine — that is 
 
 Salomon 
 Did Herr Heinrich get the Frankfort letters 
 written ? 
 
 Kellermann 
 [Eagerly showing letters.] The letters were all 
 ready before he went out, Herr Heine. See, I have 
 them all. 
 
 Salomon 
 [Taking letters, unfolding the?n.] Hm-m-m; yes, 
 very good, all correct. He has turned out better than 
 I expected, after all. In another year he will make as 
 good a banker as though he had been brought up 
 under my own roof. Matters have been different ever 
 since I drove that poetry-making out of his head. I 
 knew that, as soon as he got rid of that folly once for 
 all, we should find him good for something. And I 
 was right. Is it not so, Kellermann?
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 49 
 
 Kellermann 
 [Hesitatingly.^ Yes, Herr Heine, of course you 
 were right — of course 
 
 Salomon 
 [In a tone of satisfaction.^ Ah, I do not make mis- 
 takes. I could see that in spite of all the verse-monger- 
 ing he was a true Heine, who would help to make the 
 house of Salomon Heine the greatest in all Hamburg — 
 who knows, perhaps in all Germany? In that stupid 
 nest of a Diisseldorf, where no one hears of anything 
 but Rheinwein and poetry, poetry and Rheinwein, what 
 was the wonder that he should talk of being a poet? 
 But here in Hamburg there are sensible things to 
 think of, Providence be praised. The letters to the 
 post now, Kellermann. 
 
 [Begins to read a paper. 
 
 [Kellermann starts towards the door, 
 
 opens itj closes it again, comes back into 
 
 the room, goes towards the door again, 
 
 returns once more. 
 
 Salomon 
 [Looking up, and speaking sharply, in a tone of sur- 
 prise.'] Is there anything the matter with you this 
 morning, Kellermann? 
 
 Kellermann 
 [Confusedly.'] No — nothing, Herr Salomon.
 
 50 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 Salomon 
 
 Then go, and let me read my paper in peace, and do 
 not dance back and forth like a foolish marionette on 
 a string. [Kellermann remains where he is for a 
 moment, then goes through the same proceeding as 
 before.'l Something does ail 3'ou, I see. [Laying the 
 paper down.~\ Out with it. What do you want to 
 tell me? 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 Nothing, Herr Heine — only — I have been reading 
 some very interesting poetry lately. 
 
 Salomon 
 
 [/« a tone of exasperation.^ Is that what you have 
 to say to me? Have you lost your senses? 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 [In greater confusion than before.'\ No, Herr 
 Heine — but I thought — perhaps you might like to hear 
 some of it. [Takes volume out of his pocket and reads 
 with an attempt at being impressive^ : 
 
 Im nvunderschiinen Monat Mai, 
 Als alle Knospen sprangert, 
 
 Da ist in meinem Herzen 
 Die Liebe aufgegangen. 
 
 Im ivunderschonen Monat Mai-
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 51 
 
 (In the month of the lovely Maytime, 
 
 When the buds thrilled with the spring, 
 Then first I heard within my heart 
 Love's tender whispering. 
 
 In the month of the lovely Maytime — ) 
 
 Salomon 
 [Interrupting^ angrily.'\ What ridiculous nonsense 
 have you there ? 
 
 Kellermann 
 [With a great effort.'\ No nonsense at all, Herr 
 Heine. See for yourself. [Hands him the book. 
 
 Salomon 
 [Lays it down contemptuously at first, then the title 
 catches his eye. He picks it up and reads, first in a 
 puzzled tone, and then indignantly.^ " ' Junge Leiden 
 [Youth's Sorrows], by Heinrich Heine.'" "'Junge 
 Leiden [Youth's Sorrows], by Heinrich Heine'"! 
 What Heinrich Heine? My nephew! [Keller- 
 mann nods.'\ The good-for-nothing fellow! 
 
 [Slams the book down violently. 
 
 Kellermann 
 [Timidly.^ But will you not read some of the 
 poetry, Herr Heine? 
 
 Salomon 
 A poet! After all that I have done for him! To 
 have my nephew here in my own house, so that he
 
 52 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 might miss no single opportunity of learning how to 
 manage a bank — and then to have him write verses, 
 as though he were nothing better than a beggarly wan- 
 dering student. And to print them, too! It is more 
 than I will endure ! Thirty years have I lived in 
 Hamburg, and been respected from the beginning, and 
 now that I am Salomon Heine and Company, this 
 empty-headed nephew of mine must bring shame upon 
 me by his imbecility! Let him go back to the Rhine, 
 and write his verses among others like himself. We 
 shall see how he will make his way there with his 
 nonsensical follies! 
 
 Kellermann 
 But, Herr Heine! 
 
 Salomon 
 
 Do not say a word ! Ah, we shall see how he will 
 get along when he has only the publishers to depend 
 upon. There are not many who would willingly 
 throw away their connection with the house of Salo- 
 mon Heine! Just when I had been boasting to every- 
 one how sensible he had become ! I shall be the laugh- 
 ing-stock of all Hamburg! 
 
 [J maid enters. 
 
 Maid 
 Herr Maier to see Herr Heine!
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 53 
 
 Salomon 
 
 Is the whole world upside-down this morning? My 
 nephew turns poet, and my dinner guests come at 
 luncheon time! 
 
 [Enter Herr MaieR^ a rotund, comfort- 
 able-looking man of about Salomon 
 Heine's age. He has a newspaper in 
 his hand. Exit maid. 
 
 Maier 
 
 [To Kellermann.] Good-morning, Kellermann. 
 [To Salomon.] I should not be here in the morn- 
 ing, I know, but as soon as I read it in the paper, I 
 wished to be one of the first to congratulate you. 
 
 Salomon 
 Congratulate me! The newspapers surely 
 
 Maier 
 
 Do you mean to say you have not seen The Watch- 
 man? 
 
 Salomon 
 
 I have no time for The Watchman. There are the 
 Exchange rates to be read ; and the foreign dispatches 
 and the column from Berlin. Even if it is a holi- 
 day — absolute idleness is only for you merchants, not 
 for us bankers.
 
 54 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Maier 
 
 Yes, yes, we all know no grass grows under the feet 
 of Salomon Heine. But you have all the luck! To 
 have under one roof the most flourishing bank in all 
 Hamburg and the — what it is? [Unfolds paper and 
 reads:] " The poet who gives promise of being one of 
 the greatest in all Germany." 
 
 Salomon 
 
 What is that you are reading? 
 
 Maier 
 
 Why, the review of your Heinrich's poems from to- 
 day's Watchman. I had forgotten you said you had 
 not read it. I will read it to you. I was proud of 
 him myself, I declare, when I read it. [Reads.] 
 "'In " Junge Leiden" [Youth's Sorrows], published 
 by Maurer of Berlin, Herr Heinrich Heine, of Ham- 
 burg, has produced a volume of poems which seems to 
 promise a new awakening of the long slumbering muse 
 of German song. All the romance of the Rhineland, 
 all the magic of fairyland, are in the young poet's 
 verses. They have the qualities that true German 
 poetry should possess — simplicity, pathos, and melod3\ 
 Some of the shorter pieces end on a strangely beau- 
 tiful minor chord that is, we believe, a new note in the 
 poetry of any language. Among so much that is ex- 
 quisite it is hard to know what to select for special 
 paise.' " [Breaks off in the reading.] That is not
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 55 
 
 bad for a 3'oung fellow from Hamburg, is it? And 
 that is not the half 
 
 Salomon 
 [Interrupting.^ Kellermann, hand me The IVatch- 
 man from that desk. 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 [Who has been listening with eagerness.^ Surely, 
 Herr Heine. 
 
 [Picks up paper, opens it, glances hurriedly 
 through the columns, hands paper to 
 Salomon, pointing as he does so as 
 though to call attention to a special 
 article, then retires hastily to his desk. 
 Salomon reads silently, ivith evidently 
 growing interest. 
 
 Maier 
 Well, what do you think of it? 
 
 [Enter maid. 
 
 Maid 
 Herr Professor Mertens to see Herr Heine. 
 
 Maier 
 [Sur prise d.'\ Since when have you begun to keep 
 such learned company? The most important wiseacre 
 of the whole crew — nothing less!
 
 56 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 [Professor Mertens enters. He is a 
 thin, elderly man, dressed in black. His 
 hair is long and straggling, falling over 
 his ears as he bows his morning saluta- 
 tion. He wears large gold-rimmed 
 spectacles and carries a huge, black cot- 
 ton umbrella, which he carefully deposits 
 in a corner before beginning to speak. 
 
 Salomon 
 
 \_All three occupants of the room rise respectfully. '\ 
 This is an honor, Herr Professor. [Offering him a 
 chair. ^ 
 
 Professor Mertens 
 
 [/« a formal but not unkindly 7nanner,'\ No, no, 
 Herr Heine. Such practical men as jou have so little 
 time that we bookworms must not intrude upon it 
 for long. But this morning is a special occasion. I 
 have just come from a meeting of my colleagues, all of 
 whom had learned with great interest from this morn- 
 ing's Watchman that a new poet had arisen in Ger- 
 many, and with great pride that he was a dweller in 
 Hamburg. It is so seldom that \\t Hamburgers get 
 credit for anything but commercial productiveness that 
 we owe a debt of gratitude to those who can show that 
 an atmosphere of art and letters need not be wholly 
 absent from a commercial city. On behalf of my
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 57 
 
 colleagues of the Gymnasium as well as on my own, I 
 wish to compliment you upon your nephew's talents, 
 and upon your share in fostering them. Be so good 
 as to convey to the young poet, whom I have not the 
 honor to know, but whom I hope to have the pleasure 
 of meeting very soon, our warmest congratulations, 
 and our best wishes for the future. Your very humble 
 servant, sir [to Maier], and yours [to Kellermann], 
 and yours. Good-morning. 
 
 [Looks for his umbrella and then goes out. 
 
 Maier 
 
 [Chuckling.] Ah, you see what an honor it is 
 when a banker has a poet for a nephew! 
 
 [Maid enters. 
 
 Maid 
 
 A messenger has just brought this note from Herr 
 Hofrat von Claussen. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Maier 
 The Hofrat too ! What next ? 
 
 Salomon 
 
 [Opens letter, shaking his head as he does so, and 
 reads.] " The Hofrat von Claussen presents his 
 compliments to Herr Salomon Heine, and begs to
 
 58 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 felicitate him on the poetic talents of his nephew Herr 
 Heinrich Heine, of which the three poems quoted in 
 this morning's Watchman furnish so convincing a 
 proof " 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 [Rising from his place at the desk, going over to 
 the table where Salomon is seated, and looking for 
 the place in the paper.] Yes, three, that is right! 
 
 Salomon 
 
 [Seems about to rebuke Kellermann, but refrains, 
 and resumes reading the note]. " The Hofrat wishes 
 to add that the Hofratin would esteem it a favor if 
 Herr Heinrich Heine would give her the pleasure of his 
 company to-morrow afternoon at three, when the 
 Hofratin will entertain Grjifin von Wintersholm and 
 some other ladies who would be charmed to hear Herr 
 Heinrich Heine read some of his poems. The Hofrat 
 will be indebted to Herr Salomon Heine if he will 
 have the goodness to convey to Herr Heinrich Heine 
 the Hofratin's invitation, and again assures Herr Salo- 
 mon Heine of his sincere felicitations and in addition 
 his most distinguished consideration." [Draws a long 
 breath.] Indeed! 
 
 Maier 
 
 Well, when notes and invitations come from Hofrats 
 and Hofratins who are generally too near-sighted to
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 59 
 
 see us commercial folks when they pass us in the street, 
 I had better go, before the King of Prussia sends his 
 Hofmarschall to ask for the privilege of presenting you 
 at court. [Goes towards door.^ Auf wiedersehen, 
 then, uncle of a poet! [Heinrich Heine and Chris- 
 tian Sethe appear at the door. To Heinrich 
 Heine.] All that fine poetry need not be kept for 
 Hofratins, I hope. We must hear some of it at dinner 
 to-night. 
 
 [^Goes out. Heinrich and Sethe enter. 
 Sethe greets Salomon Heine and 
 Kellermann, then seats himself at a 
 table and reads a paper. 
 
 Heine 
 
 [In a low tone to Kellermann, who has gone back 
 to his place at the desk.]. Well? 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 You shall see. 
 
 [Heinrich Heine seats himself in a com- 
 fortable chair and looks at Salomon 
 Heine with an air of expectancy. 
 
 Salomon 
 
 [After fidgeting awkwardly with papers and letters 
 for a few moments.] So! You have published a book 
 of poetry.
 
 6o WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Heine 
 
 [Half-defiantly.] That is true! 
 
 Salomon 
 
 [After another pause.] The Hofratin von Claussen 
 has invited you to her salon to-morrow afternoon to 
 read some of the poems. 
 
 [Kellermann, who has been following 
 eagerly, leans back in his chair with a 
 sigh of relief. 
 
 Heine 
 Invited mef 
 
 Salomon 
 
 Here is the invitation. Perhaps some of the guests 
 who are coming to dinner to-night might like to hear 
 a poem or two as well. What do you say, Herr Sethe? 
 
