THE MASTER
 
 THE MASTER BY 
 HERMANN BAHR ADAPT 
 ED FOR THE AMERICAN 
 STAGE BY BENJAMIN F GLAZER 
 
 Philadelphia NICHOLAS L BROWN 1918
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918 
 
 BY 
 
 NICHOLAS L. BROWN
 
 DEDICATOEY PREFACE 
 To ARNOLD DALY 
 
 2081433
 
 Dear Arnold Daly : 
 
 No publication of this play would be complete that 
 failed to acknowledge its debt to you. And that debt, 
 strangely enough, does not consist in the fact that you 
 acted the play so admirably, but that you acted it at all. 
 
 Looking backward, it may not seem to the casual 
 observer that there was any especial merit in having 
 sponsored a play which won a critical reception as over- 
 whelmingly favorable as that accorded "The Master." 
 But the casual observer is not a competent witness of 
 theatrical affairs. He does not realize how utterly the 
 American stage is given over to the broad, the senti- 
 mental, the commonplace. He cannot know, as you 
 know, how scrupulously the average American "star" 
 actor shrinks from a role that savors of the intellectual. 
 
 The adventures of this play in manuscript and I 
 daresay many meritorious play-manuscripts have fared 
 worse may elucidate the point. I finished the adapta- 
 tion at St. Ives in Cornwall during the Summer of 
 1912. On my return to this country, in October of the 
 same year, it was offered to a very prominent New York 
 manager, and immediately accepted for production. 
 This manager was most enthusiastic about the play until 
 someone I think it was the third assistant publicity 
 manager whispered the fatal word "Highbrow!" and 
 his enthusiasm forthwith subsided. At this point I, too, 
 lost interest; and the destinies of the manuscript were
 
 left in the capable hands of my very zealous agent. Not 
 until four years later in August of 1916, to be exact 
 was the play accepted for production by Mrs. Henry B. 
 Harris, and was actually produced at Cleveland in 
 October of the same year. 
 
 In the interim it was energetically peddled from 
 manager to actor and from actor to manager by my 
 optimistic agent. There may be one or two "stars" 
 who did not refuse the play before you saw it ; if so, the 
 omission was unintentional. And yet its reception was 
 varied. 
 
 One actor, who had left his fiftieth birthday behind 
 him, decided that the title role was too old for him. 
 Another invited me down to his country home to rewrite 
 the play under his direction. A third was afraid that 
 he was too short to play the part; whether in talent or 
 in stature he did not specify. A fourth contended that 
 it was a subordinate role because it failed to enlist the 
 sympathy of the audiences. So it went. To no avail 
 did my agent point out that Hermann Babr was one of 
 the most popular dramatists on the Continent; that 
 "The Master" had been in the repertoire of most of the 
 eminent European actors for a dozen years or more. 
 The American "star" would have none of it. 
 
 With the managers he fared no better, which is not 
 surprising. After all, the history of the American 
 theatre holds little to encourage the manager in the 
 quest of plays of authentic literary or dramatic merit. 
 Few managers pretend to be artists or even patrons of 
 art, and most of them are quite frankly business men 
 and nothing else. Even Mrs. Harris was dubious about 
 the commercial prospects of "The Master." At the very 
 outset she said to me: "I do not expect to make money 
 on this play ; I shall not be surprised if I lose heavily ; 
 
 8
 
 but the play is worth it." And she meant it. I wonder 
 if any American manager ever said that before. 
 
 Meantime you had read the play and marked it for 
 your own. It only remained for my agent to bring you 
 and her together. 
 
 We had been solemnly warned against you. Every 
 manner of crime of temper and of temperament was 
 charged against you. We were told it was your custom 
 to leave a company without notice at the most awkward 
 times ; that quite probably you would fly in a rage some 
 day and tear the scenery into shreds; that you ate a 
 leading lady for luncheon every day ; that you were the 
 terror of actors, the despair of managers and the 
 anathema of authors. Really, I gathered that you were 
 at once the most discreditable and the most respected 
 actor in America. 
 
 Judge of my relief to find that rumor had slandered 
 you so grievously. Yet it was not difficult to discover a 
 fancied basis for the slander. There was about you that 
 nervous energy so disconcerting to smug people 
 which vented itself in many unanticipated ways. It 
 inspired your associates while it awed them. You could 
 be intolerant, but only with incompetence ; you could be 
 caustic, but only toward mediocrity ; you could proclaim 
 your opinions with irritating assurance, but I have never 
 met a man quicker to accept a fruitful suggestion or 
 keener, for that matter, to nail the fallacy of an 
 erroneous one. It was soon clear to me that common- 
 place people must hate you heartily. I ruefully acknowl- 
 edge that there were moments when I hated you like that. 
 
 At rehearsals I used to marvel at your well nigh 
 infallible instinct for the right posture, the most eloquent 
 gesture, the most convincing shading of a line. You 
 seemed to feel rather than to reason the solution of each 
 
 9
 
 technical problem, whether of your own or of your asso- 
 ciates, to whom you were ever helpful and considerate. 
 But I could not be sure that this infallibility of yours 
 was always as instinctive as it seemed. I marked, for 
 instance, how thorough you were in committing your 
 lines to memory. Another member of the company 
 might be content to speak a substituted word, an 
 inverted phrase. Not you. If there was the slightest 
 doubt about the least material word, your quick ear 
 caught it, and you had immediate recourse to the prompt- 
 book. And in the end you read the part with not a 
 comma out of place. That, I told myself, is the differ- 
 ence between an artist and an actor. 
 
 It was the same at public performances. I thought 
 you should never be through with your psychic experi- 
 ments on the public. Tonight you played a scene one 
 way, and tomorrow another. And always some occult 
 perception in you seemed to be waiting and watching 
 for the emotional response that would give you the 
 answer you sought. Even after the New York premier, 
 when the praise that was accorded you should certainly 
 have satisfied you, I thought I saw you still experi- 
 menting. And to me it was the supreme proof of your 
 artistry that you were the severest critic of your own 
 work. 
 
 I am proud to have been the means of introducing to 
 the American theatre, through the medium of your 
 matchless art, the master work of Hermann Bahr. And 
 I gratefully acknowledge that on the stage you have 
 magnified and transfigured whatever merit there is in 
 this adaptation. 
 
 BENJAMIN F. GLAZER. 
 
 10
 
 THE ORIGINAL CAST, as produced under the 
 direction of the Estate of Henry B. Harris at the Fulton 
 Theatre, New York City, December 5, 1916 : 
 
 (In the order of their appearance) 
 
 IDA WAYNE FLORENCE OAKLEY 
 
 CLEMENS CHARLES HALTON 
 
 KATHEBINE, wife of Arthur Wessley. .EDYTH LATIMER 
 
 ARTHUR WESSLEY ARNOLD DALY 
 
 DR. EVANS PHILIP WOOD 
 
 DR. ROKORO . .EDWARD ABELBS 
 
 MORTIMER WEEKS, editor of "The Faun" ROYAL BYRON 
 JULIET, wife of Raymond Wessley. .EDNA MAY OLIVER 
 HON. PETER BROOKSON, the Mayor. .WILLIAM FREDERIC 
 DR. RAYMOND WESSLEY, Director of Public Health 
 
 CARL ECKSTROM 
 DR. KLAUDER, Pres. of the Medico-Surgical College 
 
 GEORGE GASTON 
 EUGENE THOMPSON RAMSAY WALLACE 
 
 Produced under the direction of Ira Hards 
 
 11
 
 PERSON'S 
 ARTHUR WESSLBY. 
 KATHERINE, his wife. 
 
 DR. RAYMOND WESSLEY, Director of Public Health. 
 JULIET, his wife. 
 DR. ROKORO. 
 EUGENE THOMPSON. 
 DR. EVANS. 
 IDA WAYNE. 
 
 DR. KLAUDER, President of the Medico-Surgical College. 
 HON. PETER BROOKSON, the Mayor. 
 MORTIMER WEEKS, editor of "The Faun" 
 CLEMENS. 
 
 The action takes place during two consecutive days in 
 Arthur Wessley's private hospital on the outskirts of a 
 small city. 
 
 13
 
 ACT I 
 
 Arthur Wessley's study is a high-ceiling ed, old- 
 fashioned room on the ground floor of a private hospital. 
 Broad French windows at back look out upon a garden; 
 before them is a long, low table bearing charts, papers, 
 bottles, orthopedic appliances and a large vase; heavy 
 chairs stand on three sides of it. The walls at right and 
 left are lined with practical book-shelves containing 
 books. At left is an old Dutch cabinet of carved wood; 
 opposite it is a huge chest of drawers, on which stands 
 a bust of Socrates. 
 
 Up left a heavy door opens into a corridor, which leads 
 to the outer door, the stairs and hospital wards. Another 
 and smaller door at right leads into a bathroom. Down 
 right there is a wide fireplace, with brass fender and 
 andirons, topped by a mantelpiece, on which stand a 
 few brass candlesticks and a framed photograph of 
 Katherine. 
 
 A sofa stands slantwise opposite the fireplace, and 
 near it a reading lamp on a pedestal. A cloth-covered 
 novel lies open upon the sofa. Down left there is a 
 small table upon which is a typewriting machine, and 
 beside it a blotting-pad, with pen and ink. Otherwise 
 the room is furnished tastefully and with an eye for 
 solid comfort. The time is about seven o'clock of a fine 
 Summer morning. 
 
 At the rise of the curtain Clemens is discovered, 
 dusting the room. He is fifty-five, gray-haired, speaks 
 with a faint German accent. Presently Ida enters at 
 
 15
 
 left with newspapers, which she puts on the larger table, 
 and letters which she carries to the smaller table. She 
 is twenty-three, slender and rather pale, and pretty in a 
 dark, wistful way. 
 
 IDA : Isn't the master up yet ? 
 
 CLEMENS : [points to the door at right] In his bath. 
 
 IDA: And you are just cleaning up! 
 
 CLEMENS: I couldn't do it any sooner; he occupied 
 the room, [disapprovingly] Up all night again. 
 
 IDA: [glances at the book on the couch] Two difficult 
 operations yesterday, yet he sits up all night reading 
 detective stories. 
 
 CLEMENS: Ifs a wonder he don't make himself sick 
 by it. [Ida sits at the smaller table, begins to open and 
 read the mail.] 
 
 CLEMENS : Did you see what it says in the papers this 
 morning ? 
 
 IDA: [without looking up] Yes. 
 
 CLEMENS : Professor ! [shakes his head] How things 
 do change ! When you think that a short time ago . . . 
 you can really say the whole city was against him the 
 newspapers, the authorities . . . and the scandal with 
 his own brother 
 
 IDA: [looks up from a letter, thoughtfully] And he 
 only laughed. 
 
 CLEMENS : What doesn't he laugh at? 
 
 IDA : He will laugh at this, too. [flourishes the letter] 
 His brother, the Director of Health, writes that he is 
 coming with the Mayor and the President of the Faculty 
 to pay his respects to the new professor, [puts the 
 letter carefully aside, separate from the rest.] 
 
 CLEMENS : Yes, it will be different now. All against 
 him, him against everybody and he has won. Oh, it is 
 wonderful ! 
 
 16 i
 
 IDA : [with pride] He made them come to him. 
 
 CLEMENS: I'm most glad on account of the missus. 
 He my God, he don't care what they do or say, but 
 the dear lady must have suffered, even if she didn't 
 show it. ... 
 
 IDA : Yes, Clemens, but go on with your work ; you're 
 late. 
 
 CLEMENS : [dusting] It used to be so lonely for her 
 here just like in a prison. You don't know what kind 
 of a life she was used to in the old country. He was 
 onty a poor student then, but she was rich and of a fine 
 family and plenty of friends, and 
 
 IDA : [annoyed] You have told me so often ! 
 
 CLEMENS : Yes, Miss Ida, those were happy days for 
 all of us. And all of a sudden he brings us here . . . 
 like in a prison . . . not a soul to visit us 
 
 IDA : You forget Mr. Thompson. 
 
 CLEMENS : Yes, Mr. Thompson ! He stuck to us from 
 the beginning. The master should be thankful to him 
 for it, too. 
 
 IDA : [warningly] Hmm ! 
 
 [Katherine enters from left. She is twenty-five, 
 
 tall, fair-haired, her habitual air of quiet self-posses- 
 sion accentuated by the white nurse's uniform she 
 
 wears. She carries flowers.] 
 
 KATHERINE: Isn't Mr. Wessley down yet? \goes to 
 the larger table, arranges the flowers in the vase.] 
 
 CLEMENS : [points to the door at right] Yes, ma'am, 
 he comes soon. 
 
 IDA: Good morning, Mrs. Wessley. 
 
 KATHERINE: Good morning, Ida. [bends over the 
 vase] Aren't you excited over the news? 
 
 IDA : There is more news a letter from the master's 
 brother in this morning's mail.
 
 KATHERINE: [without turning] Read it to me. 
 
 IDA: [reads] "My dear brother, no doubt you have 
 by this time learned from the public prints that it is 
 the intention of the Medico-Surgical College to honor 
 you with the degree of Professor of Surgery. Need I 
 say that I am deeply gratified by the news that you will 
 be so honored, and profoundly thankful that the opposi- 
 tion my public office has heretofore compelled me to 
 show toward you may now be withdrawn. It will be my 
 pleasure to present myself at your house this morning, 
 in the company of His Honor, the Mayor, Dr. Klauder 
 and my wife, to congratulate you in person. Very 
 cordially yours, Raymond Wessley." 
 
 CLEMENS : Erlauben gnadige Frau, dass ich halt auch 
 herzlichst 
 
 KATHERINE: Thank you, Clemens. 
 
 CLEMENS : It is a good fortune for us all. 
 
 KATHERINE: Yes, my good Clemens, and you did 
 your share to help. 
 
 CLEMENS : It was terrible . . . Well, thank God, 
 it's over now. 
 
 KATHERINE: [finished with the flowers'] Did you find 
 it so hard to bear as that? [half to herself; reflectively] 
 I don't know. It's strange ! [starts to go.~\ 
 
 IDA: Will the visitors stay to luncheon? 
 
 KATHERINE : Oh, perhaps we ought to be prepared in 
 any event. Will you attend to it? 
 
 IDA: Five extra? 
 
 KATHERINE: Yes, five. What time is the operation 
 this morning? 
 
 IDA : At nine. 
 
 KATHERINE : Then I shall have a look at that boy in 
 number seven first. If my husband asks for me, I am in 
 
 18
 
 seven, [going] Don't let him forget the operation 
 again, will you ? [exits at left.] 
 
 CLEMENS: There is one thing I would like to know. 
 Do you think we ought to call him professor from 
 now on? 
 
 IDA: He doesn't need that title. He is more than 
 professor. 
 
 CLEMENS: But professor sounds something higher 
 than master. I never understood why he calls himself 
 master, master of surgery. 
 
 IDA: They wouldn't let him call himself doctor. 
 
 CLEMENS : Yes, but master. In the German language 
 meister that means something. But here in America 
 when they say master they mean a little boy. 
 
 IDA: Perhaps that is why he chose it. 
 
 [Arthur enters at right, wrapped in a bathrobe.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [to Clemens] My coffee quick, [lights a 
 cigarette; approaches Ida. Clemens exits.] Morning, 
 Ida. [indicating the letters] What new work have you 
 got for me ? 
 
 IDA : Enough for a month. 
 
 ARTHUR: Oh! 
 
 IDA: [deprecatingly] If you would only take care 
 of yourself, master. [Arthur smiles] Up all night 
 again ! 
 
 ARTHUR: "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes." 
 Wonderful book! Makes me wish I were a detective 
 myself. Well, what time today . 
 
 IDA : At nine. And Mrs. Wessley warned me not to 
 let you forget again. 
 
 ARTHUR : [smiles] Did she ? It's that boy in number 
 seven, isn't it? Poor little devil, [goes up right to the 
 door] Did you send Mr. Clayborne that receipted bill 
 yesterday ? 
 
 19
 
 IDA: Of course, master. 
 
 ARTHUR : We were well paid for that case, eh ? 
 
 IDA: Yes, it was an enormous fee you charged him. 
 
 ARTHUR: I wasn't thinking of the money. 
 
 IDA: What else? 
 
 ARTHUR : Unsophisticated child ! Do you suppose I 
 am being made a professor because the learned faculty 
 has suddenly learned to love me ? Lord, no ! Clayborne, 
 the boss, grateful for my cure of his crippled son, gives 
 the order ; and lo ! I am a professor of the same college 
 that yesterday called me quack. Isn't it delicious? 
 
