THE CRAFT OF THE TORTOISE 
 
THE CRAFT OF 
 THE TORTOISE 
 
 A Play in Four Acts 
 
 BY 
 
 ALGERNON TASSIN 
 
 BONI AND LIVERIGHT 
 NEW YOJ*K 1919 
 
 LlHKARi 
 
 0HIYERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1919, 
 BONI AND LIVERIGHT, INC. 
 
 Copyright also in Great Britain and Ireland and in all 
 countries subscribing to the Bern Convention 
 
 This play in its printed form is designed for the reading public only. All 
 dramatic rights in it are fully protected by copyright, both in the United States 
 and Great Britain, and no public or private performance professional or amateur 
 may be given without the written permission of the author and the payment of royalty. 
 As the courts have also ruled that the public reading of a play for pay or where 
 tickets are sold constitutes a performance, no such reading may be given except 
 under the conditions above stated. Anyone disregarding the author's rights renders 
 himself liable to prosecution. Communications should be sent to the author, care 
 of the publishers, 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE tortoise of the fable finally won the race for two 
 reasons. The major one was preeminently masculine; 
 the minor one was preeminently feminine. 
 
 Although the hare himself in a moment of contemptu 
 ous boasting had suggested it, the idea of their being 
 pitted against each other was so ridiculous to a person of 
 his nimble legs that he looped all over the adjacent ter 
 ritory and then took a nap. He felt confident that when 
 ever he elected to return to the course he could easily 
 whisk in ahead. Thus it was not at all that he disdain 
 fully tossed her a specious advantage by this gallivanting 
 (as is the habit of his human prototype) ; or that he de 
 sired to throw in for the benefit of the sole spectator a 
 few pyrotechnics (also a mannish characteristic) ; or 
 even that he tried to stimulate his own languid interest, 
 in a race so one-sided, by developing an artificial excite 
 ment (which would have been behavior eminently 
 human). It was merely that the thought of her as a real 
 competitor never entered his silly head. 
 
 Those possessing the confidence of an enormous ad 
 vantage, as JEsop would say, have ever underestimated 
 not so much their competitors as the difficulties in the 
 way of recovering lost time and making a brilliant last- 
 moment finish. The idea has ever intrigued the vigorous. 
 Indeed, it lends the crowing exuberance to vigor, this 
 feeling that there is plenty of time for the final easy 
 demonstration of one's superiority. Nor can it be denied 
 that to make the grand tour yet win the race at the same 
 time is the summum bonum of human existence. 
 
 2082464 
 
yi Preface 
 
 That is possibly the reason why the deathbed repent 
 ance occupied for so many centuries the principal place 
 in the imagination of the Christian church and actuated 
 so many of its forms. Not only had Holy Writ fur 
 nished instances of the most colorful and romantic na 
 ture, but many of its soberer teachings were calculated 
 to enhearten the philanderer who would throw himself 
 panting and victorious over the line at the last moment. 
 If the wages of the eleventh hour servant equalled the 
 wages of those who had borne the heat of the day, why 
 report for duty any earlier than necessary? If there is 
 less joy in Heaven for the ninety and nine that need no 
 repentance than for the one sinner that returneth just as 
 grace is finally over and the meal is being spread, why 
 not contribute noticeably to the delight of the angels? 
 Especially as, the passage hinting substantially at bore 
 dom, it would seem prudent to enter so permanent a com 
 munity not only as the welcomest of citizens but with a 
 reputation already established as a dispenser of smiles 
 and an enlivener of tedium. 
 
 To men as to angels the plodder has ever been unat 
 tractive. Terrestrially speaking, only in human society 
 is the drone encouraged. In school and college, the 
 children of the species delight to dub him "greasy," an 
 epithet so loose as to seem picked for its opprobrium. 
 In maturer social circles, the thoughtful spender laying 
 foundation for future solidity is stigmatized as a tight 
 wad; and a spendthrift who scatters coin in one's own 
 direction is approved by the most hardened of moralists. 
 Nor is there lack of scriptural authority. Jesus admired 
 the lilies of the field because they toiled not nor spun; 
 and he is represented, in the most curious of passages, 
 as administering a somewhat ungracious rebuke to one 
 of his hostesses, the plodding Martha who looked out 
 for his creature comforts, in favor of her sister, al 
 though manifestly the house could not have kept itself. 
 Our fiction exploits the prodigal; there is no romance 
 
Preface vii 
 
 in the ledger, its balancing or its balancer. The knight 
 errant is the pictorial personage, not the knight who 
 stayed at home and managed his farm, though there 
 must have been several of these unknown to song and 
 story. Say what you please, he that kissed and rode 
 away has inspired more delightful memories than the 
 lover who settled down to the humdrum business of pay 
 ing the rent and feeding the children. Wherever one 
 looks, in the teaching of the church or in the sorry habit 
 of the world, the dull sensible plodder is discouraged. 
 
 The church, of course, catered to the weakness of 
 humanity in this matter; and the prevalence among men 
 of this tradition so sedulously cultivated, points to some 
 basic reason. May it not be man's elaborate justification 
 of his prevailing vices ? For the edifying ending of all 
 our novels and plays is simply hoakem; nobody would 
 read stories which began as they finish. What we really 
 want is the tale of an irresponsible gallivanter who un 
 dergoes a last page conversion to the proprieties we like 
 to consider an appropriate influence for the young; who 
 breaks every moral maxim except the only attractive one 
 setting forth that it is never too late to mend. Even a 
 priest finds a sizable sin surprisingly grateful in the 
 tedious round of small confessions; and the mildest of 
 ministers sniggers when a reprobate hails him as a gay 
 dog. The fleeing Joseph is subject for laughing every 
 where but in a book. Here he ceases at once to be 
 entertaining, and his thwarting of promising adventure 
 becomes an unmixed exasperation. What is the use of 
 books, we say, unless they are more interesting than most 
 of us allow ourselves to be? And as nowhere in life 
 are brilliant finishes provided outside of the realm of 
 religion, let us minister to our craving and at the same 
 time uphold the teachings of the church by providing 
 them in literature. For, as some one has remarked, the 
 last page conversion is as comforting to all concerned 
 as the deathbed repentance. It is impossible to demon- 
 
viii Preface 
 
 strata its inefficacy; one has had all the delights of 
 the feast while the appetite still remained keen ; and the 
 eternal verities are reestablished just as indigestion sets 
 in. 
 
 Yes, the tortoise had only the virtue of the plodder; 
 and it is of all virtues where all lack zest to the specta 
 tor the least colorful. The occasional conflict with vice 
 enlivens even the possessor of virtue with a brief ex 
 hilaration, but the tortoise struggles with nothing so 
 lively as vice merely with its juiceless shadow, tempta 
 tion. The only comfort of the plodder, putting aside 
 one after another the endless enticements to pleasant loi 
 tering and pleasanter aberration, is to keep the physical 
 eye upon the ground covered inch by inch and the spirit 
 ual vision upon the distant goal. The heroism of the 
 plodder has never been rightly applauded since it is en 
 tirely unspectacular. It consists not only in rigorously 
 shutting out the scenery but in as rigorously closing the 
 mind to a recognition that would paralyze all endeavor. 
 At any moment the hare may dash joyously back from 
 adventure and come rollicking in ahead, cutting the tor 
 toise out of the rewards of the race and of the mani 
 fold privations upon the journey. Yet who shall say 
 that this stern limitation of the horizon is a heroism after 
 all? It may be only that mute dependence upon fun 
 damental human psychology which still exists among us 
 despite the teachings of the church to the contrary. The 
 habit of gambolling is not to be put off at will. The hare 
 is a gamboler still, even when the tortoise is nosing the 
 line. Glancing back from the heights of the beckoning 
 adventure, he beholds the tortoise dragging her slow 
 length past the stake yet before her hinderparts are 
 well across, he may still crop that biggest daisy just 
 beyond and frisk triumphantly in, his victory more gold 
 en that it is snatched from apparent defeat just as um 
 pire fox is about to award the prize. So it is ever with the 
 hare, and who shall say that the thought has not buoyed 
 
Preface ix 
 
 the plodding tortoise from the moment she set out? If 
 plodding is the least colorful of the virtues, it is the only 
 one which does not wait until heaven to find its reward. 
 Perhaps this is after all the final reason why the tor 
 toise is humanly unattractive. Not only have men and 
 theologians got together to belittle her, but the jealous 
 other virtues have also entered the social conspiracy to 
 cheapen her invariable success. The entire human fab 
 ric saves its face at the expense of the plodder. 
 
 Yet though decidedly handicapped by a virtue 
 which we have been taught to detest, the tortoise 
 is not devoid of human attractiveness. What is the 
 essence of our eternal delight in the tramp, the vaga 
 bond? Not that he roams, surely; but that wherever he 
 roams he is always at home, and in a house for which 
 he pays no rent. To carry one's house on one's back, 
 to be able to retire within it upon the slightest threat of 
 danger, to drop asleep in one's tracks with perfect se 
 curity from marauders, to extrude oneself delightfully 
 in the morning and set off without any formality and 
 with the knowledge that one will not have to oust an un 
 welcome tenant at nightfall all this is a convenient 
 union of domesticity and adventure. These are abilities 
 which the frisking hare, nay even the stalking lion, might 
 covet. Let others burrow or build or search for partial 
 security in cavern or crevice, the tortoise is provided by 
 birthright with both shelter and armor. And so another 
 item of fundamental psychology may have buoyed the 
 tortoise in her toilful journey. She came slowly but she 
 carried her house on her back. Not for nothing is the 
 tortoise in the ancientest mythology the earth-bearer, the 
 symbol of the origin of things and their permanence. 
 The tortoise, wherever she strays, is an essential house 
 keeper. 
 
 The moral support of a well-fitting back has been 
 alluded to by a brilliant lady who understood one of the 
 more obvious functions of woman's clothes to humiliate 
 
x Preface 
 
 her less fortunate sisters. This play develops the theme 
 that woman compensated for her bodily inferiority to 
 man, which handicapping her in the beginning proved her 
 strength in the end, by the utilization of her apparel. 
 This armor differs from the shell of the zoological tor 
 toise in that it is not for defense but for offense. Yet 
 if not her actual birthright, it was improvised if one 
 may believe the whimsical story of Adam and Eve at 
 most the day after she was created. Let Eve fabricate 
 what story she pleased to fob off on the architect of the 
 garden, she perceived instinctively that the apparent is 
 never as tempting as the suggested. She achieved on the 
 evening of her birth the greatest height to which man 
 has ever climbed by the painful exertion of his much- 
 boasted, late-acquired imagination. No sooner had she 
 discovered Adam's invaluable appetite than her intuition 
 told her that it would grow listless unless artificially 
 stimulated. And she utilized his stupid fear to explain 
 her innovation plausibly. That she clad him also, was 
 only a further ruse to hide her motive. One may guess 
 that she did so reluctantly, with contempt for his hulk 
 ing wits and with much regret for the wise caution of 
 concealing her cleverness until she had looked around a 
 bit. It was a policy she soon found not worth while to 
 pursue. Manifold other clevernesses she has discovered 
 since and utilized his stupidity to go on exercising them 
 in concealment; but with this, the first-born of her inven 
 tion, she shortly discarded subterfuge and allowed her 
 motive to be partially discerned by her mate perhaps 
 because she foresaw he would never have wit enough to 
 profit by it or because she perceived at once that he pre 
 ferred artificial stimulation anyway, even if he saw 
 through it. 
 
 The woman in her slow race for supremacy utilized not 
 only the clothes which she made herself but those which 
 society made for her. This play deals with some suc 
 cessive spurts which the tortoise accomplished while the 
 
Preface xi 
 
 hare was gambolling or napping. It presents several 
 women who utilized the draperies of society for their 
 personal advantage. For the craft of the human tortoise 
 is not only to plod. Every forward inch has been ac 
 complished by trickery also. The long history of the 
 selfishness and brutality of men to the weaker sex made 
 this the only means of advancement. 
 
 Let it not be thought that this play misrepresents 
 that history. An historical fact does not cease to be seri 
 ous because it has now become funny. Nor should the 
 farcical interpretation of some of the incidents in this 
 play discredit the authenticity of the facts at the basis 
 of most of them. Tribes still exist where the warrior 
 disdains the menial service of bringing home his kill or 
 even feeding himself. Intermittently for a period of 
 some centuries in the Middle Ages, the idea persisted 
 that women should conceal their hair. This period has 
 been somewhat extended to include the invention of the 
 corset, often ascribed to Catherine de Medici; and this 
 innovation has arbitrarily been made to coincide with the 
 subsequent invention of the farthingale, at its height (or 
 breadth) under Queen Elizabeth. The priests of the 
 Middle Ages are full of censure for the unmanly ex 
 cesses of male attire; and sought to curb them rather 
 than the extravagances of women, which, long before fluc 
 tuating styles of dress had been even dimly suggested, 
 they seem to have given up as a hopeless job. The early 
 Christians' mandate against all jewelry and ornamenta 
 tion save in the service of the church encouraged such 
 richness of priestly apparel that it was not until late 
 in the Middle Ages that the church succeeded in compel 
 ling the clergy to adopt a uniform. By this time also, 
 with the political prudence which always marked it, the 
 church had extinguished the brilliant career of the Lady 
 Abbess. The summary marriage of landed women by 
 edicts of the overlord had reached the proportion of a 
 scandal and had to be checked, not by the church but by 
 
xii Preface 
 
 the State, before a less candid civilization adopted the 
 more disguised form of succeeding periods. The detailed 
 rules and regulations of the Love Game and the serious 
 ness with which these were followed for the moment by 
 polite society, the universal practice of the uncommer- 
 cialized mistress succeeded by the vogue of the acknowl 
 edged and supported one (followed in a less candid civi 
 lization by the supported but unacknowledged one), the 
 absence of social stigma for the illegitimate all these 
 are matters of history. Also they are matters of history 
 that can be matched by as farcical beliefs and practices 
 which seriously exist today, in their turn to become seri 
 ous matters of farce tomorrow. 
 
 This play shows, too, the power of the church develop 
 ing by trickery as well as the power of woman. The 
 career of the one has been bound up in the career of 
 the other. The church with its male priests naturally 
 took in the beginning the male attitude. Yet priests and 
 women early recognized each other as allies; and in the 
 beginning, women were doubtless as scornful of their 
 allies as their allies remained until recently scornful of 
 them. Their position, function, and vocation in the 
 household of the master were similar ; and their opportu 
 nity to play into each other's hands against him must 
 soon have been made apparent. The priests, of course, 
 had the inestimable superiority in their ability to capi 
 talize his stupid fear, which they soon learned to in 
 crease by mechanical invention. It gave them an un 
 approachable strategic position; but for the rest they 
 were dependents like women, existing by his favor and 
 feeding. As women's personal function was to serve 
 his appetite, so the priest's personal function was to 
 serve his vanity. But this was by a most ingenious re 
 move. Just as women were consorts as well as slaves 
 to men, so priests were consorts as well as slaves to the 
 gods; and it was to the vanity of these they were os 
 tensibly administering while in reality administering 
 
Preface xiii 
 
 to man's. It is not improbable that women learned from 
 priests as quickly as from war that they also could ad 
 minister to the vanity of man. Being stupidly boast 
 ful himself and reasoning that the powers of earth and 
 air could be flattered or bribed into better treatment, he 
 made these men that he could do so with more surety. 
 They were men like himself, except, being manifestly 
 stronger, he equipped them with more arms and legs 
 and other members. Having thus flattered them, in 
 time he had the inspiration to flatter himself by pro 
 claiming that they had created him, with the necessary 
 exceptions, in their own image a rather poor flattery, 
 as man has always been better than his gods. Their 
 go-betweens he treated as a sort of privileged women, 
 fearing and yet disdainful of them. Even today the 
 peasants of some countries publicly flog their saints 
 when they do not bring good harvests or otherwise dis 
 appoint as go-betweens; and even in New York City 
 little Saint Josephs are ignobly stood upon their heads 
 until they restore lost property. 
 
 If priests did not long remain in their category, it 
 was because they early realized that no development was 
 possible as long as they remained in the home. Leav 
 ing it, they gradually came to rule men openly although 
 never entirely. Yet women, though remaining in the 
 home and hence in their category, gradually came to 
 rule men secretly although never entirely. Fear was 
 the pull in one case, sex in the other. But as the ob 
 jects of fear remained the same and the objects of sex 
 kept changing, the priests always had the better of it. 
 With the scientific explanation of the physical forces to 
 appease which by flattery he invented gods, man has 
 found them increasingly inconvenient and largely cast 
 them aside. 
 
 That woman, whose function formulated Christianity 
 so belittled, has remained more faithful to it would at 
 first sight seem an anomaly. Yet the explanation is 
 
xiv Preface 
 
 not far to seek. Having learned by long experience to 
 go around what she could not surmount and make the 
 best of what she could not help, she began to derive 
 from the very religion that threatened sex many sex 
 reactions. This was easily accomplished in that relig 
 ion even in its last evolution had, with its many sen 
 suous accompaniments and mystic symbols, never for 
 gotten that its first ritual was a sex manifestation; and 
 the deification of the crucified man of Nazareth with 
 its acutely visualized glorification of physical suffering 
 actually made the church whose dogma penalized sex 
 more sexual than some earlier religions. Social law had 
 allowed men sex experience at all times, but as social 
 law shaped itself under ecclesiastical influence it al 
 lowed women sex experience only within strict limita 
 tions; and the excluded woman found a psychic sex life 
 in the church, the more as for her had been invented 
 a special apparatus in the spiritual bridegroom and his 
 bride. All women, too, were glad to revive themselves 
 with the doctrine of the church that in heaven (even 
 though it admitted no such union, and she must leave 
 the house on her back an outworn shell behind her) 
 woman would be recompensed for all that a master's 
 god ordained that she should forfeit upon earth. 
 
 Of all the non-essential industries of man, god- 
 making and war-making have been the most inevitable 
 and piteous. They have the same derivation, fear and 
 fear-born swagger; and they have gone hand in hand. 
 That gods have always been carried forth to battle, 
 proves nothing of course; but it is significant that the 
 people at present most politically opposed to war are 
 as a class both by profession and accusation godless. 
 Nor was the continuous failure of formulated religion 
 to set itself against war ever more clearly demonstrated 
 than in the inception of the last two religions, Chris 
 tianity and Mohammedanism. The latter held out more 
 definite inducements to war than any religion previously 
 
Preface xv 
 
 contrived. In the campaign document which monastic 
 hands made of the teachings of Jesus, he figures as the 
 prince of peace who has come to bring a sword upon 
 earth. The human intellect is peculiarly at the mercy 
 of such naive contradictions as these, and religious 
 utterance had seized from the beginning upon its weak 
 ness for paradox. Folklore early accustoms the childish 
 mind to fairies as dainty repositories of unlimited 
 power, and, once accustomed to such beloved formulas, 
 few people grow so mature as to subject them to im 
 personal inspection. 
 
 The ability of custom to envelop with an endearing 
 haze the monstrous, the hideous, the absurd is endless. 
 Yet invent a new grotesquerie precisely similar, and who 
 so shocked as those who cling most tenderly to the 
 nursery? A curate will fondly make a pilgrimage for 
 the hot cross buns our cunning bakers display on Good 
 Friday surely an inherently shocking thing when he 
 would recoil in horror from a new advertisement of, let 
 us say, Easter Self-Raising Buckwheats. Tell such a 
 person, if you dare, that the Bolsheviki have made the 
 best demonstration of the so-called teachings of Jesus 
 since his day, in that they have in a whole-hearted and 
 wholesale manner put down the mighty from their seat 
 and exalted them of low degree, and you will speedily 
 discover that a sentiment hazed by abstraction or hea 
 venly remoteness is one thing, and its concrete and 
 localized eruption is another. It is, of course, impos 
 sible that the man who said Render unto Caesar the 
 things that are Caesar's and unto God the things that 
 are God's should ever have rejoiced in the contempla 
 tion of such indiscriminate topsyturvydom. This per 
 version of his teaching was merely another of the catch- 
 all processes by which his utterance was distorted into 
 a campaign document which should allure not only paci 
 fist and militarist but free and bond. 
 