 Sethe 
 
 An excellent idea, Herr Heine. Heinrich should 
 begin to practice his reading at once. 
 
 Salomon 
 
 No, no, no, it is too near luncheon time. But to- 
 night we shall have some poetry in honor of the new 
 member of the family whom we are going to welcome.
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 6i 
 
 Heine 
 
 What new member is that? 
 
 Salomon 
 
 Yes, yes, of course you do not know; no one has 
 been told about it. Have you not noticed anything 
 about Molly lately? 
 
 Heine 
 
 [Starting.] Molly! What is it about Molly? 
 
 Salomon 
 
 [Chuckling.] Ah, she is a steady-witted little girl 
 and can keep a secret. You remember Herr Fried- 
 lander from Konigsberg, who sold us the Prussian 
 bonds three months ago. To-night he will come as 
 Molly's future husband. It was settled only yester- 
 day. 
 
 Heine 
 [Slowly.] So Molly is going to be married? 
 
 Salomon 
 
 Yes, and she will have a husband with as good a 
 head for business as ever I saw on anyone's shoulders. 
 So perhaps the house of Heine can stand one poet, after 
 all. And now we can go in to luncheon. I am hungry 
 with all the talk about poetry. There is to be fish-
 
 62 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 soup to-day. Come, Kellermann, leave the papers. 
 Heinrich, bring Herr Sethe with you. 
 
 [Goes out. Kellermann rises and fol- 
 lows him. 
 
 Kellermann 
 
 [As he shuffles past Heine.] It has all come out 
 right, you see, Herr Heinrich! 
 
 [Goes out. 
 
 Heine 
 
 My house of cards is down ! 
 
 Sethe 
 
 [Going to Heinrich and bending over him.] 
 Courage, old comrade! 
 
 Heine 
 
 Of course I shall have courage. That will be my 
 metier through life, you shall see. What is it, after 
 all? The flesh-and-blood mistress of my affections 
 has engaged herself to someone else. As long as the 
 Aluse remains faithful, what need I care? Everyone 
 knows that a broken heart is the very best stock in 
 trade for a poet, and have I not received official per- 
 mission from the head of the house of Salomon Heine to 
 be a poet, and read some verses at Molly's betrothal 
 feast? But go now. Christian, the fish-soup will be
 
 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 63 
 
 getting cold, and Hamburg fish-soup is not a dish to 
 
 be scorned — ask any Hamburger. 
 
 [Sethe goes out. Heine remains seated in 
 an attitude of utter dejection. Molly 
 enters. She is a pretty young girl, sim- 
 ple and unaffected in manner. 
 
 Molly 
 [Going up to Heine, who starts as he becomes 
 aware of her presence.] Harr}! They want to know 
 why you do not come in to luncheon. 
 
 Heine 
 [Playfully.] It's all your fault, Molly, that I am 
 so late. I have been trying to think how I can most 
 gracefully congratulate my fair cousin on her betrothal. 
 Let me see — " Gnddiges Frdulein ! " 
 
 Molly 
 I would much rather have you write a poem about 
 me, Harry. Father says that you are to read some of 
 your poetry for Herr Friedlander after dinner to-night, 
 and since you are a real poet now, with your poems 
 printed in a book, I should like it of all things if you 
 were to write one about me. 
 
 Heine 
 Well, I will try to be the family poet in good 
 earnest. Here is something that I have only just 
 finished. Will you listen to the last verse?
 
 64 WHEN HEINE WAS TWENTY-ONE 
 
 Es ist eine alte Gescliichte, 
 
 Dock bleibt sie immer neu, 
 Und ivem sie just pass'ieret 
 
 Dem bricht das Herz entzivei. 
 
 (The story is old as the ages, 
 
 Age-old, yet ever new; 
 And a broken heart is his guerdon 
 Who learns to find it true.) 
 
 Molly 
 
 That is very pretty [hesitatingly], though I don't 
 quite understand what it is about. But now you really 
 must come, Harry, or we shall both be scolded, and 
 on the day of my betrothal too! 
 
 [Goes out. 
 
 Heine 
 
 [Repeating] 
 
 Und ivem sie just passieret 
 Dem bricht das Herz entzivei. 
 
 (And a broken heart is his guerdon 
 Who learns to find it true.) 
 
 [Bows his head on his hands, then rises, and 
 walks slowly to the door. Exit.
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT
 
 In 1778, Miss Fanny Burney, then twenty-six years 
 of age, published the novel " Evelina," which at once 
 made the authoress famous. Her second novel, " Ce- 
 cilia," was equally successful, and for some years Miss 
 Burney was one of the literary celebrities of England. 
 In 1786, Queen Charlotte, the consort of George III, 
 offered her the post of Keeper of the Robes. Although 
 it grieved Miss Burney to leave her family and her cir- 
 cle of friends to take up her residence at Windsor 
 Palace, she gratefully accepted the honor conferred 
 upon her, hoping that her connection with the Court 
 would enable her to advance the fortunes of her father, 
 Dr. Burney, a learned and accomplished musician. 
 Miss Burney remained a member of the Queen's house- 
 hold for five years, during which time she kept a most 
 entertaining diary, giving us delightful as well as true 
 pictures of the life at Court. For Miss Burney herself 
 the life was far from pleasant. Though the royal cou- 
 ple. King George and Queen Charlotte, were exceed- 
 ingly considerate, her duties were made very irksome 
 by the almost unbelievable rudeness and unkindness of 
 her German colleague, Mrs. Schwellenberg, the Senior 
 Keeper of the Robes, In her diary and in her equally 
 entertaining family letters Miss Burney gives Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg the appropriate nickname of Cerbera. 
 In spite of the indignities she was compelled to endure. 
 Miss Burney's anxiety to secure the King's favor for 
 
 67
 
 68 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 her father made her unwilh'ng to resign, even though 
 her friends protested that her health was giving way 
 under the strain. She did, however, finally resign her 
 post in 1 79 1, receiving a pension from the Queen's own 
 purse, and retaining the Queen's friendship throughout 
 her life. The fact that the King, as well as the Queen, 
 was very kindly disposed towards the amiable authoress 
 of " Evelina " is the basis of the following play.
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Fanny Burney, Second Keeper of the Robes to 
 
 Queen Charlotte. 
 Sally Burney, her half-sister, a young girl. 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg, Senior Keeper of the Robes. 
 Dr. Burney, a musician, father of Fanny and Sally. 
 The Visitor. 
 A Footman. 
 
 Scene: Fanny Burney 's drawing-room at Windsor. 
 
 Time: 1791. 
 
 Fanny Burney enters from an inner room on the 
 left side. She has evidently been crying, and dries her 
 eyes as she seats herself with an air of dejection at a 
 small table near the center. Footman enters at the 
 open door at the right. 
 
 Footman 
 
 [/n a monotonous but not disrespectful tone.l Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg bids me say to Miss Burney that Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg wishes Miss Burney to be punctual at 
 
 69
 
 70 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 tea this afternoon and not keep Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 waiting ten minutes as Miss Burney did yesterday. 
 
 [Bonis and goes out. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Impatiently.] Oh! Odious! 
 
 [Rises quickly and takes seat on the sofa to 
 the left, again drying her eyes. Sally 
 Burney enters on tiptoe. She looks 
 about her, perceives Fanny, rushes up 
 to her, and embraces her affectionately. 
 
 Sally 
 
 Oh, Fanny! I've been home from school a week 
 now! Only fancy! Home for good! And I'm come 
 to see you at last. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 Why, Sally, my dear, what a delightful surprise! 
 But have you come all alone? 
 
 Sally 
 
 No, indeed ; I should never have had the courage 
 for that, even though I'm not a school-miss any 
 longer. Father came with me. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 Father with you ! Where is he, pray ?
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 71 
 
 Sally 
 
 Below in the town, paying his respects to Dr. Par- 
 sons, who had some new tunes for father to hear, he 
 said. I found my way up here all by my very own 
 self, after they had shown me the path up the hill. 
 What a monstrous tall fellow of a sentinel you have 
 standing by the lodge gate! I quite shivered with fear 
 as I passed him, but I said " Miss Burney," and looked 
 as bold as a lion, I'm sure. And now I'm here — here 
 in the palace! How fine everything is! Oh, how all 
 the girls at school envied you for living in a palace! 
 [Stops; looks sharply at Fanny.] Why, you have 
 been crying, I declare. Your eyes are all red ! What 
 has happened? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [With a little laugh.] Nothing has happened. I 
 have a slight cold, I think. 
 
 Sally 
 And you look quite sad ! Do tell me what is wrong! 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Half laughing and half crying.] Oh, my dear, 
 nothing is wrong — except that life in a palace has 
 some little drawbacks which make themselves felt now 
 and then. But so has life elsewhere, and I am going 
 to forget all about my silly pin-pricks while my little 
 Sally is visiting me. Now lay off your bonnet, [Sally
 
 72 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 unties bonnet and lays it down'] and tell me all about 
 the people at Norbury. How did you leave our dear 
 Susan ? 
 
 Sally 
 
 Very well indeed ; and I have a great long letter 
 from her which you were to be sure to read before 
 father came. [Opens reticule and gives letter to 
 Fanny.] 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Breaking seal.] A great long letter indeed! And 
 I am to read it now? You must give me your per- 
 mission, then. [Begins to read.] 
 
 Sally 
 
 [After a moment of watching.] You are cry- 
 ing again! There must be bad news in the letter! Do 
 tell me! 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Drying her eyes.] No, Sally dear, there is no bad 
 news in the letter; we will read it together, if you 
 like, to convince you, and then you will know some of 
 my secrets. [Reading the letter aloud to Sally, who 
 listens eagerly.] 
 
 My dearest sister: — 
 
 I can no longer be silent as to the concern with which 
 your situation is regarded by those who love you. Your 
 unselfisl) unwillingness to disappoint our dear father's hopes 
 of promotion by informing him of the true state of your 
 affairs is causing us the greatest anxiety. Though the 11-
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 73 
 
 lustrious persons you serve possess almost all human excel- 
 lences, and treat you with the most benevolent condescension, 
 yet you can never, in any part of the livelong day, command 
 liberty or social intercourse or repose. Worse than all, you 
 are subject to the caprice of one whose colleague you justly 
 expected to be, but who regards you as her dependent. Your 
 depression of spirits and constant declension in health con- 
 vince us all that your constitution is surely giving way. 
 Cease to conceal the fact from the father who loves you so 
 truly. No prospect of honors to be derived from your con- 
 nection with the Court will seem to him of value equal to a 
 cherished daughter's well-being. I implore you in the name 
 of all your friends — and who has so many as you? — to give 
 him your confidence. Be sure that he will receive it without 
 a syllable of reproach or regret for the thwarting of his 
 plans. Speak to him to-day — tell him all, and end the dis- 
 tress of 
 
 Your ever-devoted sister, 
 
 Susan Phillips. 
 
 Sally 
 
 So you were really crying, after all! Poor Fanny! 
 
 And I thought you were as happy as the day was long, 
 
 here in the palace, waiting on the Queen ! Do tell me 
 
 all about it, now! Is the Queen not good to you? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 The Queen! Oh, my dear, she is goodness itself! I 
 am always happy when I am with her. 
 
 Sally 
 Who is it, then, that makes you unhappy? [A bell 
 rings.^ 
 
 Fanny 
 Oh, I had forgotten that it was so near tea-time. 
 But I may escape to-day, I suppose. [Rings bell on
 
 74 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 the table — Footman enters.^ John, I shall have tea 
 here instead of above. Bring a tray for two. And 
 make my excuses to Mrs. Schvvellenberg, and tell her 
 I have my sister visiting me. [Footman goes out.^ 
 
 Sally 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg! What a queer name? Who 
 is she? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 She is the Senior Keeper of the Queen's Robes. I 
 am only the Second Keeper, you know, and I share 
 these apartments with her. I ought to be pouring tea 
 for her now, I am afraid. 
 
 Sally 
 
 Tell me something about her, this Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg. [Making a grimace at the na/ne.l Do you 
 like her? 
 
 [Footman enters, bearing tray with tea- 
 service, which he places upon the table. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 I think our little confidences will have a better 
 flavor over a dish of tea, perhaps. [Is about to pour 
 tea when Mrs. Schwellenberg enters. She is a stout, 
 red-faced woman of between fifty and sixty, and is in 
 a violent passion.^
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 75 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 
 [Scarcely able to control her anger.] *Miss Berni, 
 vat do this mean? I tell you I vant you promptly, 
 and 50U come not at all. I have lived in this palace 
 for such a long time as no one else, and I never know 
 no one who behave so ill ! 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Quietly.] I sent John with a message to explain, 
 Madam, that my sister was come to visit me. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 
 [No less angrily.] You have not to explain, you 
 have to do as I vant. Who is the mistress here, you 
 or me ? You think because the Queen like your story- 
 book you are so much better as everyone that you do 
 not one thing but be idle in your room and leave me to 
 be alone by myself. But you shall not stay down when 
 there is tea-time. I tell you so vonce — twice — many 
 times, and now I tell you so again that you shall come 
 up. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Obviously making an effort to control her indig- 
 nation.] I will come, Madam. Will you permit my 
 sister to join us? She has just come from school in 
 Switzerland, and is paying her first visit here. 
 