 IDA : Oh, there is a letter from your brother about it. 
 
 ARTHUR: My . . . ? 
 
 IDA: Your brother, the Director of Health. He 
 writes that he is coming to congratulate you with his 
 wife, the Mayor and the President of the Faculty. 
 
 ARTHUR: [after a pause] That's just like him. 
 Always first to follow the band wagon. And he'll expect 
 me to welcome him, too, with open arms. Poor 
 Raymond ! 
 
 [He exits at right. Ida begins to typewrite. Clemens 
 
 enters at left with coffee things, which he places on 
 
 the table by the sofa, and exits. Evans enters at left. 
 
 He is twenty-seven, timid, nervous, mild-mannered; 
 
 wears black-rimmed nose glasses which he is constantly 
 
 removing and wiping.'] 
 
 EVANS : Good morning, Miss Ida. [Ida nods shortly'} 
 Is the professor ? 
 
 IDA : The master will soon be here. 
 
 EVANS : [startled] Of course ; that is whom I meant. 
 [eagerly] Have you spoken to him about it yet? 
 
 IDA: About what? 
 
 EVANS: [points to the pile of newspapers'] Haven't 
 you seen it? It is equivalent to an official announce- 
 
 20
 
 ment ! And it seems to me that on such an. occasion we 
 might contrive in some way to ... make some little 
 demonstration of our admiration and homage for the 
 master. Just fancy, Miss Ida, Professor of Surgery! 
 And for three years they wouldn't grant him the degree 
 of simple doctor. . . . [sees that she takes no notice; 
 gulps; starts, again] Miss Ida, it is a triumph, too, for 
 all of us in a certain sense. When the master was in 
 disrepute it was a reflection, you know, on all of us, 
 and 
 
 IDA : Oh, you are always being belittled ! [goes to the 
 cabinet, takes out a ledger and looks into it.] 
 
 EVANS: [reproachfully] Why do you say that, 
 Miss Ida? 
 
 IDA : [closes the ledger, replaces it, closes the door of 
 the cabinet] Oh, nothing. 
 
 EVANS: Well, isn't this a great honor; a complete 
 justification for us all? 
 
 IDA: Then why on earth are you so melancholy 
 about it? 
 
 EVANS : It's only my manner, Miss Ida. I can't help 
 it, you know. 
 
 IDA: Yes, I know, [passes him with her head 
 averted; returns to the little table. Evans looks after 
 her sorrowfully.] 
 
 EVANS : If you only would have a little patience with 
 
 me, Miss Ida ... it would be easier for me to 
 
 [stops, for the clatter of the machine disturbs him. 
 
 He removes his glasses and wipes them before he con- 
 tinues, nervously.] 
 
 For a long time past I have wanted to tell you, but some- 
 how ... I haven't the talent for expressing myself 
 ... I have hoped that if you could [searches for a 
 
 21
 
 word, then gives it up with a sorrowful laugh'] I must 
 
 sound ridiculous. After what the master said 
 
 [stops as he hears footsteps, and withdraws a pace 
 
 or two. Ida stops typewriting. Arthur enters at right, 
 
 fully dressed, pours himself some coffee, and sits on 
 
 the sofa to drink it. Then he sees Evans for the first 
 
 time.] 
 
 ARTHUR : The lovers ! Well, when will ihe wedding be ? 
 
 EVANS: [stammering] Yes, we should like . . . 
 that is / should like 
 
 ARTHUR: [opens a newspaper] You two give me a 
 pain! How far have you progressed, doctor? 
 
 EVANS: [with a bashful glance at Ida] Well, you 
 see ... Miss Ida . . . has not 
 
 ARTHUR: No, no! Time enough for that. I am 
 talking about the analysis. 
 
 EVANS: Oh! that, master? It is progressing nicely. 
 
 ARTHUR: It has been progressing nicely for quite a 
 time, but I don't see any results. 
 
 EVANS : I haven't spent as much time on it as I should 
 have liked to. I have been kept quite busy, you see, 
 about the hospital. 
 
 ARTHUR: Don't you worry about the hospital. How 
 often must I tell you that you will never be a surgeon ? 
 You may have head enough, but it is the hand you lack. 
 The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were a born 
 theoretical man. Stick to your theory, doctor. Work 
 on your book, analyze, explain, expound my method, 
 write a learned treatise on it; tell them who I am and 
 what I can do that's your line. Take my advice and 
 stick to it. I know what's best for you. 
 
 EVANS: I know you do, master, and I am extremely 
 grateful. But I am not certain 
 
 22
 
 ARTHUR: Of course you're not. That's your trouble. 
 You would like to do things,, but you are afraid this, 
 and perhaps that, and so you fritter your life away. Be 
 firm. Make up your mind and keep it made up. 
 That is the only way. Take Miss Ida for example. It 
 was the same story. She had all sorts of conflicting 
 notions about careers and noble things like that 
 
 IDA: [bitterly] You put them out of my head in 
 short order. 
 
 ARTHUR: And today you are better off for it. 
 
 IDA: [sorrowfully'] Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR: [marking her tone} It hurts at first to give 
 up one's ambitions silly as they may be. That's 
 human nature. But the whole secret of success is to 
 find out what you can do best, and do that alone. You 
 were a poor, lonely musician, with vague ambitions to 
 become a virtuoso. Today you are a remarkably com- 
 petent secretary. Renunciation is what we all must 
 learn. Don't look at me so wonderingly. I I am 
 different. All people are not alike. And what is more, 
 perhaps I, too, practice renunciation in my fashion. 
 
 EVANS: What you say is quite true, of course; and I 
 shall exert myself 
 
 ARTHUR: That's right. Exert yourself; but more 
 quickly. 
 
 EVANS: I will do my utmost, professor; you may 
 rely on that. 
 
 ARTHUR : No. Let us stick to master. In more formal 
 society you may call me professor, if you like, but here, 
 between ourselves, the old name will do very well, thank 
 you. . . . My dear doctor, I cured some two thousand 
 supposedly incurable cripples and the learned gentlemen 
 of the city refused me the degree of simple doctor, but 
 called me a quack and a faker. Now, because I have 
 
 23
 
 straightened out the hip of the son of a millionaire poli- 
 tician I am transformed over night into a professor of 
 surgery. Isn't it amusing? And isn't it a striking ex- 
 ample of the emptiness of honors and titles in this 
 world? No, doctor, we don't need their high-sounding 
 names. One becomes a professor over night you see; 
 but one must have been born a master and proved it by 
 the work of one's brain and hand. 
 
 IDA: Here is the list. I am going out to post these 
 letters, [exits at left.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [picks up the list and glances over it] 
 Take that little girl for example. She has succeeded 
 because she listened to reason. Now, if she had fol- 
 lowed her own inclinations . . . She was barely 
 twenty when she came to me, and stuffed full of lofty 
 ideals about her Art and the like. But I said: "Non- 
 sense! You have no talent for music. Stay here." And 
 she obeyed me. . . . How are you two getting on? 
 
 EVANS : I ardently hope that Miss Ida 
 
 ARTHUR: Stop hoping and do something. You two 
 
 were made for each other. Get married. Then you can 
 
 go about your scientific researches in peace, and she can 
 
 keep on with her work. What better can you wish? 
 
 EVANS: You must have a little patience with me, 
 
 master. I want to follow your advice . . . only 
 
 [stops, embarrassed.] 
 ARTHUR: Only what? 
 EVANS : Only it is . . . I mean it must be handled 
 
 very delicately, because I am not certain [stops, 
 
 embarrassed.] 
 ARTHUR: [impatiently] Of what? 
 
 [Dr. Rokoro enters rapidly from left; hesitates, as 
 if lie fears he is intruding. He is Japanese; twenty- 
 four; smooth, thick, black hair; broad forehead; his 
 
 24
 
 high arched brows and enormous silver-rimmed spec- 
 tacles give his face a quizzical, owlish appearance. 
 His English is correct, but marred by a pronounced 
 Japanese accent. When excited he speaks discon- 
 nectedly, in short, hesitating words and phrases. He 
 is dressed in American fashion, very correctly.] 
 
 EVANS: First I must be certain certain that 
 
 [stops as he sees Rokoro.] 
 
 ARTHUR : [To Rolcoro] I'll be with you in a moment, 
 little doctor, [to Evans] Well, what is it you are not 
 certain of ? Quickly ! 
 
 EVANS: I I must first be sure that Miss Ida 
 
 [looks bashfully at Rokoro, who thereupon starts dis- 
 creetly to retire.] 
 
 ARTHUR: Wait! Stay where you are, little doctor. 
 [impatiently; to Evans] This is no secret. What you 
 are trying to say is that you are not sure she loves you. 
 [Evans nods] But I have spoken to her, and she is satis- 
 fied to marry you. What more? 
 
 EVANS: [mournfully] Still 
 
 ARTHUR: Well? [Rokoro withdraws to the book- 
 shelves; pretends to read.] 
 
 EVANS : [softly] Master, you know I trust you. I 
 have obeyed you in all things, often at a sacrifice of 
 certain plans and . . . hopes that I cherished dearly. 
 . . . Yet, in a matter of this sort . . . which con- 
 cerns my whole life's happiness . . . should I not 
 . . must I not consult my own feelings before 
 anyone's else? 
 
 ARTHUR: And your own feelings? 
 EVANS : My feelings ? Long before you spoke to me 
 I cared for Miss Ida . . . very much. 
 ARTHUR: Well, then? 
 EVANS : Yes, but [pauses.] 
 
 25
 
 ARTHUR: But? 
 
 EVANS: [WtM a burst of courage} But upon no con- 
 sideration will I have her if I must feel that she marries 
 me because you wish it, and not of her own free will. 
 
 ARTHUR: You are a fool. [in a kindlier voice] You 
 are suited to each other. That is why you should marry. 
 Never mind the rest. When a man marries, doctor, he 
 realizes himself for the first time especially a man like 
 you. You are not the strong sort; you can't get on 
 alone. Just what is the difficulty in your mind? 
 Temperamentally the girl and you suit each other. 
 Moreover, she is intelligent and loyal 
 
 EVANS: Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR: But you demand that she be delirious with 
 love of you. Hot! She likes you. She will work with 
 you. Nothing else matters. [approaches Evans] 
 Courage, doctor. You want the girl. Don't be too par- 
 ticular about the quality of her affections. For if she 
 doesn't love you the worst that can happen is that some 
 day I don't believe it; she is too sensible but let us 
 suppose, for the sake of argument, that she will take a 
 fancy to someone else. [Evans shudders] Well, well, 
 it's possible you know. But why should that make you 
 afraid? If it happens, pay no attention to it. [shakes 
 Evans good-naturedly] Come, man, don't put such a 
 serious face on it. It hasn't happened yet, you know. 
 [releases him] Seriously, it wouldn't be such a tragedy. 
 Take me, for instance. You know of my ... 
 escapades Lord knows you chatter about them enough 
 around here. Well, they haven't made my wife any the 
 less happy. No, doctor, infidelity of that sort will not 
 spoil your marriage, [turns away.] 
 
 EVANS: Isn't it time to get things ready for the 
 operation ? 
 
 26
 
 ARTHUR: Yes. 
 
 EVANS: [goes to the door; then returns'] I do not 
 wish you to think me ungrateful, master. 
 
 ARTHUR: Don't worry about that. 
 
 EVANS: I am greatly in your debt. I don't wish to 
 appear ungrateful. 
 
 ARTHUR: One thing more. If you should marry, I 
 prefer to continue calling her Miss Ida. I am used to 
 that name; and it would be awkward for me to begin 
 calling her Mrs. Ida or Mrs. Evans. You have no objec- 
 tion to that? 
 
 EVANS: [smiles] No, master. 
 
 ARTHUR : Thank you. Now get busy. [ Evans exits at 
 left] Well, little doctor, there was something more for 
 your notebook. 
 
 ROKORO : [closes the book; conies down, grinning] 
 Most interesting ! Brave man, brave ! 
 
 ARTHUR : He came to me penniless, but with a Johns 
 Hopkins degree. It was brave of him to cast his 
 fortunes with a quack. 
 
 ROKORO : [rubs his hands] Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 ARTHUR: Now that fellow will make something of 
 himself in time. He's an awful ass now, you see, but I'll 
 put some sense in his head. 
 
 ROKORO : [protests] Oh, no ! 
 
 ARTHUR: Don't you think it is possible? 
 
 ROKORO : Yes, yes, too possible. But it would not be 
 good. Better to remain as he is. He is quite right. 
 
 ARTHUR : How do you mean he is right ? 
 
 ROKORO : If, as he believes, the lady does not love 
 him 
 
 ARTHUR : And that is fatal, from your Oriental point 
 of view 
 
 27
 
 EOKORO: [grins broadly] From my primitive point 
 of view. 
 
 ARTHUR: Precisely. You can't be expected to see it 
 in the right light. 
 
 EOKORO : No, no. You make a mistake, master. The 
 people of the West and the people of the East . . . 
 just the same . . . under their skins. Every kind 
 of people have emotions . . . must have emotions. 
 You try to substitute reason . . . What you call it? 
 . . . Utility! But it does not go . . . It is false, 
 false. 
 
 ARTHUR: What can you Orientals know of reason, 
 utility ? You are dreamers. We ? We have rubbed the 
 sleep out of our eyes and are awake. 
 
 EOKORO: You try to change yourself . . . to be 
 something else . . . with your reason [shakes him- 
 self, grinning] New people! . . . But it does not 
 work . . . never . . . cannot be done. 
 
 ARTHUR : So that is what you have decided, you little 
 spy. You nose around here, observing everything, tak- 
 ing notes of everything; but secretly I believe that you 
 are laughing at us all the time. 
 
 EOKORO : [quickly] But, no ... I do not laugh. 
 
 ARTHUR : Don't lie ! 
 
 EOKORO : It is true, master. 
 
 ARTHUR: Your Government sent you here to study. 
 Why don't you ? 
 
 EOKORO : But I do learn. 
 
 ARTHUR: Not a thing. You are only having a good 
 time. 
 
 EOKORO: Indeed, master, I learn ... I marvel 
 . . . days at a time. 
 
 ARTHUR : f mocking him] Days at a time ! What, for 
 instance ? What do you marvel at ? Quickly ! 
 
 28
 
 ROKORO: [at a loss for the moment] Er the poli- 
 ticians. How many there are . . . for instance. 
 [Arthur laughs] And also . . . also 
 
 ARTHUR : Also ? Can't think of anything else ? 
 
 ROKORO : You always confuse me. But it is not to be 
 denied that there are a great many things to learn here. 
 Inventions . . . discoveries . . . science . . . 
 marvellous ! But [pulls his ear thoughtfully.'] 
 
 ARTHUR : Well, out with it. 
 
 ROKORO : You people of the West have discovered 
 everything except . . . except how to be happy. 
 
 ARTHUR: [ironically] And you? 
 
 ROKORO : [very earnestly] We discovered it long ago 
 . . . very long ago . . . while you were worrying 
 about your Utility . . . your false Utility. 
 
 ARTHUR : No, little doctor, we have ceased to strive for 
 what you call happiness. That is where we are in 
 advance of you. Our discoveries! Pah! They are 
 nothing yet. But we have succeeded in making our- 
 selves more than -mere functions, impulses, emotions or 
 whatever you choose to call it. Look around you, little 
 spy, and see. Most of us are not so badly off because of 
 this utility of ours, are we? 
 
 ROKORO: Who can say? You think you live wisely. 
 . . . I think you are only practical instead of wise. 
 Take yourself, for instance . . . your marriage. 
 
 ARTHUR: My marriage? 
 
 ROKORO : [abashed] Not so ! ... I am stupid. 
 . I did no mean that, [solicitously] Are you 
 angry? 
 
 ARTHUR : Of course not. What were you going to say ? 
 
 ROKORO: You tell Dr. Evans he should marry Miss 
 Ida because . . . because they fit each other . . . 
 just like to say this wheel fits with this wheel, and so 
 
 29
 
 the thing must go. [illustrates with his fingers] But 
 marriage is not a clock where the wheels must turn 
 . . . No . . . people are not wheels . . . You 
 cannot anticipate how they will turn . . . They 
 themselves do not know how they will turn, [wipes his 
 brow] Difficult in English. 
 
 ARTHUR: You started to say something about my 
 marriage. 
 
 ROKORO: [evading the question] Suppose Miss Ida 
 marries with Dr. Evans because her reason says it will 
 be convenient . . . and suppose if some day her 
 heart should choose another man. 
 
 ARTHUR : That may happen. 
 
 ROKORO : But it would be terrible. For then he would 
 have to kill her. 
 