 The Christian religion when formulated into a po- 
 
xvi Preface 
 
 litical engme was astutely calculated, as has been said, 
 to keep the enslaved and woman in subjection and to 
 make them accept their lot by substituting credit for 
 cash, reward in the next world for endurance in this. 
 It was more easily achieved in that the scattered sayings 
 of the simple socialistic teacher, who went about doing 
 good and healing people out of the abundance of that 
 life which he so confidently asserted and on which he 
 made such limitless drafts, were often in the approved 
 religious manner, vague and paradoxical. Nor did they 
 trouble themselves about consistency (if indeed we may 
 believe that any of them have come down as uttered) 
 any more than have those of other great energies before 
 or since. It is impossible to formulate enough general 
 remarks to cover the whole of human activity without 
 being inconsistent; and fortunately the great dynamic 
 personalities who have tried to do so have never dribbled 
 away their energy in mere carpenter work. Thomas a 
 Kempis alone, of all the great souls who have spiritually 
 energized humanity, is notable for consistency, and he 
 accomplished it only by having a harp with a single 
 string, the subduing of self. Jesus taught self-expres 
 sion as well as self-mastery; and since he did so, his 
 language could without much difficulty be sophisticated 
 into a battle-cry. 
 
 Despite the plentiful religious training to which both 
 as slaves and women they have been subjected in order 
 to increase their submission to man's yoke, women as a 
 sex have always been opposed to war. It must be 
 admitted, however, that her penchant for uniforms has 
 occasionally led her into identifying the trappings with 
 the function. Her weakness for masculine uniforms is, 
 by the way, very simply explained. They gratify her 
 taste for finery without in the least particular allowing 
 the individual man any scope for individuality in dress, 
 which she jealously guards as her own prerogative; and 
 they are at the same time a pleasing evidence of the 
 subjection of man to his own institutions which she 
 
Preface xvii 
 
 herself has always been encouraging as a step to her 
 ultimate subjugation of him. War itself she has always 
 opposed; and if during all the years of his domination, 
 it is not likely that she will care to exert this particular 
 mannishness in the day of her freedom. However her 
 activities in politics and business may bring her to re 
 semble man in superficial mental and even in deeper 
 temperamental qualities, she will never duplicate the 
 folly of this, the more obviously devastating of his lead 
 ing industries. She carries her house on her back. She 
 will not willingly see it imperilled or the work of her 
 body destroyed. It is impossible to expect peace at the 
 hands of men; the fierce race-protecting passion of 
 women is the only hope of the future as far as war is 
 concerned. 
 
 It may be too much to expect that women will long 
 defer the attempt to invent a female god. Having now 
 political and a partial industrial freedom, they will 
 naturally desire to replace a man-made god with one of 
 their own. Already there are signs of it. "O God 
 which art our father and our mother," was an invocation 
 beginning to be heard as early as the middle of the last 
 century. The two fashionable recently-made religions, 
 Christian Science and New Thought, are women move 
 ments. The first, while it introduced a new life princi 
 ple (or rather an old one which Christianity as an 
 engine discarded before it was tried), still adhered 
 somewhat closely to the old nomenclature and ma 
 chinery; but the second separated itself still further 
 from the last widely successful invention of man in 
 the way of gods. That women will succeed in banishing 
 what remains of this male despot is devoutly to be 
 hoped in the interests of genuine spirituality; but that 
 they will substitute for him a female god is just as 
 devoutly to be feared in the interests of genuine spirit 
 uality. Nevertheless the evolution is but simple pro 
 gression, from father to father-mother to mother-father 
 
xviii Preface 
 
 to mother unadulterated. Should women commit this 
 mannish stupidity, the spiritual development of the race 
 will again receive a check. 
 
 One feels, however, that even this regrettable occur 
 rence cannot plunge us back into the previous condition 
 of arrested development. Out of the Orient have come 
 all the gods that have endured, and consequently they 
 are all orientals. The Christian religion, fastening like 
 the two new-made religions just mentioned on a form 
 then in vogue, inherited an oriental despot who dis 
 dained a slave as his companion. This was bad enough, 
 but unfortunately it straightway fell into the hands of 
 emasculate ascetics who feared woman as a companion. 
 The Hebraic god was a notably majestic conception for 
 its time: his misuse of the all-power with which he was 
 endowed by the Hebrews was much less gross than that 
 of other tribal gods; and though he was endowed 
 neither with all-love nor all-wisdom, he was not 
 conspicuously hateful nor short-sighted except as his 
 war-making proclivities made him so. Jesus, unversed 
 in man's mental habits, was apparently for throwing 
 away this conception almost in entirety, but his more 
 worldly executives had other ideas. Jesus, the great 
 spiritual energy of no locality, did not fear to be a 
 companion of women; the orientalized St. Paul did, 
 although he had the masculine eagerness to utilize their 
 services in the new religion he began to administrate 
 out of an energy into an engine, out of a principle into 
 a creed, out of an emotion into a thought, out of an ideal 
 into an idea. The endeavor to amalgamate the Hebraic 
 god with what monkish temperaments interpreted to be 
 the god of Jesus had aspects both frightful and ludi 
 crous. The joining of the two in the dogma of the 
 church was so crude in places that the seamings still 
 leave fantastic gaps. It was an impossible undertaking, 
 of course, but so inexacting was a mankind carefully 
 swaddled in superstitious ignorance by its exploiters 
 
Preface xix 
 
 that the combination lasted as long as any other human 
 invention when exposed to the mechanical wear and tear 
 of progress. To sandpaper down the least jagged of 
 the joinings has been the major business of petty ec 
 clesiastical diplomats for centuries, the roughest of them 
 they wisely brazened out by resort to paradox. On the 
 whole, it has been a fruitless endeavor to metamorphose 
 a god of fear into a god of love. Fortunately at the 
 very outset the inherent paganism of Europe proved 
 strong enough to enforce many modifications in monkish 
 intention; and Christianity as a growing political en 
 gine embodied (with inimitable political acumen, it must 
 be owned) what it was unable to obliterate as naively 
 as it juggled the Roman saturnalia into the birthday of 
 its founder and the plowing feast into Easter and so 
 inexacting is mankind cradled in custom that it occurs 
 to few to wonder why Jesus was born upon a fixed date 
 arid died upon a movable one. Other modifications 
 followed as the antique inheritance grew increasingly 
 repellent to modern consciousness, but modified by pa 
 gan influences and later by humanitarian ones as he is, 
 he still remains a male oriental; and if women misuse 
 their new power by inventing a female occidental to 
 take his place, it will not however regrettable be 
 surprising. 
 
 For the god the monkish fathers finally achieved of 
 the rough joining of the Hebraic and the Paulist inven 
 tions was, in spite of several theological and ritualistic 
 concessions to sex, the arch enemy of sex love. Jesus 
 himself they represented as born of no sex union and 
 afterwards, when pagan influences had finally forced 
 her into reluctant prominence, his mother also. This 
 god cheapened and coarsened, despised and penalized 
 the most vital force of life out of which all the others 
 stem. The church had even the incredible temerity to 
 announce that marriage, which it was obliged to solem 
 nize if it would usurp all the orderly processes of gov- 
 
xx Preface 
 
 ernment, but prefigured the mystic union between Christ 
 and his disciples a conception as nauseous as it is 
 meaningless. There was no end to the absurdities into 
 which it was led in its enforced recognition of sex. It 
 was not good for man to live alone but it was better 
 if he could do so ; Heaven arranged marriages but would 
 have none of them; God had pronounced an eternal 
 curse against woman for the sex union which was now 
 sanctified as a sacrament. To all this degradation 
 women submitted, for nothing was possible save sub 
 mission. Man alone, with or without the aid of human 
 institutions, had been powerful enough to enslave her; 
 when he created divine ones, revolt became doubly hope 
 less. Perhaps she recognized dimly that she was not 
 the only one degraded. Certainly she recognized as did 
 he, and as usual even more than he, that theories were 
 one thing and practice was another. For human history 
 has shown that women will not endure any yoke she 
 really recognizes as a sex to be galling. Sex love went 
 on just the same, and had she perceived it to be penal 
 ized she would have revolted. She carried her house on 
 her back. Had it been really threatened, her fierce 
 race-protecting passion would have made as short work 
 of divine institutions as it has of all the human ones 
 which menace her in-turning proclivities. 
 
 She did not realize it, however, because just in the 
 same way as man made her an accomplice in mutilating 
 her body, so he had made her an accomplice in weaken 
 ing her mind. But naturally in this latter process he 
 had weakened his own mind also, as if his successive 
 religions and the defense of his vices had not already 
 done the job sufficiently. The Germans afforded a con 
 vincing illustration that you cannot consistently debauch 
 the minds of others without debauching your own. That 
 country has the credit of elevating propaganda to an 
 exact science in its attempt to subjugate all the other 
 countries of the world. But the sexes long ago em- 
 
Preface xxi 
 
 ployed propaganda in their attempt to subjugate each 
 other. What they lacked in organized distribution was 
 made up in the universality of their methods, and they 
 compensated for breadth of invention by the seductive 
 ness of their respective material. Man, for instance, 
 for many centuries sowed diligently the quaint notion 
 that his honor was in the keeping of his women. It 
 was a convenient idea, but apparently he had not the 
 faintest suspicion that this left him without any; nor 
 of how absurd, if his slave did enshrine his honor, was 
 his systematic attempt to deprive other men of the 
 honor thus made so all-inclusive. Women in return for 
 the sentiments men doled out to them naturally capi 
 talized their chief distinction. Among many other 
 things, they built up the notion that the automatic act 
 of maternity released in them a fund of god-given in 
 telligence, however previously inactive this may have 
 been. Apparently they had not the least suspicion that 
 men could compare their behavior with that of an earlier 
 stage and make up their own minds. Yet absurd as 
 the pretension was, it was not only a more prudent one 
 than man's but more natural also. For the confidence 
 of a peculiar possession always gives an hallucination 
 of some magical property. It is not long since Ameri 
 can congressmen as a body believed that an immigrant 
 underwent similar intellectual expansion upon touching 
 the free shores of America. Apparently, delivering a 
 child and coming down a gangplank confer in them 
 selves little mental or spiritual development. Thus if 
 the vote has not purged congressmen of this human 
 idiosyncrasy that there is some inherent magic in a 
 distinctive possession, we cannot expect that it will make 
 women relinquish the idea that maternity potential and 
 actual has made them finer and better vessels than men. 
 The first decades of suffrage will doubtless be marked 
 by destruction and chaos. Woman must not only go 
 through the half-slave period but through the period of 
 
xxii Preface 
 
 swaggering self-consciousness of freedom through 
 both of which we have seen the emancipated negro 
 passing. It is to be expected that in these two periods 
 everything that is petty and dishonorable in her heritage 
 as slave will come to the surface. The slow education 
 of responsibility may skim it off, as it is doing with 
 the negro slave enfranchised. Providing of course that 
 with equal steps man shears away the remnants of his 
 age-long attitude of slave-owner. Brutality has made 
 women brutal, exploitation has made them exploiters, 
 calculating deference has bred equally calculating sub 
 mission. In addition to these inevitable reactions, she 
 has the ferocity and the inability for abstract considera 
 tions of justice which go with the house-carrier. This 
 is the armor of Nature; and man's regulations of the 
 fatuous injustice of which he has at last grown semi 
 conscious have sharpened for her the only weapons at 
 her disposal, trickery and sex-exploitation. She cannot 
 on the instant lay down her arms even if she wanted to 
 do so, and the majority of women will not want to do so. 
 
 They will naturally insist upon holding fast to the old 
 and grasping the new at the same time. To expect them 
 to do otherwise is to grant women a power of reasoning 
 which men have never possessed. On the whole, the 
 chief woes of mankind have come from seeking to graft 
 the new and living shoot upon old and rotten stock. 
 They have continually carved out golden figure-heads 
 only to set them upon bodies of clay. But aside from 
 human habit, there is a particular reason why women 
 will not willingly abandon what they have got and will 
 exhibit in the next few years their pettiest features. At 
 this moment women are at their trickiest because they 
 are playing for their largest stakes. 
 
 The final years of woman's enslavement gave her, 
 in all respects but the most important one of sex- 
 experience, which indeed it curtailed the greatest priv 
 ileges she has ever known. The so-called age of 
 
Preface xxiii 
 
 chivalry, while it allowed her sex-freedom in fluctuating 
 degrees, allowed her little else but sacrificial garlands. 
 The vow of voluntary personal service which the mem 
 bers of the Knights Guild took upon themselves along 
 with other vows which had the priority, furnished ad 
 mirable copy; but we may be sure that the generous 
 deeds it gave room for figured more in literature than 
 in life. Chivalry was as hollow a pretense as the 
 equally vaunted protection which the church afforded 
 women in marriage. Man still made a pawn of her, 
 and the church substituted annulment for divorce with 
 results equally satisfactory to him. There existed no 
 general legal and social privilege for women, nor did 
 one ever exist until the latter part of the IQth Century. 
 Then, in spite of her political and occasional legal 
 disabilities, women suddenly received social privileges 
 before unheard of. Particularly was this the case in 
 America, where her easy arrogance became the amaze 
 ment of European men, more externally deferential and 
 far less complaisant. Her privileges were most ap 
 parent in the courts, where they should have been least. 
 The evidence to secure her conviction must be several 
 times stronger than that which would suffice for a man; 
 a male thief was a thief, a female thief was a klepto 
 maniac. In most cases for murder she was acquitted or 
 received a nominal sentence; and if by chance the death 
 penalty was returned she was generally reprieved; if a 
 woman murdered a man it served the brute right; if a 
 man murdered a woman she was always his victim; 
 while men could murder men with impunity if they could 
 plead the unwritten law, they could not with equal 
 safety murder their wives who had been unfaithful. 
 In society as before the law, wherever moral responsi 
 bility was in question the assumption of mental and 
 moral inferiority was invoked not only by wishy-washy 
 public opinion but often by the offender herself. Yet 
 she immediately discarded the assumption when the 
 
xxiv Preface 
 
 stakes were won. Like Lady Macbeth, women allow 
 their nerves to overcome them only when weakness is 
 the trump card. In nature there exists nothing so 
 preposterous as aggressive weakness; it is a latter day 
 invention of civilization, the disconcerting result of the 
 humanitarian sentiments we have been inoculating our 
 selves with for a century. But the cannon by which we 
 have leveled many of the most odious of time-honored 
 institutions has a back kick which threatens to work 
 almost equal havoc with justice. For might makes right 
 we have substituted weakness makes right; and weak 
 ness real and simulated has hastened to take advantage 
 of the equally absurd axiom. The purely social exac 
 tions of woman are too many to speak of, but are 
 perhaps nowhere so apparent as in the least grievous 
 of them. Just why woman thinks herself degraded by 
 the removal of a man's coat in summer is possibly 
 worthy of extended psychological research. It is not 
 even a matter of dishabille. A lady of the shirt-waist 
 era with neck turned in and sleeves rolled up on account 
 of the heat would passionately object to a man clad in 
 a similar belt and shirt and with cuffs and collar and 
 tie all in proper position; and the several attempts of 
 the timid male assisted by haberdasher's specialties to 
 adapt his costume to our semi-tropical summer climate 
 have been easily frustrated by half-naked women. Thus 
 from society's highest manifestation of order when 
 human life stands before its elected tribunal to the 
 smallest instance of daily behavior, women have of late 
 enjoyed social supremacy. 
 
 It is not to be expected, then, that they will discard 
 more privileges than the world ever offered them before 
 now that they have their rights. Some few women 
 leaders have scorned to be privileged, it is true, but 
 suffragists as a class have eagerly taken advantage of 
 every privilege while clamoring for their just rights. 
 In England and America they have attacked policemen 
 
Preface xxv 
 
 and cried "Shame, would you strike a woman!" In 
 both countries they have utilized sex appeal as well as 
 sex immunity and dressed for legislatures as they ges 
 tured for juries. Also they have shown themselves as 
 an organized body to be what every wise man knew 
 them to be as individuals, keener and cleverer than men 
 in getting their own way. In England they have sys 
 tematically committed acts of violence and claimed ex 
 emption from prison regulations as political offenders; 
 in America they have invoked State rights when they 
 served and repudiated them when they did not serve. 
 It is a rash man who will engage that the cleverness of 
 women will not next be turned to the invention of some 
 pretext to retain their privileges and exercise their 
 rights at the same time. The course of the Suffrage 
 movement indicates plainly that what woman wants is 
 entire legal, political, and industrial equality but not 
 social equality. The social supremacy conferred upon 
 her in the latter half of the 19th Century she is 
 anxious to keep. Like the enfranchised negro, she will 
 want to go on helping herself to her ex-master's goods 
 when she is getting her wages. 
 
 Certainly men cannot prevent it as long as woman 
 is willing to exploit her sex. Unless, indeed, he re 
 taliates by systematically exploiting his own. That 
 this, common enough in individuals, is unthinkable in 
 men as a class is high praise for the honor which men 
 as a sex have been able in some fashion to scrabble 
 together in spite of the absurdities and brutalities of 
 their sex pretensions. Even if it is only the result of 
 their male egotism and of their economic freedom, it is 
 still commendable. The remedy, if woman cares to 
 apply it, is in her own hands. All that men can do is 
 to hasten the day when she shall care to apply it, by 
 washing himself clean of all traces of slave-owner. 
 These are many and prominent, although on the whole 
 they are not so important as woman's heritage of slave. 
 
xxvi Preface 
 
 From the bondage of each the real emancipation is a 
 spiritual one. Slave-owners cannot cease to be slave 
 owners by fiat any more than slaves can cease to be 
 slaves. 
 
 Man's unreasoning sense of property in woman will 
 persist as long as woman remains his accomplice in the 
 denial of her right to sex experience. He demonstrated 
 his proprietorship in her chiefly by denying her sex 
 experience except under conditions laid down by him 
 self. He actually attempted to convince the house- 
 carrier that she had no sex needs until he gave the word. 
 Fortunately for the future of the race, men as well as 
 women, his overweening project was defeated by his 
 own dishonesty. While he established this right with 
 his own women and made it theoretically the law of 
 society, he was assiduously undermining it all the time 
 with the women of other slave owners and convincing 
 them that they had sex needs to which he alone was 
 fitted to administer. A male Penelope, he unravelled 
 at night what he reconstructed by day. Otherwise, the 
 notion might have been permanently implanted in 
 women. 
 
 Until sex equality exists, the sex antagonism which 
 makes women as a class fiercely glory in exacting privi 
 leges from man will continue to exist. Her notion that 
 women are socially superior is as destructive as was his 
 notion that women were in all ways inferior. Men in 
 according women their political and industrial equality 
 have banished the latter ; only women in according them 
 selves sex equality can banish the former. The right 
 of sex experience need not be exercised by the individual 
 woman any more than it is by the individual man if he 
 elects otherwise; it is the exterior denial of that right 
 which embitters and devastates the adult woman even 
 when she knows it not. Men, it seems, are always 
 perfectly willing to accord the women of other men 
 sex equality as regards themselves; it is only with their 
 
Preface xxvii 
 
 own women they hesitate. But even if man brought 
 himself to consistency in this respect, his history in 
 sex matters since the days of Adam is too puerile to 
 give him any authority. It is woman alone, whose fear- 
 built opposition to sex equality counts. In at last 
 going where she pleases to marry, she has again taken 
 a step towards sex equality although neither she nor 
 man perceived it when during the nineteenth century 
 this became one of her new privileges. To take the 
 remaining steps she must banish the whole sentimental 
 and moral machinery by which man finally converted 
 her into his willing slave. It all belongs to an era 
 when man disdained a real union with a dependent and 
 desired only some external accompaniments to that 
 union. The external accompaniments increased with 
 his increasing recession from the idea of woman merely 
 as property. First a slave, then slave and toy, then 
 companion. But, except with individuals, the last is not 
 yet in marriage; nor can be until sex equality exists. 
 Now that woman possesses rights and opportunities 
 which technically at least approximate equality, civiliza 
 tion faces its best chance for real progress. The wings 
 of the golden opportunity will be clipped if women 
 utilize it with the stupidity, dishonesty, and commercial 
 calculation which man has invariably exhibited in hand 
 ling his own innovations, or if they insist upon retain 
 ing in their freedom sentiments and ideas inculcated by 
 their servitude. 
 
 But it is idle to pretend that women are not capable 
 of doing so, once that they see that their privileges are 
 involved. For even if they had not become by civiliza 
 tion inherently tricky, they are by nature incapable of 
 abstract logic. It is true that by virtue of the house 
 upon her back woman has always had logic enough to 
 perceive when man is illogical and to take advantage of 
 it, but this is the very reason why she fails to perceive 
 when she is illogical herself. Enough for her the logic 
 
xxviii Preface 
 
 of going on and of carrying her house with her. If 
 this be thought inadequate for politics and industry, she 
 can at least retort, Tell me when man has exhibited so 
 much? Since first he yielded to fear and invented a 
 god and then sought to bluster it out by making other 
 men fear him in battle, man has not much to say by 
 way of rejoinder. He can be logical enough upon 
 invented premises, but the house on her back gives 
 woman real premises to look after. Certainly, to those 
 who used to say that woman's place is the home she 
 suddenly invented an answer as triumphantly logical in 
 its illogicality as anything could well be. To be sure 
 it is, cried she, and woman carries it about with her 
 wherever she goes. 
 