 * Mrs. Schwellenberg's dialect and manner of speech are 
 reproduced from Miss Burney's report of them in the " Diary."
 
 76 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 [Rudely.] For vat must I have the trouble with 
 your sister who comes from school ? The gentlemens in 
 my company — gentlemens who vait on the King — do 
 not vant to sit with persons so young like that. Your 
 sister can vait here until I do not vant you longer. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Gently to Sally, who has been listening in aston- 
 ishment.] Go, my dear, into my bedroom [pointing 
 to door] and bring me my fan and gloves. You will 
 find them on the dressing-table. [Sally goes.] 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 Have His Majesty not alreaty sent to you to-day? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 No, Madam. Sent for what? 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 He have said this morning to the Queen vhile I 
 vas vith her that he did vish for some snuff like vat 
 you mixed for the Queen, and he vould ask you for 
 that you mix him some for himself. 
 
 Fanny 
 I have received no message from him, Madam. 
 
 [Re-enter Sally, with fan and gloves, 
 which she gives to Fanny.
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 77 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 
 [With a scornful look toivards Sally.] You vill 
 come up at vonce, Miss Berni, and not keep my com- 
 pany vaiting no more. [Goes out pompously.^ 
 
 Sally 
 
 [Half -frightened, half -indignant. ~\ Ugh! what a 
 horrid, horrid creature! No wonder you are unhappy 
 if you must be where she is. Poor Fanny! I declare, 
 I hate the palace after all. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Laying a finger on Sally's lips.] Hush, my dear. 
 I must go and serve tea to the equerries now, but 3'ou 
 will wait patiently for me, I know. I can give you 
 no company to your dish of tea, for I expect no one 
 at this hour, but you will take my place and do the 
 honors if anyone should chance to appear, will you 
 not ? [Kisses Sally and goes out. Sally stands dis- 
 consolately in the doorivay for a moment, then tip- 
 toes back into the room, goes up to the rnirror, and 
 practises courtesying a la grande dame before it. As 
 she is doing so a ?}iiddle-aged gentleman appears in the 
 doorway. Catching sight of his reflection, she turns 
 in some confusion.] 
 
 Visitor 
 Is Miss Burney not within?
 
 78 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 Sally 
 
 No, sir; Miss Burney is engaged at present; but 
 she will be not absent long. She is gone to serve tea 
 to the King's equerries above-stairs. 
 
 Visitor 
 
 [In a puzzled tone.] To the King's equerries, eh? 
 — the equerries? 
 
 Sally 
 
 Yes, sir. But I was to take her place if anyone 
 called while she was away, and [zvith a sudden inspira- 
 tion] will you not step in and allow me to pour you a 
 dish of tea? 
 
 Visitor 
 
 [Entering and looking curiously about him.] A dish 
 of tea, eh? — a dish of tea? Very kind, indeed. 
 
 Sally 
 
 Nay, sir, I am doing only as my sister bade me. 
 Pray, be seated. [The Visitor takes a chair at the 
 table, Sally sits down opposite him. As she does so, 
 the visitor starts as if in surprise, without, however, 
 attracting Sally's notice.] 
 
 Visitor 
 So you are Miss Burney 's sister, eh?
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 79 
 
 Sally 
 
 Yes, sir, but only just freed from school in Switzer- 
 land. [Pouring out a cup of tea and handing it to the 
 Visitor.] 
 
 Visitor 
 Never been to the palace before, then? 
 
 Sally 
 
 No, sir; never before. When my sister first came 
 here I was too young, and they thought it would not 
 be fitting for her to receive me. 
 
 Visitor 
 That was foolish of them, — very foolish. 
 
 Sally 
 
 And then I was sent away abroad to school so that 
 I might get a finer education than was to be had at 
 home. 
 
 Visitor 
 
 Ah, French and fal-lals, I suppose. That's what 
 you get abroad. 
 
 Sally 
 But I w^ouldn't stop long after coming home 
 from school. I was so eager to sec my sister in the
 
 8o MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 palace. [Sighs deeply as she pours out a cup of tea for 
 her self. '\ 
 
 Visitor 
 
 A great thing for your sister to be in the palace — a 
 great thing, to be sure! 
 
 Sally 
 
 Yes, I always used to think so and boast about it 
 to the girls at school. But I should have known bet- 
 ter than to boast — I am well paid for it. 
 
 Visitor 
 No, — no, — never boast. 
 
 Sally 
 
 Indeed, I would never have boasted if I had known 
 the truth. But how could I help believing that it was 
 a fine thing to be in the palace and wait on the Queen, 
 and see the King himself, every day of one's life! 
 [Visitor draws himself up complacently.^ Poor 
 Fanny! [Sighing again.] But will you not let me 
 give you another dish of tea? 
 
 Visitor 
 
 [Passing his cup.] A very good brew indeed — a 
 very good brew. [Drinks.] But you say, " Poor 
 Fanny! " Why " Poor Fanny "?
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 8i 
 
 Sally 
 
 Ah, sir, I have a good reason to say poor Fanny, as 
 you would know if you were better acquainted with 
 the people in the palace. [Visitor seems about to in- 
 terrupt, but checks himself. '\ As for me, I had not 
 been here a quarter of an hour before I found out how 
 things stood with my sister. Indeed I cannot see how 
 she endures such an odious creature! 
 
 Visitor 
 
 Endures? She loves the Queen, surely — the good 
 Queen ? 
 
 Sally 
 
 No, no, it's not the Queen. The King and Queen 
 are both good and kind, she says. But \^hesitating], 
 Fanny would not like me to be saying all this. 'Tis all 
 because I am so angry. When I am angry I must be 
 speaking my mind to someone. 
 
 Visitor 
 
 Yes, yes! speak your mind — tell me — I am Miss 
 Burney's friend. I always was. Tell me again — is 
 she unhappy? — I can't believe it — the Queen does all 
 she can for her, I'm sure. And if she were unhappy 
 she would surely tell the Queen — the Queen wants no 
 one about her to be unhappy. I'll not believe it until 
 I hear that Miss Burney says so herself.
 
 82 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 Sally 
 
 [Hurt at his incredulity.] Ah, you don't know how 
 good she is. I could not understand it myself until 
 I saw my sister Susan's letter. It is on account of our 
 father that she will not tell the Queen. Look, you 
 may see for yourself in the letter that Susan sent to 
 her this very day. [Takes letter and going over to 
 the Visitor, points out passages and reads] : " ' Your 
 unwillingness to disappoint our dear father's hopes of 
 promotion by informing him of the true state of affairs 
 is causing us the greatest anxiety on your behalf.' " 
 
 Visitor 
 Ah! 
 
 Sally 
 
 Well, now you may as well look at the rest, and 
 see who knows more about life in a palace, you or I. 
 
 Visitor 
 
 [Taking letter and looking through it slowly.] 
 " Causing us the greatest anxiety." [Shaking his head 
 gravely.] " The illustrious persons you serve possess 
 almost all human excellences." [Nodding his head 
 as if in pleased assent.] " Subject to the beck and call 
 
 — regards you as her dependent " Ah, yes, yes, — 
 
 the Schwellenberg — I know she must have a hard 
 time with the Schwellenberg, but I thought — well, 
 well, this will not do — not do at all.
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 83 
 
 Sally 
 
 Indeed, sir, you would be as sorry as I am if you 
 had seen Fanny's eyes all red from crying, and you 
 would be as angry as I am if you had heard how rudely 
 she was spoken to when the Mrs. what-d'ye-call-her 
 came here to order her above-stairs. [Mimicking Mrs. 
 ScHWELLENBERG.] Miss Berni — vat does this mean? 
 You have not to explain — you are to do as I vant — 
 For vat must I have the trouble vith your sister! 
 
 Visitor 
 
 [Laughing at the mimicry.^ Ah, very good! very 
 good ! But we should not laugh because people are un- 
 happy. We should see what can be done for them. 
 Well, well, we shall see, we shall see. But now it is 
 time for me to take my leave. [Rises.^ I had come to 
 ask Miss Burney to fill my box with some of her snuff. 
 She mixes it exactly right — exactly right. I will leave 
 my box [places box on table], and my kind hostess will 
 tell Miss Burney that I will send for it shortly. 
 
 Sally 
 Who shall I say will send, sir? 
 
 Visitor 
 
 Who? Oh, yes — say Colonel George. Your serv- 
 ant, madam, and my thanks. [Bowing.]
 
 84 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 Sally 
 [Courtesying]. I wish you a very good day, sir. 
 
 [Visitor goes out. After he has gone, 
 Sally takes the snuffbox from the table 
 and examines it curiously. As she is do- 
 ing so. Miss Burney enters. 
 
 Fax NY 
 
 Well, Sally, my dear, here I am back, you see. The 
 equerries have all been properly tea'd, and I am free 
 for my little sister at last. Poor little sister, to be left 
 all alone in a great gloomy drawing-room! 
 
 Sally 
 Ah, but I wasn't alone. I had a visitor! 
 
 Fanny 
 
 A visitor? Who, pray? 
 
 Sally 
 Colonel George. 
 
 Fanny 
 [Puzzled.^ I know no Colonel George. Was he a 
 stranger? And who announced him? 
 
 Sally 
 He spoke as though he knew you — though to be 
 sure, he knew little enough about the palace, as I took
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 85 
 
 pains to tell him. He came in as coolly as you please, 
 so that there was nothing for it but to bid him be 
 seated and have his dish of tea. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 Unannounced — why, no one but — tell me, what was 
 he like? 
 
 Sally 
 He was a goodish-sized fat man, not quite so old 
 as father; pleasant enough, though a little stupid, I 
 thought. And he kept on saying things twice over, as 
 though he couldn't quite hear himself. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [In a tone of distress.} Oh, Sally, you can't mean 
 it — Why, you surely haven't 
 
 Sally 
 Wh}^, what ails jou, Fanny? You bade me take 
 your place and I did; and this Colonel George, who- 
 ever he may be that seems to distress you so — I'm sure 
 I can see no reason for it, for he was not so ill, even 
 though he had few wits — came only to ask you for 
 some snuff that you could mix better than anyone else, 
 he said. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Sinking into a chair, in utter consternt^ion.} Oh, 
 Sally, Sally, you poor little goose!
 
 86 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 Sally 
 [Aggrieved.] And here's the snuffbox he left for 
 jou to fill when he should send for it. [Handing box 
 to Fanny.] 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Taking box.] Ah, I was sure of it! Had you no 
 idea who your Colonel George was? 
 
 Sally 
 None in the world. And who was he, pray? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 Why, His Majesty, himself! 
 
 Sally 
 Oh. no, no! 
 
 Fanny 
 
 This is his snuffbox. I have seen him with it a 
 thousand times. And Mrs. Schwellenberg told me he 
 wished for some snuff of my mixing. And he always 
 repeats his words in this fashion. [Imitating the 
 Visitor): "Yes, yes" — "very good, very good" — 
 — Was not that the way? 
 
 Sally 
 Yes, it was indeed. Oh, what shall I do? Why 
 didn't I know? You don't know what I told him!
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 87 
 
 Fanny 
 
 Told him! What did you tell him? 
 
 Sally 
 
 Ah, you may as well know it all. I was so angry at 
 Mrs. What-do-you-call-her, and you know I can 
 never be silent when I am angry — and he seemed so 
 kind that I — oh! how can I say it? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 You did what? [Gently.^ You know, dear, I can- 
 not be angry with my little sister, only sorry. 
 
 Sally 
 
 I showed him Susan's letter! 
 
 [In the pause which follows Dr. Burney 
 enters. He is about sixty years old, 
 stout, florid, and cheery. 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 
 [To Fanny.] Well, my dear, I am come at last. 
 Dr. Parsons was for playing me a half-score of his 
 newest and slowest tunes, or I should have followed 
 Sally sooner. [To Sally.] And what does Miss 
 Bread-and-Butter think of the palace, eh? [To 
 Fanny, again.^ There was no keeping her away, once 
 she came home — nothing would serve but she must 
 visit Fanny in the palace, before any of the others were
 
 88 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 as much as thought of. But [observin_z the appearance 
 of distress on Sally's and Fanny's countenances^ 
 what is this ? What has happened ? 
 
 Sally 
 \^Sobbing.'\ Oh, father, you don't know what I've 
 done! 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 Why, what can you have done? No': quarreled 
 with Fanny, surely? No one could do that. \_To 
 Fanny,] Do you tell me, Fanny. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Greatly disconcerted.l Why, father, I was 
 obliged to leave Sally to herself while I served tea in 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg's apartment and 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 
 And the spoiled little minx did some mischief, I'll 
 be bound — smashed your pet china monster, or ruined 
 your best paduasoy with trying it on when she'd no 
 business to be meddling with it. 
 