 ARTHUR : Nothing so tragic as that. Reasonable men 
 do not kill on such trifling provocation. 
 
 ROKORO : You call it trifling . . . if a wife gives 
 herself to another. 
 
 ARTHUR: It's annoying, I suppose, but then it's 
 human nature. And a wife can be unfaithful and still 
 be a good wife. 
 
 ROKORO : [shakes his head wonderingfy] So ? Not 
 kill her ? Adore her ? 
 
 ARTHUR : Not so much adore as be tolerant. 
 
 ROKORO: Most interesting! 
 
 ARTHUR: Don't forget to make a note of that. 
 
 ROKORO : Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 [Katherine enters at left.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [to Katherine] Everything ready? 
 
 KATHERINE: Not quite. Miss Ida will call you. 
 IRoTcoro shakes hands with her] Good morning-, Doctor 
 Rokoro. [to Arthur] Is that model finished? 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes. [goes to the table.] 
 
 30
 
 KATHERINE : [to Rokoro] Have you two been wrang- 
 ling again? 
 
 ROKORO : [rubs his hands, grinning} Most interesting ! 
 
 ARTHUR: [comes between them, carrying an ortho- 
 pedic model] Out of the way, seducer ! 
 
 ROKORO : [steps back, laughing] Ho, ho ! 
 
 ARTHUR: He has entirely lost his sense of shame. 
 [shows Katherine the model.] 
 
 ROKORO : Don't believe him. . . . Not a word ! 
 
 ARTHUR : Is it all right ? 
 
 KATHERINE: [considering the model] I suppose so. 
 
 ARTHUR: [Indicates something on the model] Here; 
 isn't that what you meant? 
 
 KATHERINE: Exactly, thank you. 
 
 ARTHUR : The thanks are due to you. I wonder how 
 you came to think of it. [touches her chin; she draws 
 back] Why, I haven't kissed you this morning. 
 
 [He kisses her cheek. She receives his kiss with 
 
 closed eyes and compressed lips. He releases her and 
 
 turns to RoTcoro with the model.'] 
 
 See this, little doctor; it would never have occurred 
 to me. But Katherine thinks my thoughts better than 
 I do. You consider that before you speak against my 
 marriage again. [Katherine looks sharply at Rokoro^] 
 
 ROKORO : [earnestly] Do not believe him 
 Lies! . . . Awful! 
 
 ARTHUR: Why, he has reasoned it out that our mar- 
 riage is altogether wrong. 
 
 KATHERINE: [quietly, intensely; to Rokoro] What 
 do you know . . . about that? 
 
 ROKORO : No, no ... believe me ... we spoke 
 
 abstractly . . . not about [turns appealingly to 
 
 Arthur] You must tell her, master . . She will 
 think 
 
 31
 
 ARTHUR : What a tragic face you put on it, dear ! We 
 were only joking, of course. 
 
 KATHERINE: {bitterly'] Of course. 
 
 ARTHUR : You two are very much alike, you take 
 yourselves so seriously. 
 
 ROKORO: No . . . but one must be serious about 
 some things. 
 
 KATHERINE : [with quiet irony] Not the master. 
 
 ARTHUR: No, not I. 
 
 KATHERINE: But we can't all be like you. We are 
 only small people, small and ludicrous. 
 
 ARTHUR: Offended? 
 
 KATHERINE: No, I've had seven years within which 
 to get used to it. 
 
 ARTHUR: Don't blame me for being as I am. The 
 fact is that my brother, who is soon to honor us with his 
 presence, took all the seriousness in our family. He 
 took so much there was none left for me. But ever 
 since he has been serious enough for both of us. 
 
 ROKORO: Poor lady! It is impossible to talk with 
 him. [Ida enters at left.] 
 
 IDA: Everything is ready. 
 
 KATHERINE: Very well. [She exits at left.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [throws away his cigarette] All right. 
 [stretches himself.'] 
 
 ROKORO : Do you want me to help you today ? 
 
 ARTHUR: I always want you. You are a poor phil- 
 osopher, but as a surgeon there is hope for you. 
 
 [They exit together at left. Ida begins to work, 
 
 stops to reflect, begins again, then springs up and 
 
 goes to the window, which she opens. For a short 
 
 time she stands there, looking out. Clemens enters 
 
 from left, removes the coffee things.'] 
 
 IDA : Is Mrs. Wessley in the operating room ? 
 
 32
 
 CLEMENS: Yes, Miss Ida. 
 
 IDA: Dr. Evans, too? 
 
 CLEMENS: No. The master won't have him there. 
 
 IDA : When the people from the city come show them 
 in here. [Evans enters from left, carrying a ledger 
 which he places on the little table] Have you told the 
 cook to prepare for five extra at luncheon ? 
 
 CLEMENS: Four, Miss Ida. 
 
 IDA : No, five. Mr. Thompson is sure to come, too. 
 
 CLEMENS: Yes, yes. I will tell the cook, [exits at 
 left with the coffee things.] 
 
 EVANS : I have brought you the journal, Miss Ida. 
 
 IDA : [at the window] Very well. 
 
 EVANS : Have you a moment to spare for me now ? 
 
 IDA : Why aren't you in the operating room ? 
 
 EVANS: The master told me to bring the journal in 
 here. 
 
 IDA : Why do you let him treat you like a servant ? 
 
 EVANS : He says I make him nervous with my anxious 
 haste. I can't seem to get used to operations. 
 
 IDA : Next thing you know you will be sweeping floors 
 and serving tea. 
 
 EVANS: That's unkind, Miss Ida. You know the 
 master wants me for the theoretical work. 
 
 IDA: That's what he tells you. It amuses him to 
 dominate you and bewilder you, to make you believe that 
 nothing is anything but that he is everything. 
 
 EVANS: [aghast] Do you really think that of him? 
 Do you mean it? 
 
 IDA : [passionately] He handles us as he handles his 
 instruments you, me, his wife, everyone. He knows 
 best what we are; he knows best what we can do; he 
 knows best how we should act. And we believe and 
 obey him. [bitterly] And now it suits him for us to 
 
 33
 
 marry, and at once you obediently fall in love with me. 
 [comes impatiently down to the little table.] 
 
 EVANS: No, Miss Ida, you shouldn't say that. If I 
 only ... I am so clumsy and inexperienced in such 
 things ... I get confused. Please believe me, Miss 
 Ida, the very first moment I saw you ... I ... 
 I loved you. Only I would never have dared to speak 
 . . . If he hadn't suggested it. 
 
 IDA: [looks at him searchingly] I can scarcely be- 
 lieve it. But, no, I can believe you. 
 EVANS: Please believe me, Miss Ida. 
 IDA: [covers her face with her hands; then raises 
 her head again'] That will make it easier for me. 
 [nervously] Only time! He must give me a little 
 time. He doesn't know how hard he is on us. [more 
 calmly] Perhaps I will. Just give me a little time 
 to consider. 
 
 EVANS : [gently] I had not dreamed of hurrying you, 
 Miss Ida. [after a pause] May I ask you something? 
 IDA : [hesitates; looks at him a bit furtively] Yes. 
 EVANS: I have often wondered . . . when I saw 
 you with the master, or sometimes when we talked about 
 him . I really don't know what to think. Some- 
 times you won't let anyone say a word against him; 
 and then again sometimes I wonder whether you don't 
 actually hate him. 
 
 IDA : Is that what you wanted to ask me ? 
 EVANS: Yes. 
 
 IDA: Perhaps I do hate him. Because I know him. 
 I think I am the only one who does know him. When 
 he is not intimidating us he is laughing at us. And when 
 the master laughs it makes him strong. That sounds 
 strange, doesn't it? But oh, how strong the masters 
 laughter makes him! And he laughs at everything. 
 
 34
 
 That is why nobody can be very much to him. He can't 
 love anything very much except himself, [looks Evans 
 squarely in the eyes] And now you may ask me the 
 question you really wanted to ask. 
 
 EVANS : [quietly] I have nothing more to ask. 
 
 IDA : [relieved] That was all ? 
 
 EVANS : Yes, Miss Ida. I used to wonder if it were 
 possible that a woman who had been close to him could 
 ever care for another man. 
 
 IDA: [with an ironical little laugh] He takes care 
 of that. 
 
 EVANS : [after a pause] I shall be patient, Miss Ida. 
 
 IDA: There is but one thing I demand. You must 
 trust me. You must have faith that I am devoted to you 
 no matter what happens or has happened otherwise 
 
 EVANS : I do trust you, Miss Ida. 
 IDA: Then perhaps 
 
 [Sighs deeply; buries her face in her hands. Evans 
 goes slowly to the window and looTcs out, Ida com- 
 poses herself, raises her head, looks around at Evans, 
 then begins to typewrite. For a short time only the 
 clicking of the machine is heard. Clemens enters at 
 left, showing in Dr. Klauder, a little, old man with 
 a ruddy, good-natured countenance and smooth, white 
 hair.] 
 
 CLEMENS : The people from the city. [Klauder lows 
 to Ida and Evans.] 
 
 IDA: [rises] Good morning, Dr. Klauder. 
 
 [Juliet and Raymond enter. She is about forty; 
 richly but not fashionably dressed; her face is frigid 
 and her manner hostile. She looks about the room 
 curiously and scrutinizes Ida sharply. Raymond is 
 
 35
 
 about forty-three. His eyes are restless and evasive; 
 
 his voice slow and precise.] 
 
 EVANS : [to Klauder] I am Dr. Evans, assistant to 
 Professor Wessley. 
 
 [Peter Brookson enters. He is about fifty; stout, 
 
 jovial; wears a frock coat that fits him badly; carries 
 
 a high silk hat in his hand. Ida whispers to Clemens, 
 
 who exits left.'] 
 
 JULIET: [to Ida] Is this the professor's study ? [she 
 puts a sarcastic intonation on the tvord.] 
 
 IDA: Yes, Mrs. Wessley, study and office. 
 
 EVANS: [to Raymond and Brookson] I am Dr. 
 Evans. [Raymond bows coldly.] 
 
 BROOKSON: [shakes hands heartily] Glad to know 
 ye, doctor. 
 
 JULIET: [to Ida] And do you stay in this room all 
 the time? 
 
 IDA: I am his secretary. 
 
 RAYMOND: [to Evans] So you are the young man 
 who attached himself to my brother despite the repudia- 
 tion of him by every medical school? 
 
 EVANS : I am, sir. 
 
 KLAUDER: Isn't it best to forget the old difficulties 
 now? 
 
 JULIET : [to Ida] And doesn't he mind having you 
 around all the time? 
 
 IDA: He hasn't mentioned it. 
 
 EVANS: I shall see that Mrs. Wessley is notified you 
 are here. 
 
 JULIET: [nudging Raymond] Do you hear that, 
 Raymond ? 
 
 EVANS : Will you excuse me ? [exits at left] 
 
 JULIET: Your brother has a female secretary. Isn't 
 it original ? 
 
 36
 
 BROOKSON: [admiring the room} He certainly has 
 fixed up this old place fine. 
 
 EAYMOND : [to Klauder} We shall have a trying half 
 hour, as you will see. My brother will not spare our 
 feelings. 
 
 KLAUDER: [sighs] We must try to put it as grace- 
 fully as possible. 
 
 JULIET: Yes, Eaymond, you must adapt yourself to 
 circumstances. 
 
 BROOKSON : I'm mighty glad it turned out this way. 
 He is a great surgeon, gentlemen, even if his methods 
 ain't the same as yours, and he has made our little city 
 famous from one end of the country to another. It's 
 funny, but when a stranger comes to town these days, 
 he says, "Oh, this is the town where Wessley's hospital 
 is." Why, damme, gentlemen, that is the only thing our 
 city's noted for! 
 
 EAYMOND : Of course, it is a great joy to me that my 
 brother has won authoritative recognition at last. But 
 I know he will not forgive me for the opposition I was 
 officially forced to show him. 
 
 KLAUDER : Well, well, we must be tactful. [Katherine 
 enters at left, dressed in a pretty morning gown. The 
 men rise.] 
 
 JULIET : [crosses to Katherine'] I am happy to meet 
 you at last, my dear sister-in-law. I have always wanted 
 to know you. 
 
 KATHERINE: Nice of you to say so. Pray, gentle- 
 men, keep your seats. 
 
 KLAUDER: Thank you. [Katherine sits on the sofa. 
 The men resume their places.] 
 
 KATHERINE: Miss Ida, will you be good enough to 
 see that Professor Wessley comes here as soon as the 
 operation is over? 
 
 37
 
 JULIET : She appears to be a very useful person. 
 
 KATHERINE: Very, [turns to Klauder] You have 
 no idea, Dr. Klauder 
 
 JULIET: [interrupts] Do you know, I have always 
 admired you greatly for your 
 
 KATHERINE : Won't you sit down ? [indicates a chair 
 opposite the smaller table.'] 
 
 JULIET : [sits] As I was saying, we have heard what 
 an active interest you take in your husband's work. They 
 say you are a veritable good fairy to the sick. 
 
 KATHERINE : I deserve no praise for it, Mrs. Wessley. 
 If I help my husband it is because his work interests me. 
 
 KLAUDER: Then I suppose your husband's latest 
 triumph pleases you as much as him. 
 
 KATHERINE: I find it a bit droll. It's like a page 
 from Moliere. In the end the King sends his messenger, 
 and everything is satisfactory. 
 
 KLAUDER: [laughs] You are French, Mrs. Wessley? 
 
 KATHERINE: My father was French, but my mother 
 was Irish. 
 
 KLAUDER: Indeed? 
 
 KATHERINE : And I was born and educated in France. 
 
 EAYMOND: How interesting! 
 
 KATHERINE: I am especially glad to know you, Dr. 
 Klauder, because I am indebted to you for many pleasant 
 hours. 
 
 KLAUDER: To me? 
 
 KATHERINE: Last Winter Arthur and I read your 
 delicious book together, your "Analysis of Nietzsche." 
 I don't remember ever having read anything that pleased 
 me more. 
 
 JULIET : May I look around a bit ? Philosophy is tco 
 complicated a subject for a plain woman like me. 
 [crosses to the big table and examines bric-a-brac.] 
 
 38
 
 KLAUDER : Then I take it you disagree with Nietzsche 
 yourself. 
 
 KATHERINE: For the most part. But Arthur is a 
 warm disciple of his. 
 
 KAYMOND: I didn't know Arthur had studied phil- 
 osophy. He ran away from school before he had time 
 to learn much. 
 
 KATHERINE: He learned a great many things with- 
 out going to schools for them. [Brookson sniggers.'] 
 
 JULIET: [passes to the photograph of Katherine on 
 the mantel] Just look, Raymond, what a darling 
 photograph. [Raymond crosses to her and looks at 
 photograph] It's just too sweet for anything. So girlish 
 and innocent ! Just look, Dr. Klauder. [she crosses to 
 Klauder.] - 
 
 KLAUDER: [looking at it] It is indeed. 
 
 KATHERINE : It was taken a long time ago. 
 
 KLAUDER : How old were you then ? 
 
 KATHERINE: Barely sixteen. It was about the time 
 I first met Arthur. 
 
 JULIET: [replacing the photograph on the mantel] 
 You were very pretty then. [Thompson enters at left. 
 He is about twenty-eight } tall and handsome.] 
 
 THOMPSON : I read of your good fortune in the news- 
 papers, and hurried over at once. 
 
 KATHERINE: [nods familiarly; introduces] Let me 
 present our neighbor, Mr. Thompson . . . Dr. 
 Klauder. [Thompson comes forward to shake hands] 
 Dr. and Mrs. Raymond Wessley, Arthur's brother, you 
 know. 
 
 THOMPSON: [smiles in spite of himself and lows] 
 Charmed, I'm sure. [Juliet nods stiffly.] 
 
 KATHERINE : [introduces] His honor, the Mayor. 
 
 39
 
 BROOKSON: [rises 'heavily'] Well, we've met before. 
 Don't you remember, Thompson? 
 
 THOMPSON : Yes. You wanted me to be a candidate 
 for alderman. 
 
 KATHERINE: Fancy you in politics. 
 
 THOMPSON : Yes, isn't it funny ? 
 
 BROOKSON : It was a reform party, you know. 
 
 THOMPSON: Well, I've never owned political ambi- 
 tions. And what is more, I never cared the least bit 
 about my fellow citizens. My only wish is that they 
 cared as little about me. 
 
 RAYMOND : Not very altruistic, Mr. Thompson. 
 
 THOMPSON: That's not as selfish as it sounds. The 
 fact is I have my own affairs to worry about and haven't 
 time to think of other people's troubles. 
 