THE CRAFT OF THE TORTOISE 
 
CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 ACT I. THE TORTOISE FINDS HERSELF 
 
 AK, Priest of Silwa 
 MART, of Silwa-Land 
 EM, of Mokwa-Land 
 OOD, of Silwa-Land 
 GARTH, of Silwa-Land 
 MART'S BOY 
 WOMEN MEN BOYS 
 
 ACT II. TORTOISE TURNS THE FIRST CORNER 
 
 AKRA, a Neophyte 
 ODENA, the head priest 
 MAGA, second priest 
 EMLA, the head wife 
 MARTA, the second wife 
 GARTHUS, the patriarch 
 OTHER WIVES, HEAD-SLAVES 
 
 ACT III. TORTOISE STRIKES HER GAIT 
 
 MARTHA DE LA GARTHELAUD, the lady of the castle 
 
 EMELIE \ 
 
 BLANCHE /her damsels 
 
 LIANE SANS-CEINTRE ^ 
 
 HELOISE, ABBESS OF ST. DENIERS / her slsters 
 
 GUILLAUME DE LA GARTHELAUD, her husband 
 
 ACRINUS, Bishop of Orleans 
 
 RUDEL, a troubadour 
 
 HUGH DE LOSAN, an esquire 
 
 JEAN, a farm hand 
 
 NURSE 
 
 OTHER DAMSELS, YOUNG MEN 
 
Cast of Characters 
 
 ACT IV. TOHTOISE ON THE HOME STRETCH 
 
 GABETH GARRITY 
 MRS. BOYER 
 EDMUND ATKINSON 
 MRS. MARTHA GARTON 
 EMMELINE ARCHER 
 
 The cast requires thirteen people and some supers. 
 The parts bracketed below are intended to be played by the same actor 
 
 EM ] MART ] GARTH ] AK ] 
 
 EMLA I MARTA I GARTHUS I AKRA 
 
 EMELIE j MARTHE j DE LA GARTHELAUD [ ACRINUS j 
 
 EMMELINE J MARTHA J GARRITY J ATKINSON J 
 
 OOD \ LIANE \ 
 
 ODENA / MRS. BOYER / 
 
ACT I 
 
 THE TORTOISE FINDS HERSELF 
 
THE CRAFT OF THE TORTOISE 
 
 ACT I 
 
 THE DESERT OF THE THREE OASES 
 
 A rocky place with the desert beyond, seen through the 
 tops of a clump of cocoa-palms. From the Right, a 
 ledge of rocks leads upward until toward the Left it falls 
 away abruptly. Issuing from the base of this cliff is a 
 spring, surrounded with reeds and rushes. The spring 
 is banked up in front by human labor. Beyond the 
 spring the forest begins. 
 
 When the curtain rises, there is standing stolidly at 
 the extreme Left of the stage a group of women. They 
 are clad in a coarse brown earth-colored garment which 
 hangs stiff and unbelted from the neck to the ankles, and 
 hobbles the legs. Their arms and feet are bare. They 
 have wooden buckets on yokes, and are waiting until the 
 spring is mended. From the ledge two women are stag 
 gering under a stone slab. An overseer is urging them 
 to their work with a lash. He is young, slender, ef 
 feminate, and crippled; his robe is of brown stuff like the 
 women's but is short and is caught at the shoulder by a 
 thong, giving a resemblance to a skin. As the women 
 labor with the stone, one of them falls with a grunt. 
 The stone falls with her. 
 
 AK. There! (He strikes the woman with his lash 
 while the other stands stolidly.) Up! 
 
 (The woman rises with difficulty and makes a sign 
 3 
 
4 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 that she has hurt her leg. It gives under her as she tries 
 to move. The overseer again strikes her as she turns to 
 him rvith a sign of supplication. She tries to move and 
 again her leg gives under her. He pushes her out of the 
 way with a grunt of disgust, and she falls. He comes 
 down to the group of women who have been watching 
 this with indifference and singles out the strongest and 
 the tallest of the lot.) You. 
 
 (The woman takes off her yoke and goes silently up 
 the ledge to the stone slab. She raises her end of it, but 
 the other woman is not strong enough to raise hers. The 
 overseer after assisting her with a lash or two, singles 
 out another woman from the group to aid her. The three 
 bear the stone down and put it into place by the earth 
 embankment of the spring.) 
 
 AK (standing upon it and looking into the spring). 
 There. Now dip carefully, the water must be kept clean. 
 Or there will be lashes for you all. 
 
 (He goes out Right over the ledge, looking at the 
 prostrate woman as he goes and giving her a contemptu 
 ous shove with his sound leg. One by one and mechan 
 ically, the women go to get the water; they dip it into 
 buckets and pass out Right.) 
 
 MART (slowly raising herself to a sitting position 
 and looking after him, and speaking dully when he is 
 out of ear shot). May the lion claw your heart out, if 
 ever he leaps again ! 
 
 EM (who, after setting the stone in place, has not 
 joined the others with her yoke of buckets, has now come 
 to her to help her to her feet) . He hunt with the men ? 
 
 MART (as she rises and tries her leg). Once be 
 fore you came. But he never had a hunter's heart nor a 
 hunter's kill. His place was always here among the 
 women. (She stands doubtfully upon her leg.) 
 
 EM. The bone? It is not broken? 
 
 MART. No. But there is a knife in it. 
 
 EM. The pain will go. 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 5 
 
 MART (with some dull gratitude). They do not ask 
 if my bone is broken. 
 
 EM (as if in explanation). It is their work. When 
 their work is done, they only drop and sleep. Like fallen 
 logs. 
 
 MART. Have you, too, not always worked? In the 
 land whence they brought you ? 
 
 EM. Who should work but women? We have not the 
 eyes to track the beasts or the ears to hear the snap of 
 the far-off twig. 
 
 MART (still in a voice without vitality but with more 
 emphasis). Are my man-child's eyes and ears sharper 
 than hers who bore him? No, they are trained to see 
 and listen, that is all. To-day, when he can scarcely 
 walk alone, they have taken him into the forest to teach 
 him the language of the beasts. But for my woman- 
 child there was only work. She must pound the meal, 
 first with the small stone, then with the larger. Until 
 she is big enough to fetch water also. How are we dif 
 ferent that we must do naught but work? 
 
 EM. Who should work but women? So speaks the 
 Man-who-keeps-Mokwa-from-anger. 
 
 MART. Mokwa ? 
 
 EM. He is the god who sends the terrible noise and 
 the sharp light and the great wind. They are his yawns 
 when he wakes up. (Proudly.) This man has found 
 out how to sing songs to Mokwa so that he will not wake 
 up. It is best when Mokwa sleeps. For Mokwa is big 
 ger than men, and instead of two arms he has seven. 
 
 MART. And this man? 
 
 EM. He alone has seen Mokwa. For this, he is very 
 wise and knows why things are. He says that women 
 were made to work and men to hunt and kill. That is 
 Mokwa's desire. 
 
 MART (bitterly). Your Mokwa, too! Have the 
 gods also women to make their food? Do they, too, keep 
 all the hunting and killing for themselves ? 
 
6 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 EM. It is not wise to speak so of a god. He might 
 hear you. 
 
 MART. The cripple Ak who flogs us to work with his 
 whip, he could not lift that stone. I could kill him with 
 my naked hands. But if I did so, they would kill me. 
 Yea, my own man-child, who but yesterday lay a soft 
 thing on my breast and sucked, he would stone me with 
 the rest if I should lift my hand against a master. Yet 
 you and I may only fetch their kill and pound their meal 
 and carry water. Why should this be? 
 
 EM. The Man-who-keeps-Mokwa-from-anger says 
 the sign is plain. Is it not we who feed the children 
 when they are within our bodies? Is it not we who 
 suckle them? That is the sign. Men must hunt and 
 kill, women must dig and feed. So the world is made. 
 It is the act of a fool to rebel against the way the world 
 is made. 
 
 MART. These gods are all the same. They may have 
 more arms and eyes and ears, but they are all men. That 
 is why they have made the world so. 
 
 EM. Why not? If they had been women, they would 
 have made the men to work 
 
 MART (eagerly). Yes, yes. And women to hunt 
 and kill! 
 
 EM. And men to bear the children also? 
 
 MART. No, no! It is nice when you have borne a 
 child. For a little while until they have taken him 
 away. We may no longer touch our men-children once 
 they can walk without us. (Proudly and sadly.) To 
 day my man-child walks alone with the hunters. He is 
 so little he will be tired. 
 
 EM (wistfully). Is it nice to feel them upon the 
 breast, Mart? 
 
 MART. Ah ! If they did not beat us the more. Why 
 do they beat us the more? 
 
 EM. Because then we must touch their bodies so 
 often. Otherwise we should forget it is forbidden. So 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 7 
 
 says the Man-who-keeps-Mokwa-from-anger. 
 
 MART. Your women? Are they like us in all ways 
 then ? 
 
 EM. Only you wear this long heavy garment. With 
 us, it is so. (She indicates}. 
 
 MART (with great curiosity, not unmixed with dis 
 approval) . So ? 
 
 EM. They put this on at once when they captured 
 me. 
 
 MART. Then your legs are free? How queer. (She 
 steps as far as she can in her heavy garment). I do not 
 think I should like it. 
 
 EM. Why do you wear this? 
 
 MART. It has always been. Silwa commanded it. 
 
 EM. Silwa? 
 
 MART. He is our god who gets angry. But not in 
 the loud noise and the sharp fire. We do not fear them, 
 for without them the land would die of thirst. When 
 we have them we say Silwa laughs with his three mouths. 
 But when he is angry, the ground shakes and the smoke 
 from his nose comes through the mountain yonder. 
 
 EM. Three mouths and so small a head? If your 
 legs were free you could work more. 
 
 MART. The Man-who-keeps-Silwa-laughing said that 
 Silwa would be angry if we made them shorter. It was 
 not this man but another. It is now Ak, his son, who 
 keeps Silwa laughing. 
 
 EM (much surprised). So puny and a cripple? 
 
 MART (lowering her voice). When this Ak was 
 taken hunting he showed a white heart. As he grew up, 
 he made no kill. You see he may not wear the skin of a 
 beast. The masters were angry at him and would have 
 killed him. But his father died and there was no priest, 
 and he was better than none at all. Besides, he knew 
 what his father had done. Then one day he was seized 
 of a lion and went to hunt no more. Now he drives the 
 slaves. But since he showed a white heart, he may 
 
8 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 have no children by them. Lest they all turn out 
 women. 
 
 EM. This garment, it stifles me! I was not sorry 
 when your master came and killed all my men. I said, 
 at least it will be no worse. I did not dream that the 
 legs would not be free. But all else is the same. Ex 
 cept for Silwa who is angry in the shaking ground, 
 instead of Mokwa who is angry in the shaking sky. 
 (She looks off.) And there is another desert, what do 
 you suppose is beyond that? Other masters and other 
 slaves with another god who gets angry still otherwise? 
 (She turns suddenly.) Oh, what do we wear there, do 
 you think? I wish someone would capture me and take 
 me there. Then perhaps I should wear something quite 
 different. Poor Mart! Did Silwa command also that 
 you cut off your hair? 
 
 MART (Somewhat imperiously). No. I have my 
 self cut off my hair. And the other slaves have followed 
 after my fashion. 
 
 EM (With surprise and some contempt). Why? 
 
 MART. It was ever in the way of the stones as we 
 pounded the meal. 
 
 EM. Why did you not bind it up? 
 
 MART. It was hot upon the head as we worked. 
 
 EM (Shaking down her thick hair which falls to her 
 waist). See! 
 
 MART (indifferently). It is troublesome. It will 
 catch and pull. 
 
 EM (stroking her hair). It is so black and it shines. 
 I liked it in my other country but here I like it even 
 more. Since no other woman has it. (She has sat down 
 upon the slab by the spring and now sees a red flower 
 growing beside her hair.) Oh see! It makes my hair 
 blacker. See, here is another. (She plucks them, knots 
 their long stems quickly and places the chaplet on her 
 head, a flower at each ear.) 
 
 MART (quickly). It is forbidden. 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 9 
 
 EM. Forbidden? 
 
 MART. Silwa will no longer laugh if anything bright 
 be put upon the body of a slave. 
 
 EM. But my hair is blacker so. (She has plucked 
 another flower and holds it against her hair.) It is 
 blacker here than at home. 
 
 MART. But it is forbidden, I tell you ! 
 
 EM (smiling). Mokwa does not forbid. 
 
 MART (coming closer angrily, and with a feeling of 
 jealousy awakened in her.) You will get us all into 
 trouble. We shall be beaten. (She looks at Em threat 
 eningly.) Take them off and bind it up your overlong 
 bushy hair. 
 
 EM (rising and returning her look steadily). I obey 
 masters, not slaves. 
 
 MART. Take it off, I say. (Threatening to strike 
 her.) 
 
 EM (holding her easily by her two arms at shoulder 
 length). You are a child in my hands. (With a sudden 
 change of voice.) Yonder sneaks the cripple. To see 
 if you but pretended to be hurt. Fall now in my arms. 
 (Mart falls in Em's arms, who lets her to the ground 
 and turns to the spring as if for water. Ak enters, and 
 reaches Mart just as Em turns back from the spring 
 with a gourd of water.) 
 
 AK (gazing at her, half in anger and half in fasci 
 nation). Accursed! 
 
 EM (humbly). I know slaves may not drink between 
 times. But she has fallen. 
 
 AK (striking the gourd from her hands with a grunt). 
 Know you not the law of Silwa ! No bright thing may 
 be put upon the body of a slave. 
 
 EM. Forgive, master. In my country there was no 
 such law. (She gazes at him without coquetry but with 
 child-like winningness.) 
 
 AK (gradually lowering his uplifted lash, and in a 
 grudgingly milder voice but with incredulity). In your 
 
10 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 country slaves may wear bright things? (At the sound 
 of his voice she drops her hands, which were about to 
 remove the chaplet, upon her head in such a way that 
 her arms make a frame for it.) 
 
 EM. Yes, master. 
 
 AK (violently). I said slaves from other lands would 
 corrupt our customs. How else do your slaves differ 
 from ours? 
 
 EM. Our legs are free. 
 
 AK (shocked). Free? Sacred Silwa! 
 
 EM. And our bodies bare unto our waists. (She 
 draws her garment tight with her hands, outlining her 
 loins, Mart has raised her head from the ground and is 
 regarding her curiously.) 
 
 AK (with an involuntary start). So? (Recovering 
 himself.) And this impious garment, it leaves free the 
 legs, the legs of a slave? It is against nature. 
 
 EM. It is made of dry rushes. When we walk or 
 run, it moves free. 
 
 AK. Run ! A slave may run ! Have men in your 
 country no heads? How then is a master privileged 
 above a slave? 
 
 EM. She may not hunt or kill. She may only work. 
 
 AK. So you have some sense after all. Let me tell 
 you that land will perish where slaves may possess the 
 rights of masters. Small wonder we could slay your 
 weakling men. (Approaching a step.) And these ac 
 cursed garments? How went they? 
 
 EM (repeating her gesture). So, master. 
 
 AK. And they swayed as you moved? Swayed? 
 
 EM. As the wind sways these reeds. (She brushes 
 them with her hand.) 
 
 AK (voluptuously). Ah! (He approaches nearer, 
 then turns as Mart rises to her knees. He cracks his 
 thong roughly and strikes Mart.) Go! (To Em.) 
 You will corrupt all our slaves with your impious cus 
 toms. (He dashes her chaplet to the ground.) Go! 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 11 
 
 {He drives Mart with the whip and follows her a few 
 steps, then turns toward Em.) When the men come 
 back from hunting, you shall be killed. Meanwhile re 
 turn not to the other slaves, lest you contaminate them. 
 (He approaches nearer and says meaningly.) You shall 
 be killed in the cavern of sacred Silwa. {He turns to 
 Mart again and drives her out Right with his whip.) 
 Go ! A country where a slave may show her legs ! If 
 she knows she has legs, she will some time use them. 
 
 (Em watches them out. She picks up the chaplet 
 from the ground, regards it thoughtfully, and replaces 
 it on her head. She is trying to puzzle out the meaning 
 of Ak's evident fascination in her description of her 
 attire. She outlines her body with her hands, as in the 
 gesture to him, and wonders about it. She goes and sits 
 upon the ledge, under the domination of some thought 
 she is seeking ta fathom. Still speculating, she puts 
 back her hair from her shoulders, and grasping her gar 
 ment at the neck she tears it apart down to her breast. 
 Again she endeavors to fathom her thought. She rises 
 and outlines her body once more. Still thinking, she 
 goes and plucks several reeds and disappears back af 
 the spring. 
 
 After a moment of silence, a man's head is seen over 
 the ledge of rock at the Right. He looks around cau 
 tiously from side to side, and then he clambers a little 
 higher. He slides across the top, so as not to be seen 
 against the sky-line, and leaning over the ledge lifts by 
 a ring in the top of it a rectangular box wrapped with a 
 gray-green covering. This he brings down the ledge, 
 still stealthily surveying all sides. He is almost spent 
 with fatigue. Finally, he spies the spring.) 
 
 THE MAN (in a voice parched with thirst, joyfully). 
 Water! (He sets down the box and creeps down from 
 the ledge, toward the opening of the spring. He crawls 
 to it and up upon the stone slab and is about to drink. 
 Em's face appears through the rushes on the other side. 
 
12 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 Her hair hangs upon her bared breast and the chaplet is 
 on her head. The man draws back and gazes at her in 
 silence and in fear. Finally, as she does not move, he 
 speaks in a hoarse whisper.) Alone? (She does not 
 speak.) Where are they? 
 
 EM. They hunt and kill. 
 
 THE MAN (with a grunt af relief.) Hither. (He 
 draws back from the spring without drinking. In a 
 moment she enters. A belt of plaited reeds is knotted 
 tightly around her loins, and she has fringed her long 
 garment up to the mid-thigh.) 
 
 THE MAN (lying back exhausted). Water! I die 
 with thirst! 
 
 EM (taking up the gourd from the ground, filling and 
 stretching it to him.) Here, master. 
 
 THE MAN (wondering at her gesture). Water! 
 
 EM. It is here, master. 
 
 THE MAN (making as if to strike her, but exhausted, 
 he calls again weakly but imperiously). Give me to 
 drink! (She looks at him wonderingly. He signs for 
 her to come nearer. She does so, not understanding. 
 
 He goes on more faintly.) Give me (Em timidly 
 
 in mute wonderment holds the gourd to his lips. He 
 drinks eagerly but does not move his hands to tilt the 
 gourd. He speaks again angrily.) Up ! (She tilts it 
 and he drains the gourd.) Ah! Slave, I could have 
 killed you for your delay. 
 
 EM. Forgive, master, I did not understand. 
 
 THE MAN. Would you have a master serve himself? 
 
 EM. In my country and in this, a slave may not 
 touch food and drink that is the master's. 
 
 THE MAN. A man who hunts and kills be so base 
 as to feed himself! What are slaves for? 
 
 EM. To work and make the food. But we may not 
 touch until the master has eaten. 
 
 THE MAN. I carry food to my own mouth ! Sooner 
 death than such dishonor! Sacred Salwa! Have your 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 13 
 
 men gourds for heads? If slaves make the food, why 
 should they not carry it whither it was intended ? More 
 water! (Em dips the gourd again. She approaches 
 timidly and is about to hold it to his lips. He jerks 
 away impatiently.) Do they teach you nothing? On 
 your knees, slave. That is the way to feed a man. 
 (She sinks upon her knees and holds out the gourd to 
 his lips. He drinks and removes his face. He looks 
 steadily upon her with wonder and fascination f as she 
 kneels with gourd outstretched.) Sacred Salwa! Who 
 is god of this miserable country? 
 
 EM. Silwa-who-laughs. 
 
 THE MAN. Does he command that slaves go like 
 this? 
 
 EM. I am a captive slave. The god of my country 
 is Mokwa-who-is-angry. 
 
 THE MAN. Does he command that slaves go like 
 this? 
 
 EM. No, master. 
 
 THE MAN (grunting). Even false gods could not be 
 so foolish. Why then? 
 
 EM. I am to be killed when the masters return from 
 the hunt. I make myself ready. 
 
 THE MAN (regarding greedily her partly bared 
 breast). Put down the gourd. (She lowers it upon her 
 knees.) And so you bare the breast? It is fitting for 
 a man, but for a slave! Do you not fear that Salwa 
 will strike you dead for your presumption? 
 