 Sally 
 [Indignant I y.l Indeed, father, I did no such thing. 
 But I will tell you, since you must know. [Disregard- 
 ing Fanny's anxious efforts to induce her to be silent.^ 
 I showed the King Susan's letter!
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 89 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 
 Susan's letter! What letter? 
 
 Sally 
 
 The letter that Susan sent Fanny to persuade her 
 to give up her place here at the palace. 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 
 [Nonplussed.] But why should Susan want Fanny 
 to give up her place at the palace? 
 
 Sally 
 
 Why? [To Fanny.] Yes, Fanny, I will tell, 
 since you will not. If the King knows it, father may 
 as well. [To Dr. Burney again.] Because she is 
 miserable and ill and unhappy, on account of a hor- 
 rid woman with a German alphabet for a name, and 
 because she won't tell about it for fear of disappoint- 
 ing you. [As Dr. Burney stares uncomprehendingly , 
 she thrusts the letter into his hand. He reads it 
 slowly.] 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 
 [Turning to Fanny.] My dear, if this is true 
 we are all to blame for not having greater confidence in 
 one another. But Susan has judged me rightly. There 
 is no promotion worth the price of my dear daughter's 
 well-being.
 
 90 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 Fanny 
 
 But, father, I had such hopes that the Queen's 
 favor would bring you the recognition you have earned 
 so well! My troubles would have seemed nothing if 
 only the King could have promised you the place 
 
 you 
 
 [Enter FoOTMAN, bearing tray with a 
 letter. 
 
 Footman 
 A letter for Miss Burney's sister. 
 
 Sally 
 \_Starting forward. ~\ For me? From whom? 
 
 Footman 
 I was to say from Colonel George, Madam. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sally 
 [In distress.~\ Ah! Now I shall find that I have 
 wrecked everything for you. 
 
 Fanny 
 [Gently.'\ Do not mind, my dear. You did not 
 mean the least ill in the world. 
 
 Sally 
 [Breaking the seal and reading^ : 
 Colonel George presents his compliments and assures
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 91 
 
 Miss Burney's sister that it is the King's pleasure, and will 
 be the Queen's, that Miss Burney take whatever steps be 
 necessary for the preservation of her health and for the 
 proper exercise of those talents which first brought her to 
 their Majesties' notice. Should Miss Burney no longer feel 
 it wise to remain a member of the Queen's household. 
 Colonel George is authorized to add the assurance that she 
 will lose nothing of the Queen's regard by ceasing to attend 
 upon her. Miss Burney may also feel at liberty to count 
 on the King's recognition of her father's merit, as soon as 
 any position worthy of Dr. Burney's acceptance falls within 
 the King's gift. Colonel George begs that Miss Burney's 
 sister will retain the snuffbox which Colonel George left 
 in her possession as a slight mark of her guest's appreciation 
 and enjoyment of her sincerity. 
 
 [Dropping the letter.^ Then I've not been so dread- 
 fully meddlesome after all! Did you understand it, 
 Fanny and father? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Taking the letter.} 'Tis the King's hand, sure 
 enough. I may resign, and keep the Queen's favor! 
 And father's promotion is on the way ! Oh, Sally, you 
 little diplomatist! You should have been at court in- 
 stead of me! 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 
 Nay, I have tried the family fortunes with one 
 daughter, and am lucky to have escaped without losing 
 her, it would seem. If the King will make me his 
 bandmaster, well and good; but I fear the Burney 
 womenfolk were not meant to be Mistresses of the 
 Robes. I was stupid and owlish not to have noted
 
 92 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 your distress before, Fanny, but 'tis not too late to make 
 you well and happy again — Providence be praised — 
 and who knows — " Evelina " and " Cecilia " may have 
 a sister heroine before long. And now [to Sally] 
 get your bonnet. Mistress Sally. We have had our fill 
 of the palace for one day. 
 
 Sally 
 
 And such fine news as we have for Susan! What 
 will she say to my letter — and to my snuffbox? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 She will say that she chose a clever ambassadress to 
 send to court. 
 
 Dr. Burney 
 
 [To Sally, who is tying on her bonnet.} Bid adieu 
 to the Keeper of the Robes. She will soon be plain 
 Fanny Burney again, back with her old father in 
 Poland Street. 
 
 Sally 
 
 And with Esther in Micklcham, and Susan in Nor- 
 bury! Ah, to have Fanny at home again will be better 
 than having a sister in the palace! But [draiving her- 
 self up proudly} the King is not so ill to have a chat 
 with, there's no denying it. [Putting box in reticule}.
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 93 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Laughing and kissin^^ lier.^ Good-by, my little 
 courtier. [Courtesying to her father.^ Goqd-by, sir. 
 You shall hear all the hows and whens of my change 
 of station as soon as they have been arranged for. Tell 
 Susan I am grateful, and that all will be well now. 
 [Dr. Burney and Sally go out. Fanny stands in 
 the doorway for a moment, looking after them; then 
 turns back into the roo?n. As she does so, Mrs. 
 ScHWELLENBERG enters.] 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 [Much perturbed.] Miss Berni! For vat do you 
 vait? Do you not know that this afternoon I vill go 
 out, and you shall take my place to be ready for Her 
 Majesty when she shall come back from her drive? But 
 no, you do not know nothings — never do you know 
 nothings at all! 
 
 Fanny 
 [Gayly.] I declare, Madam, I had forgotten. Or 
 perhaps you had forgotten to tell me. And so you are 
 going out? Is it for a visit, or merely to enjoy the air? 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 [Angrily.] It makes no matter for vhy I go, so 
 long as you do not forget for vhy you are here. I tell 
 you vonce more it is for you to do as I shall vant, and 
 not to ask any questions.
 
 94 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Still gayly.] Yes, Madam, to be sure. Am I to 
 go to Her Majesty now? 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 
 It is not yet the Queen's time for an hour. But I 
 did come to tell you that you shall send your sister avay, 
 so that you shall not be too late. 
 
 Fanny 
 Mj'^ sister has gone. Madam. And now, since we 
 have some time, shall we not play your favorite game 
 of cards? 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 [Astonished.] For vat you ask me to play cards? 
 You are always so tired at night ven ve play. The 
 gentlemens, they always say, " Miss Berni, she get 
 tired vith the cards," and I say, " It is nonsense. Ve 
 play no more as four hours. For vhy shall she be 
 tired? " But I tell them to-night Miss Berni am not 
 tired, she ask to play. 
 
 Fanny 
 I shall be only too happy, Madam. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 [Scrutinizing Fanny sharply.] For vhy you say 
 you are happy?
 
 MISS BURNEY AT COURT 95 
 
 Fanny 
 
 I say so, because I am happy, Madam, And now, 
 if you are willing, we will go to our cards. 
 
 [Mrs. Schwellenberg goes out tossing 
 her head and muttering, " Happy, for 
 vhy happy?" Fanny courtesies very 
 low as Mrs. Schwellenberg walks 
 away, then follows her out of the room.
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH 
 CHARLES DICKENS
 
 In the story of the early life of Charles Dickens, the 
 great novelist, we read that when he was about eleven 
 years old, his father became very poor, and fell into 
 debt. In those days there were debtors' prisons, and 
 to one of these Mr. Dickens was sent. During his 
 father's imprisonment, Charles did what he could to 
 help his family by working in a blacking factory. His 
 duty was to tie up the blacking bottles, and for many 
 months he worked faithfully at this tedious task. All 
 the men and boys in the factory were kind to him, be- 
 cause he was so young and so different from the other 
 employees. One boy, named Bob Fagin, was his special 
 friend. Every morning and every night, Charles 
 visited his parents and his brothers and sisters in the 
 prison, but he slept in a lodging of his own near by. 
 His father remained in the prison for more than a 
 year, until he received a legacy from a relative, which 
 enabled him to pay his debts. We do not know just 
 when the good news of the legacy reached the family, 
 but if we are willing to imagine that it came on Christ- 
 mas Eve, and if we believe in pleasant dreams, we have 
 our little play. 
 
 99
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Charles Dickens, aged twelve. 
 Fanny, his sister, aged fourteen. 
 Bob Fagin, aged fourteen, employed in the blacking 
 
 factory. 
 Mrs. Gale, Dickens's landlady. 
 The Spirit of Christmas. 
 
 Characters in the Christmas Pageant. 
 Father Christmas St. George 
 
 The Lord of Misrule The King of Egypt 
 Holly The Doctor 
 
 Ivy The Fair Sabra 
 
 Cooks The Dragon 
 
 Scullion Morris Dancers 
 
 Pages 
 
 Bearer of the Boar's Head 
 
 Time: 1824. 
 
 Place : Charles Dickens's lodging in Lant Street, 
 Borough, London. 
 
 The Scene represents a room, poorly furnished, but 
 neat. At the right of the stage towards the front, a
 
 102 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 table with a small chair beside it and upon it a pile of 
 shabby books, and a candle, partly burned, in a tin can- 
 dlestick. In the left-hand corner at the back, a tightly- 
 rolled mattress and a pillow. On the left side, towards 
 the front, an old-fashioned high-backed chair. A fire- 
 place at the right-hand side of the stage, and on the 
 small mantel over it, the clock. Mrs. Gale, bending 
 over the fireplace, using a pair of bellows vigorously. 
 
 The door to the left of the stage opens, and Charles 
 Dickens and Bob Fagin enter. Dickens's suit is 
 neat and well-fitting, but threadbare. He wears a 
 woolen tippet around his neck and carries a round cloth 
 cap in his hand. Bob wears long loose trousers and a 
 jacket of a different color, much too large for him. On 
 seeing Mrs. Gale, he snatches off a shabby fur cap. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 [Looking up, surprised.] Why, if it isn't Master 
 Dickens! Whatever brings you back so soon? It's 
 never your regular time, surely? 
 
 Dickens 
 [Cheerfully, unwinding his tippet.] I'm a whole 
 hour early to-night, Mrs. Gale. Mr. Lamert said, 
 since it was Christmas Eve, we might leave the ware- 
 house at six instead of seven. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 That was kind of him, to be sure. Everyone can do 
 with a little spare time on Christmas Eve. It's a pity,
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 103 
 
 though, I've not a better fire ready for you this cold 
 night. I'd have had a nice blaze if I'd known when to 
 look for you. But come up to the hearth, at any rate, 
 and try to get warm, you and [after a pause and an 
 uncertain look at Bob] the other young gentleman. 
 
 Bob 
 
 [^Briskly.'\ There ain't no need to be calling me 
 a young gentleman, ma'am. I'm only Bob Fagin, as 
 works in the blacking ware'us for seven bob a week. 
 It's him [jerking his thumb over his shoulder at 
 Charles] as is the young gentleman in our place. We 
 all calls him that, you know. Poll Green, he didn't 
 want to, once, — he said it was " airs," he did. But I 
 soon settled him; you know I did, don't you. Master 
 Charles ? 
 
 Dickens 
 
 [Laughing.} You're always very good to me. Bob, I 
 know that. 
 
 Bob 
 
 [To Mrs. Gale.] Oh, it didn't take any time at 
 all, ma'am. I finished him beautiful in the second 
 round. He won't want to call people out of their right 
 names no more, I'll warrant you that. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 [Pleasantly.] Well, Bob, since that's your name, 
 come up and get warm at the fire, anyway. You must 
 need it after your walk.
 
 104 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 Bob 
 
 [Approaching the hearth, and bloiving on his hands.~\ 
 It is a goodish bit, ma'am, from Hungerford Stairs to 
 here, and it ain't exactly May weather neither. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 Yes, and do you know, Mrs. Gale, he walked home 
 with me, though it's quite out of his way, just be- 
 cause 
 
 Bob 
 
 [Interrupting.'] Just because Christmas Eve ain't 
 no time for a young gentleman whose folks is away, and 
 who ain't feeling as shipshape as he might, to be coming 
 home through the streets all alone by hisself. It's easy 
 enough for rne toi get around the streets any night of the 
 year. / was born to them, / was, and there ain't no 
 chap of my size as knows them better than I do. But 
 Master Charles here's different. Why, if he was my 
 kind, I'd ha' made him come home alonger me. We 
 always has good times on Christmas Eve, — sassengers 
 and mashed for supper, and plenty of them — but [with 
 a sidelong glance at Charles] it wouldn't be no use 
 asking him, most like. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 It's very, very good of you, Bob, to want to Invite 
 me. But I'd rather stay here to-night, I think. You 
 shall tell me all about your Christmas when we're to-
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 105 
 
 gether again. But you mustn't wait any longer now. 
 I've made you quite late enough. Good-night, and a 
 Merry Christmas. 
 
 Bob 
 A Merry Christmas it is, then, Master Charles, and 
 good-night, since you're bound to have it so. And [lo 
 Mrs. Gale] good-night to you, too, ma'am. [Bolts 
 out.] 
 