 KATHERINE : [ironically] The poor boy lias so many 
 cares! 
 
 KLAUDER: We were just talking about [breaks 
 
 off as he sees Arthur enter at left] But here is 
 
 [Raymond and Brookson rise.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [comes in quickly] Dr. Klauder, Mr. 
 Mayor. Oh, Mr. Thompson, this is very good of you. 
 Do keep your seats, gentlemen. 
 
 [Brookson sits. Arthur crosses to the fireplace. 
 
 Rokoro, who has entered behind Arthur, remains 
 
 standing in the doorway.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [sees his brother] Well! And you, too! 
 This is very noble of you. 
 
 RAYMOND : [cordially] My dear Arthur, I wanted to 
 be first 
 
 ARTHUR: [interrupts; summons Rokoro] Little 
 Doctor! [introduces] Gentlemen, this is Dr. Rokoro 
 of Japan. His government sent him here to investigate 
 the medical sciences. He is now my chief assistant. 
 
 40
 
 Remarkable fellow, gentlemen! Has every conceivable 
 kind of degree, yet he knows a thing or two. And this, 
 Little Doctor, is my brother. See what tricks Nature 
 does play. And this would be my sister-in-law, [nods 
 at Juliet critically] Yes; I knew you would look 
 like that. 
 
 EAYMOND: [with suppressed anger] You are just 
 the same as ever. 
 
 ARTHUR: Just the same. It never did suit you, did 
 it? You must pardon me, gentlemen, for having kept 
 you waiting; but the operation took longer than we had 
 anticipated, and afterwards I had to have a look at 
 Titus, [to Raymond] Titus is my dog, you know. I 
 introduced myself to him by my new title professor! 
 And what do you suppose ? The beast wasn't a bit im- 
 pressed, [slaps Brookson on the back] Well, Mr. 
 Mayor, times have changed, eh ? Do you remember the 
 day you threatened to send the police to clean this 
 place out? 
 
 BROOKSON: I was under pressure at the time, my 
 dear Professor. 
 
 ARTHUR: So? 
 
 BROOKSOST: You don't suppose I cared personally 
 whether I had a degree or not to run a hospital with. 
 No, sir! I said to my wife at the time, I says, "Maria," 
 says I, "there's something to that fellow. He's going 
 to show us all some day." And, damme, if you haven't 
 gone and done it, too. 
 
 KLAUDER : Hum ! My worthy professor, may I 
 
 ARTHUR: [turns to him] You and I, Doctor, have 
 too keen a sense of humor to be angry with each other. 
 
 KLAUDER: You are very gracious, but then you can 
 afford to be. Yours was not the first genius to be 
 misunderstood. 
 
 41
 
 RAYMOND: I am sorry, Arthur, that you are still 
 bitter against me, but you should try to understand how 
 unfortunately I was situated. 
 
 JULIET : There was his public office [rises.] 
 
 RAYMOND: And you came determined to defy au- 
 thority and practice without a license. 
 
 JULIET : That made it very awkward for us, my dear 
 brother-in-law. Consider in what a light it put us. 
 
 ARTHUR: Won't you sit down, dear sister-in-law. 
 
 RAYMOND: To arrive here suddenly, rent this old 
 building, take in sick people 
 
 ARTHUR: And cure them. 
 
 RAYMOND: All this without a certificate, without 
 even a doctor's degree really, if you consider it dis- 
 passionately, you must concede that it was unlawful, 
 and that I was forced to take official action. Then, too, 
 remember there was no way for the College or the State 
 Board to get any proof of your fitness. And you could 
 scarcely expect us to believe on your mere word, in the 
 virtue of this new treatment of yours or in your 
 miraculous skill in applying it. 
 
 ARTHUR: No. 
 
 RAYMOND : Painful though it was, I treated you with 
 the same impartiality I would have shown an utter 
 stranger. That was my duty. My conscience is clear. 
 
 JULIET : So it is. 
 
 ARTHUR: [musingly] You always could manage to 
 keep your conscience clear. 
 
 BROOKSON : Damme, we all make mistakes. What's the 
 use of diggin' up old graves? 
 
 KATHERINE: No, Mr. Mayor, I believe it is better 
 to talk such things over; otherwise they are never 
 forgotten. 
 
 42
 
 ARTHUR: [puts his hand on her shoulder affection- 
 ately} That's a primitive virtue, my dear to bury the 
 hatchet. [Thompson rises, perceptibly annoyed, and 
 crosses to the window. Katherine disengages herself 
 lightly.'] 
 
 RAYMOND: I am deeply grieved that it has been so 
 unpleasant for you. 
 
 BROOKSON : And now we're doin' our best to square it. 
 
 RAYMOND: To be sure, it is exasperating to be mis- 
 understood. 
 
 ARTHUR: [laughing] No, my brother, I wasn't ex- 
 asperated, I was amused. You prosecuted me for 
 practicing without a degree. I proved that my assistants 
 were physicians of standing, and thereafter called 
 myself master instead of doctor. You denounced me as 
 a quack and a menace to public health; but the patients 
 kept coming and I kept curing them. Why should I 
 have been exasperated? It was funny. The pettiness 
 of small minds is always funny. 
 
 RAYMOND: Well, I had hoped that you had buried 
 the old enmities and forgotten all that 
 
 ARTHUR : All that you did to me. 
 
 RAYMOND: You live your way, I live mine but, 
 after all, we are brothers. 
 
 ARTHUR : And the politicians desire it. 
 
 RAYMOND : There is no use trying to reason with you. 
 If you hate me so much 
 
 ARTHUR: But, my dear brother [comes slowly up 
 stage] do you suppose I hate you ? Far from it. You 
 are only my bad brother. Life wouldn't have been com- 
 plete without you. It was you who caused me to run 
 away from home, and so it is partially due to you that 
 I have made myself what I am. You and father ! You 
 with your envy and malice; and father with his insane 
 
 43
 
 desire to break my will. All that I know of philosophy 
 I learned of you two. But there ! We will not discuss 
 the old things any more, if they displease you. There ! 
 [offers his hand.'] 
 
 RAYMOND: There is nothing to be gained by keeping 
 up old feuds. 
 
 ARTHUR: [with an appraising glance at Juliet] You 
 are really an unlucky devil, after all. [goes behind 
 Katherine.] 
 
 KLAUDER: Professor, I am sure we would all like to 
 look around the hospital that we have slandered so 
 grievously without ever having seen it. Will you show 
 us through? 
 
 ARTHUR: With pleasure. 
 
 JULIET: [wMspers to Raymond] It's shameful the 
 way you let him talk to you. 
 
 KATHERINE: Will you go, too, Mr. Mayor? [Brook- 
 son rises and joins the group around the sofa.~\ 
 
 RAYMOND: What could I do? It is his house, and 
 everyone is on his side now. 
 
 JULIET: And that stuck-up French wife of his 
 
 RAYMOND: Hush! They may hear you. 
 
 [He joins RoJcoro. Thompson has been standing by 
 
 the larger table, watching Katherine anxiously. 
 
 Juliet joins him. They talk in pantomime.] 
 
 ARTHUR: All this, my dear, can happen because a 
 millionaire's son has a game leg. This way. [Klauder 
 and Brookson exit at left] Are you coming, brother? 
 
 RAYMOND: [to Rokoro, as they are coming up left] 
 He hasn't changed a particle. A man is lucky who can 
 take life as lightly as he. 
 
 ROKORO: Who knows? Perhaps the tragic natures 
 are really the happiest, [grins and rubs hi-s hands as he 
 exits left with Raymond.] 
 
 44
 
 JULIET: [to Thompson'] Aren't you coming? 
 
 THOMPSON: I've seen the place so often, you know. 
 
 ARTHUR : Sweetest of sisters-in-law ! 
 
 JULIET: [joining him; sweetly'] I was just talking 
 to your neighbor, Mr. Thompson. He comes to see you 
 often, doesn't he? 
 
 ARTHUR: [leading her off] Every day, dear sister- 
 in-law, every day. 
 
 JULIET: [looking back at Thompson, who has joined 
 Katherine at the sofa] That must have been a great 
 consolation to you in those lonely days, before you were 
 recognized, [Katherine and Thompson listen] especially 
 to your dear wife. 
 
 ARTHUR: [coolly ironic] Indeed, dear sister-in-law, 
 I don't know what she would have done without him. 
 [exits at left, after her.] 
 
 [Katherine stares after them, her hands clenched 
 
 resentfully. Presently she turns to Thompson, her 
 
 face hard and defiant.] 
 
 KATHERINE: Jean, do you still want me? 
 
 THOMPSON: [reproachfully; half sullenly] You 
 know I do. 
 
 KATHERINE: I am going to do what you asked me. 
 
 THOMPSON: [doubtfully] When? 
 
 KATHERINE: Today this afternoon. 
 
 THOMPSON: [eagerly] You will really come this 
 afternoon ! Oh, Katherine ! [bends over her hand and 
 kisses it tenderly.] 
 
 KATHERINE: [draws her hand away; rises quickly] 
 Come let's join the others. We musn't stay here alone. 
 Curtain 
 
 45
 
 ACT II 
 
 The scene is the same as that of the preceding act. 
 
 The time is toward evening of the same day. 
 
 When the curtain rises Arthur is on the couch asleep. 
 Rapping is heard at the door off left. As he does not 
 stir, the rapping grows louder and more insistent. He 
 awakes with a start. 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes! [not quite awake] Oh! Come in. 
 
 Is it time ? [looks at the clock] Oh! [sits up 
 
 and stretches himself.] 
 
 [Clemens enters from left, with coffee.] 
 
 CLEMENS: You slept soundly, master, I've been 
 rapping for ten minutes. 
 
 ARTHUR: [yawns] I needed that nap. [lights a 
 cigarette] My wife returned from the city yet? 
 
 CLEMENS: Not yet. Didn't you hear the noise, 
 master ? 
 
 ARTHUR: What noise? 
 
 CLEMENS: There's been a lot of excitement around 
 here. 
 
 ARTHUR: What about? 
 
 CLEMENS,: There has been a fire at the villa. 
 
 ARTHUR : Thompson's house ? You don't say ! 
 
 CLEMENS: Yes, sir. They telephoned for our fire 
 extinguishing apparatus. There was an awful excitement. 
 
 ARTHUR: Wasn't the alarm turned in for the city 
 fire department? 
 
 CLEMENS: Yes, sir; but our people got there first. 
 
 ARTHUR: Much damage? 
 
 46
 
 CLEMENS : We don't know, master, they haven't come 
 back yet. We could see the flames from here. 
 
 ARTHUR: Why didn't you wake me? 
 
 CLEMENS : Somebody turned on our fire-alarm. The 
 lady in No. 13 took a convulsion and all the sick people 
 were frightened. But Dr. Kokoro and Miss Ida quieted 
 them alright. 
 
 ARTHUR: I hope there isn't much damage. It would 
 be a pity if that dainty little house burned down. Tele- 
 phone to Thompson and find out. 
 
 CLEMENS: I'll try it, master, but I think the wires 
 are down. 
 
 [He goes to the door at left, waits until Ida has 
 
 entered, then exits. Ida carries a chart.~\ 
 
 ARTHUR: Clemens has just been telling me how 
 bravely you behaved, but you should have awakened me. 
 
 IDA : It really wasn't necessary. Dr. Rokoro came up 
 at once and calmed all the patients. He told them, those 
 funny little stories of his, and in a few minutes had 
 them all laughing. Why, some of them came up to the 
 tower with us. We could see the fire plainly from there. 
 Here is the chart. 
 
 ARTHUR: [lends over it, makes a notation] Perfect, 
 Ida. Why, I believe you could run the whole hospital 
 yourself. 
 
 IDA: Scarcely the operations. 
 
 ARTHUR: Who knows? Before long you may take 
 that off my hands, too. 
 
 IDA : I am not a bit ambitious to try cutting up people. 
 
 ARTHUR: Aren't you a bit proud? All this great 
 work of curing and alleviating the sufferings of so many 
 unfortunate people to be held in your own little hands. 
 And had vou gone your own way you would still be 
 playing silly exercises on a piano ; no use to yourself or 
 
 47
 
 anyone else. Wasn't I right? Be honest, [she it 
 silent] Wasn't I ? 
 
 IDA: [reluctantly] What good is all this to me? It 
 doesn't make me happy. You took from me all the faith 
 I ever had in myself 
 
 ARTHUR: [at the sofa, drinking coffee, unconcern^ 
 edly] Ah! 
 
 IDA : And all my hopes. 
 
 ARTHUR: [sipping] They were false hopes. You 
 had no real talent. 
 
 IDA : [sadly] No, for if I had you couldn't have taken 
 it from me. No doubt you were right about me, and 
 about Dr. Evans, too. 
 
 ARTHUR: What of him? 
 
 IDA: He, too, may be deluding himself. But you 
 shouldn't press him too hard. Some people can't 
 live without their illusions. As for me I'm not 
 complaining. 
 
 ARTHUR: You are sulky, which is worse. 
 
 IDA: You might allow me that privilege. 
 
 ARTHUR : But you know I don't like it. I can't bear 
 sulky people around me. Moreover, you have no cause 
 to be sulky. I don't know what is ailing you. You 
 used to be different altogether. 
 
 IDA: Many things used to be different. 
 
 ARTHUR: \goes to the window, crossly] Oh! If you 
 are going to begin about that! 
 
 IDA : I am not beginning about that. 
 
 ARTHUR: I would have thought that you could be 
 more reasonable. 
 
 IDA: [reproachfully] We can't all take things so 
 lightly as you. 
 
 ARTHUR: You are a child, and I took you for a 
 woman. Have I deceived you? What did I promise 
 
 48
 
 you? You knew me. You had been in my house two 
 years. Lord ! If I wasn't constant to my wife to 
 whom I am attached through our work, and through, 
 well, through a totally different feeling how could you 
 have expected me to be constant to you. I am not con- 
 stant. Make up your mind to that. Nor am I affec- 
 tionate. I haven't the time to be. And if you are 
 going to be sullen and reproachful and tearful about 
 it, please do it when I am not around, [stalks angrily 
 across the room.] 
 
 IDA: [frightened by his outburst] I have tried not 
 to look reproachful. 
 
 ARTHUR: Well, you haven't succeeded, {after a 
 pause, more kindly] Really, Ida, there is no sense in 
 this sort of thing. You are pitying yourself for nothing. 
 
 IDA : I don't blame you ; you can't be different. But 
 
 it is hard to think that I [stops; starts again] It 
 
 was all so beautiful and so sacred to me, and now, sud- 
 denly, it is blown out like a candle, and nothing is left 
 nothing ! [weeps.] 
 
 ARTHUR : But, child, emotions are always fleeting like 
 that. 
 
 IDA : Yes, I know. 
 
 ARTHUR : But you expected yours to last for eternity. 
 
 IDA : You don't understand at all what I mean. 
 
 ARTHUR: You women are all alike. 
 
 IDA: I did not promise myself any more. I knew 
 from the beginning that after a few weeks you would 
 tire of it and [bitterly] throw me aside. But I closed 
 my eyes to that. I wanted to be happy, happy for once 
 in my life, and afterwards to have the memories; and 
 always to live on those blissful memories. That is what 
 I dreamed. 
 
 ARTHUR: Well, why don't you do it? 
 
 49
 
 IDA : You have spoiled that, too. 
 
 ARTHUR : You are absurd. 
 
 IDA : The way you treat me now, the way you look at 
 me, the way you talk about marrying me off! You 
 don't seem to remember that I ever was anything to you. 
 
 ARTHUR: What is the use of remembering such 
 things ? 
 
 IDA: [without heeding him"] And it seems to me 
 that it was never any more than a trifle to you. When 
 I think how absurd I must have appeared to you with 
 my soulful love I am so sorry and ashamed I could kill 
 myself, [pauses] It mtikes me feel so desolate. All 
 that I had, all that I was, you seem to have taken away 
 from me. 
 
 ARTHUR: Child, life is like that. 
 
 IDA : [resentfully] No, only you are like that. 
 
 ARTHUR: [lightly] You have no heart; that's what 
 my father used to tell me. But he had none himself. 
 Everybody demands of everyone else that he have a 
 heart. 
 
 IDA: [fiercely] You needn't mock at my feelings! 
 You will not convince me that it was merely a joke to 
 me, too. [recollects herself] I beg your pardon. I 
 shan't speak of it again. Only, please, don't make fun 
 of me. If you can take everything for granted, and 
 see the ironical side of it, it is because you are stronger 
 than we are. 
 