 EM. Only now have I heard of Salwa. Mokwa, the 
 god of my country, is not angered at bared breasts and 
 legs in a slave, but Silwa, the god of this country, does 
 not smile at either. How then do slaves go in your 
 country, and at what is your god pleased? 
 
 THE MAN. With bare legs and arms of course. 
 That she may work the better. But the breasts, never ? 
 It is sacrilege. Cover your breast. It is unseemly that 
 I should look upon it. 
 
14 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 EM (drawing her hair over her bosom). Yes, master. 
 
 THE MAN (pointing to the box). Fetch me that. 
 
 EM. Yes, master. (She rises and brings the box to 
 him, holding her hair fast with one hand.) 
 
 THE MAN (beginning to unwrap the gray-green web- 
 liJce cloth). Think not that I debase my fingers with a 
 slave's labor. This is the bird-net of the man-who- 
 keeps-Salwa-from-snoring. He is the priest of Salwa, 
 and it is not fitting that a slave should touch the net. 
 
 EM. No, master. (The Man having unwound the 
 net, Em leans forward eagerly to look at a crude wooden 
 cage in which are two crimson birds. As she does so, 
 her hair falls away.) 
 
 THE MAN (involuntarily, as he sees her). Ah! 
 (Sternly.) Cover your breast. It is not seemly that I 
 should look upon it. 
 
 EM (drawing her hair together again). Yes, master. 
 
 THE MAN. The Priest-who-keeps-Salwa-from-snor- 
 ing is a very wise man. Nevertheless Salwa often 
 snores in spite of his efforts, for Salwa has seven noses. 
 But the priest is a very wise man, and to him the snores 
 have language. Last time they bade him fetch birds 
 with blood-colored wings to be sacrificed alive to Salwa, 
 and then he would stop snoring. In my country there 
 are no birds with blood-colored wings. But across the 
 desert, beyond this miserable land there is a country 
 where such birds live. I am a great man, I. The legs 
 of Ood the magnificent are tireless. They are legs of 
 cocoa-trees. I can go in the desert for nights without 
 thirst. Even my spittle is more potent than the spittle 
 of other masters. There is a spring within my throat 
 that will not dry. So who but I should be chosen of 
 the priest of Salwa to cross the desert that lies yonder 
 between my country and this, and to cross the desert 
 that lies yonder between this country and that, and cap 
 ture the birds with blood-colored wings which will stop 
 Salwa from snoring? Who but I, Ood the magnificent! 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 15 
 
 (He looks around cautiously.) Am I are we safe here? 
 
 EM. Only once a day do we draw from the sacred 
 spring. No one will come until the masters return from 
 hunting. The other slaves may not come nigh me, for 
 I have put bright things on my body. 
 
 OOD. Place then one end of the cage in the spring, 
 so that the birds may drink. If you think it unfitting 
 that you a slave should touch the sacrifice to Salwa, 
 know that as yet the birds are unaware of the high 
 honor awaiting them. 
 
 EM. Yes, master. 
 
 OOD. Stay. Within my breast there is a pouch with 
 meal. You may have the honor to thrust in your vile 
 hand and take out a few grains. Sprinkle them on the 
 floor of the cage. 
 
 EM. Yes, master. (She approaches timidly, while 
 the man never lifts his eyes from her breast. She takes 
 the cage and puts it in the rushes, which hide it from 
 sight, and sprinkles the meal upon it.) 
 
 OOD (as she is doing this). Be not emboldened by 
 my favor, only it is not fitting that a master feed a bird. 
 It is less unseemly that a slave should touch a master 
 than that a master should feed anything. (As she 
 kneels before him.) What do you want? 
 
 EM. To be beaten, master. I have touched your 
 sacred person. 
 
 OOD. But I waived my rights. I told you to. 
 (Grandly.) You are forgiven. 
 
 EM. In my country and in this, when a slave has 
 touched the sacred person of her master, she is beaten. 
 
 OOD. And in mine also. But the masters of both of 
 your barbarous countries have no nice distinctions. 
 They have gourds for heads. And their gods are no 
 gods. What are their silly names? 
 
 EM. Mokwa-who-is-angry and Silwa-who-laughs. 
 
 OOD (mimicking). Mokwa, Silwa! Their very names 
 show it. How long, O mighty Salwa, wilt thou endure 
 
16 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 these false gods? Raise your hands, slave, and pray to 
 Silwa -who-snores. 
 
 EM. A slave? It is not fitting. 
 
 OOD. Not fitting! Do you, a slave, dare tell me 
 what is not fitting! They have no sense of fitness any 
 where but in my country. Do as I bid you. 
 
 EM {still on her knees, raising her hands). O Salwa 
 who snores ! 
 
 OOD {staring at her breast greedily as her hair falls 
 away). Come with me to my country. You look a slave 
 who would not drag the feet of a man. 
 
 EM (eagerly). Yes, master, I am strong. Now my 
 legs are free, I can go swiftly. 
 
 OOD. I am a mighty warrior and I have killed many 
 masters. I am six masters in one, for the slaves of five 
 have I and I am the sixth with slaves already of my 
 own. Was there any such in the country of your miser 
 able Mokwa? 
 
 EM. We had no separate masters. All were our 
 masters. 
 
 OOD. Had they gourds for heads? How could they 
 know who was the greatest fighter? 
 
 EM. Mokwa commanded that they be held in com 
 mon, and all live in common. 
 
 OOD. Your Mokwa is a fool. For why should men 
 fight if they cannot bring home trophies or keep them 
 when they get them there? No wonder they gave up 
 fighting. And so when they came from this country, 
 your masters were but babes in their hands. 
 
 EM. Yes, master. 
 
 OOD. I told you your Mokwa could not see the 
 length of his paltry one nose. And now since there are 
 no more of your masters, there is no more of your Mok 
 wa. Any fool would have known what would happen. 
 Men will not fight unless they can have trophies. 
 
 EM. And are women trophies? 
 
 OOD. You, slave, are the trophy of the weakling who 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 17 
 
 conquered your old master. When you return with the 
 mighty warrior who stands before you, you will be his 
 trophy. I will make you head slave, and you shall tend 
 the others. 
 
 EM (wonderingly) . A slave tend the others? Here 
 we are all alike. 
 
 OOD (surprised}. Who sees that you do your work 
 and whips you? 
 
 EM. A master. 
 
 OOD. A man who attends slaves, who does not hunt 
 and kill? Sacred Salwa, that a man should be so de 
 based ! 
 
 EM. He was crippled by the paw of a lion. He 
 may no longer hunt and kill. 
 
 OOD. Then he should have been slain. It is not 
 fitting that slaves should see a master who has become 
 like themselves. What a country! Have you no sense 
 of fitness whatever? Come with me to my country. 
 There, you will tend all my other slaves and whip them 
 as much as you please. There you will have a master 
 who will permit you to pray to his god. A master with 
 legs like cocoa-trees. Who will permit you, on occa 
 sions and for fit reasons, to touch his sacred person with 
 no beating afterwards. What more could you ask? 
 
 EM (joyfully). And the legs are free! 
 
 OOD. You will find we know what is fit for slaves 
 in my country. Above all you will have, as you saw, a 
 master who will permit you to feed him. 
 
 EM (blurting out with a sudden fall from her eager 
 ness). But but to carry food and drink to his lips! 
 It makes a master a child. He is no longer a man. 
 Even here we do not have to do that. 
 
 OOD (drily, after a moment of anger). Even here 
 you are to be killed. You will like that better? 
 
 EM. Yes, to be killed is better than that. 
 
 OOD (angrily). You and your distinctions! A slave 
 has no right to prefer death to anything whatever. 
 
18 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 EM (timidly). They will come back from hunting. 
 I would not have them kill you. 
 
 OOD. Kill me? The mightiest warrior of Salwa- 
 who-snores ! Your slave-men of this miserable country 
 of Mokwa, or is it Silwa who giggles. Kill me whose 
 very spittle is a spring that drieth not! (With a slight 
 anxiety.) But I may not venture upon the desert until 
 nightfall. Tell me where I may hide until then, and 
 do you steal out in darkness and come with me. I ask 
 who have only commanded slaves before, as you have 
 found favor in my sight. Is there a place to hide? 
 
 EM. Behind the spring is a cave in the rock. Go 
 far within. It is sacred. No one enters but the Man- 
 who-keeps-Silwa-laughing. 
 
 OOD. But come with me now. Remember they are 
 going to kill you. (He starts for the cage.) 
 
 EM (listening). Go quickly. I will hide it. 
 
 OOD. Come. 
 
 EM. No, I will not come now. 
 
 OOD. Then at nightfall? 
 
 EM. If they do not kill me before, I will come. 
 
 (He goes out Left and is seen in a moment creeping 
 back of the spring. Alone, she listens. She shows that 
 although they are coming, they are not yet upon her. 
 She goes and takes out the cage, and thrusting her hand 
 within draws out one of the birds and holds it against 
 her hair. She puts back the bird again and is about to 
 take up the cage when her eyes fall upon the bird net. 
 She takes it up and holds it caressingly about her, then 
 throws it over her head, and goes to look in the spring. 
 But she hears the sound of the approaching hunters, 
 and taking the cage, goes quickly over the ledge 
 Right. 
 
 From the Left come in Garth and several hunters. 
 They are each clad in a single skin arranged with a 
 thong over the shoulder as was Ak's brown cloth gar 
 ment. They carry a quiver with arrows and a bow. 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 19 
 
 Among them are two or three boys who carry slings; one 
 of them is very young. Garth has a stone pick. He is 
 a brawny and stupid-looking man, with a sluggish voice 
 and a slow-moving mind. As they come in Left, the 
 women herded by Ak enter and huddle at the Right. 
 As Garth enters, they kneel.) 
 
 GARTH {intoning zestfully). Bid the slaves bring in 
 the kiU. 
 
 AK (to the women, intoning). The master bids bring 
 in the kill. 
 
 THE WOMEN (intoning). But we have neither eyes 
 nor ears to lead us, nor noses to smell the way. 
 
 THE BOYS (coming past Garth to the middle of the 
 stage and droning wearily). O Ak, we will be their 
 eyes and their ears and their noses. 
 
 AK (cracking his whip). Follow, O slaves, the steps 
 of the young masters to the game where it lies. 
 
 THE WOMEN. The slaves hear, O young masters. 
 (They rise and follow the boys out. Then Ak goes to 
 talk eagerly with Garth. As Mart limps forward, the 
 youngest of the boys turns to look at her curiously. He 
 is very weary.) 
 
 THE BOY (with some timid and awkward shame). 
 You can never walk so far, slave. (Approaching a 
 step). You have hurt your leg? 
 
 MART (falling on her knees impulsively and in grati 
 tude). It is nothing. You are tired. 
 
 THE BOY (indignantly). Tired! 
 
 MART. Let me carry you, my little master. 
 (As the boy comes toward her a step involuntarily, she 
 catches at him.) 
 
 THE BOY (struggling to free himself). No, no! 
 There, you have touched me ! Now you must be beaten. 
 (He strikes her and bursting into tears runs out. She 
 rises silently and follows limping.) 
 
 AK (turning from his excited speech to Garth in time 
 to catch the end of this scene). I told you what it 
 
20 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 would be to have a strange slave. She has corrupted 
 them all. She must be killed. 
 
 GARTH. Too many of our slaves merit killing at thy 
 hands, O Ak. I don't mind one or two to keep up disci 
 pline. But there are now over many who have been 
 put to death in thy cave. 
 
 AK. Give me but her and I will ask no more. She 
 will corrupt all if she live. 
 
 GARTH. If she die, she will bring us no men-chil 
 dren. Thou takest away our breeders of men-children 
 what dost ihou give in return? 
 
 AK (furiously). It is your own law. Do you ques 
 tion the right of the priest of Silwa, O Garth? 
 
 GARTH (hastily). I question not. 
 
 AK. Then she must be killed. 
 
 GARTH. Well, after we have had visitors. Since I 
 got her, none have passed our village, friend or foe 
 what is a trophy that is not seen? But it is a pity to 
 kill her. She is the tallest and strongest of the slaves 
 and should bring us fine men-children. 
 
 AK. Once this mutiny of women begins no man 
 knows where it will end. 
 
 GARTH. Tomorrow or another day, thou shalt kill 
 her. When she has been seen. Instead of inventing 
 new rules for slaves to be slain for breaking, why can't 
 you think up more things like that Fetching In The 
 Kill? It's very stupid when one is not hunting. Little 
 things like that make home interesting. 
 
 AK (eagerly and greatly struck with his own inven 
 tiveness}. Give me her at once, and I'll invent a death- 
 ceremony for slaves. 
 
 GARTH (plainly tempted). You must give me more 
 to do than in the other. 
 
 AK. Yes, yes. You and I shall do everything. The 
 slave shall do nothing at all but die. It would make 
 her feel too important. 
 
 GARTH. Well, invent it at once and we can run it 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 21 
 
 over. But we will kill her after we have had visitors. 
 Meanwhile you may beat her. Fetch her to me. 
 
 (Ak starts to go to look for her. At this moment, 
 both see her coming over the ledge. She has torn the 
 wings from the birds and has hung them to her chaplet. 
 With a knotted reed she has hung the bird net veil-wise 
 from her nose down, Eastern fashion. It sways as she 
 walks, revealing her legs through her fringed garment 
 and a glimpse of her breast. Both men stand back in 
 consternation. She walks slowly down the ledge but 
 with a -firm, free step. In her stark solemnity she is 
 almost majestic.) 
 
 AK (recovering). Blasphemy! (More excitedly to 
 Garth.) Away! 
 
 GARTH (stammering). No. Hither, slave. (She 
 approaches and stands. He gazes at her earnestly.) 
 Why have you put this this thing upon you? 
 
 AK. Look upon her not. Silwa will be angry. 
 Speak not to her until she goes in a respectable manner. 
 
 GARTH. Silence. Why ? 
 
 EM. I would hide my face from the sight of my 
 master. Because I have sinned against Silwa in put 
 ting the bright things upon a slave's body. 
 
 AK. Believe her not. It is a trick. 
 
 EM. I would be seen of masters nevermore until I 
 am killed. 
 
 GARTH. Take off that thing. (Em, after a mo 
 ment removes it and lets it fall upon her arm, partly 
 draping her legs. With the other hand she sweeps her 
 hair across her breast.) Why have you cut away your 
 garment from your legs? The legs of slaves have been 
 swaddled since the memory of man in the country of 
 Silwa. 
 
 EM. I would be killed with my legs free. So slaves 
 have been since the memory of man in the country of 
 Mokwa. 
 
 AK. Sacrilege! She says it is better to be killed in 
 
22 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 Mokwa's way than in Silwa's! (He rushes toward her 
 with whip raised. Em removes her hand from her hair 
 and stretches out both arms to Garth.) 
 
 GARTH (recoiling and stammering). Why have you 
 bared your neck? Contrary to all custom of slaves since 
 man knows not in this land. 
 
 EM. I would make ready for death. 
 
 AK. Believe her not. 
 
 GARTH (noting for the first time the wings). What 
 are these in your hair? (Ak is amazed.) 
 
 EM. The wings of the blood-red birds beyond the 
 desert. 
 
 GARTH. You said she plucked them from the spring. 
 
 AK. Whence came they? (Em is silent.) 
 
 GARTH. Speak ! 
 
 EM. I brought them from my country. Hid in my 
 hair. 
 
 AK. The blood still drips from them. They were 
 just torn off. 
 
 GARTH. Speak ! 
 
 EM. Two birds lit at the spring to drink. They 
 were so weary with the desert I caught them in my 
 hands. 
 
 AK. Where are the bodies? (Em is silent.) 
 
 GARTH. Speak! (Em is silent.) 
 
 AK. Kill her! (He rushes upon her.) 
 
 GARTH. Back! (He pushes him aside.) 
 
 AK. Would you be defied by a slave? 
 
 GARTH (puzzled at himself). We will kill her to 
 morrow or later. 
 
 AK. At least I will beat her now. 
 
 GARTH (again pushing him aside). No. I will beat 
 her. 
 
 AK (astounded). Sacred Silwa! With your own 
 hands ? 
 
 GARTH. You will beat her over-much. 
 
 AK. What has come to you? 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 23 
 
 GARTH (puzsled at himself). I would not have her 
 sicken. She is the tallest and strongest of the slaves 
 and there is none like her in the land. She must be 
 seen at her best. Then when she is seen, you may 
 kill her. 
 
 AK. But no head-man may come this way for weeks. 
 
 GARTH. Then we will go to them. This slave must 
 be seen by all. She is taller and stronger than any of 
 theirs. 
 
 AK, She is the same as she was this morning. It is 
 the way she goes. 
 
 GARTH. The way she goes? (Studying her.) It 
 may be. 
 
 AK. She must take them off at once and put on the 
 slave garment. 
 
 GARTH. If it be these things as you say, they will 
 deceive the eyes of the other head-men as they have 
 mine. I shall have great credit for so tall and strong a 
 slave. Leave them on. 
 
 AK. Leave them on! Are you mad? Let but the 
 other slaves see her, she will corrupt them all. 
 
 GARTH (after some thought). No, I will say that I 
 have hidden her face as a badge of her shame. (He is 
 triumphant at discovering a reason for having his own 
 uneasy way.) You see, she herself wished to atone for 
 her crime. There is no deep-rooted rebellion in her. 
 (To Em.) Put on that thing. (Em resumes her veil.) 
 Yes, it makes her taller. I shall have great credit for 
 so tall a slave. Besides, it was never done before and 
 will attract more attention to her ! 
 
 AK (controlling his anger and suddenly assuming his 
 priest's voice). Silwa will never laugh again. Your 
 meal will fail in the drought, your sacred spring will be 
 dried up. You shall take no more slaves captive and 
 your slaves will fall unto others. Because you have 
 permitted the law of Silwa to be broken, these things 
 shall be. (Garth wavers and hesitates. Ak seeing this, 
 
24 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 increases his impressiveness.) She is the last your 
 hands will ever take, unless you now command that the 
 priest of Silwa kill her for her impiety. Boast now the 
 tallness and strength of your captive, if you will, O 
 Garth. She is the last. (Garth is torn between religion 
 and desire. Ak, perceiving his approaching triumph, 
 continues unctuously.) Unless Silwa give now a sign 
 to spare the life of a slave who has offended him, she 
 must be taken to his cave and killed there that we escape 
 his wrath. (After a moment in a frenzy.} Kill her if 
 there be no sign. Is there a sign, O Silwa? 
 
 EM (after a moment raising her arms in his attitude) . 
 Master, I hear the voice of Silwa! (They look at her 
 in astonishment). In the cavern of Silwa is a captive 
 your hands shall take. This is the sign. 
 
 AK. Believe her not! It is a trick! 
 
 GARTH. Small trick in that. We shall soon find out. 
 
 AK. Silwa speak to the ears of a slave? Why, a 
 slave has no ears. 
 
 EM. Send to see. 
 
 GARTH (after a moment of indecision, signals to Ak). 
 Go! 
 
 EM. It is no slave. He will break this cripple like 
 a straw, or else run easily away from him. (Ak who 
 is starting to go is furious but nevertheless pauses pru 
 dently. Garth is about to go.) Master, I would not 
 have him kill thee. He has legs of cocoa-trees. 
 
 GARTH (blustering). The arm of Garth is a lion's 
 paw. He will go single-handed. 
 
 EM (with hands uplifted). The Voice! Silwa bids 
 thee take others and surround him. And to kill him not 
 until the Voice speak again. 
 
 GARTH (awed and not at all averse to company). I 
 obey the Voice. (He goes Left.) 
 
 AK (creeping up to her, venomously}. If this be or 
 be not, yet shall he kill you when he has made his 
 boast of you. 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 25 
 
 EM. Until then, O cripple, limp not near me. For 
 before I die at his hands shall you die at mine. 
 
 AK (stammering). I I am sacred. 
 
 EM. Not from me. 
 
 AK. Silwa speaks to me. 
 
 EM. And to me also. 
 
 AK (trying to decide what course to pursue). Your 
 ears are keen. 
 
 EM. It is the bright things I have placed above 
 them. 
 
 AK (in astonishment, and fearing that they may 
 really have conferred some power upon her). The 
 bright things ! 
 
 EM. Why should he forbid but for a reason? 
 
 AK (baffled but deciding to end her pretensions). 
 There is no reason. 
 
 EM. Lest slaves should hear. 
 
 AK. But slaves have plucked flowers before. That 
 is why I why Silwa forbade it. No slave has ever 
 heard before. 
 
 EM. These come from over the desert. Only these 
 have the power. 
 
 AK (snarling, convinced against his will). The mas 
 ter shall tear them off and your ears with them. 
 