 Dickens 
 
 [Very slowly.] Do you think, Mrs. Gale, it's very 
 wrong of me not to tell Bob that father and mother are 
 living in the prison because father can't pay his debts? 
 Bob's so good to me. Ought I to tell him, do you 
 think? 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 [Briskly.] Bless your little heart, I don't see that 
 there's the least wrong in the world about it. It's hard 
 enough for a little gentleman like you to have to work 
 alongside of such rough folk without them knowing all 
 your troubles, to make sport of them, most likely. If 
 you can keep your troubles to yourself without telling 
 fibs about them, why, so much the better, say I. But 
 you're surely going over to the prison to-night to see 
 your pa, aren't you? 
 
 Dickens 
 No, Mrs. Gale, I'm not going to-night. We used 
 to have such jolly times on Christmas Eve, and father
 
 io6 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 was always the happiest of us all. I know it makes 
 him sad now to think of our spending Christmas Eve 
 in prison. So I said last night that I wouldn't come 
 again till Christmas Day, and father said that Fanny 
 and the rest could spend the evening at my godfather's. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 So you'll be going to your godfather's presently? 
 
 Dickens 
 
 No, I don't care to go anywhere at all to-night; I'd 
 rather stay here. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 
 [In surprise] Stay all by yourself on Christmas 
 Eve! 
 
 Dickens 
 
 Why, yes. I sha'n't mind being alone. The fire's 
 nice and bright, and I have almost a whole candle, so 
 that I shall be able to read nearly as long as I want to. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 
 Deary me, you're never going to sit and read books 
 to-night! Another lad would want some sport on 
 Christmas Eve instead of tiring his brains with books 
 after working all day tying up those nasty, ugly, black- 
 ing bottles.
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 107 
 
 Dickens 
 Oh, Mrs. Gale, the books don't tire me, indeed they 
 don't! They're just friends — and such old friends too. 
 I've had them all since I was a little fellow, no more 
 than eight. And there are so many splendid things in 
 them. Now, to-night [enthusiastically}, I'm going to 
 read about the Christmases they used to have long ago — 
 all sorts of wonderful sports. Why, they even had 
 plays about Mince Pie and Plum Pudding. Did you 
 ever read any of them, Mrs. Gale? 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 [Laughing.} No, I never read any plays about 
 mince pies and plum puddings. It's quite enough for 
 me to make pies and puddings. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 They're not ?-eally pies and puddings, you know, 
 just people dressed up to look like them. But I do 
 love to read about the plays and the games and the 
 dances. It seems as though I were seeing them all, 
 instead of only reading about them. That's what books 
 are for, I believe — to make people happy. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 
 [Shaking her head.} Well, my boy, you shall have 
 
 it your own way. [Moving slowly toward the door.} 
 
 Good-night, then, Master Dickens, and keep a good 
 
 heart. Something'll be sure to happen soon to get your
 
 io8 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 poor father out of prison before Christmas is many- 
 days old. 
 
 Dickens 
 [Smiling.] That's just what he says quite often: 
 " Something will be sure to turn up." Good-night, 
 Mrs. Gale. 
 
 [Mrs. Gale goes out. Dickens lights his 
 candle, and sitting down at the table, 
 takes a book and begins to read aloud, at 
 first in an ordinary tone, but more and 
 more droivsily as he proceeds. 
 * " Any man or woman that can give any information 
 or tell any tidings of an old, old, very old, gray- 
 bearded gentleman, called Christmas, who was wont to 
 be a verie familiar guest and visit all sorts of people 
 both poor and rich, and used to appear in glittering 
 gold, silk, and silver in the Court, and had ringing, 
 feasts, and jollity in all places both in the citie and 
 countrie, for his coming [very drowsily] whosoever 
 can tell what is become of him, or where he may 
 be found, — let — them — bring — him — back — again — to 
 — England." 
 
 [Leans back in his chair, letting the book 
 fall from his hand. After a moment's 
 pause, the music of " Silent Night, Holy 
 Night " is faintly heard. As the music 
 dies away, a slender figure, wearing a 
 long green robe trinuned with holly and 
 mistletoe, appears in the doorway. 
 ♦From "A Hue-and-Cry After Christmas."
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 109 
 
 Dickens 
 
 [f'l^ith a sigh.] What beautiful music! It's Christ- 
 mas music, too! [Seeing the visitor.] And you — 
 [dreamily] look like the Christmas angel on the cover 
 of my old carol-book. But that would be too won- 
 derful! 
 
 Spirit 
 
 [Advancing.] Nay, dear child, I am the Spirit of 
 Christmas. You have read in the books that you love 
 so much [laying his hand on the shabby pile] how in 
 olden days no witch or evil spirit had power to charm 
 on Christmas Eve. It is only the messengers of love 
 and kindness, of peace and good-will, that can walk 
 abroad on that blessed night. Then we are free to 
 wander where we will, and, with all the people in this 
 mighty city to choose from, I have come to spend this 
 Christmas Eve with you. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 But though I love to read about Christmas, I am 
 only a boy who works in the blacking factory. I don't 
 understand why you should have thought of me. 
 
 Spirit 
 
 Christmas comes but once a year, as the old song 
 says, but the Christmas feeling is always at work in the 
 world. No kindly deed is done without it, no loving 
 wish uttered, no friendly greeting spoken. It is be-
 
 no A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 cause, young as you are, you have done your part to 
 cheer and comfort those around you, that I have chosen 
 to come to you to-night, and to bring you some share of 
 Christmas joys and jollity. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 But all the real Christmas jollity happened long ago, 
 in the days when people in the country played merry 
 games and feasted and sang carols from Christmas Eve 
 until Twelfth Night. In this poor end of London, 
 there's far too much work and too little play for any 
 such Christmas doings as those. Ah! [with a sigh] 
 I should have liked to see them for myself — just once. 
 
 Spirit 
 
 And so you shall, and here, if I mistake not [joyful 
 music is heard], is good Father Christmas himself with 
 a merry troop at his heels, as is his ancient custom. 
 You will not lack for old-time mirth and jollity while 
 he is your guest. 
 
 [The Spirit moves to the left side of stage 
 and watches the scene with a smile of 
 quiet content. Enter Father Christ- 
 mas, with long white hair and beard, 
 dressed in a scarlet coat and cap. The 
 personages in his retinue are two fat 
 cooks in stiff white caps and aprons, one 
 carrying a rolling-pin and a sieve, and
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS iii 
 
 the other a skillet; also a scullion in a 
 blue calico apron, brandishing a toasting- 
 fork; a boy in a holly-trimmed jester's 
 costume of red and green to represent 
 Holly, and a girl in soft gray robes 
 decorated with vines to represent IvY. 
 The Lord of Misrule, dressed in a 
 purple cap and cape, with a great yellow 
 rujf and a colored wand, folloiued by 
 four pages in tunics and capes of con- 
 trasting colors, enters behind Father 
 Christmas and marshals the others, 
 who appear at the mention of their names 
 and take positions to the right and the 
 left of the stage. 
 
 Father Christmas 
 
 \_At center of stage'\ 
 
 * Behold a personage well-known to fame, 
 Once loved and honored. Christmas is my name. 
 My officers of state my taste display: 
 Cooks, scullions, pastry-cooks, prepare my way. 
 Holly and Ivy round me honors spread. 
 
 [Holly and Ivy make graceful gestures 
 ivith branches. 
 And my retinue [pointing to cooks] show I'm not ill- 
 fed. 
 
 * From the Prologue to Garriek's " A Christmas Tale."
 
 112 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 Though old and white my locks, my cheeks are cherry; 
 Warmed by good fires, good cheer, I'm always merry. 
 With carol, fiddle, dance, and pleasant tale, 
 Jest, gibe, prank, gambol, m,ummery and ale, 
 I English hearts rejoiced in days of yore. 
 You will not sure turn Christmas out of door. 
 Old Father Christmas now in all his glory 
 Begs with kind hearts you'll listen to his story. 
 
 [To Misrule] 
 
 Go on, prepare my bounty for my friends, 
 And see that mirth with all her crew attends. 
 
 [Father Christmas se^its himself on the 
 high-backed chair to the left. The 
 Lord of Misrule takes the center of 
 the stage with HoLLY to his right and 
 Ivy to his left, and recites: 
 
 Holly and Ivy once made a great party, 
 Who should have the mastery 
 In landes where they go. 
 
 Thus spake Holly: 
 
 Holly 
 
 " I am free and jolly; 
 I will have the mastery 
 In landes where we go."
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 113 
 
 Misrule 
 Thus spake Ivy: 
 
 Ivy 
 
 " I am loved and proved, 
 And / will have the mastery 
 In landes where we go." 
 
 Misrule 
 Then spake Holly and set him down on his knee; 
 
 Holly 
 
 [Recites, kneelingi 
 " I pray thee, gentle Ivy, say me no villainy 
 In landes where we go." 
 
 Misrule 
 
 Nay, gentle Ivy, nay, it shall not be, I wis 
 Let Holly have the mastery, as the manner is. 
 
 [Ivy retires to a corner disconsolately, her 
 vines trailing behind her. Holly, mov- 
 ing with dancing steps, presents branches 
 to Father Christmas and the other 
 actors and, throwing back his jester's 
 cap, is crowned with a wreath of holly 
 by Father Christmas while the 
 " Holly and Ivy " carol is sung by the 
 actors or behind the scenes.
 
 114 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 THE HOLLY AND THE IVY 
 
 
 SS 
 
 ^-- 
 
 '^■ 
 
 r''p^7~"' 
 
 ^' 
 
 
 ?«/"!. The hoi - ly and the i - vy Now both are full well 
 
 ^m 
 
 
 S^S^EQ 
 
 ^— •- 
 
 iii 
 
 -^-^ 
 
 =1= 
 
 — —f 
 
 JV-N 
 
 ?-^ 17 
 
 -^^E^U- 
 
 r^' 
 
 % 
 
 grown, Of all the trees that are in the wood, The 
 /- ^-•- ^ -^ -fi- -m-.^-ft. u 
 
 _B_i_» — I- — ip — 
 
 K— K— »- 
 
 i> ^ ^ ' 
 
 -|- 
 
 -t,. — ' 
 
 ^ 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 ^F=i 
 
 ^: 
 
 m 
 
 itZTlt- 
 
 :^= 
 
 g 
 
 hoi - ly bears the crown 
 
 £_|L_t-^ii* 
 
 O the ris - ing 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^=^ 
 
 
 » 1 — w -m a 1 
 
 llg 
 
 S 
 
 -#^1 
 
 r*= 
 
 of 
 
 :^z3tzzizj=^ 
 
 t^-: 
 
 the sun, The run-ning of the deer. The 
 
 -0-^1 
 
 ^m 
 
 g 
 
 I 
 
 I — r-:
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 115 
 
 m^^ 
 
 
 *^t,i^^ 
 
 H — I — ^ 
 
 3=3 
 
 ^ u 
 
 rr 
 
 ^.•^tt*^-^ 
 
 play-ing of the mer-ry or-gan, Sweet singing in the 
 
 vHV—b^ 
 
 :t 
 
 -«■»■ 
 
 P^if 
 
 f^ 
 
 P 
 
 4^: 
 
 <t-- 
 
 quire, 
 
 Sweet sing 
 
 ^ 
 
 r 
 
 ing 
 
 the 
 
 quire. 
 
 Father Christmas 
 
 [Advancing to the center of the stage from his chair 
 as the other actors fall backJ\ 
 * Again come I, old Father Christmas 
 Welcome, or welcome not, 
 I hope old Father Christmas 
 Will never be forgot! 
 
 [Looking around at audience. 
 I am not come here for to laugh or to jeer, 
 But to show some sport and pastime, 
 Gentlemen and ladies, in the Christmas time. 
 
 * Adapted from the version of the old Christmas mumming 
 used in the West of England.
 
 ii6 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 If you will not believe what I do say, 
 Enter the King of E^'pt — clear the way! 
 
 [Enter the King of Egypt, dressed in dark 
 flowing garments ivith Oriental trim- 
 mings. 
 
 The King of Egypt 
 
 Here I, the King of Egypt, boldly do appear, 
 St. George, St. George, walk in, my son and heir! 
 Walk in, my son St. George, and act thy part. 
 That all the people here may see thy wondrous art. 
 [Enter St. George in a shining corselet, 
 bearing a shield and a sivord. 
 
 St. George 
 
 Here come I, St. George; from Britain did I spring, 
 
 I'll fight the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin. 
 
 I'll clip his wings, he shall not fly. 
 
 I'll cut him down, or else I die. 
 
 [Enter the Dragon, dressed in a tight- 
 fitting garment of brown, covered ivith 
 silver disks to represent scales. He has 
 a grotesque head and a long tail. 
 
 The Dragon 
 
 Who's he that seeks the Dragon's blood, 
 And calls so angry and so loud?
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 117 
 
 That English dog, will he before me stand? 
 I'll cut him down with my courageous hand. 
 
 [St. George and the Dragon fight; the 
 Dragon is killed. 
 
 Father Christmas 
 
 Is fhere a doctor to be found 
 
 All ready, near at hand, 
 
 To cure a deep and deadly wound, 
 
 And make the champion stand? 
 
 [Enter the Doctor in skull-cap and spec- 
 tacles, wearing a black coat and short 
 trousers, black stockings and low shoes 
 with large buckles. 
 