 ARTHUR: I see the ironical side because I have 
 learned that the other, the emotional side, is half 
 imagination and half self-pity. If I have emotions I 
 master them. Whoever is wise will do as I do; the 
 others I cannot help. 
 
 IDA : It is very well for you to say that. Sometimes 
 I fancy that you don't belong in this world at all. It is 
 
 50
 
 as though you were cast down among us from another 
 planet. You seem to see all we do, and it amuses you, 
 but you never really understand. You never see beneath 
 the surface of us. . You perceive only the outward signs 
 we make. That is why we appear comical to you. 
 [Evans enters at left with the journal.] 
 
 EVANS : Dr. Rokoro asks if you will come in and look 
 at the patient in twelve. The dressing must have 
 shifted. 
 
 ARTHUR: So! Has my wife come back yet? 
 
 IDA: She left word that she would return at six. 
 
 EVANS : No, master. 
 
 ARTHUR: I'll go and have a look at that dressing. 
 You wait here. We will take up the journal directly. 
 [exit left.] 
 
 [Evans crosses to the larger table, puts down the 
 
 journal.'] 
 
 IDA : [after a pause] Dr. Evans. 
 
 EVANS: Yes, Miss Ida. 
 
 IDA: I have made up my mind, [bows her head.] 
 
 EVANS : [looks up joyfully] Oh ! 
 
 [His demeanor changes as he perceives her lack of 
 
 enthusiasm. He glances at the door through which 
 
 Arthur has just gone out, then softly] 
 You have made up your mind of your own free, will? 
 
 IDA: My own free will. 
 
 EVANS: [greatly moved] I thank you ... I 
 can't say any more now . . . but I shall endeavor 
 to make you happy. 
 
 IDA: [with constraint] I would like you to believe 
 that I am sincere about this. 
 
 EVANS : Yes, I do, Miss Ida. 
 
 IDA: Sincere and honest and whole-hearted as one 
 person can be to another. 
 
 51
 
 EVANS : [comes slowly down] Miss Ida . . . may 
 I kiss you? 
 
 IDA: First [hesitates] I have something to 
 
 tell you. 
 
 EVANS: No, no; I beg of you. [very gently] I know. 
 
 IDA: [bows her head. After a pause, half turned from 
 him] And it makes no difference. 
 
 EVANS : No ; that must be forgotten. 
 
 IDA: [looJcs at him searchingly, then bows her head 
 and draws a deep breath] Both we failures will begin 
 life over again. 
 
 EVANS: Yes, Ida, that is my sincerest wish. I will 
 try to make you happy, Ida. I believe we can be happy 
 together . . . only . . . there is one thing . . . 
 you won't be angry if I mention it? We are going to 
 be honest with each other, are we not? 
 
 IDA : I will not be angry. 
 
 EVANS : I have thought it is only out of pity for me 
 that you will have me. Is it, Miss Ida? I couldn't 
 bear that. 
 
 IDA : No ; not out of pity. Perhaps perhaps, I need 
 pity more tban you. 
 
 EVANS: Then it is out of despair, Miss Ida? Are 
 you doing it because you are desperate? 
 
 IDA: [shalces her head] No; I was before, but not 
 now. Perhaps one must have courage to do things out 
 of despair. I bow my head, and 
 
 EVANS : [tenderly] Then everything is well. 
 
 IDA: [looTcs at him steadily; slowly] No; there is 
 something more. 
 
 EVANS: [walking away] Sometimes . . . it is 
 also the fear [gently] of him, of your memories of him. 
 What can I be to you after him? If only you wouldn't 
 compare me with him in your mind. 
 
 52
 
 IDA: When I compare you with him I shall realize 
 all that you can be to me, and how little he could have 
 been. Perhaps your steadfast, unselfish devotion is 
 worth more than anything he has to give. I am not 
 asking much of you, Dr. Evans just a small measure 
 of happiness in a quiet way. . . . Will you shake 
 hands ? [Offers her hand.'] 
 
 [Evans starts toward her, but is interrupted by the 
 
 entrance of Clemens and Thompson from left.] 
 
 CLEMENS: Will you wait here, sir? Fll tell the 
 master at once. 
 
 THOMPSON: [laboring under great, but restrained, 
 excitement] At once, please. It is very important. 
 
 CLEMENS: I'll do my best, sir, but the master is in 
 the surgical ward, and I am not permitted to go in 
 there. 
 
 EVANS: Perhaps I can 
 
 THOMPSON: [sees Ida and Evans for the first time. 
 Nods] I would be very much obliged. 
 
 EVANS : [going up left] I'll go at once. 
 
 THOMPSON: Just a moment, [looks cautiously at 
 Clemens.] 
 
 EVANS: [Approaches Thompson] Yes. 
 
 THOMPSON: [softly] It is most important that I 
 talk to him before eh he sees his wife. 
 
 EVANS: But Mrs. Wessley hasn't returned from the 
 city yet. 
 
 THOMPSON : Yes, she is upstairs. She came with me. 
 Now, if it is in any way possible 
 
 EVANS : Of course, Mr. Thompson. 
 
 THOMPSON : Thank you. 
 
 [Evans and Clemens exit left. Ida is working at 
 
 the smaller table. Thompson goes up right and stands 
 
 pondering; then remembers Ida.] 
 
 53
 
 Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Wayne, I am very nervous 
 and somewhat out of breath. Good afternoon. 
 
 IDA: Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson. 
 
 [Thompson continues to pace up and down ex- 
 citedly. There is a short pause before Arthur enters 
 
 from left.] 
 
 ARTHUR: What is it, Thompson, has anything 
 happened ? 
 
 THOMPSON: [quickly'] No, of course not. 
 
 ARTHUR: Did they put the fire out? 
 
 THOMPSON : Yes ; that is, the house was burned down. 
 
 ARTHUR: Completely? Oh! that's too bad. Well, I 
 hope that 
 
 THOMPSON: What do you mean? Oh! No one 
 was hurt. 
 
 ARTHUR : What is the matter then ? [offers his hand.] 
 
 THOMPSON: [drawing his own hand back] I would 
 like to have a word with you. 
 
 ARTHUR : [looks at him curiously] Of course, [ivaves 
 to a seat.] 
 
 THOMPSON : [does not sit] Alone. 
 
 ARTHUR: Oh! [looks at him sharply] Will you 
 excuse us, Miss Ida? [Ida is already on her way to the 
 door. She exits left.] Well? 
 
 THOMPSON : I told you that my house was burned 
 down. 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes. [looks at Thompson searchingly.] 
 
 THOMPSON : I have a couple of rooms there, a sort of 
 a den, on the top floor. The fire broke out on the ground 
 floor. The entire lower part of the house was in flames 
 
 before the fire was discovered. We [Arthur starts] 
 
 we could only be saved by leaving through the windows. 
 They look out into the garden, where a great crowd of 
 
 64
 
 people had gathered to watch the fire, [holds his 
 breath.] 
 
 ARTHUR: That is you were upstairs in your room 
 when the fire broke out? 
 
 THOMPSON: [nervously] Yes, and with me 
 
 ARTHUR: And you were not alone. 
 
 THOMPSON: No; that is why I am here now. 
 
 ARTHUR : [quietly] What do you mean ? 
 
 THOMPSON : [ desperately] A lady was up there with 
 me your wife. 
 
 ARTHUR: [self-contained, after a pause] How were 
 you rescued? 
 
 THOMPSON: Down a ladder. There was really no 
 danger. 
 
 ARTHUR: Into the garden? 
 
 THOMPSON: Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR: Where a great many people were standing? 
 
 THOMPSON: [softly] Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR : [with bitter irony] That was well done. 
 
 THOMPSON : [after a pause] But 
 
 ARTHUR : [with cold menace] Of course, you give me 
 vour word 
 
 THOMPSON: I accompanied Mrs. Wessley 
 
 ARTHUR : Of course, you give me your word that there 
 was nothing improper between you and my wife. 
 
 THOMPSON: [reluctantly] Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR: Of course. Still you are here at my dis- 
 posal for whatever I may choose to do in the matter, 
 knowing the affair has a very questionable look. 
 
 THOMPSON : That is why I am here. I did not wish 
 you to hear it from anyone else, and 
 
 ARTHUR: And you are willing to take all the con- 
 sequences, and so forth? 
 
 55
 
 THOMPSON: I deplore deeply that this unfortunate 
 circumstance should give rise to any reflection upon 
 the honor of a man who has always stood so high 
 
 ARTHUR : Let that be my concern. But before we talk 
 
 any further 
 
 [Goes to the door at left; locks it and pockets the 
 
 key. Goes to the larger table, takes a revolver out of 
 
 the drawer; goes down left; glares at Thompson, then 
 
 points to the photograph of Katherine on the mantel.'] 
 You know that pretty little photograph of my wife there 
 on the mantel. Stay where you are, please. 
 
 [Takes quick aim and shoots. The photograph 
 
 drops to the floor. Arthur crosses to it, picks it up 
 
 and offers it to Thompson.'} 
 
 There! I don't mean that to be symbolic. I only 
 wanted to show you that I know how to shoot, [lays 
 both revolver and photograph on the table] But you 
 did know that. We have often ridden and shot together. 
 [leans nonchalantly against the table] Now, my dear 
 Thompson, I will tell you what to do. Go home, and 
 go to sleep. This affair must have excited you con- 
 siderably. 
 
 THOMPSON: [bursts out angrily] You are treating 
 me like a 
 
 ARTHUR: [savagely] Yes! [evenly] Don't lose 
 your head. Be discreet. Are you disappointed because 
 I didn't shoot you? [goes slowly up to Thompson, his 
 voice hardens] I have your word, haven't I? That is 
 enough for me. [coolly again] And if that is enough 
 for me, Thompson, you needn't be more particular. 
 
 CLEMENS: [his terrified voice through the door up 
 left] Master! Master! Did you call? [rattles the 
 doorknob anxiously.] 
 
 56
 
 ARTHUR: [after a pause] No, Clemens, thank you. 
 
 [Leisurely lights a cigarette.] 
 
 I used to be very angry with my servants because they 
 smoked my cigars. It wasn't the value of the cigars that 
 mattered. It was the disquieting knowledge that I was 
 being robbed, and someone was secretly chuckling 
 about it that is what hurt. But in time one learns 
 how life is, and become resigned. Nowadays my 
 servants have permission to help themselves to my cigars 
 as often as they please. . . . And so they have no 
 further need to steal from me. Neither shall you steal 
 from me again, {unlocks the door] If you should 
 chance to meet my wife as you go out, will you be good 
 enough to tell her to look after that boy in seven. 
 That is vastly more important. 
 
 [Crosses to the cabinet. Thompson stands stiffly 
 looking at him, bewildered, outraged, starts to speak, 
 changes his mind, bows shortly, and goes to the door 
 at left] 
 Be discreet, Thompson. 
 
 [Thompson exits, slamming the door. Arthur stares 
 after him thoughtfully; his face becomes anxious and 
 drawn. He smokes with quick, heavy puffs. In 
 sudden disgust he throws his cigarette away and goes 
 to the table, sweeps the revolver and photograph into 
 the drawer, then rings for the servant. Clemens enters 
 at left] 
 ARTHUR: Open the window and light up. 
 
 [Clemens opens the window and switches on the 
 lights] 
 
 Are the people back from the fire? 
 CLEMENS: Yes, master. 
 
 ARTHUR: [watches him narrowly] How was it? 
 What do they say ? 
 
 57
 
 CLEMENS: [evasively] I was in the garden. 
 
 [Rokoro enters from left; regards Arthur solic- 
 itously, Arthur beckons to Rokoro, but does not 
 
 speak until Clemens has taken the coffee things and 
 
 gone off left.] 
 
 ARTHUR: Well? 
 
 ROKORO : [uneasily] I only want 
 
 ARTHUR: Has the scandal spread in the house so 
 soon? 
 
 ROKORO: The watchman said something. ... I 
 cautioned him 
 
 ARTHUR : Let them talk ! But you ! I did not think 
 I misunderstood you. 
 
 ROKORO: [laughs mirthlessly] Me? 
 
 ARTHUR: [sharply] What are you laughing at? 
 
 ROKORO: Nothing, nothing. Only I thought 
 
 ARTHUR: What? 
 
 ROKORO: You say people can talk. 
 
 But I ... 
 
 who will soon go away, and whom 
 I must not judge you 
 
 a foreigner 
 
 you always laugh at 
 
 wrongly. Curious ! 
 
 ARTHUR: It is true I do not want you to think : "This 
 man, who boasts of his complete mastery over his life, 
 doesn't know how to keep his own house in order." 
 
 ROKORO: [sympathetically] No. I do not think that 
 at all. 
 
 ARTHUR : What then ? 
 
 ROKORO: That this must be a severe test of your 
 strength. 
 
 ARTHUR 
 
 [after a pause] 
 ROKORO: [gravely] We 
 Barbarians ! 
 
 ARTHUR: [nods] Yes. 
 ROKORO : Not able to reason. 
 
 What would you do? 
 are different. [laughs] 
 
 58
 
 ARTHUR: Not able to reason that is it. It is so 
 easy to be reasonable about other people's affairs. I 
 want to .see whether I can't be reasonable about my own. 
 I want to do what I would require anyone else to do. 
 
 ROKORO: [incredulously] Is that possible? 
 
 ARTHUR: Why not? Not long ago you talked about 
 my infidelities. Do you remember ? And you reproached 
 me on the subject of my wife. 
 
 ROKORO: You were angry. 
 
 ARTHUR: Not at all. It seemed to me you didn't 
 understand that my love for my infidelities and my 
 feeling for my wife are separate and distinct things; 
 that these two things can exist together is incredible 
 to you. 
 
 ROKORO: Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR: But they do. [impatiently] And all men 
 know it who do not lie to themselves. 
 
 ROKORO : [emphatically'] Men of the West ! 
 
 ARTHUR: I am not making rules for the world. I 
 can say only what I know of my own experience: that 
 I speaking plainly when I come from another 
 woman, realize all the more forcibly how dear my wife 
 is to me. Laugh, but men are like that. We are 
 beasts, if you like. 
 
 ROKORO : Yes, but if you [stops short.] 
 
 ARTHUR: What? 
 
 ROKORO : No ... I should not say that. 
 
 ARTHUR : Speak up. 
 
 ROKORO : [bashfully] Haven't you . . . with 
 your wife ? [stops short again.] 
 
 ARTHUR: Haven't I what? 
 
 ROKORO : Do you live with her . . . only 
 spiritually ? 
 
 59
 
 ARTHUR: No, little doctor, for the beast will not be 
 denied. 
 
 ROKORO : [crosses the room, shuddering with disgust] 
 Oh! 
 
 ARTHUR : Does it seem illogical ? 
 
 ROKORO : I do not understand it at all. 
 
 ARTHUR: For your notebook, little busybody? Well, 
 listen then. Between a man and wife who are well 
 mated an attachment can grow that is too powerful to 
 be destroyed by petty considerations of infidelity. I am 
 not ashamed of my polygamous instincts; they are part 
 of my humanity. A human being has the right to be 
 human; all he needs is the courage, and in the end he 
 is better off for it. 
 
 ROKORO: [quickly] Are you better off for it? 
 [frightened by his own boldness] No, no ... I 
 should not have said that. 
 
 ARTHUR : [slowly] I am not as badly off as you sup- 
 pose. For I cannot be less than fair. What I permit 
 myself, I permit everyone else even my wife, little 
 doctor. 
 
 ROKORO : That does seem . . . fair. 
 
 ARTHUR: If there is something indispensable to your 
 happiness how can you justly deny it to someone else? 
 
 ROKORO: [softly] But is there nothing in you that 
 has been hurt . . . that cries for revenge ? 
 
 ARTHUR: [pauses] What is revenge but the expres- 
 sion of petty indignation? Suppose I do find it un- 
 pleasant? Shall I bluster and storm and wear myself 
 out with regret? 
 
 ROKORO: It is good for people to bluster and storm 
 . . . and regret. 
 
 ARTHUR: Murder and divorce, seven years of happi- 
 
 60
 
 ness destroyed, and what not? No, little doctor, not I 
 not one who pretends to be master of his life. 
 [Clemens enters at left.] 
 
 CLEMENS: Your brother, master. 
 
 ARTHUR: [quickly'] Who? 
 
 CLEMENS. Your brother, master. 
 
 ARTHUR: [with an ironical laugh] He heard it 
 quickly. Show him in. 
 
 [Clemens exits left. RoTcoro starts to follow] 
 No, stay here. It will be funny. I can picture it in 
 advance. 
 
 [Raymond enters at left.] 
 
 RAYMOND: You will wonder what brought me up 
 here from the city again today? 
 
 ARTHUR: Not at all. 
 