 EM. The blood has dripped within my ears. I shall 
 always hear. 
 
 AK. Silwa shall command to slay you. 
 
 EM. Perchance. But I shall not be slain until I 
 am made a trophy. Perchance in the meantime I shall 
 hear the voice of Silwa commanding that I slay you. 
 
 AK (screaming). But I am sacred. 
 
 EM. From him but not from me. I have heard the 
 Voice also. 
 
 AK (rage and fear carrying him beyond prudence). 
 You heard no Voice. There is no Voice. 
 
 EM. Were there no Voice, you would have been slain 
 long ago when your leg was crippled. Masters should 
 
26 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 hunt and kill. If you say there is no Voice, what then 
 will keep you alive? 
 
 AK. You dare speak thus to a master? 
 
 EM (quietly). The Voice shall say to Garth it is 
 not fitting that slaves should see a master who has be 
 come like themselves. (Ak sees the point of this at 
 once, collapses from his position, limps up and down in 
 speechless fury. After a moment he devises a plan and 
 approaches her.) 
 
 AK (cunningly). Listen. Silwa shall demand that 
 you be his priestess. 
 
 EM. What then? 
 
 AK. Then you will do no work but tend the other 
 slaves. (Lustfully.) At nightfall come to me in the 
 sacred cavern. There we will plan together the next 
 Voice. You and I. Silwa shall so order that little by 
 little we shall rule this land. And you shall grind and 
 fetch no more. 
 
 EM. If I am free, O Ak, I shall not look to a master 
 who is no master. 
 
 (Enter Garth and other men bringing in Ood bound.) 
 
 OOD (starting back at seeing her in the veil and with 
 the wings). Sacrilege! 
 
 GARTH (jealously). He has not the legs of cocoa- 
 trees ! 
 
 EM (kneeling to him with arms outstretched). I claim 
 the sign, master. 
 
 GARTH. You shall not die. Neither now nor next 
 week. (Turning to Ood and plunging at once into 
 boasting his trophy.) Behold my slave, the slave of 
 Garth the mighty. Who put to death her mighty mas 
 ters one and all. They were tall and strong for masters 
 as she is tall and strong among slaves. Their legs were 
 like cocoa-trees. 
 
 OOD (angrily). Have you no sense of fitness in this 
 barbarous land? Will you allow a slave to bare her 
 breasts to you, in daylight and in plain sight? To 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 27 
 
 remind a master of the time when he lay thereon a 
 slave to a slave? (Garth is impressed with this reason 
 ing.) Kill me if you will, but do not allow all sacred 
 custom and fitness to perish. 
 
 AK (angrily). We'll take care of our own customs. 
 Who then is the god of your miserable country? 
 
 OOD (proudly). Salwa-who-snores. 
 
 AK (mimicking). Salwa! O Silwa-who-laughs, how 
 long wilt thou endure these false gods? You talk of 
 fitness and you have a god who snores ! 
 
 OOD (scorning him, to Garth). I am Ood the mag 
 nificent. Take me to the head man of this village. 
 
 GARTH. I am Garth the mighty. My arm is the 
 paw of the lion. I am the head man of this village. 
 
 OOD. Sacred Salwa! And you let this weakling 
 cripple raise his uncracked voice in your presence? He 
 should have been slain when he was crippled. He 
 should have been slain before he was crippled. He is 
 neither slave nor master. He is an it. 
 
 AK (screaming). I? The go-between of almighty 
 Silwa ? 
 
 OOD (mimicking). Silwa! Almighty indeed since 
 he is served of crippled weaklings. ( To Garth) . Have 
 you,, I say again, no sense of fitness in this barbarous 
 land? Even a false god should have a fit go-between. 
 
 AK. Kill him! 
 
 GARTH. Silence ! 
 
 OOD (shocked). Who is this god of yours that you 
 may bid his priest be silent? It is fit to slay him for 
 he is an it; but if you let him live, it is not fit that you 
 should silence him. Priests may talk all the time if 
 they so desire. I am Ood the magnificent, you are 
 Garth the mighty. We are two men together. Send 
 now this it away that we may speak without interruption. 
 
 GARTH (after a moment of speculation , motioning Ak 
 to be silent). Speak! He remains. 
 
 OOD. My legs are like cocoa-trees. Even my spit- 
 
28 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 tie is more potent than the spittle of other hunters. In 
 my throat is a spring that drieth not. Therefore, have 
 I traveled far and wide across many deserts to many 
 lands. I have been to all the lands there are. And I 
 tell you that nowhere have I seen a slave who may bare 
 her breast before the face of her master. I am about 
 to die, but I speak for the future of the race. Your 
 god is a false god well served of its, your men have 
 reeds for sinews, your arm is the paw of a monkey and 
 not of a lion. still such as ye are, ye are men and mas 
 ters. How long will ye be so if your slaves may mock 
 you with a recollection of your time of weakness ? When 
 I do not return, my people will come hither and slay 
 you all so that it matters little if your slaves mock 
 one month or two. But your slaves will not be slain 
 they will be taken captive. And though they will no 
 where else be allowed to go so shamelessly, they will 
 remember and talk to the other slaves. Such is their 
 nature. And thus will they corrupt the world and there 
 will be no masters on that when all slaves shall remem 
 ber that their masters were once slaves to slaves. I 
 speak for the future of the race of masters. A slave's 
 breast must not be bared. Her legs, yes. Her breast, 
 no. 
 
 AK. Her legs neither! 
 
 OOD. Silence, it! 
 
 AK (furiously}. How dare you silence me! I am 
 a priest. 
 
 OOD. I may silence you, but he may not. 
 
 GARTH (puzzled and much interested}. How do you 
 make that out? 
 
 OOD. He is no priest of mine. What is unfitting for 
 you is fit for me. 
 
 GARTH (slowly impressed with this reasoning}. That 
 is very interesting. 
 
 OOD. But I say it is not fit that a god however false 
 be served by such a creature as this. 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 29 
 
 GARTH. It is not convenient to have a hunter for 
 a priest. We need all the men we can get for the hunt. 
 
 OOD. I admit it is not convenient. But it is fit. 
 That civilization is doomed which puts convenience be 
 fore fitness. But why waste time speaking to you of 
 civilization? You don't know the meaning of the word. 
 
 GARTH. What is civilization? 
 
 OOD. It is a sense of fitness. And you have none 
 whatever. It is by no means fit that I should stand 
 here talking to you at all. You should have killed me 
 when you took me. Or kept me for torture. Either 
 would become us as masters. 
 
 GARTH (anxious to explain that he is not so lacking 
 in fitness as it seems). The voice of Silwa proclaimed 
 that you should be brought before that slave. 
 
 OOD (aghast). Ood the magnificent brought before 
 a slave! And this slave who stands there with her 
 breast impiously bared, and thrice impiously bedecked 
 in the bird net of the priest of Salwa and his blood- 
 colored wings ! 
 
 AK (eagerly). So that's where she got them. 
 
 OOD. I demand that you strip that slave of the sa 
 cred things. 
 
 AJc. Yes, take them off at once. 
 
 OOD. On the body of a slave, the sacred things of 
 Salwa ! 
 
 AK. Sacred? Don't talk to us of what is sacred to 
 your false god. What is sacred to your Salwa is not 
 sacred to our Silwa. 
 
 OOD (angrily). Your Silwa! Is he a cripple, then, 
 that he speaks through cripples. 
 
 AK (to Garth). Sacrilege! He blasphemes Silwa! 
 
 OOD. Don't be a fool. You can't blaspheme another 
 person's god. You can only blaspheme your own god. 
 (To Garth.) Do you not see how unfit is this it to be a 
 priest? A priest should have more sense of fitness than 
 anybody else. That is what he is for. To discover 
 
30 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 every day more and more things that are unfit. But I 
 admit that in a sense he is correct. What is sacred 
 to me is not necessarily sacred to you. However re 
 grettable, you are what you are. Nevertheless it is 
 not fitting that a slave should wear anything that is 
 sacred to anybody, and it is not fitting that a slave 
 should wear anything but what all slaves wear. So 
 for two reasons, which even persons with no higher 
 sense of fitness can appreciate, the things should be 
 removed. Take them off. 
 
 AK. Yes, take them off at once. 
 GARTH (after a moment of speculation). You may 
 take off the red things, but the other makes her look 
 taller. I will not have it removed. 
 
 AK AND OOD (protesting). But 
 
 GARTH (to Ood). Silence! 
 AK. But hear me! 
 GARTH (to OOD). Silence him! 
 OOD. Silence, it! 
 
 GARTH. There is something in this sense of fitness. 
 It makes home almost as interesting as hunting. We 
 must have a better priest. (To Ak.) You may remove 
 the red things. I say you may remove the red things. 
 (Ak does not stir.) 
 
 OOD (grudgingly). It is not fitting that he touch 
 them. Such as he is, he is the priest of another god, 
 such as he is. They will, theoretically speaking, con 
 taminate him. It is well that he should be killed at 
 once but it is not well that he should be contaminated. 
 A man should have respect for his religion, whatever 
 it is. 
 
 AK (eagerly). Let the slave remove them herself. 
 OOD. No, her hands are more vile than her head 
 for she has worked with her hands. (To Garth.) You 
 must remove them. 
 
 GARTH (indignantly). I? Remove anything from 
 a slave! 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 31 
 
 AK (hastily). No, let him not go near her. 
 
 GARTH (indignantly). And why not? Come hither, 
 slave ! 
 
 EM (coming and kneeling before him, holding back 
 her veil). Master! 
 
 GARTH (about to lean over her, is arrested at the sight 
 of her breast and gazes fascinated upon it; stammering 
 in a dull, dazed tone). What is the harm in these red 
 things? They please me in her black hair. They are 
 like blood on the mane of a lion I have killed as he 
 leaps through the air. (He looks up in bewilderment.) 
 This is the first slave that ever pleased me. She is both 
 tall and pleasing. 
 
 AK AND OOD. Close your eyes ! Close your eyes and 
 wrench them off! 
 
 EM (as he is about to do so). Master. 
 
 GARTH. No, let them remain. (He steps back and 
 shakes himself in bewilderment.) 
 
 AK (prancing up and down). I told you he must 
 not go near her. He is lost. 
 
 OOD (solemnly). This land is doomed. 
 
 AK (suddenly getting the idea that he may save 
 the situation by promulgating a Voice, and raising his 
 arms in his priestly attitude). Listen! (Em, seeing 
 him, rises majestically and raises her arms in a similar 
 attitude as she holds his eyes, at which he drops his 
 arms abjectly and wails.) Oh, oh! 
 
 OOD (after waiting hopefully though disdainfully for 
 his utterance). Well, what does your Silwa say? 
 
 AK (feebly). Nothing. 
 
 OOD (in disgust). Have you no sense of fitness 
 whatever? A priest should not make those noises un 
 less his god is about to speak. (An idea strikes him.) 
 Why did the voice say I should be brought before 
 her? 
 
 AK. I I say only what is given me to say. 
 
 OOD. You are altogether a fool. If the voice said 
 
32 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 that, you should have changed it on the way out. Now 
 you have made her important. The very first business 
 of a priest is to see that nobody else gets importance. 
 Now she will ruin you in the end. She is the only one 
 of you that has not a gourd for a head. 
 
 AK. Let us kill her. Think of some way. 
 
 OOD. There is no way. I tell you it is too late. 
 (In a sudden outburst to Garth.) Why do you keep 
 me a hunter bound like this ? It is my right to be killed 
 at once or else tortured and killed by degrees. Kill me 
 quickly or slowly as you please, but begin. 
 
 EM (stretching her hands to Garth as he looks at her 
 in bewilderment). No, master. 
 
 GARTH. No. 
 
 OOD (quickly in a low voice to Ak, who has ap 
 proached still nearer). Kill me. 
 
 AK. When you have killed her. 
 
 OOD. Have a voice. Let Silwa command that both 
 of us be killed. 
 
 AK (knowing the futility of this). Find some bet 
 ter way. 
 
 OOD (suddenly pushing Ak over with his body). 
 There! I have knocked down your miserable it of a 
 priest. If there is any fitness whatever in this bar 
 barous land of no distinctions, you head-man of a vil 
 lage and slave to a slave, you must strike me dead. (He 
 chants his war song, preparing to die.) I am Ood, Ood 
 the magnificent. My legs are like cocoa-trees. In my 
 throat is a spring that drieth not. 
 
 GARTH (stepping menacingly toward him, brandish 
 ing his pick which he has caught up, and chanting his 
 war song). I am Garth, Garth the mighty. My arm 
 is the paw of the lion. (He raises the pick and 
 squares for the blow.) And its claw is stone. 
 
 OOD (defiantly). Like cocoa-trees are my legs! 
 
 EM (suddenly intervening and throwing back her 
 veil). Master. (Garth's pick slowly descends as he 
 
ACT I The Craft of the Tortoise 33 
 
 looks into Tier face. She kneels before him and stretches 
 out her arms.) Master. Keep him for a slave. 
 
 GARTH, OOD, AND AK (in utter amazement). A slave? 
 
 EM. Think how much credit he will bring you. When 
 legs like cocoa-trees shall fetch your water, and the 
 arms of a magnificent hunter shall grind your meal. 
 All through the land will masters marvel at the might 
 of Garth the mighty who alone is served by a master 
 who is his slave. 
 
 GARTH (in bewilderment but under the spell of this 
 golden picture}. But it was never done before! 
 
 EM (seductively). The mightiest of masters should 
 do it first. 
 
 GARTH (after a moment, to Ood). Live, slave. 
 
 (It is now sunset. Enter from the Left, the other 
 women staggering under their burdens of game. They 
 arc herded by the boys, who strike them with their 
 slings as they stagger, crying, "Up, slaves. On!" The 
 women gaze curiously at Em as they plod stolidly across 
 the stage and go out Right. As Mart comes to the 
 middle, she pauses under her load and looks at Em. 
 The two women face each other.) 
 
 MART'S BOY (striking her). On, slave! (She limps 
 out stolidly.) 
 
 (Ood, overcome with the enormity of his fate, has 
 sunk dejectedly to his knees. Em, turning away from 
 Mart, sees him. She goes to the spring, fills the gourd, 
 and gives him a drink. He drinks mutely, his spirit 
 broken). 
 
 GARTH (jealously). Why do you do that? 
 
 EM. He cannot serve himself while he is bound. 
 And you cannot unbind his arms until you have made a 
 chain for his legs. 
 
 GARTH. Some other slave shall serve him, not you. 
 (Approaching and surveying him.) Yes, I shall have 
 great credit for a man-slave. I wonder why I never 
 thought of it before. We must have more of that sense 
 
34 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT I 
 
 of fitness in this village. When you're not hunting, it 
 makes home interesting. 
 
 (Meanwhile Ak has gone to the top of the rock, and 
 as the curtain falls is seen there sitting disconsolately 
 directly over the sacred spring.) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT II 
 THE WIVES OF THE PATRIARCH 
 
 A Courtyard paved with stone, surrounded by a 
 rectangular stone wall, one story in height. The 
 three walls are broken by open spaces, set off by pillars 
 one space in the exact middle, one at right front, one 
 at left back. The middle pillars are twelve feet apart, 
 the right six feet, the left four feet. All the openings 
 have curtains which are now closed the middle curtain 
 red, the right light blue, the left brown. By the right 
 and left walls in the front there are entrances to the 
 courtyard from the exterior. In the middle is an altar 
 of white stone, from which a tiny flame is mounting. 
 
 It is morning twilight. A neophyte in a short white 
 tunic enters from the right room. He comes sleepily 
 to the altar, makes two genuflexions and symbolic ges 
 tures to the rising sun, and blows out the light. A priest 
 appears at the right, robed in white to his feet with a 
 blue zigzag band upon the hem and down the middle. 
 He and his fellow priest have smooth faces. 
 
 ODENA (in the doorway, sternly but in a hushed 
 voice). Three! 
 
 AKRA (stammering). I did three. 
 
 ODENA (sternly). Again! 
 
 AKRA. That will be four. 
 
 ODENA (coldly, coming out). I watched you. (Akra 
 begins another genuflexion and gesture.) Chin up, 
 shoulders back, arms together, hands curved! Don't 
 wiggle. If you do it right, it is supposed to be ex 
 tremely uncomfortable. Will you never learn the rudi 
 ments of a priest 1 (He examines the altar.) My man- 
 
 35 
 
36 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 tie! Can I touch the altar before I have my mantle 
 on? (Akra goes into right room, brings the mantle, 
 and affixes it to his shoulders.) This new miracle will 
 be a fizzle. It will never work in the world. 
 
 MAGA (at doorway, yawning). I overslept. All 
 night I was boring the holes in the altar. For the new 
 miracle. 
 
 ODENA (warningly). She'll be getting up. 
 
 MAGA (examining the altar). It will be a beautiful 
 miracle. My mantle! (Akra runs to get it.) 
 
 ODENA. I can beat nothing into his head. (With 
 an inspiration.) If he does not improve, he will do 
 very well for the first sacrifice ! 
 
 MAGA (surprised). He, almost a priest? 
 
 ODENA. Yes, it would start the new custom with 
 distinction. 
 
 MAGA. But our next boy might be even more stupid. 
 
 ODENA. All the same if he does not improve, we 
 shall take him. Goats are losing their impressiveness. 
 (Rebuking Akra, as he enters with the mantle.) Why 
 were you so long? 
 
 AKRA. I couldn't find it. 
 
 MAGA (busying himself at the altar). Oh, yes, I 
 used it to fetch the potash in for the new miracle. I 
 had to steal the key from the head-wife, as she was 
 lying asleep on the floor. 
 
 ODENA (listening at the middle opening). Not a 
 sound. (Coming down, grumbling). What can you do 
 without privacy? 
 
 MAGA. You see everything fits. It will work like 
 a charm. When the moment arrives, you press the but 
 ton with your knee. The wire jerks the pan with the 
 potash, the altar flame flares up blue. It's the best mir 
 acle yet. 
 
 ODENA (in admiration tempered with jealousy). But 
 we must not work it often or it will lose its impressive- 
 ness. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 87 
 
 MAGA {proudly). It took many sleepless nights to 
 devise how you might press the button yet keep both 
 hands in view. It is a wonderful doing. 
 
 ODENA. Yes, yes, you may be good at doings. But 
 you know nothing of their inner meanings. 
 
 MAGA (angrily). Where would you be without me, 
 I'd like to know. Who taught you to impress people? 
 Who spends sleepless nights thinking out and practic 
 ing new tricks for you? Who taught you that a bone 
 may be held in the palm of the hand and disappear up 
 the sleeve? 
 
 ODENA. Peace, you will wake her. If she sees us 
 standing about the altar, she will suspect. {Moving 
 right.) When we can have more privacy, we can have 
 more miracles. 
 
 MAGA (grumbling'). Now I must potter about all 
 night, while you are snoring. 
 
 ODENA. Listen. Now you shall have a workshop of 
 your own. Garthus has consented at last to the temple. 
 
 AKRA. Garthus? But only yesterday he refused! 
 
 ODENA (complacently). Maga may manage sticks 
 and stones, it takes me to manage flesh and blood. 
 
 AKRA. He said he didn't object to the smell of the 
 burnt offering. 
 
 ODENA. When one reason is not sufficient, a good 
 priest always has another. I told the head-wife that 
 we did not really wish to go. A temple of our own 
 would inconveniently remove us from surveying the 
 household. Consequently she influenced him upon our 
 side, not knowing it. She is but wax in my hands and 
 he is but wax in hers. He does not suspect that he is 
 wax in her hands, she does not suspect that she is wax 
 in mine. In time I shall get him to permit human sac 
 rifice. (Gloomily.) Otherwise, the day is coming when 
 people will weary of us. Goats no longer stimulate the 
 imagination. 
 
 MAGA. They say that long ago, before the patri- 
 
38 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 archal era, people had so much imagination they were 
 quarrelsome. They used to fight with each other. 
 
 ODENA. Those were the good old days. This slug 
 gish pastoral existence is bad for the imagination. And 
 without imagination, where would we be? (With an 
 idea.) Could I not persuade her to make Garthus go 
 to war? Then, too, we should have captives. With 
 a little manipulation, he would soon consent to their 
 being sacrificed. 
 
 AKRA (glibly). The head-wife has no perception of 
 the inner meanings of things. Like all women, she is 
 but a two-legged animal. 
 
 ODENA (sternly). You talk like a man and not a 
 priest. Only a man says a woman is a fool. A priest 
 keeps it to himself. 
 
 AKRA (crestfallen). I thought that was what you 
 taught me. 
 