 Doctor 
 
 Oh, yes! there is a doctor to be found 
 All ready, near at hand, 
 To cure a deep and deadly wound. 
 And make the champion stand. 
 
 Father Christmas 
 What can you cure? 
 
 Doctor 
 
 All sorts of diseases, 
 
 Whatever you pleases. 
 
 The phthisis, the palsy, and the gout — 
 
 Whatever disorder, I'll soon pull him out.
 
 ii8 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 Father Christmas 
 What is j'our fee ? 
 
 Doctor 
 
 Fifteen pounds it is my fee 
 
 The money to lay down, 
 
 But as 'tis such a rogue as he, [pointing to the Dragon] 
 
 I'll cure him for ten pound. 
 
 [The Doctor gives the Dragon medicine. 
 The Dragon revives. St. George and 
 the Dragon fight a second time and the 
 Dragon is again killed. 
 
 St. George 
 
 Here am I, St. George, that worthy champion bold, 
 And with my sword and spear, I've won three crowns 
 
 of gold ; 
 I've fought the fiery dragon and brought him to the 
 
 slaughter ; 
 By that I've won fair Sabra, the King of Egypt's 
 daughter. 
 
 [Sabra, clad in flowing white robes, ad- 
 vances to St. George, regarding the 
 prostrate Dragon with looks of horror. 
 At Father Christmas's next words, 
 all the characters retire to the hack of the 
 stage, the Dragon rising and following 
 the rest.
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 119 
 Father Christmas 
 
 Now, ladies and gentlemen, this sport is just ended. 
 So prepare for the next, which is highly commended. 
 \^The Lord of Misrule marshals in a fid- 
 dler and six couples dressed as Morris 
 Dancers. Girls wear short skirts, brown, 
 gray, or red, luith a band of contrasting 
 material at the bottom, ivaists of same 
 material, zvith full sleeves to elboiv, 
 white aprons ivithout bibs, white ker- 
 chiefs, lozu shoes with rosettes, and 
 rosettes zvith flowing ends on left shoul- 
 der. Boys zvear short trousers, full at 
 the knee, white shirts loosely tucked in 
 at the belt, long colored stockings, bands 
 with bells just below the knee, and hats 
 of colored cloth made with small brims 
 and soft crowns. The fiddler tuears 
 short trousers, a jacket of bright colors, 
 and a tall hat trimmed with a colored 
 band and cockade. 
 
 *Dance [The Derby Ram] 
 
 ^Couples form a ring, dancing from left to 
 right. A boy placed in center sings the 
 first stanza, and at the end pulls his suc- 
 cessor roughly into the ring to sing the 
 next, and so on. At the chorus, the girls 
 
 * Old English folk-song and dance.
 
 120 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 turn, first toward the boy to the right and 
 then to the boy to the left, and shaking 
 the forefinger reprovingly, sing: " And 
 indeed, Sir," etc. All join hands in a 
 ring at the last line of the chorus. 
 
 I 
 
 As I was going to Derbj', Sir, 'twas on a summer's day, 
 I met the finest ram. Sir, that ever was fed on hay. 
 
 Chorus of Girls 
 
 And indeed. Sir, 'tis true. Sir, I never was given to 
 
 lie, 
 And if you'd been to Derby, Sir, you'd have seen him 
 
 as well as I. 
 
 II 
 
 It had four feet to walk on, Sir, it had four feet to stand, 
 And every foot it had, Sir, did cover an acre of land. 
 Chorus: — And indeed, Sir, etc. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The horns that were on its head, Sir, held a regiment of 
 
 men, 
 And the tongue that was in its head, Sir, would feed 
 
 them every one. 
 Chorus: — And indeed, Sir, etc.
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 121 
 
 IV 
 
 The wool that was on its back, Sir, made fifty packs of 
 
 cloth, 
 And for to tell a lie. Sir, I'm sure, I'm ver}' loth. 
 Chorus: — And indeed. Sir, etc. 
 
 V 
 
 The wool that was on its sides, Sir, made fifty more 
 
 complete, 
 And it was sent to Russia, Sir, to clothe the Emperor's 
 fleet. 
 Chorus: — And indeed. Sir, etc. 
 
 VI 
 
 The tail was fifty yards, Sir, as near as I can tell. 
 And it was sent to Rome, Sir, to ring St. Peter's bell. 
 Chorus: — And indeed. Sir, etc. 
 
 [Dancers leave stage. 
 
 THE DERBY RAM 
 
 Allegro. 
 
 daz 
 
 y^z 
 
 As I was go-ing to Der-by, sir, 'T was 
 
 I N r~^ ,N 
 
 :a=1: 
 
 & 
 
 
 :^=i!=iH: 
 
 •— -1 
 
 '^^^
 
 122 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 hay. And in - deed, sir, 'tis true, sir, I
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 123 
 
 
 -P \ H- 
 
 ^ -0- -0- 
 
 nev-erwasgiv'n to lie. And if you'd been to 
 
 1 -I — H ^ P 
 
 I- — • — m — « — • -i' 
 
 -•- -•- -8- -•- -•- 
 
 ^^^^^ 
 
 -T 
 
 I I ^ 
 
 ■:ir 
 
 '-^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 :ir^J: 
 
 ^ 
 
 •0- -J- ^ -•- 
 
 3" 
 
 * 
 
 1^=^ 
 
 T 
 
 
 =t 
 
 t 
 
 y • ^ 1" 
 
 Der-by, sir, You'd have seen him as well as I. 
 
 -- F^jlj - inmiMi 1 1 ^ — 1/ 
 
 -»- V 
 
 [The Lord of Misrule to the audience.] 
 These dances were performed of yore 
 By many worthy Elves. 
 Now if you will have any more, 
 Pray shake your heels yourselves. 
 
 [While the music of the Boars-Head 
 Carol is faintly heard, a tall youth (the 
 Bearer) enters dressed in a scarlet
 
 124 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 doublet and trunk hose, bearing aloft a 
 Boar's Head on a huge platter garnished 
 with sprigs of green. The Bearer 
 stands at the center of the stage with 
 Father Christmas at his right and 
 the Lord of Misrule at his left, the 
 others grouped around, while the carol 
 is sung. At the second repetition of the 
 chorus he fnoves toward the door fol- 
 lowed by Misrule, St. George, and 
 the other characters in the pageant. 
 Father Christmas preceded by his 
 cooks bringing up the rear
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 125 
 THE BOAR'S HEAD CAROL 
 
 ?z 
 
 I 
 
 The boar's head in hand bear 
 
 Maestoso. 
 
 Be 
 
 PEi 
 
 =^ 
 
 -J — I 
 
 s 
 
 ^ 
 
 4 
 
 ^- 
 
 ^-— r 
 
 mf 
 
 e 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 -M^m^ 
 
 
 -f^ 
 
 decked with bays and rose - ma 
 
 ry. 
 
 ^ 
 
 a; 
 
 =5 
 
 ^■=F 
 
 r f 
 
 ^= 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 -^ 
 
 ^- 
 
 -p- 
 
 -^s^- 
 
 -^ 
 
 -(2- 
 
 A=t 
 
 4= 
 
 t/ 
 
 And I pray you, my mas - ters, be 
 
 3: 
 
 
 :i(=^==^ 
 
 1^=^ 
 
 P
 
 126 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 i 
 
 »=a^=T 
 
 -2^— 
 
 -^5*- 
 
 ry, Quot es - its in con - vi - vt - o. 
 
 A \- 
 
 -42- 
 
 5f 
 
 
 3^ 
 
 r 
 
 £3^ 
 
 :^ 
 
 g • p » 
 
 Chorus, {ad lib.) 
 
 ^ 
 
 t 
 
 Ca 
 
 put a - pri de - fer 
 
 0, 
 
 =1= 
 
 =t 
 
 da; - put a - pri 
 
 de - y<?r - o. 
 
 Ca - put a - pri de - fer - o. 
 
 d= 
 
 4 
 
 m 
 
 t^ 
 
 :a: 
 
 4 
 
 1~-^' 
 
 -6'-
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 127 
 
 =1: 
 
 -3^ 
 
 =^ 
 
 -g 
 
 Red- dens lau - des do 
 
 7m - no. 
 
 -G>- -O^ -&- 
 
 Red - dens lau 
 
 5 
 
 Red- dens lau - des do 
 
 m^ 
 
 ± 
 
 i 
 
 "^3- -& 
 
 -^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 II 
 
 The Boar's head, as I understand, 
 Is the bravest dish in all the land, 
 When thus bedecked with a gay garland, 
 Let us servire cantico. 
 Chorus: — Caput apri defero. Reddens laudes domino. 
 [Characters in the pageant pass out, singing. 
 
 Dickens 
 \^Rising from his chair as the last figure disappears, to 
 Spirit.] Why, it was all just as my old books say! It
 
 128 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 seems so wonderful that you should have made me see 
 it! England was \ltxry England when Father Christ- 
 mas brought revels like those. But everything is so 
 different now! I wish I could do something to bring 
 those happy times back, though I don't see what I can 
 ever do, after all. 
 
 Spirit 
 
 But I do, dear child. Kind wishes that are uttered 
 on Christmas Eve have a strange power of making 
 themselves come true. Perhaps it is because the spirits 
 who are abroad on that happy night welcome them so 
 eagerly, and hurry them forward on their way to do 
 their beautiful work in the world. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 Well, then [eagerly], I will tell you all of my 
 Christmas wish, before it is too late. [PFith an 
 anxious look at the clock on the mantel.] Everj'^ day 
 as I go to my work, I see so many people who are sad 
 and tired, and happiness seems very far from them. I 
 wish I could do something to bring it a little nearer, 
 not only on Christmas Day but every day. Then there 
 would be a sort of Christmas all the year round, would- 
 n't there? 
 
 Spirit 
 
 When love and good-will do their beautiful work 
 all the year round, and no one forgets his neighbor,
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 129 
 
 rich or poor, then there will come a new kind of happy 
 Christmas — the Christmas that you wish for. And 
 there is a boy growing up in London to-day who will 
 do much to make your wish come true. 
 
 Dickens 
 How can a boy do that? 
 
 Spirit 
 
 His own heart will teach him how to understand the 
 lives of the poor about him, and some day he will tell 
 their story so well that the whole world will listen and 
 will understand too. [Alusic of " Silent Night " is 
 faintly heard.^ Now I have told you of your share in 
 the Christmases that are to come, for — you are the boy. 
 Farewell, and — remember. 
 
 [As the Spirit passes out, Dickens sinks 
 
 into his chair as if once ?nore asleep. 
 
 Pause. A loud knocking at the door is 
 
 heard. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 [Starting up.] I must have been asleep! And 
 what a beautiful dream I've had! [Knocking is re- 
 peated.] Who can that be, I wonder! 
 
 [Hurries to the door and opens it; Fanny 
 Dickens rushes in. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 Why, Fanny! Whatever brings j'ou here?
 
 I30 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Engerly.1 Oh, Charley, I've such news for you. 
 
 Dickens 
 
 [Quickly.] Is it good news? Then it must be 
 about father. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 Yes, you've guessed it! Father won't have to stay in 
 prison any longer. He's going to pay all his debts. 
 
 Dickens 
 But how can he? 
 
 Fanny 
 
 Don't you remember that when Cousin John in the 
 country died last year he left father some money in his 
 will and 
 
 Dickens 
 
 Yes, but the lawyers wouldn't give it to him. 
 
 Fanny 
 
 [Hurriedly.] But now they have, and father got 
 a letter to-night about it. He's to leave prison to- 
 morrow and we are going to have a house again, and 
 you can stay at home. You're to come back directly 
 with us and hear all about it, and be as happy as we 
 always used to be on Christmas Eve.
 
 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 131 
 
 Dickens 
 
 [Quietly.] I am happy, to be sure. [Mrs. Gale 
 enters.] Oh! Mrs. Gale, just think what's happened! 
 Father's going to get the money to pay his debts and 
 get out of prison directly. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 Bless your brave little heart! So that's why Miss 
 Fanny was so anxious to see her brother all in a hurry, 
 is it? Didn't I always tell you something would be 
 sure to turn up? But I didn't look for it quite so soon 
 as this. Well, there's no one whose good luck I'd be 
 gladder of, Master Dickens, though I do have to look 
 for another lodger. But you'll give me a thought, once 
 in a bit, when you're safe and comfortable in your own 
 home again ? 
 
 Dickens 
 Indeed I will, Mrs. Gale. I won't ever forget how 
 kind you've been to me. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 Why, as to that, it would be a poor sort of woman 
 who wouldn't want to show a bit of kindness now and 
 then to a lad like you! But never mind about me 
 now. Wrap yourself up and get off as fast as you can 
 to wish your father a happy Christmas. [Ties Dick- 
 ens's tippet round his neck and hands him his cap.] 
 Good-by, now, and a Merry Christmas! 
 
 [Fanny goes out.
 
 132 A CHRISTMAS EVE WITH DICKENS 
 
 Dickens 
 
 [Pauses for a moment before folloiving his sister and 
 says quietly] : I shall always remember ! It z^ a Merry 
 Christmas! 
 