 EAYMOND : [to Rolcoro'] Good evening, doctor, [sits 
 down breathlessly.] 
 
 ARTHUR: It must be very unpleasant news you bring 
 me from your appearance. 
 
 RAYMOND: My dear Arthur, how unfair you are to 
 me. You will soon perceive it is purely out of brotherly 
 affection that I am here again today. 
 
 ARTHUR: You say that beautifully. How a noble 
 sentiment does transfigure one. Didn't you bring your 
 dear wife along? 
 
 RAYMOND: This affair must be discussed between us 
 alone. [To RoTcoro'] Will you be good enough to 
 excuse us, my dear doctor ? 
 
 ARTHUR : The dear doctor will remain. [RoTcoro goes 
 back among the 'booTcs.'] 
 
 RAYMOND: But this is a matter which certainly 
 should not 
 
 ARTHUR : [carelessly'] But I know what it is. 
 
 RAYMOND: You ? 
 
 61
 
 ARTHUR: [interrupts] We were just talking about it. 
 
 RAYMOND : [incredulously] I can scarcely believe 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes. You mean about my wife and 
 Thompson, don't you? 
 
 RAYMOND: [nonplussed] Yes, but 
 
 ARTHUR: Well, you needn't have troubled to come 
 about that. 
 
 RAYMOND: I heard it from Smithers, the editor of 
 the Daily News, who 
 
 ARTHUR: Isn't that the same brave fellow whom you 
 incited against me in the matter of the hospital ? 
 
 RAYMOND : Most certainly not incited. He considered 
 it his duty 
 
 ARTHUR: There are so many honorable souls in the 
 world. 
 
 RAYMOND: Moreover, he is sorry now 
 
 ARTHUR: Since the millionaire 
 
 RAYMOND: And he wants to prove how much he re- 
 grets the incident. 
 
 ARTHUR: Oh! 
 
 RAYMOND: Yes, that is why he came to me at once. 
 The whole city knows it. You can fancy for yourself 
 what a scandal. But he, to atone for a previous mis- 
 understanding, is quite willing to suppress all news of 
 this unfortunate affair in his newspaper. And he hopes 
 also, to be able to persuade the other newspapers not to 
 print it. I thanked him in your name, and then I 
 came to you with all speed, so that in this trying 
 moment I might be at your side. 
 
 ARTHUR: With all speed! 
 
 RAYMOND: Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR: Didn't you stop to talk about it first with 
 your dear wife ? 
 
 RAYMOND: Naturally. 
 
 02
 
 ARTHUR: Do tell me what she said. 
 
 RAYMOND: She was astounded, of course. And, like 
 me, she was of the opinion that I should go to you at 
 once. You have our sincerest sympathy in this break- 
 ing up of your heretofore happy household. It is a sad 
 calamity, brother. Our family lawyer is a man of wide 
 experience and the utmost tact. I think you could do 
 no better than to go to him. 
 
 ARTHUR: But my dear brother, you don't suppose 
 I am going to be divorced? 
 
 RAYMOND : What then ? 
 
 ARTHUR: Whatever put that into your head? 
 
 RAYMOND: But two hundred people saw it. 
 
 ARTHUR: Saw what? 
 
 RAYMOND: Your wife leaving a bedroom window of 
 Thompson's house. 
 
 ARTHUR: [impatiently] Well? 
 
 RAYMOND: And a man's bathrobe thrown hastily 
 over her shoulders. Pardon me, but there were really 
 at least two hundred people. 
 
 ARTHUR: [with affected gaiety] Well, my dear Ray- 
 mond, it is quite obvious that she had a rendezvous 
 with Thompson. 
 
 RAYMOND: Well! 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes. Does that startle you? 
 
 RAYMOND: [springs to his feet; glares at Arthur, 
 paces up and down] But that is 
 
 ARTHUR: And tell me this what business is it of 
 yours ? If my wife suits me, and Thompson, too, what 
 has anyone else in the world to do with it? 
 
 RAYMOND: Unheard of! 
 
 ARTHUR: Don't pretend to be surprised. Come, you 
 are a man of the world. Isn't it quite a common thing ? 
 Isn't one man out of every three betrayed by his wife? 
 
 63
 
 [smiles at Raymond suddenly] Not you! Oe has 
 only to see your wife to know she is virtuous. 
 
 RAYMOND: [still pacing up and down] I der that 
 the world is as immoral as that. I am horrified i 
 
 ARTHUR: [warmly] Yes, horrified! You onl wait 
 for a chance like this, and the moment it comes yu are 
 all aquiver with ecstacy at the chance to be virtously 
 horrified, [breaks out angrily] Be horrified! You 
 and your wife and all your kind ! Be horrified ! But 
 I don't want your sympathy. At the bottom it i only 
 malice. That is why you are here so quickly, [r&v ers 
 his composure; resumes his former bantering ton] I 
 am sorry to disappoint you, but I am not a bit horified, 
 brother. You see, before I was married I said to ivself 
 
 "Now consider. Many men have been belayed 
 
 before you ; and unless you are exceptionally luckyyou, 
 too, will be betrayed. Consider if this woman is sdear 
 to you that you are satisfied to bear betrayal fo her 
 sake." And now, because things have happened jusas I 
 anticipated, shall I lament and destroy my housebld? 
 That would be rather illogical, wouldn't it? 
 
 KAYMOND: You have lost your senses. 
 
 ARTHUR : Everyone is crazy who does not accept'our 
 false standards of morality. 
 
 RAYMOND: If you believe I will tolerate this 
 
 ARTHUR: [derisively] You? 
 
 RAYMOND: You bear my name, and if you hav.no 
 consideration for our honor 
 
 ARTHUR: I have none at all. 
 
 RAYMOND: [earnestly] Arthur, I know you. Ton 
 were just the same when a boy. You don't really Kan 
 what you say; you are only pretending so as to show ow 
 independent and strong you are, and above everyboy's 
 opinion. That gratifies you beyond . But, Artur, 
 
 64
 
 I beg of you, I appeal to you, forget what has taken 
 place between us, and hear me now. Believe me, I mean 
 it for your good. Arthur, this involves your honor as 
 a man. 
 
 ARTHUR : I have no honor ; I want none ; I need none. 
 
 RAYMOND: [eors%] But Arthur 
 
 ARTHUR: Honor is other people's judgment of me. 
 I repudiate that. 
 
 RAYMOND : And their ridicule and scorn ? 
 
 ARTHUR: In my own house I will know how to 
 prevent it; outside I shall not hear it. 
 
 RAYMOND : And your own feelings ? 
 
 ARTHUR: My own feelings are that if I am outraged 
 and distressed you old maids will exult in it, and if I 
 am not a bit outraged or distressed you will be disap- 
 pointed. That satisfies me. 
 
 RAYMOND: [in a burst of anger] So you really mean 
 
 to keep this harlot in your house, after 
 
 [Rol-oro, who has been listening with absorbed in- 
 terest near the bookshelves, springs upon Raymond 
 
 with an exclamation of rage, and strikes him in the 
 
 mouth with his clenched fot.~\ 
 
 ARTHUR: Stop! 
 
 [Rokoro turns to him u'onderingly. Raymond 
 
 staggers back nursing his lip.] 
 
 Don't do that. He means well. To him she ts that. 
 Everything is relative, you know, [to Raymond] You 
 must pardon our colleague, brother, for he is not quite 
 civilized. But what else were you going to say? 
 [Rokoro goes back among the books.] 
 
 RAYMOND: [straightening his cravat; erect with 
 dignity] I have nothing more to say in this house. 
 [reaches for his hat.] 
 
 ARTHUR: That's just what I thought when you first 
 came in. [Katherine enters at left.] 
 
 65
 
 [smiles at Raymond suddenly] Not you! One has 
 only to see your wife to know she is virtuous. 
 
 RAYMOND: [still pacing up and down] I deny that 
 the world is as immoral as that. I am horrified to 
 
 ARTHUR: [warmly] Yes, horrified! You only wait 
 for a chance like this, and the moment it comes you are 
 all aquiver with ecstacy at the chance to be virtuously 
 horrified, [breaks out angrily'] Be horrified! You 
 and your wife and all your kind ! Be horrified ! But 
 I don't want your sympathy. At the bottom it is only 
 malice. That is why you are here so quickly, [recovers 
 his composure; resumes his former bantering tone] I 
 am sorry to disappoint you, but I am not a bit horrified, 
 brother. You see, before I was married I said to myself 
 
 "Now consider. Many men have been betrayed 
 
 before you; and unless you are exceptionally lucky, you, 
 too, will be betrayed. Consider if this woman is so dear 
 to you that you are satisfied to bear betrayal for her 
 sake." And now, because things have happened just as I 
 anticipated, shall I lament and destroy my household? 
 That would be rather illogical, wouldn't it? 
 
 RAYMOND: You have lost your senses. 
 
 ARTHUR : Everyone is crazy who does not accept your 
 false standards of morality. 
 
 RAYMOND: If you believe I will tolerate this 
 
 ARTHUR: [derisively] You? 
 
 RAYMOND: You bear my name, and if you have no 
 consideration for our honor 
 
 ARTHUR: I have none at all. 
 
 RAYMOND: [earnestly] Arthur, I know you. You 
 were just the same when a boy. You don't really mean 
 what you say ; you are only pretending so as to show how 
 independent and strong you are, and above everybody's 
 opinion. That gratifies you beyond . But, Arthur, 
 
 64
 
 I beg of you, I appeal to you, forget what has taken 
 place between us, and hear me now. Believe me, I mean 
 it for your good. Arthur, this involves your honor as 
 a man. 
 
 ARTHUR : I have no honor ; I want none ; I need none. 
 
 EAYMOND: [earnestly'] But Arthur 
 
 ARTHUR: Honor is other people's judgment of me. 
 I repudiate that. 
 
 EAYMOND: And their ridicule and scorn? 
 
 ARTHUR: In my own house I will know how to 
 prevent it ; outside I shall not hear' it. 
 
 RAYMOND : And your own feelings ? 
 
 ARTHUR: My own feelings are that if I am outraged 
 and distressed you old maids will exult in it, and if I 
 am not a bit outraged or distressed you will be disap- 
 pointed. That satisfies me. 
 
 EAYMOND : [in a burst of anger] So you really mean 
 
 to keep this harlot in your house, after 
 
 \Rokoro, who has been listening with absorbed in- 
 terest near the bookshelves, springs upon Raymond 
 
 with an exclamation of rage, and strikes him in the 
 
 mouth with his clenched fist.'] 
 
 ARTHUR: Stop! 
 
 [RoJcoro turns to him wonderingly. Raymond 
 
 staggers back nursing his lip.] 
 
 Don't do that. He means well. To him she is that. 
 Everything is relative, you know, [to Raymond] You 
 must pardon our colleague, brother, for he is not quite 
 civilized. But what else were you going to say? 
 [Rokoro goes back among the books."] 
 
 EAYMOND: [straightening his cravat; erect with 
 dignity'] I have nothing more to say in this house. 
 [reaches for his hat.~] 
 
 ARTHUR: That's just what I thought when you first 
 came in. [Katherine enters at left.] 
 
 65
 
 RAYMOND: I will see to it that [stops as he sees 
 
 Katherine.] 
 
 KATHERINE: Am I intruding? 
 
 RAYMOND: [greets her] My dear sister-in-law. 
 [goes up to her with outstretched hand.] 
 
 ARTHUR: Hypocrite! [steps between them and points 
 to the door] Get out of here ! [Raymond glares hate- 
 fully at him, then exits left.] 
 
 KATHERINE: [puzzled, slowly] I 
 
 ARTHUR: [coolly] Did you want anything? 
 
 KATHERINE : The powder for the boy in seven. 
 
 ARTHUR: [takes phial from a cabinet and brings it 
 to her] Here. Anything else? 
 
 KATHERINE: [looking him squarely in the eyes] No. 
 If you have nothing. 
 
 ARTHUR: [returning her gaze, lightly laughs] And 
 now you think the big scene is coming. Child, if it 
 were, I wouldn't have thrown out the audience. 
 
 KATHERINE: You are in a very good humor. 
 
 ARTHUR: Why not? [they look at each other stead- 
 ily. Arthur is first to turn away] I will go up directly 
 to see how that boy is getting along. [Katherine bows 
 her head, exits left.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [looks after her, frowning, takes a deep 
 breath, comes down to centre as he speaks with affected 
 lightness] People like my brother are really a blessing 
 in the world. He has revived all my good spirits. 
 [Rokoro comes down to join him] Tell me, little doctor, 
 was that a jab or an uppercut you hit him ? It was very 
 good of you. 
 
 ROKORO: [grins as he looks inquiringly up into 
 Arthur's face] You are glad I hit him, eh? Is that 
 consistent? 
 
 Curtain 
 
 66
 
 ACT III 
 
 The scene is unchanged. 
 The time is the next morning. 
 
 As the curtain rises Arthur is pacing reflectively up 
 and down the room. Clemens enters, carrying a salver 
 with a card upon it. 
 
 ARTHUR : Well, what is it now ? Why are you always 
 disturbing me ? 
 
 CLEMENS : A gentleman to see you, master. 
 ARTHUR: I won't see anyone now. 
 CLEMENS: That is what I told him, sir, but he in- 
 sisted on sending his card in. 
 
 ARTHUR: [takes the card and reads it] Mortimer 
 Weeks, Editor the Faun! I don't know him. . . . 
 Well, show him in. [He throivs the card on the table 
 and busies himself there, with his back to the door.'] 
 
 [Clemens exits at left, and in a moment re-enters, 
 showing in Weelcs.~\ 
 
 [Weeks is twenty, very fat, very blond, very rosy; 
 he has a slow-witted, embarrassed stare; he wears a 
 high collar, a broad black cravat tied in a flowing bow; 
 and he sniffs intermittently like one with catarrhal 
 trouble. He remains standing at the door; bows pro- 
 foundly and waits. Arthur does not turn.~\ 
 WEEKS: Professor Wessley, I believe. 
 ARTHUR [picks up the card and turns to him, 
 amused] Mr. Mortimer Weeks? [We0fcs bows again] 
 Editor the Faun. 
 WEEKS: And anarchist. 
 
 67
 
 ARTHUR: Really? 
 
 WEEKS : I am not permitted to put that on the card. 
 My uncle forbids it. 
 
 ARTHUR: What can I do for you? 
 
 WEEKS: [pompously] I am here, Professor Wessley, 
 in the 
 
 ARTHUR: Won't you sit down? 
 
 WEEKS : Thank you. [sits] . I am here in the name 
 of Youth. 
 
 ARTHUR: [proffers cigar box] Do you smoke? 
 
 WEEKS: Oh! Thank you, very much, [takes a 
 cigar.] 
 
 ARTHUR : [gives him a light] Here ! 
 
 WEEKS : Thank you. [smokes awkwardly.] 
 
 ARTHUR : Now what is this about Youth ? 
 
 WEEKS : I came as the spokesman of Youth 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes? 
 
 WEEKS : The combined Radical Youth of our city 
 
 ARTHUR: Oh! 
 
 WEEKS : To express our admiration for your courage. 
 
 ARTHUR : [surprised] My courage ? 
 
 WEEKS: We mean, too, to present you with an en- 
 graved testimonial of our esteem. All the newspapers, 
 you know, have combined to keep the matter secret, so 
 we first heard about it only last night. But I was sent 
 here to assure you that in your brave fight you may 
 count on us. The combined Radical Youth of the 
 community is behind you. [sniffs.] 
 
 ARTHUR: I am honored, of course, and I thank 
 you 
 
 WEEKS : Pardon me, it is no more than our duty. 
 
 ARTHUR: But, my dear Mr. Weeks, will you be good 
 enough to explain what you mean ? I don't quite realize 
 what it is you are praising me for. 
 
 68
 
 WEEKS : Oh, you are too modest, Professor ! 
 
 ARTHUR: Not at all, Mr. Weeks, but what is it all 
 about ? 
 
 WEEKS: [with unction'] You have performed an 
 undying service for liberty. You have struck a blow for 
 the freedom of all humanity. In the next number of 
 The Faun ... Do you know The Faun, Professor? 
 
 ARTHUR : I am a bit remiss in literary affairs. I am 
 sorry. 
 
 WEEKS : Pray, don't mention it. As I was saying, in 
 the next issue of The Faun I mean to give the whole 
 noble story out to the world. The Faun wears no reac- 
 tionary muzzle! The world shall applaud your heroic 
 attitude toward your wife, that 
 
 ARTHUR : [sharply'] My wife ! 
 