 ODENA. It is and it is not. I do not know why 
 women were created. But were it not for them, men 
 would be extremely difficult to manage. I said a priest 
 should have a man's contempt for women but should 
 display it only with discretion. With him she is a fool, 
 with us a fool likewise but a tool also. I doubt if you 
 will ever master the subtlety necessary to a priest. 
 
 AKRA (taking up his tablet). That is a new word. 
 What is subtlety? 
 
 ODENA. It is to entertain two ideas at once. 
 
 AKRA. How do you spell it? 
 
 ODENA. S-u-b, sut; t-l-e, tull; t-y, ti. 
 
 AKRA. That is a beautiful way to spell it. 
 
 ODENA. When you are priest and come to make up 
 words of your own, don't forget the principle ; spell them 
 as unexpectedly as possible, especially words referring 
 to priests. So that to spell them correctly will show 
 one has wasted much time and effort. To return a 
 woman does not count, yet it is always necessary to get 
 her consent to everything. But, mind you, you must 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 39 
 
 never ask for it directly. That would make her impor 
 tant. Observe me today when I suggest to her that we 
 give up the God of Child-birth. 
 
 AKRA. Give up a God? I was trying to think up 
 some new ones. 
 
 ODENA. Decidedly, I fear you will never have 
 subtlety enough for a priest. 
 
 MAGA {sympathetically}. Never mind. That's what 
 I thought, too, until he explained it to me. 
 
 ODENA. There must be fewer gods instead of more. 
 We have at least seven whole gods, twenty half ones, 
 and innumerable quarters. They confuse the imagina 
 tion instead of stimulating it. The quarter gods and 
 half gods must go, to begin with. 
 
 AKRA. Why? 
 
 ODENA {complacently). I thought you would ask 
 why. Maga there may spend now and then a sleepless 
 night with his sticks and blue flames. But I never sleep. 
 Pondering on the inner meanings of things, I live al 
 ways in the future. Not only must the quarter and half 
 gods go, but little by little some of the whole gods also. 
 For as the small gods distract the attention from the 
 bigger, so too many big gods distract the attention from 
 us, their priests. Some day, far distant in the remote 
 future, there will be but one god. 
 
 AKRA. But one? 
 
 MAGA. Why is that desirable? 
 
 ODENA. I who live always in time yet unborn, have 
 a large vision. This pastoral life men lead now is bad 
 for the imagination. The lack of imagination is bad 
 for us. It is also bad for the men themselves, turning 
 them into animals that crop and feed. And animals do 
 not desire a god. It is our mission to keep the imagi 
 nation moving. Can this be done continuously by blue 
 flames and disappearing bones? You can move the 
 imagination only to a limited degree in this sluggish 
 pastoral life. Men must go to war with each other. 
 
40 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 And to do that they must have a war-cry. Gods make 
 the best war-cries, but it is not convenient to go to war 
 crying the names of seven gods at once. Therefore I 
 shall today set about reducing the seven gods to six. 
 My successor may reduce them to five. The ideal will 
 come when at last there is only one. One God that 
 will be the perfect war-cry. (Both men are astounded 
 at the length of Odena's vision.) 
 
 MAGA. Now tell him why you begin by getting rid 
 of the God of Child-birth. 
 
 AKRA. Yes. 
 
 ODENA. First, he is a woman's god hence he is the 
 least important. Second, he is quite unnecessary and 
 ought never to have been permitted. Third, 
 
 AKRA. Why the second? 
 
 ODENA. The third explains the second. But it is 
 always well to have things come in threes. Third, a 
 woman's children are either male or female. So much 
 is granted. (On his fingers.) If one it is a male, 
 he is already sufficiently looked out for by the other 
 gods. If two it is a female, it doesn't matter whether 
 she is looked out for or not. And three the mother 
 makes no difference in either case. 
 
 MAGA (in admiration). That's what I call a what 
 did you say it was? 
 
 ODENA. An incontrovertible exegesis. Unfortu- 
 ,nately, the words, though long, spell exactly as they 
 ...sound. But they are not mine, they date from a more 
 primitive time. 
 
 AKRA (after writing the words down, sagely but dip 
 lomatically). Will this exegesis of yours appeal to 
 her? 
 
 ODENA. You don't suppose I shall give her that one? 
 Will you never learn the rudiments of your profes 
 sion ? 
 
 AKRA (turning away uncomfortably, he sees the bac.Jc 
 curtain flutter). She is getting up. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 41 
 
 ODENA. Quickly! {They hurry into their room and 
 close the curtain softly.) 
 
 {It is now dawn. Emla lifts up the back curtain and 
 appears. She is dressed in a plain, loosely flowing dark 
 robe which suggests the Greek. Yawning, she sits upon 
 the stone bench to the right of the curtain. Here she 
 nods and after catching herself up two or three times, 
 falls asleep, sitting. From room left a head peeps out, 
 the body follows, and Marta, the second wife, appears.) 
 
 MARTA {speaking back). Yes, she's up. (The four 
 other wives come to the door. They huddle in a group 
 and make whispered comments upon Emla with much 
 tittering). No wonder her father had hard work to get 
 rid of her. They say he offered her to every patriarch 
 in the world. 
 
 THE WIVES (variously). How disgracefully small 
 her hands are. Her feet are useless. She has the bosom 
 of a priest. Her ankles are slimmer than an antelope's. 
 
 HARTAL Her father had to throw in fifty oxen, one 
 hundred sheep and eighty goats. (The women all tit 
 ter more loudly.) Hush! You will wake her and then 
 we shall be beaten. Come, we may as well begin. 
 
 (The women all turn their backs and draw their cur 
 tain open with a swish. Emla opens her eyes with a 
 start and then sits bolt upright and rigid. Still with 
 their backs turned, the women fall into line across their 
 doorway.) 
 
 THE WIVES (loudly and in unison). The other wives 
 sleep while the head-wife watches. (They turn and in 
 single file headed by Marta approach the center door 
 way and stand.) 
 
 MARTA. All night have the faithful eyes of the head- 
 wife remained unclosed. 
 
 EMLA (intoning antiphonally) . But the eyes of the 
 heedless others were heavy with selfish slumber. (She 
 rises briskly and takes the bunch of keys that hangs 
 from her girdle. From the other end of the file, one by 
 
42 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 one each woman goes to her and receives a key, hangs 
 it upon her girdle, and returns to her place.) The store 
 house of grain and fodder. The storehouse of meats. 
 The slave's food. The slaves may no longer eat of the 
 breast of the fowl. Yesterday the priests declared it 
 unseemly. Only the drumsticks, the wings, and the 
 necks. See you remember. The table of the household. 
 The women may no longer eat bread parched on both 
 sides. Yesterday the priests declared it unseemly. See 
 you remember. (To Marta.) The storeroom of liquor. 
 Yesterday I found less than I expected. Can it be pos 
 sible that any of our slaves has broken the sacred tabu? 
 Impiously partaken of the patriarch's private store? 
 
 MARTA (genuinely shocked). Impossible! 
 
 EMLA. Could any of the maid servants 
 
 MARTA (breaking in amazed). The maid servants? 
 A woman take a drink! 
 
 EMLA (severely). Certainly not! I was about to 
 say, could they have smuggled out any to their young 
 men? 
 
 MARTA (with acid dignity). Not while I am trusted 
 with the key. 7 was brought up in a proper household. 
 
 EMLA (speculating). I don't think Garthus drank 
 more than usual last night. 
 
 MARTA (crisply). Any other commands? 
 
 EMLA. No. 
 
 MARTA (to the wives). It is late. Summon your 
 maid-servants and give them your orders for the day 
 the moment you are at liberty. (To Emla.) If he did 
 drink more than usual, he may not appear till noon. 
 (With the air of one who could manage better) Some 
 thing should be done about the entire household waiting 
 until noon to begin. 
 
 EMLA. Yes. I will ask the priests. 
 
 (The priests at this moment draw back their curtain 
 and appear. They come out in single file and with ex 
 cessive ceremony. Their stiffness greatly contrasts with 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 43 
 
 their earlier naturalness. The women all bow their 
 heads upon the ground and rise at once.) 
 
 THE PRIESTS. All night have the sleepless priests 
 watched over this helpless household. 
 
 THE WIVES (intoning antiphonally) . While the 
 worthless wives of the master lay stupid as logs in 
 slumber. 
 
 EMLA (turning briskly to Odena). It is inconvenient 
 to begin the day so late. Can you not make some cere 
 mony to be used in time of great drunkenness? That 
 we may begin before he arises? 
 
 ODENA. The more drunkenness the more honor. 
 When only the master may be drunk, the drunker he is 
 the better. 
 
 EMLA. I would not decrease by a moment the hours 
 of his manly drunkenness. I am told he has been drunk 
 er since I came than ever before. (All the other wives 
 bridle with indignation.) But it is inconvenient not to 
 be able to wind up the day till he appears. I am sure 
 Odena is clever enough to allow the day to begin and the 
 master still to be drunk at one and the same time. By 
 another of his beautiful ceremonies. 
 
 ODENA (not unpleased witth the idea of trying his 
 skill). There are many prerogatives to think out at 
 once, lest some unseemly innovation 
 
 EMLA (interrupting). The more difficulties, the more 
 honor to clever Odena. 
 
 ODENA. It might be done. But the God of Early 
 Rising must not be pleased at the expense of the God 
 of the Master's Drunkenness. 
 
 EMLA (boldly). Since it is seemly that drunkenness 
 be only for the master, why should not early rising be 
 only for women and slaves? 
 
 ODENA (concealing his approval of this reasoning). 
 The matter is not so simple as a woman without brains 
 might imagine. Still, I will think of it. 
 
 EMLA (seeing the certain flutter). He is getting up. 
 
44 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 (The priests fall in line back of the altar. The 
 lesser wives line up to face the doorway. Emla stands 
 alone on the left. Garthus pushes back the curtain and 
 appears, yawning. He is attired in a much tousled tu 
 nic. The women all prostrate themselves and remain 
 prostrated during the ceremony.) 
 
 EMLA (intoning). The master arises before the sun. 
 
 THE WIVES. He rises and bids the sun hasten. 
 
 THE PRIESTS He rises and the sun prepares to 
 follow. 
 
 ALL TOGETHER. The master rises and the day 
 begins. 
 
 (Emla goes to him and begins to unbutton his tunic. 
 The other women draw back the curtain, go in, and bring 
 out a fresh tunic. They hand it to Emla, who puts it 
 upon him. Then they unfold his mantle of red cloth, 
 and all them holding it together, she affixes it to his shoul 
 ders by two large brooches, each of a single stone. All 
 this has been done in silence, while he submits, yawning 
 and bored. Maria takes up the discarded tunic and 
 stands waiting.) 
 
 MARTA (intoning). What, O head-wife, shall be 
 done with the husks of yesterday? 
 
 EMLA (intoning). What, O head-priest, shall be 
 done with the husks of yesterday? 
 
 ODENA. The husks of yesterday shall be cast into 
 the oven. That they may make the bread of today. 
 
 (Marta crosses down from the left, where she is, and 
 goes out Left front). 
 
 GARTHUS (intoning in a bored voice to the lesser wives 
 who again have lined up). The day has begun. (The 
 lesser wives at once go about their several duties, some 
 going Left front, some Right front, some into room left. 
 The curtains of the three rooms are now standing en 
 tirely drawn back. Only the middle room, however, is 
 entirely disclosed on account of the size and location of 
 the opening. This room contains but a bed and the 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 45 
 
 chest of drawers out of which the wives have brought 
 the clothes.) This clothes ceremony is very stupid. It 
 bores me. (To Odena.) And why should they be burnt 
 up every day? 
 
 ODENA (indulgently). Garthus does not perceive the 
 inner meanings of things. 
 
 GARTHUS. But it uses up a lot of perfectly good 
 clothes. Yesterday's husk cost me one woman slave 
 and a half and I had to pay the half in goats at 
 that. 
 
 ODENA. I thought you were glad to have your wealth 
 so demonstrated. What is the use of wealth if you do 
 not use it? It took me sleepless nights to invent so ex 
 cellently wasteful a method. 
 
 EMLA. And how well he explained it. The more 
 waste, the more honor. 
 
 GARTHUS. Well, yes, I suppose so. But it's such a 
 bore to be changing your clothes every day. (Emla 
 is seen trying to seize an idea which suddenly hits her. 
 She stands with wide eyes abstracted.) It's a good 
 method. But don't go thinking it can't be improved 
 upon. 
 
 ODENA (indignantly). It's easier to get a new idea 
 than improve upon an old one. 
 
 GARTHUS. And that other method of yours. Mak 
 ing visits to all the patriarchs of the neighborhood. To 
 show off my household and bestow presents. That bores 
 me too. There's no use in visiting unless to get a new 
 wife. 
 
 ODENA (indulgently). Garthus does not perceive the 
 inner meanings of things. The more visits and pres 
 ents, the more you impress other people with your lei 
 sure and wealth. What is the use of leisure unless you 
 do it before people ? You might as well be asleep. And 
 what, I say again, is the use of more wealth than you 
 can use unless a clever priest spends sleepless nights 
 inventing new methods to use it? Emla, the head-wife, 
 
46 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 will bear me out. I say Emla, the head-wife, will bear 
 me out. 
 
 EMLA (having now definitely formulated her thought 
 and speaking boldly as becomes a person who origi 
 nates a startling innovation). You say it bores you to 
 change your clothes and make visits? 
 
 GARTHUS. Damnably. What are you driving at 
 now? 
 
 EMLA. If my noble master's mind is above such tri 
 fles, then why should not I, the head-wife, perform for 
 you all the clothes changing and the visiting? 
 
 GARTHUS (in amazement). It was never done before. 
 
 ODENA (imperiously). I could not give my sanc 
 tion 
 
 EMLA (in pretended surprise). Why, it was your 
 idea. You said so yourself. 
 
 ODENA. I? When? 
 
 EMLA. Just now, when you asked me to bear you 
 out. I thought it was the cleverest idea you ever got. 
 
 GARTHUS (delighted). Just when there seemed no 
 escape from this endless business of using my wealth ! 
 Cleverest idea you ever got. 
 
 ODENA (having now readjusted himself to the notion). 
 I do not say that there are not difficulties. Conflicting 
 prerogatives and 
 
 EMLA. But you will surmount them. By another 
 of your beautiful ceremonies. 
 
 GARTHUS. Well, I'm glad that's settled. Mind, I 
 don't change my clothes for at least a month. Unless I 
 get very drunk. Now summon the head-slave of the 
 hunt. I'll have a bite to eat and start out. 
 
 EMLA (aside to Odena). Are their beards all de 
 cently trimmed? (He nods she goes on in her cere 
 monial voice.) The master wishes to hunt. 
 
 ODENA (to Akra). The master wishes to hunt. 
 
 AKRA (calling at Left front). The master wishes to 
 hunt. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 47 
 
 {He takes his place with the priests again. The head- 
 slave enters Left. His beard and hair are trimmed, 
 shorter than those of Garthus which are grown to their 
 full length. He carries a spear.) 
 
 THE HEAD-SLAVE OF THE HUNT (prostrating him 
 self and rising). O Long Beard, the short-beard slaves 
 of the hunt are in readiness. They wait for their break 
 fast. As our beards are shorter than thine, shorter also 
 our breath, our strength, our endurance. 
 
 GARTHUS (bored). Head-slave of the Hunt, they 
 have my permission. For the short beard signifieth less 
 strength than the long. (The head-slave presents his 
 spear to Garthus, goes out Left front.) Couldn't you let 
 her do all this too? 
 
 ODENA. Garthus has no perception of the inner 
 meanings of things. 
 
 GARTHUS. Well, come along. I'm hungry. 
 
 ODENA. You were to give orders that they break 
 ground for the temple. 
 
 GARTHUS (crossly). Well, summon them. 
 
 EMLA (aside to Odena). You are sure they have all 
 shaved today? Last time some of their beards showed 
 most indecently. (Odena nods in her ceremonial 
 voice). The master would speak to the head-slaves of 
 the workers. 
 
 ODENA (to Akra). The master would speak to the 
 head-slaves of the workers. 
 
 AKRA (going to Left and calling). The master would 
 speak to the head-slaves of the workers. 
 
 (Four men enter and prostrate themselves and remain 
 prostrate. Their faces are shaved and their hair is 
 cropped.) 
 
 THE HEAD-SLAVE. O Bearded One, the workers wait 
 thy voice. They are too weak to grow any hair at all 
 upon their faces and very little upon their heads. O 
 Bearded One, we can only fetch water. 
 
48 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 SECOND HEAD-SLAVE. O Bearded One, we can only 
 dig earth. 
 
 THIRD HEAD-SLAVE. O Bearded One, we can only 
 cut wood. 
 
 FOURTH HEAD-SLAVE. O Bearded One, we can only 
 hew stone. 
 
 ALL THE HEAD-SLAVES. We are not strong enough to 
 hunt. 
 
 GARTHUS. Head-slaves of the workers, the Bearded 
 One knoweth that you have only strength to work. 
 For the smooth face is the face of the stripling 
 and the woman. It signifieth there is no strength what 
 ever. Hear now the voice of the Bearded One. (To 
 Odena listlessly.) What do I say? 
 
 ODENA. Report to me after my breakfast. 
 
 GARTHUS. Head-slaves of the workers, report to the 
 head priest, after his breakfast. (The slaves rise and 
 go out Left.) Come along now. I'm hungry, I tell yon. 
 (He starts.) 
 
 ODENA (stopping him with his voice). Garthus has. 
 no perception of the inner meanings of things. 
 
 GARTHUS (halting). Oh, very well, you can have the 
 procession but cut the ceremony. 
 
 ODENA (remonstrating). Garthus has 
 
 GARTHUS. I tell you I won't have the ceremony. If 
 you don't want the procession, so much the better. 
 
 (They march around the altar as Emla prostrates her 
 self near Right front. As they pass out, Garthus 
 ceremonially touches her head with his spear, the priests 
 wave aside their garments, and Akra with great unction 
 places his foot upon her back. When they have gone 
 by Right front, Emla runs to the chest of draw^- 
 ers and furtively takes out a huge brooch of a single 
 stone, like those with which she had clasped on his man 
 tle but bigger. She comes out to make sure she is alone 
 and tries it on, fondly and covetously. She comes out 
 into the courtyard to get a better light on it. Maga 
 enters Right front.) 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 49 
 
 EMLA (starting*). I was cleaning it. 
 
 MAGA (with kindly quizzicality). And so you clasped 
 it upon you? The new wife takes liberties. With the 
 sacred tabu of the head of the household. 
 
 EMLA (coaxingly). Are you not well? That you have 
 eaten so quickly? 
 
 MAGA. I have finished. 
 
 EMLA. If Garthus has finished, I will go get my 
 breakfast. 
 
 MAGA. No, he is eating. I stole away. To finish 
 some work. 
 
 EMLA. Work? A priest work? 
 
 MAGA (smiling). All work is not unworthy. A priest 
 may work for the service of the gods. This is a head 
 dress for Odena. 
 
 EMLA. A head-dress! What is that? 
 
 MAGA. To go on the head. When he makes the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 EMLA. Oh, let me see it! 
 
 MAGA (anxious to show it). You must not tell? (She 
 shakes her head vehemently. He makes sure the coast 
 is clear.) I will show you. 
 
 EMLA (as he goes into room right). I'll put this 
 back. 
 
 MAGA (re-entering). Here. (He carries a head 
 dress made like a mitre, out of the sides sprout two 
 large curling horns. He has a child's pride in his 
 work.) 
 
 EMLA (running down from returning the brooch to 
 the drawer). Oh! (She is in ecstasy of admiration.) 
 
 MAGA. Another horn fits on the top. 
 
 EMLA. Oh, I should love to see it on! 
 
 MAGA (as delighted as she is). See! (He puts it 
 on. The horns curl in about his neck f so that he must 
 thrust his jaw upwards.) 
 
 EMLA (delighted). It must be very heavy and un 
 comfortable ! 
 
50 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 MAGA. You will have to hold your neck so. The 
 more discomfort the more honor. 
 
 EMLA. It is beautiful, beautiful. 
 
 MAGA. I wish I could see it. 
 
 EMLA (coaxingly but a little aghast at her own dar 
 ing). Put it on me and you can see it. 
 
 MAGA. On you! 
 
 EMLA. Then you can see how beautiful it is. What 
 it must be to have such brains and such hands ! 
 
 MAGA (tempted). No one will see. You must not 
 tell. 
 
 EMLA (breathless and sobered). No. (He puts it 
 on her.) 
 
 MAGA (standing off and concerned only with the ef 
 fect). What a splendid curl! Just as I saw it all in 
 my mind. I have been picking out the goats for 
 weeks. 
 
 EMLA. Oh, if I could only see myself! 
 