 [A few bars of Christmas music are heard 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. Gale 
 
 [Opening the door and looking out.] I wonder 
 what it is that the lad will always remember. But it is 
 a Merry Christmas. God bless them, every one!
 
 THE FAIRIES' PLEA
 
 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 
 
 An interlude for Shakespeare Day. Adapted from 
 Thomas Hood's " Plea of the Midsummer 
 
 Fairies. 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 TiTANiA. A Meadow Fairy. 
 
 Puck. Other Fairies. 
 
 A Flower Fairy. Time. • 
 
 A Forester Fairy. Shakespeare. 
 
 Scene: A woodland. In the center of the fore- 
 ground TiTANiA ; in the background two green-clad 
 fairies with silver bugles. 
 
 TiTANIA 
 
 Go forth, ye twain, and with a trump convene 
 my lieges all ! 
 
 [^The trumpeters step to opposite sides of 
 the stage and blow a shrill but sweet- 
 toned blast. The fairies appear. All 
 bow before Titania, then group them- 
 selves about her. 
 
 Titania 
 O fays, a danger menaces! 
 135
 
 136 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 
 
 Flower Fairy 
 What danger, gracious queen? 
 
 TiTANIA 
 
 Have ye forgotten, subject sprites, upon what a 
 slender thread our fairy lives have ever hung? Do ye 
 not know that when men's fickle faith in us ceases, we 
 must fade and perish? [Fairies murmur sorrow- 
 fully.^ Only the poets have given us our length of 
 days, and now that their pouer is waning, our lives 
 must wane with it. To-day I awoke from troubled 
 dreams, and saw within the very limits of our realm 
 a dreadful shape. Gaunt he was, and grim, with a 
 single lock of wintry white overhanging his frown- 
 ing brow. Upon a staff he bore a curving blade, and 
 as he waved it to and fro, I seemed to feel its cruel 
 edge, and knew that our fate was well-nigh upon us. 
 See! even now he comes! [Shuddering and draiving 
 back.] Alas, for us wretched sprites! 'Tis Death or 
 Time! 
 
 [Time enters; the fairies all cower together. 
 
 Titania 
 [Kneeling before him.] Master of all things, have 
 pity upon us! 
 
 Time 
 [Planting his scythe upon the ground, and gazing 
 grimly upon TiTANiA.] Thou feeble, wanton, fickle,
 
 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 137 
 
 foolish thing, speak not to me of pity! My joy lies in 
 destruction. 
 
 TiTANIA 
 
 Fairies, plead for your race! 
 
 Flower Fairy 
 Great King of years, why have our little lives in- 
 curred thy hate? We are kindly creatures all, and 
 help poor mortals in their toilsome lot. Young lovers 
 seek our haunts, and know themselves secure. And 
 when the mother sits beside her babe, we kiss its 
 dimpling cheek, and bring the smile she looks for. 
 Spare us for the sake of Love! 
 
 Time 
 
 Naught know I of Love, nor aught of lovers, save 
 that my strength can part them. And children — I 
 devour my own! What care have I for women or 
 their babes? 
 
 Forester Fairy 
 [Doffing his acorn-cup cap.'\ Have pity on the tiny 
 woodsmen, who knit the boughs to screen the birds 
 from foes that seek their nests! We frame the arches 
 of the shady forest, where men lie down to hide away 
 from care. We scoop the squirrel's hollow cell, and 
 give the rough gray trunk its soft garment of ivy or of 
 moss. Spare us for the sake of the sweet greenwood!
 
 138 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 
 
 Time 
 
 Say naught to me of forests or of birds! The rustle 
 of the dead leaves through the autumn air is sweeter 
 far to me than the flight of the most tuneful songsters! 
 And there is no beauty for me in the woodland, save 
 when the brown limbs are bleak and bare — like Na- 
 ture in her skeleton! The hour has come to bid fare- 
 well to tangled branches and the nests they hold. 
 Delay me not with vain prayers! 
 
 Meadow Fairy 
 
 O let us live, Eternal King! See how we rejoice 
 in all that earth can give ! Remember, too, how oft 
 we teach others to share our joy. Did we not, in rov- 
 ing through these very meadows, once find a babe — 
 deserted, and alone, and like to perish; — and did we 
 not then take the shape of grasshoppers, and with our 
 shrill call, summon help? A tender-hearted rustic 
 reared our foundling, and all London town knows the 
 lordly merchant who bears a grasshopper as his chosen 
 crest. Why slay us, who have served mankind so well ? 
 
 Time 
 
 l^Is about to answer angrily, when PuCK, ivho has 
 been indulging in all sorts of freakish pranks, comes 
 within reach of his arm. He seizes PuCK fiercely.} 
 Impish mischief, who art thou?
 
 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 139 
 
 Puck 
 [Implorin<{ly.^ Alas! I am but a little random 
 elf, whose life is only merry. I have no task but 
 teaching men to smile. Good hoary master, set me 
 free, and I will show thee many a pleasant sport ! 
 
 Time 
 [Shaking his scythe.] Thou foolish antic, to hope 
 to win me to a smile! I change all merriment to 
 gloom! Look here upon this handle of my scythe! It 
 was a Maypole once, and bore a flowery crown, and 
 rustics danced about it. But I plucked it down and 
 laid the dancers low, and so will I do to thee and thine! 
 
 TiTANIA 
 
 Is there none to save us from Time's wrath? [A 
 sudden flutter among the fairies.] Lo! here is one who 
 hath power even over Time himself ! 
 
 [Shakespeare * enters. At sight of him 
 Time drops his scythe with a crash. 
 
 TiTANIA 
 
 [Kneeling before Shakespeare.] Immortal poet, 
 who art Time's sole rival, save us from his dreaded 
 blade ! Thou alone hast strength to withstand it — 
 shield us then, and we will repay thy love by giving 
 thee such glimpses of our faery realm as never poet's 
 eye beheld ! 
 
 * Shakespeare should wear an Elizabethan costume. If pos- 
 sible, an attempt should be made to have his appearance con- 
 vey some suggestion of the Chandos portrait.
 
 140 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 [Facing Time and pointing to the fairiesi 
 
 I 
 
 * These be the pretty genii of the flowers, 
 
 Daintily fed with honey and pure dew — 
 
 Midsummer's phantoms in her dreaming hours, 
 
 King Oberon and all his merry crew, 
 
 The darling puppets of romance's view, 
 
 Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call them, 
 
 Famous for patronage of lovers true; 
 
 No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them, 
 
 So do not thus with crabbed frowns appall them. 
 
 II 
 
 [For] unto them are poets much beholden 
 For secret favors in the midnight glooms; 
 Brave Spenser quaffed out of their goblets golden, 
 And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms 
 And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms 
 Sounding upon the air most soothing soft. 
 Like humming bees busy about the brooms — 
 And glanced this fair queen's witchery full oft, 
 And in her magic wain soared far aloft. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Nay, I myself, though mortal, once was nursed 
 By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth, 
 
 •The lines spoken by Shakespeare are quoted directly from 
 Hood's poem.
 
 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 141 
 
 And in my childish ear glib Mab rehearsed 
 
 Her breezy travels round our planet's girth, 
 
 Telling me wonders of the moon and earth ; 
 
 My gramarj e at her grave lap I conned, 
 
 Where Puck hath been convened to make me mirth ; 
 
 I have had from Queen Titania tokens fond. 
 
 And toyed w^ith Oberon's permitted wand! 
 
 IV 
 
 Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty 
 
 Will I regard them in my honoring rhyme. 
 
 With love for love, and homages to beauty, 
 
 And magic thoughts gathered in night's cool clime, 
 
 With studious verse trancing the dragon Time, 
 
 Strong as old Merlin's necromantic spells ; 
 
 So these dear monarchs of the summer's prime 
 
 Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells, 
 
 Till shrill lark warn them to their flowery cells. 
 
 [Time, with a show of great fury, attempts 
 to raise his scythe as if to strike Shake- 
 speare, but after repeated efforts, finds 
 himself powerless. He then shuffles off, 
 casting looks of baffled rage at the fairies, 
 who cluster about Shakespeare. 
 
 Titania 
 
 [IVaving her wand.'\ About him. Elves, and honor 
 him ; for, had he not been here to save us, the silkworm 
 now had spun our shroud ! 
 
 [Fairies dance in a circle about Shake- 
 speare, Titania remaining at the right
 
 142 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 
 
 of the stage, while PuCK frolics about 
 her. The faint crowing of a cock is 
 heard. 
 
 Puck 
 
 Away! 'Tis Chanticleer! Now comes the dawn! 
 [TiTAXiA raises her wand with a gesture 
 of command. The fairies group them- 
 selves irregularly about Shakespeare 
 and move with him slowly towards the 
 exit, singing as they go. Titania fol- 
 lows with Puck in attendance. 
 
 Fairies' Song 
 [Ariel's song from " The Tempest."] 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
 In the cowsh'p's bell I lie; 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry; 
 
 On the bat's back I do fly 
 
 After summer merrily. 
 
 Merrily, merrily shall I live now, 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!
 
 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 
 
 143 
 
 WHERE THE BEE SUCKS 
 
 Air by Pelham Humfrey (seventeenth century). 
 
 a 
 
 ^ 
 
 > 
 
 -N-f? 
 
 :SJ=t 
 
 tj 
 
 Where the bee sucks there suck I : 
 
 In a 
 
 cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do 
 
 --A-=^- 
 
 ^ 
 
 It 
 
 cry: On the bat's back I do fly A£-ter sum-mer 
 
 Met- ri - ly, met - ri - ly shall I live now 
 
 '-^^^t 
 
 it*: 
 
 Un - der the blos-som that hangs on the bough 
 
 ^^ 
 
 :^=T 
 
 ^ 
 
 Mer - ri - ly, mer - ri - ly shall I live now,
 
 144 
 
 THE FAIRIES' PLEA 
 
 rail. 
 
 -M — ^ — I 1_^ 
 
 - der the bios - som that hangs on the bough! 
 
 -I- 
 
 =|t 
 
 - ri - ly, mer - ri - ly shall I live now 
 
 ^m 
 
 der the blossom that hangs on the bough ! 
 
 t=t: 
 
 :Ht 
 
 4tT 
 
 It 
 
 =]=: 
 
 1-- 
 ri - ly, mer - ri-ly shall I live now 
 
 1^ lall. 
 
 =J!M ^ :iHiqai»:|i:j^^_ ^ j -H 
 — ^ — H — p — •-*— I — i-h^ — I ^ — I — - 1 
 
 der the blos-som that hangs on the bough.
 
 BOOKS ON AND OF SCHOOL PLAYS 
 
 By Constance D'Arcy Mackay 
 
 HOW TO PRODUCE CHILDREN'S PLAYS 
 
 The author is a recognized authority on the production 
 of plays and pageants in the public schools, and combines en- 
 thusiastic sympathy with sound, practical instructions. She 
 tells both how to inspire and care for the young actor, how 
 to make costumes, properties, scenery, where to find de- 
 signs for them, what music to use, etc., etc. She prefaces it 
 all with an interesting historical sketch of the plays-for-chil- 
 dren movement, includes elaborate detailed analyses of per- 
 formances of Browning's Pied Piper and Rosetti's Pageant 
 of the Months, and concludes with numerous valuable an- 
 alytical lists of plays for various grades and occasions. 
 16mo, probable price $1.20 net (Feb., 1914). 
 
 PATRIOTIC PLAYS AND PAGEANTS 
 
 Pageant of Patriotism (Outdoor and Indoor Versions) : — 
 ♦Princess Pocahontas, Pilgrim Interlude, Ferry Farm Epi- 
 sode, *George Washington's Fortune, *Daniel Boone : Patriot, 
 Benjamin Franklin Episode, Lincoln Episode, Final Tableau. 
 
 Hawthorne Pageant (for Outdoor or Indoor Produc- 
 tion) : — Chorus of Spirits of the Old Manse, Prologue by the 
 Muse of Hawthorne, In Witchcraft Days, Dance Interlude, 
 Merrymount, etc. 
 
 The portions marked with a star (*) are one-act plays 
 suitable for separate performance. There are full directions 
 for simple costumes, scenes, and staging. 12mo. $1.35 net. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE HEART 
 
 Short plays in verse for children of fourteen or younger : — 
 "The House of the Heart (Morality Play) — "The Enchanted 
 Garden" (Flower Play) — "A Little Pilgrim's Progress" (Mor- 
 ality Play) — "A Pageant of Hours" (To be given Out of 
 Doors) — "On Christmas Eve." "The Princess and the Pix- 
 ies." "The Christmas Guest" (Miracle Play.), etc. $1.10 net. 
 
 "An addition to child drama which has been sorely needed." — Boston 
 Transcript. 
 