 WEEKS : That when you conceded to her the right of 
 
 untrammeled, sexual freedom [his voice falters as 
 
 he sees Arthur rise quickly.] 
 
 ARTHUR : Are you crazy ? 
 
 WEEKS : [rises too; frightened] But, Professor 
 
 ARTHUR : Do you mean to print such stuff as that in 
 
 your [stops short; looks at Weeks gloweringly; 
 
 then, after a short pause, speaks curtly] Let me under- 
 stand. What have you been told? And who has told 
 you? 
 
 WEEKS : [stammering and sniffing] Your own brother 
 . . . the Director of Health ... he himself 
 said so 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes. 
 
 WEEKS : Only last night he was telling 
 
 ARTHUR: Telling what? 
 
 WEEKS : But everybody in town knows about the fire 
 at the villa. 
 
 ARTHUR: Yes. 
 
 69
 
 WEEKS: And, naturally, people asked your brother 
 questions. And he gave them to understand that you 
 
 ARTHUR : Go on. That I ? 
 
 WEEKS: [encouraged] That you were of the belief 
 that every wife has the right 
 
 ARTHUR: [his voice encouraging but ironical] Yes, 
 has the right 
 
 WEEKS: Has the right to do as she pleases that's 
 what he said to do as she. . . . [sniffs] pleases. He was 
 very much disgusted, naturally. That clique of pro- 
 fessors are always opposed to a new idea. 
 
 ARTHUR : But the Youth are in favor of it. 
 
 WEEKS : [sniffs; his composure recovered] Unquali- 
 fiedly! We believe that woman is a polyandrist born, 
 and to limit her to but one man is a species of sexual 
 slavery that 
 
 ARTHUR: Never mind your beliefs now, Mr. Weeks. 
 Tell me more about what you have heard. 
 
 WEEKS: Well, my chum Snorkins he heard it from 
 his father his father is assistant Register of Wills, you 
 know and his father was present when your brother 
 was talking about it with some people in the City Hall. 
 [sniffs, breathless] Well, as soon as my chum Snorkins 
 heard it he came running to us. It fell like a bomb- 
 shell among us comrades, you know. We had no idea 
 that free thought existed like that outside our Society. 
 It was so important that we decided to call a special 
 meeting at once. I, Snorkins we two are the leaders 
 then there is Schroeder, the cake-baker's son you must 
 know him 
 
 ARTHUR: I know the cakes. 
 
 WEEKS : The entire membership attended, but of the 
 ladies Miss Pomponia was the only one who came. It 
 was too late for the rest to get you know most of 
 
 70
 
 them live at home with their parents, [sniffs] But 
 we are sure the absent ones were with us in spirit and 
 entirely in accord with 
 
 ARTHUR: Who is Miss Pomponia? 
 
 WEEKS : Anrita Pomponia. She dances at the Apollo 
 a truly pagan soul, great breadth of mind. She made 
 a stirring speech, [sniffs] You should have heard her, 
 Professor. It was she who named it an Act of Heroism. 
 The meeting was most enthusiastic. We were unani- 
 mously of the opinion that your heroism 
 
 ARTHUR : Heroism ! Pah ! 
 
 WEEKS : Marked an epoch in the history of Eugenics ; 
 that woman is now sexually free [sniffs] and unashamed 
 that is what Miss Pomponia said. And it was quite 
 obvious, quite obvious that everyone agreed with her, 
 not only because of the ovation with which her words 
 were received, but because I was immediately appointed 
 a committee of one to call on you, and because a motion 
 was also passed that an artistic testimonial of the resolu- 
 tion be inscribed and presented to you. And it was 
 also resolved that the matter be given the praise and 
 publicity it deserves in the next issue of The Faun. 
 [sniffs and warms up to his subject] Moreover, it was 
 resolved that our Society be renamed the Wessley Free- 
 dom Circle in your honor; and I am empowered to 
 tender you the honorary presidency. 
 
 [Arthur is watching him with mixed irritation and 
 
 amusement.] 
 
 We hope the example you have set will be followed ; that 
 it will inspire the unenlightened and encourage the 
 faint-hearted to revolt 
 
 ARTHUR : But what do you want to revolt for ? 
 
 WEEKS: What then? 
 
 ARTHUR : It seems such a pointless thing to do. 
 
 71
 
 WEEKS : I catch your meaning. Yes ; it is true that 
 everyone is a radical these days. Most things have 
 already been revolted out of existence. But honor! 
 that is still an existing sentiment. There are many who 
 cling to the obsolete notions of honor. You should hear 
 how they talk about you in the city. 
 
 ARTHUR: And so your . . . radical organization 
 holds me out so to speak as the first dishonorable man 
 of the world. 
 
 WEEKS: But ! 
 
 ARTHUR: Let us not be ashamed of our names. 
 
 WEEKS: Aha! [sniffs.] 
 
 ARTHUR : [ruefully'] I see there is still a broad field 
 before me. Mr. Weeks, you look to me like a bright 
 young man. 
 
 WEEKS : Oh, I beg of you ! 
 
 ARTHUR: And so I am sure that you will be willing 
 to concede that your sympathy for me and my . . . 
 heroism, as you are good enough to call it, is purely of 
 the theoretical sort. 
 
 WEEKS : In the very nature of things it must be so. 
 
 ARTHUR: Precisely. Nevertheless your sympathy 
 honors and touches me. But, Mr. Weeks, if you and your 
 young friends will be guided by me as an older man, 
 who has had some little experience, do not get excited 
 over this affair. It is nothing extraordinary, my young 
 friend, for a man to be betrayed by his wife. 
 
 WEEKS: Yes, but to forgive her! Freely and with 
 dignity ! To say she had the right ! 
 
 ARTHUR: To say she had the right! Yes, perhaps 
 that is a new variation. But I am not so sure it would 
 be well to make a principle of it. 
 
 WEEKS : [rises; aggrieved] Oh, you are only making 
 fun of me. 
 
 72
 
 ARTHUR : Why do you say that ? 
 
 WEEKS : We meant well. But I see you do not need 
 us. We had believed that now, when everyone else is 
 misunderstanding you and ridiculing you, you would 
 be pleased to know that there are some young people who 
 stand by you. 
 
 ARTHUR: And are proud of my dishonor. 
 
 WEEKS : We were proud. If I have offended you 
 
 ARTHUR: Not at all. I think I understand you, Mr. 
 Weeks. You are young and untamed. You have the 
 instinctive hatred of youth for the stupidity of the 
 masses, the tyranny of laws, the shackles of conventions. 
 Preserve your hatred of these things; it is perhaps the 
 best thing you own. Always do what you conceive to 
 be free and right, but don't, my boy, don't try to per- 
 suade others to do it. Because for them it may not be 
 free and right at all, but, on the contrary, utterly false 
 and wrong. No law can govern every case, no rule 
 every circumstance. ... If a wife betrays her hus- 
 band, it may be despicable of her, it may be noble or it 
 may be utterly indifferent. It depends entirely upon 
 the man, the woman and what the circumstances were, 
 the truth of which no one can know except the people 
 themselves concerned. If you set up laws and prece- 
 dents they must be false because every case requires a 
 separate law. This is true of your radical laws as well 
 as reactionary ones. Give up your debating societies 
 and your dream of enlightening the world. If you must 
 fight, fight for the principle that no man shall take it 
 upon himself to judge another. Fight for that . . . 
 But without societies, without debates, my dear Mr. 
 Anarchist . . . And now give my thanks to your 
 friends. It was very good of them, [shakes hands'] 
 And don't forget to send me a copy of The Faun. 
 
 73
 
 WEEKS : [a bit bewildered] I shall, thank you. 
 
 ARTHUR: [in a tone of dismissal] Good day, Mr. 
 Weeks, [crosses to the larger table.] 
 
 WEEKS: Good day, Professor Wessley. Thank you. 
 [he bows clumsily and exits at left.] 
 
 [Arthur looks after him, smiling until lie has gone. 
 
 Then his face becomes suddenly serious. He grasps 
 
 the back of a chair with a strong grip, braces his knee 
 
 against the padded side and stands staring gloomily 
 
 before him.] 
 
 [Ida enters at left with letters, and waits. Seeing 
 
 he does not notice her, she puts the letters on the 
 
 table.] 
 
 ARTHUR: [finally seeing her] Oh! Thank you. 
 [begins to sign the letters.] 
 
 IDA: And will you go over the records, please? 
 [indicates a long list she has in her hand.] 
 
 ARTHUR: Why, that is for Mrs. Wessley to do. 
 
 IDA : Mrs. Wessley gave them to me today. 
 
 ARTHUR: Very well, [continues to sign.] 
 
 IDA : I wanted to tell you, master, that Dr. Evans and 
 I have decided. 
 
 ARTHUR: Suddenly you find courage! Was it the 
 good example you just witnessed in this household? 
 Well . . . congratulations; and don't make it too 
 hard for poor Evans. 
 
 IDA : We wished to ask you, master 
 
 ARTHUR: [interrupts irrascibly] Some other time, 
 please. 
 
 [He signs the last letter and leaves the table. 
 
 Ida takes the letters and goes up left. At the door 
 
 she meets Katherine entering, permits her to pass, 
 
 then exits.] 
 
 74
 
 ARTHUR: [sees Katherine; surprised] Oh! [waits 
 until Ida has gone; then lightly] Is there anything 
 you want ? 
 
 KATHERINE: [looks at him searchingly; shakes her 
 head] I have been through the entire building. Every- 
 thing is in order. I believe the boy in seven is doing 
 nicely, but Dr. Rokoro will tell you better about that. 
 And here is the journal. I have examined it carefully. 
 Everything is up to date. Here: I surrender it to you. 
 
 ARTHUR : How dramatic ! 
 
 KATHERINE: Does that annoy yon? 
 
 ARTHUR : Not at alL I beg your pardon. 
 
 KATHERINE: Can you spare me a little time now? 
 [sits down.] 
 
 ARTHUR: Always, my dear. Five minutes ago you 
 had a champion here. The Radical Youth have paid me 
 a visit, [goes to the cabinet.] 
 
 KATHERINE : [after a pause] All the time yesterday 
 I fancied you would come to me or send for me. 
 
 ARTHUR: No. 
 
 KATHERINE : No. But you did deem it fitting to dis- 
 cuss the matter first with your brother and then with 
 Dr. Bokoro. 
 
 ARTHUR : My brother I laughed at and put out of the 
 house. And Eokoro well you know we often discuss 
 abstract theories of life. But to talk it over the wav 
 you mean that I have not done. I don't know why I 
 should. 
 
 KATHERINE: Not even with me. 
 
 ARTHUR: [somewhat uneasily, but trying to hide it] 
 It is hardly worth while, Katherine. I have 
 
 KATHERINE: Yes, you have forgiven me, but 
 
 ARTHUR: No; that is not the word. I have nothing 
 to forgive. I am not outraged nor aggrieved. I con- 
 
 75
 
 sider that you had the right to do what you did. That 
 is my opinion. I did not think I needed to tell you that. 
 
 KATHERINE: Eight! Wrong! That I shall have to 
 decide for myself. But haven't I ... Haven't I 
 hurt you ? 
 
 ARTHUR: [shortly; crossly] I am not sentimental. 
 You might have discovered that in seven years. 
 
 KATHERINE : You said it often enough. 
 
 ARTHUR : And yesterday I proved it. 
 
 KATHERINE: [sadly] Yes; no one need pity you. 
 
 ARTHUR: No one shall. 
 
 KATHERINE : Then I really can't see why we shouldn't 
 talk about it. 
 
 ARTHUR: I don't understand why it is so important 
 to you to discuss this thing. 
 
 KATHERINE: Well, I must decide what is to be 
 done now. 
 
 ARTHUR : If I must say it nothing is to be done now. 
 I concede you the right to this new pastime of yours. 
 You can have anything else you like a new limousine, 
 a set of furs ... I can deny you nothing [ironically] 
 I love you so. 
 
 KATHERINE: [bites her Up] So you really believe I 
 could have given myself to another man and still con- 
 tinued to live with you. 
 
 ARTHUR: You evidently believed it, too, until you 
 were caught yesterday. 
 
 KATHERINE: Arthur, it was the first time. I see I 
 must tell you how it came about. 
 
 ARTHUR: Do you suppose the details are of such 
 absorbing interest to me? 
 
 KATHERINE: [without heeding him] You appeared 
 to be very fond of Jean in the beginning, when he stuck 
 to you though everyone else was against you. 
 
 76
 
 ARTHUR: He used to amuse me. He took himself so 
 seriously. 
 
 KATHERINE: And I used to pity him for the same 
 reason. There was something desolate about him. He 
 had never had anyone to care about him, no one to con- 
 fide in or to trust. 
 
 ARTHUR : And that attracted you ? 
 
 KATHERINE : Yes. For you see, Arthur, it was a new 
 sensation to me to know that there was someone I could 
 help . . . someone who came to me with his cares 
 and was happier when I consoled him. I had never 
 known that two people could be like that to each other 
 . . . companions in the spiritual, the truest sense. 
 You and I never were. That is how it began, I think 
 out of my sympathy for him. . . . Then there was 
 something else. He took me in serious earnest; you 
 used to laugh at me. He felt things as I felt them ; and 
 I could tell him things that would only have appeared 
 ridiculous to you . . . and ridiculous to me, too, 
 perhaps, had I tried to tell them to you 
 
 ARTHUR : How touching ! 
 
 KATHERINE : What was I to you but your assistant in 
 charge of the patients? You had no need of me. You 
 never need anyone. All people appear so small to you 
 insignificant and ludicrous. Perhaps they are. But 
 if you could only have understood sometimes how your 
 self-sufficiency left me ... lonely . . . stifling 
 .... as though I were alone on a high mountain in 
 air too thin to breathe. If only you had understood, it 
 might have been different. But you never understood. 
 He did. He used to suffer when he saw me unhappy. 
 You had you known would only have made a joke of 
 it. Him my sorrows touched deeply. 
 
 ARTHUR : I have no heart. I've heard that before.
 
 KATHERINE : His sympathy drew me gradually closer 
 to him and away from you. When I look back I see that 
 things had to happen just as they did. Then, too, I 
 fancy it was due in a great measure to my desire to hurt 
 you, to spite you, as it were. Yes, that too ... to 
 spite you. You were so sure of yourself and of me. 
 Often I used to tell myself, "Now he will be angered, 
 now he will turn to me again." But the more I flirted 
 with Jean the more you laughed or waxed sarcastic. 
 That aroused the devil in me. It made me feel like a 
 reckless, abandoned woman. 
 
 ARTHUR: You tried to make me jealous, I know. 
 
 KATHERINE : I wanted to see if it were really true that 
 nothing can hurt you, if you really were so superior, so 
 much greater than your humanity as you pretend. 
 
 ARTHUR : And poor Thompson fondly dreams that you 
 love him. 
 
 KATHERINE : Perhaps I do. Consider this : yesterday, 
 while he was down in this room with you and I waited 
 upstairs, I was in a perfect fever of anxiety. But my 
 anxiety was for him only for him. You I never was 
 concerned about, [watches him narrowly] Are you 
 angry because I tell you this ? 
 
 ARTHUR: Still trying to find out if anything can 
 hurt me ? 
 
 KATHERINE: No, Arthur, that doesn't matter any 
 more. I have been telling you these things because I 
 wanted you to understand why I must leave you. 
 
 ARTHUR: [rises; amazed] Leave me? 
 
 KATHERINE : Yes, Arthur, that is what I came to tell 
 you. I cannot stay in this house another night. 
 
 ARTHUR : Isn't this . . . sudden ? 
 
 KATHERINE : I should have known it long ago. Yes- 
 terday it all broke out in me. And so I am going. 
 
 T8
 
 ARTHUR: [pacing up and down the room; speaks 
 without emotion] It is very difficult to understand. 
 First you betray me. Then, because, instead of becoming 
 violent about it, I view your offense philosophically and 
 let it pass, you are not satisfied. You propose to leave 
 me because I am not in a rage or in despair. Is that 
 right ? 
 
 KATHERINE: You are trying to distort the truth so 
 as to put yourself in the right and be able to laugh. You 
 always do ... But you cannot confuse me this time. 
 What you say will not matter. Think me petty, if you 
 choose ... or even . . . despicable. It doesn't 
 matter. It is time I began to think of my own happi- 
 ness. I have no more time to lose. Half my life is 
 wasted already. 
 