 MAGA (suddenly realizing the enormity of the impro 
 priety, and snatching it off). Just like a woman! I 
 don't know why you ever did such a thing. If you 
 ever tell, Odena will punish you severely. (He goes 
 toward room right but pauses to examine the head 
 dress. ) 
 
 EMLA (banding her hands upon her head and strain 
 ing her jaw upwards). How beautiful! And so uncom 
 fortable ! 
 
 MAGA (hastily, to Odena who enters right front). I 
 was just fixing in the third horn. 
 
 EMLA. When I saw him and asked what it was. 
 
 ODENA (observing it critically). The horns should 
 curl up more. 
 
 MAGA (indignantly). Blame the goats not me. 
 
 ODENA. Nevertheless I fear it will not be uncom 
 fortable enough. Can't you make something to have the 
 jaw go so? (He strains his head as far back and up 
 as possible.) 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 51 
 
 MAGA. Then it would fall off. But nothing ever 
 suits you. 
 
 ODENA (conciliatingly). Well, the next will be more 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 MAGA {grumbling). Think it up yourself then. {He 
 goes into room right.) 
 
 EMLA. What are you going to call it? 
 
 (Akra appears Right front. He conceals something 
 hastily in the folds of his robe on seeing Emla. Odena 
 goes quickly to him.) 
 
 ODENA (in a low voice). Did you get it? (Akra 
 exposes secretly a cup, which Odena looks into). It is 
 not much. 
 
 AKRA. All he left. 
 
 ODENA. Put it in my bottle. Don't let her see you. 
 (He turns up again. Akra cannot go into the room as 
 Emla is just in front of it.) 
 
 EMLA. Are you going to call it just a head-dress? 
 
 ODENA (in surprise). Everybody could spell that at 
 once. 
 
 AKRA (glibly). Everything relating to priests must 
 be spelt in the most uncomfortable manner possible. 
 
 ODENA. Yes. I thought up your name last night. 
 You are a Neophyte. (Akra with one hand fumbles 
 for his tablet and is in danger of exposing his cup. 
 Odena goes on hastily.) You can write it down later. 
 The "Neo" is unfortunately quite simple. But you 
 proceed beautifully from the expected to the unexpect 
 ed. The "Phyte" is a triumph of unexpectedness. You 
 would natural expect f-i-g-h-t. It is p-h-y-t-e. The 
 "t" is the only letter you expect. 
 
 MARTA (entering hastily from Left front entrance, 
 about to cross to Right front, her manner indicating sup 
 pressed excitement). I thought you were at breakfast. 
 He has gone to the hunt. (Emla, noticing her manner, 
 goes down to meet her. Akra slips into the room, lifting 
 up the cup as he does so and sniffing at its contents. 
 
52 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 Odena sees him doing it and taking him by the ear, 
 seizes the cup and marches him into the room.) He is 
 hunting on the mountains between your father's land 
 and ours. 
 
 EMLA (curious as to her manner but superior). Well? 
 
 MARTA. He hunted there yesterday. A slave lives 
 there with his daughter. They belong to your father. 
 
 EMLA. My father owns many slaves and their daugh 
 ters. 
 
 MARTA. She met Garthus there yesterday. One of 
 our slaves of the Hunt told one of the maid-servants 
 who told me. I feared Garthus might go to see her 
 again today. So I sent some of our slaves to capture 
 her. It is disgraceful. Has he not wives enough whom 
 he is neglecting? One might expect an occasional maid 
 servant of our own but a slave! And beyond his own 
 household ! 
 
 EMLA. Garthus has taken up with a common slave? 
 
 MARTA. Yes. When he had just married you. 
 
 EMLA (not noticing her gibe). And I thought he had 
 never been more contented and drunk in his life. 
 
 MARTA. Some lick-spittle maid-servant must have 
 told you that. We could have told you different. 
 
 EMLA. A common slave! In the forest? 
 
 MARTA. What right has a slave to live with her fa 
 ther in the forest? No patriarch who can manage his 
 household would allow it. 
 
 EMLA (haughtily). You are speaking of my father! 
 
 MARTA. Slaves are not good enough for the creature. 
 What is to be done? 
 
 EMLA. I will ask the priests. (Calling.) Odena! 
 
 MAGA (appearing at door). Odena is busy. What is 
 it? 
 
 EMLA. Garthus. A woman slave yesterday while 
 hunting. 
 
 MARTA. It is disgraceful. 
 
 EMLA. Has he not wives enough of his own? 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 53 
 
 MARTA. Or maid-servants? 
 
 MAGA. He is a patriarch. A man may do as he 
 pleases in his own household. 
 
 EMLA AND MARTA. But he went beyond it ! 
 
 MAGA {shocked). A slave of another patriarch's? 
 
 MARTA. Her father's. 
 
 MAGA {scratching his head). That is another mat 
 ter. I will get Odena. (Goes into room.) 
 
 MARTA (calling after). When he had just married 
 her. 
 
 EMLA (angrily). Why do you keep on saying when 
 .Tie had just married me? It's your affair, too. 
 
 MARTA. No such thing happened when / was head- 
 wife. If there were slaves at all, they were ours. 
 
 EMLA (with increasing heat). He has insulted your 
 iEather as well as mine. 
 
 MARTA. Insulted your father? If he has, it would 
 serve him right. Letting a woman slave live with her 
 father! (They run to Odena, who enters.) Garthus 
 has 
 
 EMLA (peremptorily). The head-wife complains to 
 priests! Garthus has taken up with a slave. 
 
 MARTA. It is disgraceful. 
 
 EMLA. He has insulted our fathers, 
 
 ODENA (with authority). A patriarch has preroga 
 tives. He may do as he pleases in his own household. 
 
 EMLA. But he went beyond it. 
 
 ODENA (scandalized). Another patriarch's? 
 
 MARTA. A slave of her father's. 
 
 EMLA (angrily). What does it matter whose father 
 it is ! He has insulted six fathers. 
 
 MARTA. He has insulted mine most. Your father's 
 slave is not my father's slave. And I was head-wife 
 before you came. 
 
 EMLA. And another before you came. You were 
 all head-wives once. I tell you he has insulted all our 
 Jfathers alike. 
 
54 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 ODENA (with authority). Peace! There are many 
 questions involved. (Thinking his way out.) One he 
 has insulted the fathers of all of you. 
 
 EMLA (triumphantly). I told you so. 
 
 MARTA (relying on her intuition). But she is your 
 father's slave. 
 
 ODENA. Peace! Two the fact that she is your fa 
 ther's slave is a fact of wide implication. 
 
 MARTA (triumphantly). I told you so. 
 
 EMLA. Ridiculous. 
 
 ODENA. Peace! Three the insult to your father 
 (Marta) is less than the insult to your father (Emla.) 
 For it is your father's slave. 
 
 MARTA (crestfallen to Emla triumphant). But your 
 father has no business to let a woman-slave live with 
 her father. (To Odena.) Four? 
 
 ODENA. Things come in threes. I have finished. 
 
 MARTA AND EMLA. Well, what's to be done about it? 
 
 ODENA. If it were your own slave, you could pun 
 ish her. As it is not, nothing. 
 
 EMLA (blankly). Something should be done when 
 these things happen with slaves. When you can beat 
 them, at least you show some trifling respect to decency. 
 
 ODENA. But she is not your slave. 
 
 EMLA. She was once. At least, when I was in my 
 father's household, I could have got one of his wives to 
 beat her. 
 
 ODENA. But you have left his household. What 
 would become of a man's personal rights if the women 
 of different households could get together? 
 
 EMLA (baffled). Wives have no way to organize any 
 thing. It looks as if men had arranged it on purpose. 
 
 ODENA. One cannot expect a woman to perceive the 
 hidden meanings of things. 
 
 EMLA. Then if we can't punish her, why not him? 
 
 ODENA (astounded). Punish a man? And a pa 
 triarch ? 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 55 
 
 EMLA. When he takes up with another patriarch's 
 slave, I should think you could see that it interferes 
 with another man's personal rights. 
 
 ODENA. Why, what has he done after all? 
 
 EMLA. He has mixed up the whole order of things. 
 If there's a child, whose slave will it be? 
 
 MARTA. Oh! We can give three goats apiece to the 
 God of Child-birth that there be no child. 
 
 EMLA (struck with the idea). That will make eigh 
 teen. He'll do anything we want for eighteen. 
 
 ODENA (taking advantage of the opportunity). You 
 may give him sixty, it would make no difference. There 
 is no God of Child-birth. 
 
 MARTA AND EMLA (astounded). What! 
 
 ODENA. I discovered it yesterday. And I had no 
 sooner discovered that there was none than I discovered 
 there was no good in one anyhow. The God of Child 
 birth was only a primitive survival. 
 
 MARTA AND EMLA (aghast and indignant). Are wo 
 men to have no god at all? 
 
 ODENA. That's just it. One by primitive man 
 woman was not considered a human being. Two she 
 was another kind of being. Three therefore he gave 
 her a god of her own. Do you not see that if you con 
 tinue this God of Child-birth, you are continuing a prim 
 itive idea that would otherwise have perished long since? 
 If woman has a god of her own, you make her essen 
 tially another being from man. 
 
 EMLA (at once entertaining the idea). Of course, 
 they are made out of the same material. 
 
 ODENA (cautiously). Except that men have brains 
 and souls. At least, they should have the same gods. 
 
 MARTA (regretfully). But it was nice to have a god 
 of your own. 
 
 ODENA. Oh, a man's god will look out for you just 
 as well. 
 
 EMLA. I can tell you one thing right now. You 
 
56 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 can't expect women to go on believing in your gods 
 unless you have a woman-god among them. 
 
 MARTA {decidedly). Let's ask Garthus not to give 
 up the God of Child-birth. 
 
 ODENA. Not that it matters to me. But you can't 
 expect me to punish slaves for you if you object to 
 everything I want. 
 
 MARTA AND EMLA (eagerly). Can you punish her? 
 
 ODENA (in a tone of concession). There are many 
 prerogatives involved. (To Maria.) Is that a maid 
 servant yonder? (Marta goes to entrance Left to see.) 
 Send her away. One cannot discuss important matters 
 with such a brainless creature interfering. 
 
 MARTA (returning). There is no one there. 
 
 EMLA. Go get your breakfast. 
 
 MARTA. Before you? 
 
 EMLA. I don't wish any. (Marta hesitates.) Go! 
 (Marta goes Right front.) 
 
 ODENA (after satisfying himself that she has gone). 
 It is gratifying to talk to one woman who is not alto 
 gether a fool. Garthus has but one wife who is not 
 altogether a fool. He will not of himself care two 
 sticks whether there is a God of Child-birth or not, but 
 if this brainless creature should get at him? 
 
 EMLA. She has no influence with him whatever. 
 
 ODENA. But will it not be better to anticipate her? 
 Then he will shut her up at once. 
 
 EMLA. And in return you will punish this slave? 
 
 ODENA. I will devise some way. 
 
 EMLA. I will speak to Garthus. (After a moment, 
 shrewdly.) Why are you so anxious to abolish the God 
 of Child-birth? 
 
 ODENA. To abolish the false distinctions between 
 men and women. 
 
 EMLA. So that the true ones will be more important? 
 
 ODENA (a little nonplussed, resorting to flattery). 
 You are one woman, in^. ihoiittwdL *I -may -tell you that 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 57 
 
 there is another reason. This God of Child-birth not 
 only perpetuates a false distinction but is one god the 
 more when there should be fewer. 
 
 EMLA (amazed). Fewer? 
 
 ODENA. You saw yourself how the God of the Mas 
 ter's Drunkenness stood in the way of the God of Early 
 Rising. Too many gods interfere and we cannot get on. 
 
 EMLA. On to what? 
 
 ODENA. If there were fewer, you could please them 
 more. As it is, what pleases one annoys another. Fi 
 nally, if there is only one god, you can do what you 
 want with him. Because you can cater to him exclu 
 sively. 
 
 EMLA. One god? Are there others who are primi 
 tive survivals? 
 
 ODENA. Clever priests will doubtless find them so 
 in time. In oneness there is all the power there is. We 
 must simplify therefore. That is the only way to 
 get on. 
 
 EMLA. But what do you wish to get on to? 
 
 ODENA (evasively). To get on to? Why everything 
 that is to come. 
 
 EMLA (practically). I wish to get on to putting this 
 slave to death. 
 
 ODENA (amazed). To beat her, to cut off her ears, 
 or anything that won't keep her from working. But to 
 put her to death! Such a thing has not been done. 
 
 EMLA. I don't know why things are. But I know 
 that women-slaves are not like maid-servants and that 
 maid-servants are not like wives. It is marriage 
 that makes the difference. Marriage is not much, for 
 after all Garthus may take up with anybody he pleases. 
 But at least wives are not maid-servants and they can 
 order people about. Therefore the way for wives to get 
 on is to pretend that marriage means more than it does. 
 That's why I want this slave put to death. It is not 
 much, for it will not hinder Garthus. But at least it 
 
58 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 will discourage slaves. Later, we will try to discourage 
 maid-servants. Then, we will try to discourage him. 
 
 ODENA (with decision). Why should she not be sac 
 rificed at the altar. 
 
 EMLA (with a scream of delight). Will she do as 
 well as a goat? 
 
 ODENA. With the proper ceremony, better. 
 
 EMLA. That will be sure to discourage others. Es 
 pecially if you drain her blood slowly like a goat's. 
 
 ODENA. But will Garthus object? 
 
 EMLA. She is not his slave but my father's. And 
 my father will not know about it until it is over. 
 
 ODENA. And if he should object, Garthus can go to 
 war with him! 
 
 EMLA. What is war? 
 
 ODENA. Men fighting each other, as they fight with 
 beasts. 
 
 EMLA. Men killing each other? (Vehemently.) No, 
 I should not like it at all. There are not enough men 
 to go rpund as it is. Garthus has six wives and they 
 must share him with maid-servants and slaves. 
 
 ODENA. But war is only a little different from 
 hunting. Even patriarchs are sometimes killed in hunt 
 ing. Besides, Garthus is beginning to grow tired of it. 
 He was hunting when he came across this slave and had 
 time not been heavy on his hands, he would not have 
 taken up with her. 
 
 EMLA. That may be all well enough. But I will 
 not hear of this war. 
 
 ODENA. And hunting is no longer honorable for a 
 patriarch. In spite of all we can do, the slaves will 
 hunt secretly. Garthus is becoming disgusted with it. 
 
 EMLA. No war, I tell you! If you suggest war to 
 Garthus, I'll suggest something that you won't want 
 at all. 
 
 ODENA (annoyed out o\f his caution). What can a 
 brainless woman suggest. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 59 
 
 EMI/A (indignantly). Didn't I get him to start the 
 temple against your will? Oh, that is what I can do,' 
 I will say it is not seemly that anybody build the temple 
 but priests ! You must do all the digging and stone- 
 hewing and building yourselves. 
 
 ODENA (dumbfounded). But we serve the gods! 
 
 EMLA. That would be serving the gods. And many 
 of them are only survivals anyway. 
 
 ODENA. The gods do no work. It is not meet that 
 their servants should work. If they work, it will be 
 little the gods. 
 
 EMLA. But Maga works. He makes things. (Odena 
 is startled.) A head-dress for you. 
 
 ODENA (with relief). Oh that! But that is not 
 menial. 
 
 EMLA. What is menial? 
 
 ODENA. It is anything that is productive. 
 
 EMLA. Your temple would not produce anything, 
 either. 
 
 ODENA (ignoring this). Besides, no one else could 
 make the head-dress. If they could, it would be menial 
 too. Whatever anyone else can make is dishonorable 
 for a priest to make. It is our function to illustrate 
 the leisure of the gods. Priests serve the gods by 
 doing nothing except praising them and telling their 
 exploits. We must have some place to praise them in. 
 The more work it costs other people, the more honor 
 for the gods. 
 
 EMLA (with disconcerting suddenness). You have no 
 beards. Why should you not work the same as slaves? 
 
 ODENA (staggered). You have no beards either. 
 
 EMLA. But they do not come. You have to shave 
 every day. That shows you should work. 
 
 ODENA (in confusion, throwing caution to the winds). 
 That is to illustrate our weakness. We are consorts to 
 the gods. 
 
 EMLA. But I am a consort. I work. (Discovering 
 
60 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 a great point.) We wives are all of us belittling him to 
 work. 
 
 ODENA. You are altogether brainless. What would 
 become of his household? 
 
 EMLA, Then let the other wives work. The head- 
 wife should only praise him and tell his exploits. I 
 don't know why things are. But I know that maid 
 servants can order women-slaves and wives can order 
 maid-servants, and the head-wife can order the other 
 wives while she lasts. (Suddenly she grasps the idea 
 toward which she has been grouping.) The way for 
 wives to get on is to simplify. There should be only 
 one wife. 
 
 ODENA. One? Garthus could never get along with 
 one wife. 
 
 EMLA. What difference does it make to him whether 
 they are wives or not? 
 
 ODENA. You know nothing whatever. A patriarch 
 only marries to see who the next patriarch will be. 
 
 EMLA. Is that what it is for? 
 
 ODENA. How could they choose out of so many 
 children? They choose only from the children of the 
 wives. 
 
 EMLA (triumphantly). Then they should choose only 
 from the children of the head-wife. It would be easier. 
 
 ODENA. And none of them might be worth choo* ing. 
 It would be dangerous. And since more than one wife, 
 the more wives the more honor. 
 
 EMLA. If it is only for honor that a man has many 
 wives, then the honor can be secured in some other way. 
 
 ODENA. How unsafe it is to argue without a knowl 
 edge of history! That is why wives were invented 
 to bring honor. The father is honored because he sells 
 his daughter instead of giving her away. The husband 
 is honored because he has somebody to attend to his 
 slaves instead of attending to them himself. It was a 
 clever priest who discovered that. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 61 
 
 EMLA. Then will it not be a cleverer priest who 
 discovers how one wife may bring more honor than 
 many ? 
 
 ODENA {grudgingly, his imagination stirred). Yes. 
 
 EMLA. I will tell you. She will do nothing but il 
 lustrate his leisure. Do nothing but tell his exploits and 
 spend his wealth. Especially by changing clothes. 
 
 ODENA {really much impressed but concealing it as 
 well as he can). Who ever thought of such a thing! 
 
 EMLA. If a clever priest does not think of it right 
 away, some cleverer priest will get ahead of him. 
 
 ODENA {alarmed at possible competition). No pa 
 triarch has a cleverer 
 
 EMLA. So Garthus will think when you tell him you 
 thought of it. 
 
 ODENA {adjusting himself rapidly to the idea). But 
 his other wives? 
 
 EMLA. You are clever enough to think up something 
 for them to be. 
 
 ODENA. Yes, yes! But what? 
 
 EMLA. Some middle thing of course. Which is and 
 which isn't. You could make them it with a beautiful 
 ceremony. 
 
 ODENA {dazzled). And they would really not be 
 much different from what they are already. 
 
 EMLA. And if they were, what would it matter ? The 
 ceremony will make the poor creatures feel important 
 again. And if as time goes on they find that being it 
 is not what they thought, neither they nor their fathers 
 can do anything about it. 
 
 ODENA {delighted as the idea unfolds). If they ob- 
 j ect, Garthus can go to war with them ! 
 
 EMLA. No war, I tell you! 
 
 ODENA {emphatically). He must go to war. Other 
 wise I shall not make you the only wife and the others 
 the others its. 
 
 EMLA. Oh yes you will. You are not going to throw 
 
62 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 away the cleverest idea you ever had, in all your clever 
 life. What will you call what you are going to make 
 them? 
 
 ODENA (protesting). That will need many sleepless 
 nights. There is much hidden meaning to signify. 
 
 EMLA. But when I am the only wife, I must do 
 something. I should be more bored than Garthus, in 
 spite of changing clothes and making visits. A woman 
 must work at something. 
 
 ODENA (sharply). Then you will spoil my whole 
 idea. You cannot illustrate leisure and do anything else. 
 
 EMI/A. Yes, you can. If you do something which is 
 work and which isn't. 
 
 MARTA (entering Left front). I've got the creature! 
 
 EMLA (with fierce eagerness). What does she look 
 like? 
 
 MARTA. No figure whatever. I can't imagine what 
 he ever saw in such a runt. Why, his sixth wife has 
 larger feet. 
 
 EMLA. Odena is going to put her to death. 
 
 MARTA. Has Garthus consented? 
 
 EMLA. No, but he will. Oh, he is back from hunting 
 already. 
 
 GARTHUS (To Emla and Maria who run to him as he 
 enters Right front, in a rage). Don't speak to me. 
 Your father is no patriarch. 
 
 EMLA. What's the matter? 
 