 THE SILVER THREAD 
 
 And Other Folk Plays. "The Silver Thread" (Cornish) ; 
 "The Forest Spnng" (Italian) ; "The Foam Maiden" (Celtic) ; 
 "Troll Magic" (Norwegian) ; "The Three Wishes" (French) ; 
 "A Brewing of Brains" (English) ; "Siegfried" (German) ; 
 "The Snow Witch" (Russian). $1.10 net. 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 Lily A. Long's RADISSON: The Voyageur 
 
 A highly picturesque play in four acts and in verse. The 
 central figures are Radisson, the redoubtable voyageur who 
 explored the Upper Mississippi, his brother-in-law Groseil- 
 hers, Owera the daughter of an Indian chief and various 
 other Indians. The daring resource of the two white men in 
 the face of imminent peril, the pathetic love of Owera, and 
 above all, the vivid pictures of Indian life, the women grind- 
 ing corn, the council, dances, feasting and famine are notable 
 features, and over it all is a somewhat unusual feeling for 
 the moods of nature which closely follow those of the people 
 involved. Suitable for amateurs. 12mo. $1.00 net. 
 
 Maude Morrison Frank's SHORT PLAYS ABOUT FAMOUS 
 AUTHORS 
 
 , These five plays treat respectively of (1) How the precocious 
 Goldsmith at the age of fifteen made free with a family in a 
 manor he took for an inn. (II) How Dickens, as a poor factory 
 boy, had a dream of an old-time Christmas pageant. (Ill) How 
 Heine at twenty-one disgusted his rich uncle by writing poetry, 
 and how he first felt love and sorrow. (IV) Of certain tribu- 
 lations of Fannie Burney, when, she was Junior Mistress of 
 The Robes at the Court of George Third. (V) How Shake- 
 speare saved the fairies from the scythe of time, a pretty 
 spectacle based on Hood's poem, "The Fairies' Plea." All 
 suitable for acting in High Schools and Colleges, and II and 
 III also for younger actors. 12mo. $1.00 net. 
 
 AUce Johnstone Walker's LITTLE PLAYS FROM AMERICAN 
 HISTORY FOR YOUNG FOLK 
 
 ILOO net. 
 In Hiding the Regicides there are a number of brief and 
 stirring episodes, concerning the pursuit of Colonels Whalley 
 and Goflf by the officers of Charles II at New Haven in old 
 colony days. Mrs. Murray's Dinner P.a.rty, in three acts, 
 is a lively comedy about a Patriot hostess and British Officers 
 in Revolutionary Days. In the four Scenes from Lincoln's 
 Time, the martyred President does not himself appear. They 
 cover Lincoln's helping a little girl with her trunk, women 
 preparing lint for the wounded, a visit to the White House of 
 an important delegation from New York, and of the mother 
 of a soldier boy sentenced to death — and the coming of the 
 army of liberation to the darkeys. Tho big events are touched 
 upon, the mounting of all these little plays is simplicity itself, 
 and they have stood the test of frequent school performance. 
 
 II EN R Y HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 Beulah Marie Dix's ALLISON'S LAD AND OTHER 
 MARTIAL INTERLUDES 
 
 By the co-author of the play, "The Road to Yesterday," and 
 author of tlie novels, "The Fighting Blade," "The Making 
 of Christopher Ferringham," etc. $1.35 net; by mail, $1.45. 
 
 Allison's Lad, The Hundredth Trick, The Weakest Link, 
 The Snare and the Fowler, The Captain of the Gate, The 
 Dark of the Dawn. 
 
 Six stirring war episodes, perfectly practicable for perform- 
 ance by clever amateurs ; at the same time they make decidedly 
 interesting reading. Most of them occur in the dread pause 
 before some mighty conflict. Three in Cromwellian days, one 
 at the close of the French Revolution, another at the time of 
 the Hundred Years' War, and the last during the Thirty Years' 
 War. The author has most ingeniously managed to give the 
 feeling of big events, though employing but few players. The 
 emotional grip is strong, even tragic. 
 
 " The technical mastery of Miss Dix is grrcat, but her spiritual mastery 
 is greater. For this book iives in memory, and the spirit of its teachings is, 
 in a most intimate sense, the spirit of its teacher. Noble passion holding 
 the balance between life and death is the motif sharply outlined and vigor- 
 ously portrayed. In each interlude the author has seized upon a vital 
 situation and has massed all her forces so as to enhance its significance. " — 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 Martin Schutze's HERO AND LEANDER 
 
 A drama in verse, $1.25 net; by mail, $1.33. 
 
 " Mr, Schutze has given us a new Holofernes, and in doing this he has 
 very greatly intensified the tragic situation. . . . A well-developed tragical 
 motif . . . that wonderful moment of climax . . . the tragic integrity of 
 the character of Judith is maintained. . . . The details of the drama are 
 well carried out. . . . Mr, Schutze has not only been able to change tradi- 
 tional elements in the old story and yet render his version strong and 
 convincing, but he has also given us a memorable addition to the old Judith 
 legend." — Boston Transcript, 
 
 Martin Schutze's JUDITH 
 
 A drama in verse. $1.26 net; by mail 51.33 
 
 "Perhaps the fullest and strongest drama that has ever been written 
 about these lovers. " — Chicago Kecord- Herald. 
 
 " The consecration of the Hero in the Temple of Venus, the apparition of 
 Leander, his encounter with the temple guards, the episodes attending flero's 
 surrender and the storm with its tragic outcome are all valuable theatrical 
 incidents ... a capable, dignified and interesting composition which 
 would be a credit to any theatre producing it. ''—Nation. 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 CLARK'S CONTINENTAL DRAMA OF TO-DAY— Outlines 
 for Its Study 
 
 By Barrett H. Clark, Editor of and Translator of two of 
 the plays in "Three Alodern French Plays." 12mo. 
 $1.35 net. 
 Suggestions, questions, biographies, and bibliographies for 
 use in connection with the study of some of the more import- 
 ant plays of Ibsen, Bjornsen, Strindberg, Tolstoy, Gorky, 
 TcHEKOFF, Andreyeff, Hauptmann, Sudermann, Weuekind, 
 Schnitzler, Von Hoffmansthal, Becque, Le Maitre, Lave- 
 DAN, Don nay, Maeterlinck, Rostand, Brieux, Hervieu, 
 Giacosa, D'Annunzio, Echegaray, and Galdos. 
 
 In half a dozen or less pages for each play, Mr. Clark 
 tries to indicate, in a way suggestive to playwriters and 
 students, how the skilled dramatists write their plays. It is 
 intended that the volume shall be used in connection with 
 the reading of the plays themselves, but it also has an inde- 
 pendent interest in itself. 
 
 Prof. William Lyon Phelps of Yale: ". . . One of the most useful 
 works on the contemporary drama. . . . Extremely practical, full 
 of valuable hints and suggestions. . . ." 
 
 Providence Journal: "Of undoubted value. ... At the com- 
 pletion of a study of the plays in connection with the 'Outline' one 
 should have a definite knowledge of the essentials of dramatic tech- 
 nique in general, and of the modern movement in particular." 
 
 SLvth Edition, Enlarged and with Portraits 
 
 HALE'S DRAMATIST'S OF TO-DAY 
 
 By Prof. Edward Everett Hale, Jr., of Union College. 
 Rostand, Hauptmann, Sudermann, 
 PiNERo, Shaw, Phillips, Maeterlinck 
 "A Note on Standards of Criticism," "Our Idea of 
 
 Tragedy," and an appendix of all the plays of each author, 
 
 with dates of their first performance or publication, complete 
 
 the volume, $1.50 net. 
 
 New York Evening Post: "It is not often nowadays that a theatrical 
 book can be met with so free from gush and mere eulogy, or so 
 weighted by common sense ... an excellent chronological appendix 
 and full index . . . uncommonly useful for reference." 
 
 Brooklyn Eagle : "A dramatic critic who is not just 'busting' himself 
 
 with Titanic intellectualities, but who is a readable dramatic critic. 
 
 Mr. Hale is a modest and sensible, as well as an acute and 
 
 sound critic. . . . Most people will be surprised and delighted with 
 
 Mr. Hale's simplicity, perspicuity and ingenuousness." 
 
 HENRY MOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 By Clayton Hamilton 
 STUDIES IN STAGECRAFT 
 
 Contents : The New Art of Making Plays, The Pictorial 
 Stage, The Drama of IlUision, The Modern Art of Stage 
 Direction, A Plea for a New Type of Play, The Undramatic 
 Drama, The Value of Stage Conventions, The Supernatural 
 Drama, The Irish National Theatre, The Personality of the 
 Playwright, Where to Begin a Play, Continuity of Structure, 
 Rliythm and Tempo, The Plays of Yesteryear, A New De- 
 fense of Melodrama, The Art of the Moving-Picture Play, 
 The One-Act Play in America, Organizing an Audience, The 
 Function of Dramatic Criticism, etc., etc. $1.50 net 
 
 Nation: "Information, alertness, coolness, sanity and the command 
 of a forceful and pointed English. ... A good book, in spite of 
 all deductions." 
 
 Prof. Archibald Henderson, in The Drama: "Uniformly excellent in 
 quality. . . . Continuously interesting in presentation . . . 
 uniform for high excellence and elevated standards. . . ." 
 
 Athenaeum {London) : "His discussions, though incomplete, are 
 sufficiently provocative of thought to be vifell worth reading." 
 
 THE THEORY OF THE THEATRE 
 
 The Theory of the Theatre. — What is a Play? — The 
 Ps3'chology of Theatre Audiences. — The Actor and the Dra- 
 matist. — Stage Conventions in Modern Times. — The Four 
 Leading Types of Drama : Tragedy and Melodrama ; Comedy 
 and Farce. — The Modern Social Drama, etc., etc. 
 
 Other Principles of Dramatic Criticism. — The Public 
 and the Dramatist. — Dramatic Art and the Theatre Business. 
 — Dramatic Literature and Theatric Journalism. — The Inten- 
 tion of Performance. — The Quality of New Endeavor. — 
 Pleasant and Unpleasant Plays. — Themes in the Theatre. — 
 The Function of Imagination, etc., etc. 4th printing. $1.50 net. 
 
 Bookman: "Presents coherently a more substantial body of idea on 
 the subject than perhaps elsewhere accessible." 
 
 Boston Transcript : "At every moment of his discussion he has a 
 firm grasp upon every phase of the subject." 
 
 THE GERMAN DRAMA OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 
 
 By Georg Witkowski. Translated by Prof. L. E. Horning. 
 
 Kleist, Grillparzer, Hebbel, Ludwig, Wildenbruch, Sudermann, Haupt- 
 mann and minor dramatists receive attention. 12nio. $1.00. 
 
 New York Times Review: "The translation of this brief, clear and 
 logical account was an extremely happy idea. Nothing at the same time 
 so comprehensive and terse has appeared on the subject." 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHPRS NEW YORK
 
 ARCHIBALD HENDERSON'S THE CHANGING DRAMA 
 
 Its Contributions and Tendencies. By the Author of "George 
 Bernard Shaw : His Life and Works," "European Drama- 
 tists," etc. 12mo. $1,50 net. 
 
 The pioneer book in English in its field. While a number 
 of good books, taking up important dramatists and discussing 
 them one after another, are available, this is probably the first 
 that describes the significant changes and movements in the 
 drama of the last half century, illustrating them by the work of 
 leading dramatists and by apt citations of and quotations from 
 their plays. The author, publicist as well as dramatic critic, 
 aims to show the expression of the larger realities of con- 
 temporary life in the drama, the widening of social influence 
 of the stage, the new technic, form, and content of the play, 
 the substitution of the theme for the hero, the conflict of wills 
 for that of arms, etc. In short, to give a brief but authorita- 
 tive general survey with a more detailed appraisal of some of 
 the chief creative contributions. 
 
 The chapter headings indicate the content and scope of the 
 Avork: Drama in the New Age; The New Criticism and Nev/ 
 Ethics; Science and the New Drama; The New Forms — 
 Realism and the Pulpit Stage ; The New Forms — Naturalism 
 and the Free Theatre ; The Battle with Illusions ; The Ancient 
 Bondage and the New Freedom ; The New Technic ; The 
 Play and the Reader ; The New Content ; The Newer 
 Tendencies. 
 
 The author, though an American, has also studied the 
 drama in the theatres of Great Britain and the Continent, and 
 has before this demonstrated that he is a dramatic scholar 
 and a keen, clear-eyed, entertaining critic. His articles have 
 appeared in La Societe Notwelle, Mercnre de France, Deutsche 
 Revue, Illustrerct Tidende, Finsk Tidskrift, T. P.'s Maga- 
 zine, etc., etc. 
 
 Alaurice Maeterlinck said of his "Interpreters of Life" 
 (now incorporated in his "European Dramatists") : "You 
 have Avritten one of the most sagacious, most acute, and most 
 penetrating essays in the whole modern literary movement." 
 
 "It is a really great work," said Professor William Lyon 
 Phelps of "George Bernard Shaw : His Life and Works." 
 
 Of his "European Dramatists," The Dial said : "The criti- 
 cisms of their work are keen and lucid, and have the advan- 
 tage of coming from one who has studied the plays 
 exhaustively." 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS vii'14 NEW YORK
 
 224 W. Broadwa> 
 Glendale, Calif. 91204