 ARTHUR: [stung by the realization that she means it; 
 comes toward her; speaks with reproachful sincerity] 
 Wasted, Katherine? Surely not wasted! . . . Per- 
 haps I may have unwittingly treated you badly. . . . 
 You will concede, I hope, that I never intentionally 
 made you unhappy. However, that may be, wasted is 
 the wrong word. Stop to think, Katherine. We have 
 been living together seven years. That is a long time 
 seven years; and . . . and you have been of incal- 
 culable help to me. 
 
 KATHERINE: To your patients. 
 
 ARTHUR : I wasn't thinking of that. I mean you have 
 . . . you have worked with me . . . yes . . . 
 step by step you have helped to build up the whole 
 structure of my achievements. In everything your efforts 
 counted. Today, when I look back, I can't truthfully 
 say how much of our success was due to me and how 
 much to you. 
 
 70
 
 [Stops; sees that this leaves her unmoved. It is 
 
 easy to see that pleading for anything is irksome to 
 
 him; yet he plunges hurriedly on another tangent.] 
 That isn't all, Katherine. I have always cared for you 
 very much . . . more than I ever supposed I could 
 care for anyone. To be sure, it was in my fashion . . . 
 which is not demonstrative ... no ... not 
 demonstrative . . . hut I cared intensely. And you, 
 if you will only remember it, Katherine, you loved me, 
 too. ... So when you suddenly discover after seven 
 yeais that your life has been wasted I cannot under- 
 stand it. I have always been happy with you . . . 
 happy as a man could be. And to you it was only a 
 waste of life! [turns away from her and goes up stage, 
 as if ashamed of his emotions] Still, I thank you for 
 being truthful to me. That is the single duty we owe 
 each other the truth. 
 
 KATHERINE: [sits quite still, her head in her hands} 
 If we had always been truthful! If only we hadn't 
 deceived each other ! There was never any truth in our 
 relations, Arthur, never. 
 
 ARTHUR: It only seems so to you now. You are 
 nervous and upset. 
 
 KATHERINE: The way you spoke to me just now. It 
 was very queer ... I seemed to be listening to a 
 total stranger. You never talked to me like that before, 
 never in the whole seven years. 
 
 ARTHUR: What you complain of is that I can't make 
 pretty speeches. When^you talk about an emotion you 
 only stifle it. Words only deafen the senses. This talk, 
 too, is superfluous. 
 
 KATHERINE: \sadly] I suppose it is. Then let us 
 part friends, [rises.] 
 
 ARTHUR : Is it so easy for you ? 
 
 80
 
 KATHERINE : I don't know. As you say, I am nervous 
 and upset. Perhaps later I shall see more clearly. I 
 only see now that I must leave you. [goes to the 
 window.'] 
 
 AETHUR : I cannot keep you against your will . . . 
 and do not wish to. 
 
 KATHERINE: [nods sadly} No. 
 
 ARTHUR : [paces up and down the room. The finality 
 toward which the affair has turned does. not please him. 
 He seeks to re-open the discussion] Why do you say we 
 have never been truthful ? What did you mean by that ? 
 
 KATHERINE : [comes slowly down to him'] You never 
 knew me. In seven years you did not learn to know me. 
 It was partly my fault in the beginning I started 
 wrongly. I deceived you. 
 
 ARTHUR: How did you deceive me? 
 
 KATHERINE : By pretending to be what I was not. I 
 was so young when we first met, and you were so strong 
 and impressive, so cheerful, so sure of yourself . . . 
 I cannot tell you with what awe and admiration I re- 
 garded you. It seemed to me that to become self-suffi- 
 cient and strong like you was the greatest thing to be 
 desired. Often, as your little assistant, I used to sit 
 near you, silently worshipping and imitating you. Do 
 you remember how apt I was, how quick to understand 
 the most complicated apparatus? . . . And some- 
 times you used to mock me in your sarcastic way because 
 I was so prudish ... or you would tell me about 
 your life how you ran away from your stern father and 
 came over the sea ... over the wide sea. It was all 
 so wonderful, so big to me ! . . . Do you remember 
 how you used to say to me, "Go among people smiling 
 and unafraid. Ask nothing of life, and you will owe
 
 life nothing." Do you remember? . . . That was 
 how I pretended to be. How foolish I was ! 
 
 ARTHUR: [approaches her, touches her hair lightly] 
 How you excite yourself, Katherine, all for nothing ! 
 
 KATHERINE: [moves away from his touch} No, 
 Arthur, don't think that. Don't believe that if you are 
 considerate and tender now . . . That can't make 
 any difference. It is too late. 
 
 ARTHUR: Has my conduct been so unpardonable, 
 Katherine ? 
 
 KATHERINE : No, it's not that. It is simply that you 
 have no more power over me. 
 
 ARTHUR: [softly] And ... he? 
 
 KATHERINE : Yes, he can do with me what he will 
 just as you could long ago. 
 
 ARTHUR: [after a pause, during which he seems to be 
 forcing himself to say something] If it was my fault, 
 it was not in the way you suppose. Hereafter I shall 
 have to be more considerate of you. You don't seem to 
 understand yourself quite. 
 
 KATHERINE: [shakes her head] But you cannot 
 help me. 
 
 ARTHUR: And for these trifling misunderstandings 
 can you turn your back on your whole life? Your 
 pleasure in our work, our achievements, your pride in 
 our little home, our establishment that we have built up, 
 you and I, between us do these things mean nothing to 
 you any more? 
 
 KATHERINE: [bitterly] They never meant anything 
 to me never. Not your work, not your sick, none of 
 it ! I tolerated them only to please you, to be useful to 
 you, to grow closer to you that was why. But I hate 
 them now because . . . because you don't mean any- 
 thing more to me. 
 
 82
 
 ARTHUR : [in a sudden burst of rage] I'll not let you 
 go away. 
 
 KATHERINE: [scornfully] Oh! 
 
 ARTHUR: You shan't go to him. [She starts to go; 
 he bars the way; she tries to pass him] 
 
 KATHERINE : Please ! 
 
 ARTHUR: [brutally'] You are going to stay here, [as 
 she tries o pass him he grasps her arm roughly.] 
 
 KATHERINE: [crying out with pain] Oh! You are 
 hurting me. 
 
 [Arthur releases her and steps back, leans against 
 
 the big table, fumbling at his collar hotly, then in a 
 
 rage sweeps the vase to the floor, where it breaks to 
 
 pieces with a crash. Instantaneously he recovers his 
 
 composure and goes to the window slowly, his back to 
 
 Katherine.] 
 
 KATHERINE: [after a long pause, during which she 
 looks at him yearningly] Too late, Arthur. If I had 
 seen you like this but once, only once, in the past seven 
 years, once to be overcome by emotion ! Still, what hurts 
 you more than losing me is seeing me go to a man who 
 appears so insignificant to you. You can't care for 
 people. All you desire is the sensation of strength and 
 mastery over your life. But I can't be like that. I don't 
 want to be now. And so I am going to a man who is 
 like myself . . . yes, who has sorrows that he feels 
 and will share with me. And who can love, Arthur. I 
 can be something to him because he don't consider 
 himself 
 
 ARTHUR: [turns; interrupts her, banteringly] You 
 mean doesn't, my dear. Pardon me for correcting you, 
 but don't is a contraction of the words "do not." One 
 wouldn't say, "He do not consider." 
 
 83
 
 KATHERINE: Ah! The master is himself again. 
 [goes reluctantly to the door at left."] 
 
 ARTHUR: Indeed. 
 
 KATHERINE: Now you have a new theme to discuss 
 with Dr. Rokoro. 
 
 ARTHUR : When do you go ? 
 
 KATHERINE: At once. 
 
 ARTHUR: I will send for my lawyer tomorrow. 
 
 KATHERINE: Very well. 
 
 ARTHUR: [detaining her"] One thing more. I have 
 a last request to make. Will you leave me Titus ? The 
 beast is so used to me, he won't be able to tolerate a new 
 master. Dogs are like that, you know. 
 
 KATHERINE: [nods assent; then softly'] Good-bye, 
 Arthur; I wish you much happiness. 
 
 ARTHUR: Melodramatic again! Perhaps Thompson 
 will permit us to see each other once in a while Just as 
 good neighbors, you know. I suppose we shall be 
 neighbors. 
 
 KATHERINE: Perhaps. [She starts to go out, but half- 
 unwillingly turns to him again."] 
 
 ARTHUR: [starts toward her; checks himself with an 
 effort] Now is the moment for me to throw out my 
 arms and cry, "Do not leave me! Stay, Katherine! 
 Forgive me ! Katherine, I love you !" Isn't that what 
 you turned back for? 
 
 KATHERINE : [sorrowfully] Be happy, Arthur, [exits 
 slowly at left."] 
 
 ARTHUR: [stares after her ; laughs wildly] Ha! [he 
 rings for the servant; sits at the table, pretending to be 
 working. Ida, enters from left."] 
 
 IDA: Clemens is in the garden. Is there anything 7 
 can do? 
 
 84
 
 ARTHUR: [at the table; keeping still with difficulty] 
 Oh ! I want you. You must take over the work of in- 
 spection, all my wife's work, in fact. . . . My wife 
 is going away ... In other words ... we have 
 separated. . . . God ! Don't make such a stupid face. 
 Such things happen. You will understand better after 
 you are married . . . And ask Dr. Eokoro if he won't 
 see me in here for a moment. . . . And have those 
 pieces removed. The vase was smashed. 
 
 [Ida stoops to gather the fragments of the vase. 
 
 Suddenly she begins to sob violently. Arthur looks up 
 
 wonderingly] 
 Ida, what is the matter? 
 
 IDA: [sobbing] You must be very unhappy, master. 
 
 ARTHUR: Why? 
 
 IDA : If only you wouldn't fight back your feelings, it 
 wouldn't hurt you so much. 
 
 ARTHUR : [crossly] . Will you call Dr. Rokoro, please ? 
 
 [Rokoro enters at left] 
 I was just sending for you, little doctor. 
 
 [Ida exits, sobbing, with the fragments of the vase.] 
 
 ARTHUR: Well, have you heard the news? [Rokoro 
 nods gravely] It seems like a victory for you, doesn't 
 it, my little philosopher? 
 
 ROKORO : [approaches him solicitously, takes his hand 
 and strokes it gently] Not talk now, master. Talk 
 later . . . tomorrow. 
 
 ARTHUR: You think utility has gone sadly astray, 
 don't you? But I am not so sure. See! A man de- 
 termines to solve each problem of his life by reason alone. 
 His wife betrays him. And instead of killing her, or 
 divorcing her, or killing himself, he forgives her. What 
 happens? He is laughed at. Well, he exacted that. 
 Honorable people of whom my irreproachJBfe brother 
 
 85
 
 is a sublime example despise him. Well, he might 
 hate expected that, too. Then schoolboys, who have 
 read their Plutarch without understanding it, come to 
 him and honor him as their leader. He could even 
 bear that. Xext the wife, for whom he has done all 
 this, mpnarlMi him, leaves him in hate and goes to her 
 lover. Even that is not so terrible . . . But when 
 tiie two people who are of use to him of bodily use, 
 9* to speak are ashamed of him because be is not 
 heartbroken . . . the last straw is reached. That 
 is too modi. [**?**] Nothing is left to me except 
 Titos, the dog. The dog, after all, is the only philosopher 
 Aiming yon. When yon come to write your analysis of 
 our Caucasian culture make a note of that dog, little 
 doctor . . . And don't make me out too much of an 
 ass in jour book, will you ? Put it milder. ... Or 
 at any rate, say I was a good surgeon. A surgeon needn't 
 necessarily understand human nature. Or do you believe 
 this is going to ruin my practice, too; that I had better 
 go wandering with you 
 
 BOKOKO: [pleadingly] Master! 
 
 AKTHTB: Yes, this is the finish of your master. 
 People can laugh now. If something goes wrong with a 
 poor devil, everybody pities him; but who has pity for 
 the strong? . . . Thank God I still hare left my sense 
 of humor. [his thoughts appear to go to something A 
 vfttZe he mechanically repeats] Still my sense of humor ! 
 
 BOKOSO : [crouches down betide him; grinning mirth- 
 lessly] Xo more . . . today . . . about this . . . 
 Will you read with me . . . something out of 
 Xieifflche? 
 
 AKHUR: Good chap! [lost in thought again] "Give 
 me the man that is not passion's slave," says Hamlet. 
 See! All my life I have schooled myself to be free of my
 
 passions. And I was free. But who knows whether a 
 slave would not have made my wife happier. Yes, for 
 she lacked the power of reason . . . But, you little 
 Jap, that doesn't prove my philosophy false. I began 
 wrongly that was all. The mistake lay in marrying a 
 wanton 
 
 EOKOEO: [springs up in disgust] Ooh! [moves 
 quickly across the room, shuddering with disgust] Ooh ! 
 [points at Arthur accusingly] You are not good . . . 
 Yes . . . right ! . . . She was right ! 
 
 ARTHUR : You were always a bit in love with her. 
 
 EOKORO: [frightened; denies it quickly; his finger 
 raised as if swearing] Never ! But she was good . . . 
 very good woman, [approaches Arthur; points at him 
 accusingly] You are not good ... I would not 
 remain with you either. Ooh ! 
 
 ARTHUR : Because I am not good ? 
 
 ROKORO: [sharply] Yes. 
 
 ARTHUR : [reproachfully] Little doctor ! 
 
 EOKORO : [relenting] True . . . you mean well 
 . . . but your system ... it is false. False! 
 False! False all over! ... If you love, you must 
 be able to hate, too. Yes, on the other side of love there 
 must be hate . . . and shoot, too, master . . . 
 that goes with it. You must wish to shoot, if you love. 
 . . . But to hold one's self so, in one's hand [raises 
 his clenched fist] to be sure of one's self . . . always 
 to be right . . . to be right over everyone .... 
 always . . . that is not enough. No, it is not good 
 just to be right . . . Better to give everything to 
 someone . . . everything you have ... to give 
 so much that there is nothing left to give anyone else. 
 That ! That is good ! No one must feel always "I am 
 right" 
 
 87
 
 ARTHUR: [who has listened attentively; laughs softly] 
 And God, little doctor, what of Him ? 
 
 ROKORO : He needs to be right . . . His business is 
 to be right . . . but not for us. He sits above . . . 
 Is it not so ? . . . like a great Judge. He must see 
 everything and understand . . . But a little horse 
 who runs here below . . . shall he try to be like 
 God? No ... no . . . He can only . . . 
 quick, quick . . . run, run . . . over the road of 
 life ... in what direction the reins are pulled. And 
 passion pulls the reins . . . Difficult for me in 
 English! . . . But do you see what I mean? He 
 is the true master who runs bravest with his passions. 
 
 ARTHUR: [reflecting] Then, if I understand you 
 rightly, man is not master of his life, but, rather a 
 marionette. 
 
 ROKO no: Marionette! What is that? 
 
 ARTHUR: You. 
 
 ROKORO : What does it mean ? 
 
 ARTHUR: It means what you make out a man to be. 
 Do you know what a puppet is ? 
 
 ROKORO: [pleased] Oh, yes. [indicates with his 
 finger] So ? 
 
 ARTHUR: [watches the jumping finger] Yes. Behind 
 the wires are drawn. Cares, emotions, passions pull 
 the wires, and accordingly the puppet dances. Isn't that 
 what you mean ? 
 
 ROKORO : [rubs his hands with satisfaction] Exactly 
 . . . just exactly. 
 
 ARTHUR: And who knows? Perhaps it is a tragic 
 mistake not to be a puppet. 
 
 ROKORO: Aren't we mortals better off for it? . . . 
 To feel a power above us ... beyond us ... that 
 pushes and pulls and drives . . . and we must do 
 
 88
 
 what it wants ... we cannot help ourselves . . . 
 It is stronger than we. [hesitates; looks self-consciously 
 down as if he is ashamed of what he is about to say} 
 Master, don't try . . . any longer ... to cut the 
 wires with the scissors of your reason. 
 
 [Looks up, sees that Arthur is no longer listening; 
 stops talking, steps cautiously away, looks back at him 
 again, then starts to go softly to the door.} 
 ARTHUR: [coming out of a reverie, during which he 
 wipes his moist eyes with his hand} Little doctor! 
 [turns to look at Rokoro, then settles back peacefully} 
 Don't go away. [Rokoro comes back} Stay here. I'd 
 rather not be alone today. Isn't it stupid? Tomorrow 
 tomorrow I shall have myself in hand again. 
 
 EOKORO : [cowers down at Arthur's feet like a faithful 
 dog} Dear master! 
 
 ARTHUR: [reaches down; pulls Rokoro's ear; smiles 
 wistfully} Puppet ! [stares thoughtfully into the glow- 
 ing end of his cigarette.} 
 
 Curtain 
 
 89
 
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