 GARTHUS, Don't speak to me. You dishonor me by 
 speaking to me. 
 
 MARTA (delighted}. We could have told you so when 
 you bought her. 
 
 ODENA. What has happened? 
 
 GARTHUS. I shall never hunt again. That what's 
 happened. 
 
 ODENA (eagerly). But her father? 
 
 GARTHUS. He is no patriarch. He has acted like a 
 common slave. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 63 
 
 MARTA. We could have 
 
 GARTHUS. You would never believe it. No self-re 
 specting patriarch can ever hunt again. 
 
 ODENA. What has he done? 
 
 GARTHUS. Her father is actually eating the game 
 he kills. Eating it ! To save his own cattle. Just now 
 I met his hunters carrying it home. To feed his own 
 household with! 
 
 ODENA. Impossible. 
 
 GARTHUS. I saw it, I tell you. He'll be selling it 
 next. The miserable renegade has made hunting a 
 business. He is no longer fit for a patriarch. 
 
 ODENA (very gravely). Undermine his own social 
 institutions? He should be punished. 
 
 GARTHUS. Punish a patriarch ! 
 
 ODENA. Certainly. Why not? Society must protect 
 its institutions. 
 
 GARTHUS (bitterly to Emla). I might have known 
 your father had a yellow streak. He drove too sharp a 
 bargain when he sold you. But you expect fathers to 
 flim-flam husbands. I never dreamed he would debase 
 the entire patriarchal order. 
 
 MARTA. We could have 
 
 GARTHUS. No self-respecting patriarch can ever 
 hunt again. What on earth shall I do with myself all 
 day ! I can't drink all the time. Your father should be 
 unpatriarched. I suppose you will be doing some 
 thing undignified next and bringing disgrace upon my 
 household. Like father, like child. 
 
 MARTA. If I were head-wife again 
 
 GARTHUS. I can't hunt. Visiting bores me. I will 
 not change any more clothes. (To Odena.) You will 
 have to think up something respectable for me to do. 
 
 EMLA (quickly, as Odena is about to seize the oppor 
 tunity}. I will tell you what to do. That is supremely 
 respectable. Go to war with my father. 
 
 GARTHUS. War ! 
 
64 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 EMLA. Show him how to treat patriarchs who debase 
 their order. He is unworthy of being the father of 
 your head-wife. You owe it to me to punish him, to 
 yourself, to society. 
 
 GARTHUS. I never heard of such a thing. No pa 
 triarch ever went to war. 
 
 EMLA. No patriarch ever disgraced the noble pas 
 time of hunting. 
 
 GARTHUS (helplessly to Odena). What do you think 
 of it? 
 
 ODENA. You must protect the patriarchal honor. 
 Emla is a fit head-wife for a patriarch. She proves she 
 is no child of her father's. 
 
 MARTA (bewildered and chagrined). Her father 
 can't even manage his own slaves. 
 
 EMLA (threateningly). Do you want Garthus to put 
 that slave to death? 
 
 MARTA (brow-beaten). Yes. 
 
 EMLA. Then you'd better let me attend to it. 
 
 GARTHUS. What slave? 
 
 EMLA (imperiously to Marta). Go get Garthus some 
 thing to drink. 
 
 GARTHUS. What slave? 
 
 EMLA (reluctant to open the subject at so unfortu 
 nate a moment). The slave you met on the mountain 
 yesterday. 
 
 GARTHUS (indifferently). Oh, that one? Why should 
 I put her to death? 
 
 EMLA. Because you have taken up with her. 
 
 GARTHUS. Well, I like that! 
 
 EMLA. Because because (she turns to Odena to 
 help her out). 
 
 ODENA. Because she is her father's slave of course. 
 Are you not going to war with him? 
 
 GARTHUS. That is all well enough. But she said it 
 was because I took up with her. And what she says all 
 my household will be saying. I shall do no such thing. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 65 
 
 It will reflect on me. Put a slave to death because I 
 took up with her ! 
 
 ODENA. But you went beyond your household. It 
 is unpatriarchal. 
 
 GARTHUS. I don't care what it is. 
 
 ODENA (changing his tactics). It won't cost you 
 anything. She is not your slave. 
 
 GARTHUS. What do I care? What is one slave more 
 or less in the world? But I will not put her to death 
 because I took up with her. It will reflect on me. 
 
 ODENA AND EMLA AND MARTA. But 
 
 GARTHUS (in desperation). Be quiet all of you! 
 First, a patriarch dishonoring himself like a slave eating 
 his own game. And now, a slave put to death because 
 a patriarch has honored her. The world is going mad ! 
 I am going to get drunk! It is the only honorable 
 thing left me. (He stalks into his bedroom and savage 
 ly draws the curtain.) 
 
 MARTA (helplessly). What shall we do? 
 
 EMLA. So you thought you could manage! Go get 
 him his drink at once. (Maria goes out meekly Right 
 front, holding up her key.) You said you would devise 
 some way, otherwise, I wouldn't have let him go to war. 
 
 ODENA. Some way will come. But only after a 
 sleepless night. 
 
 EMLA (energetically). I am going to get on to kill 
 ing that slave at once. Sacrifice her now and think up 
 a reason afterwards. 
 
 ODENA. But what reason? 
 
 EMLA. He said to kill her would discredit him. 
 Then to let her live must discredit him still more. Thai 
 must be the reason. But the thing is to kill her now 
 while he is getting drunk. (Delighted.) Oh, and you 
 can wear your new head-dress. (Marta comes in with a 
 jug of wine and goes into the back room.) And at the 
 same time you must announce what she and the other 
 wives are to be. What are they to be? 
 
66 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 ODENA (protesting). These are matters of weighty 
 importance. Such things cannot be done without sleep 
 lessness. 
 
 EMLA (to Maria as she re-enters and goes Right 
 front). Did he drink it right down? 
 
 MARTA. Yes. Another at once. 
 
 EMLA (to Odena delightedly). He will be very 
 drunk. You will have till tomorrow to think up the 
 reason. (To Maria.) The other wives will be in at 
 breakfast. Give them the slave and we will get on at 
 once. (Maria goes Right front.) But you can't have 
 until tomorrow to think up a name for the other wives. 
 For you must sacrifice this slave right away. 
 
 ODENA (dismayed). Without a new ceremony? 
 
 EMLA (firmly). You must sacrifice her at once with 
 out ceremony, and you must wear your new head-dress. 
 That and the sacrifice of a slave will give all the more 
 distinction to what the other wives will be when you 
 have named them. (Odena expostulates.) No. You 
 go right ahead and when the times comes the name will 
 come too. (Maria enters with another jug of wine.) 
 The slave? 
 
 MARTA (grimly). They have her. (She hurries into 
 room.) 
 
 EMLA (as a noise of women's voices is heard). 
 They're coming. (The wives enter Right front , pulling 
 and jeering at a woman bound in their midst.) Hush, 
 he may interfere. He's not too drunk yet. (The wo 
 men throw the slave in front of the altar. Maria re 
 turns hastily). More? 
 
 MARTA. Yes. (She runs out Right front.) 
 
 EMLA (going to the slave and surveying her from all 
 points). What could he see in her ? How disgracefully 
 small her hands are. Her body is like an ant's. 
 
 THE WIVES (variously). Her feet are useless. Her 
 ankle bones are slimmer than an antelope's. She has 
 wrists like a gazelle. She has the bosom of a priest. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 67 
 
 EMLA. Odena is going to put her to death. (The 
 slave with a moan sinks to her knees, as Maria returns 
 hastily with another jug.) He will sacrifice her and 
 drain her blood slowly like a goat's. 
 
 MARTA (pausing contemptuously to survey her). The 
 creature looks to have less blood than a goat. 
 
 ODENA (thoughtfully measuring the slave and the 
 altar with, his eyes). If we sacrifice her on the altar, 
 we must double her up. 
 
 EMLA. Quickly! You must get your head-dress. 
 (To Maria.) Quickly! He must be very drunk or he 
 will interfere. (Maria starts to go.) Stop ! (She runs 
 and seizes the jug to Odena triumphantly.) That is 
 your reason ! 
 
 ODENA. What? 
 
 EMLA. This ! (Holding the jug to the mouth of the 
 slave.) Drink! (The slave after a wondering moment 
 drinks. Emla splashes some of the wine on her and 
 hands the jug back to Marta.) Hurry! (Marta goes.) 
 Hurry! Get on your head-dress. (Odena goes. To the 
 women who have been watching the profanation of the 
 tabu in horror and in amazement.) Not a word now or 
 after. You shall see. 
 
 (They wait in silence for a moment. Then Odena 
 with his head-dress, on which the third horn is now set 
 in place, appears. He is followed by Maga, who is 
 followed by Akra. Maga bears a pail and Akra a long 
 knife, and all three have their mantles on. All the wives 
 exclaim at the beauty of the head-dress. At this mo 
 ment, Marta screams from behind the curtain and ap 
 pears running. After her reels Garthus, beating 
 her.) 
 
 GARTHUS. Why don't you fill the pitcher! Why 
 don't you fill the pitcher ! (He sees them all and stag 
 gers to the front.) What's all this? (The procession 
 has come behind the altar as Garthus staggers below it. 
 He sees the slave.) Shall not put her to death I tell 
 
68 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT II 
 
 you ! Will go to war but won't put her to death. 'Fleet 
 on me. 
 
 EMLA (in a ringing voice). Odena, tell Garthus what 
 this slave has done! 
 
 ODENA. She has broken the most sacred tabu of the 
 patriarchs. She has drunk of the wine of the head of 
 the household. 
 
 GARTHUS (scarcely believing his ears). She? Drunk 
 my wine? (He staggers towards the slave incredu 
 lously and bends over her and sniffs.) The slave has 
 'scredited me. And my household. Let her be sac'- 
 ficed. 
 
 EMLA (as Akra hands Odena the Jcnife). Wait. The 
 sacrifice should come last. Tell Garthus what his other 
 wives are to be. (As Odena expostulates.) Tell 
 him! 
 
 ODENA. Garthus, I have invented a new honor for 
 you. 
 
 GARTHUS. Need one. Won't change clothes. Won't 
 visit. Can't hunt. Must go to war. For somethin' 
 'speccable to do. What is it? 
 
 ODENA. The greatest honor ever invented by any 
 priest for any patriarch. Your head-wife Emla will do 
 all the clothes changing and visiting for you, as you 
 yourself suggested. She will do more than this. She 
 will do nothing at all. She will illustrate your leisure 
 for you. All the other patriarchs will envy your wealth. 
 For you have a wife who will spend it for you and do 
 nothing at all. 
 
 GARTHUS. Great idea! Clever, clever, clever priest! 
 
 EMLA. Go on. 
 
 ODENA. But in order that this may be accomplished 
 with seemliness, with seemliness your other wives will 
 be no longer be your other wives. They will be 
 they will be 
 
 GARTHUS. What will they be? 
 
 EMLA (to the helpless Odena). Go on. 
 
ACT II The Craft of the Tortoise 69 
 
 ODENA (floundering more and more}. Something 
 which is and which is not. 
 
 AKRA (suddenly). I have it. (He whispers to 
 Odena.) 
 
 ODENA (with relief). As I was about to say, they 
 will be concubines. 
 
 GARTHUS. What are conk'bines? 
 
 EMLA. That will make no difference to you. As far 
 as you are concerned, they will be just the same as 
 before. 
 
 GARTHUS (coming to her with maudlin satisfaction). 
 And what will you be, darling Emla? 
 
 EMLA (she waves him away; he totters and falls with 
 drunken good nature). I shall be just the same as I 
 was before, too. Except that I shall be your only wife 
 and do nothing but save you from being bored. And get 
 you unheard of honor. By reciting your exploits, by 
 spending your wealth, and illustrating your leisure. I 
 shall do nothing whatever that is productive. (With an 
 inspiration, pointing to the head-dress, she strains back 
 her jaw and then bands her head.) Oh, I shall make 
 lovely uncomfortable things like head-dresses ! (As the 
 curtain falls, Garthus utters feeble hurrahs.) 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
ACT III 
 
 THE DRAPERIES OF SOCIETY 
 
 A Gothic garden. In the back is seen the donjon of 
 the castle. Horizontally along the middle of the stage 
 runs the hedge which marks the beginning of the gar 
 den, three feet high; in the center the main entrance 
 surmounted by an arched trellis. Within the enclosure, 
 on the right, is a semi-circular stone bench flanked by 
 two ornamental box trees in pots. They are clipped into 
 approved shape: the one on the left is a cylinder sur 
 mounted by a globe the one on the right is a square 
 surmounted by a triangle standing on its apex and this 
 in turn is surmounted by a globe. On the left of the 
 entrance a lower box hedge cuts off the space into an 
 other plot, slanting to the left by steps. This is divided 
 at each step by hedges of similar height into little 
 squares and oblongs. Within each of these is a center 
 piece of flowers, an aviary, a cage with rabbits, etc. 
 
 The lady of the castle is seated upon the stone bench. 
 Her hair, which has just been died yellow with saffron, 
 is pulled through a large straw peasant's hat which has 
 been made cr&wnless for the occasion; and the locks are 
 now drying in the sun. She is a comely, placid, and 
 forceless lady; kindly and well meaning, though neither 
 tact nor logic is her strong point. Over her locks bends 
 a young woman, bestowing with a brush the finishing 
 touches. She is black-browed with a wealth of black 
 hair, and a sullen and fierce expression. Conspicuously 
 not the cultivated product which the other ladies are, 
 she is not only more massively planned but is in her 
 
 70 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 71 
 
 natural proportions entirely unrestricted. She is thus in 
 decided contrast to the tubular architecture of the lady 
 of the castle and her five maidens. These, all with their 
 hair loose upon their shoulders, are seated upon the turf 
 around the stone bench embroidering. In the back near 
 the entrance sits carding wool an old woman who, it will 
 appear, is the country nurse of the young woman who 
 has been dyeing the hair. Toward the left sprawls with 
 studied pictures queue r ss a troubadour with his lute. He 
 has just finished a song as the curtain rises. 
 
 EMELIE. But the one touch, Madame. Now all will 
 soon be dry. (She puts aside her brush, sits upon the 
 turf with the others, takes up her embroidery frame with 
 vexation, and awkwardly begins to work with unac 
 customed fingers.) 
 
 MARTHE. Will it become me, girls? 
 
 YOUNG LADIES (variously). Beautiful. Exquisite. 
 Like gold. The very saffron itself. 
 
 BLANCHE. Anything would become madame. 
 
 MARTHE (raising a hand-glass from her lap). Not 
 so bad as I feared. What a pity no one can ever see 
 it. Now sing it again. 
 
 RUDEL (singing). Yellow her locks were like gold, 
 like saffron that dots the mead. Her eyes 
 
 MARTHE (petulantly). Stop. I don't see why they 
 all have them gray-blue. 
 
 RUDEL (reproachfully). All ladies will soon desire 
 your eyes, Madonna. My songs will make you the non 
 pareil. 
 
 MARTHE. Nevertheless, there are no stories and 
 ballads about brown ones. Emelie, has your nurse no 
 way to change the eyes also? Nurse, have you no herb 
 in your mountains to make brown eyes gray-blue? 
 
 NURSE (rising to speak in the explosive tone which is 
 habitual to her). The hair, yes. But as for the eyes, 
 God's will be done. (She sits.) 
 
72 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 MARTHE. What a pity! Emelie, why did you never 
 change your hair? 
 
 EMELIE. I saw no reason, madame. 
 
 MARTHE. Poor child, there were no troubadours in 
 your mountains to tell you what ladies should look like. 
 (The young ladies cast sly glances at each other. It is 
 evident they regard Emelie with jealousy and treat her 
 with covert derision.) 
 
 EMELIE. It would not become me. 
 
 MARTHE (with suspicion that her taste has been ques 
 tioned). What does that matter? No one will ever see 
 it except your lover. Unfortunately, as he can never 
 tell anyone, it is not very satisfactory. 
 
 EMELIE. But your husband? (The young ladies 
 titter.) 
 
 MARTHE. Why should he think anything about it 
 whatever? It would perhaps annoy him if his wife 
 proved to have no hair at all. But that is as far as he 
 will go. 
 
 EMELIE. Still 
 
 MARTHE (vigorously). Don't saw the air and call 
 attention to your hands. They look as if they had 
 churned and milked. 
 
 EMELIE (rebelliously). They have! (The young 
 ladies exchange smiles.) 
 
 MARTHE. They have no air of fragility. You must 
 wear a longer sleeve. If it slopes to the palm, it con 
 fuses the eye and gives the effect. Your shoes were to 
 be done today. I said three inches longer than the 
 foot but they should be at least five. And if they curl 
 up at all, one can guess the exact length of your feet. 
 Poor child, your nurse must have allowed you to walk 
 on them too much. 
 
 NURSE (rising). Who was to drive the herd, I should 
 like to know? And buy her shoes? (She sits.) 
 
 MARTHE (with a slight scream). Barefoot? (The 
 young ladies exchange glances.) No wonder her feet 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 73 
 
 spread. Your poor mother would have been scanda 
 lized. Her feet were kept so little they always hurt. 
 
 EMELIE (muttering as she jabs her needle viciously). 
 Fine job that! 
 
 MARTHE. As for your figure ! One must begin in 
 the cradle to have a figure. Girls should never be un- 
 swaddled. Unless your ribs are squeezed in while they 
 are soft, of course they will expand too much. One 
 would not even guess you had stays on. 
 
 EMELIE. I haven't. (The young ladies titter.) 
 
 MARTHE (reprovingly). Didn't you borrow a pair 
 until yours were made? 
 
 YOUNG LADIES (variously). She couldn't get mine 
 on. Nor mine. Nor mine. Of course she couldn't get 
 mine on. 
 
 BLANCHE. She couldn't get any of ours on. 
 
 EMELIE (bursting out). Why should I cramp my 
 body in those things? I can't breathe. 
 
 MARTHE. A lady is not supposed to breathe in 
 gulps. Do you wish to look coarse and strong as a man ? 
 Nature intended women to be delicate and not to re 
 semble men in any way whatever. 
 
 EMELIE. Nature intended me to be what I am. 
 
 MARTHE. Of course, if you did not assist her. One 
 is supposed to assist nature. You must find out what 
 nature wants and then assist her. If she had wanted 
 you to be a man, she would have made you one, would 
 she not? 
 
 EMELIE (sulkily). I suppose so. 
 
 MARTHE. That is proof positive she wanted you to 
 be a woman. Therefore, you should assist her in mak 
 ing you what she wanted. It's as plain as the catechism. 
 
 NURSE (rising). Tie up her body in those things, 
 she will have children in pain. And they will be puny. 
 (She sits.) 
 
 MARTHE (shocked). Women are supposed to have 
 children in pain. Doesn't the Bible say so? As for 
 
74 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 their being puny, that's as absurd as the other is sacri 
 legious. If men are taller in your country, why so are 
 the mountains? (To Emelie.) Put on your hat and 
 let me see if you have learned to walk in it. (The 
 young ladies titter in expectation as Emelie gets her hat 
 and puts it on. It is a steeple-cock and from the tip 
 drags a heavy veil. This obliges the wearer to carry 
 the edifice about 4-5 degrees from the perpendicular, 
 which alone could make it endurable. The weight and 
 strain are apparent in Emelie's gait.) Don't walk as 
 if it were uncomfortable ! A lady is of course more 
 uncomfortable than a peasant but she is not supposed 
 to show it. 
 
 EMELIE. The veil drags so. 
 
 MARTHE. It will be much longer when you are mar 
 ried. Though, poor child, you won't have to trouble 
 about that. (Warningly.) Eyelids low, eyes on ground 
 twelve yards in front, not a glance to right or left. When 
 sitting in the presence of gentlemen, always study your 
 lap, except for an occasional answer to a question. 
 Girls, illustrate. Now! (Young ladies study their laps 
 and then direct a startled glance upwards.) There's 
 not much use practicing in shoes that fit you. Cant the 
 top of you forward to take up the strain on the hat. 
 When you have your new shoes on, you must at the same 
 time cant your thighs backward to take up the extra 
 length at the toes. You can do it easily if you think 
 you're made in two sections. Enough for the present. 
 (Emelie removes her hat, sits f and jerks up her embroi 
 dery savagely.) Blanche. 
 
 BLANCHE. Madame? 
 
 MARTHE. Your father has permission from the 
 Baron to marry you. 
 
 BLANCHE (with mild interest). What's his name? 
 
 MARTHE (with placid roguishness) . Unless he 
 changes very much after marriage you will find him 
 clean and civil. 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 75 
 
 BLANCHE {rising nervously). Oh madame! Do I 
 know him? 
 
 MARTHE. One of our own young men. 
 
 BLANCHE (with increasing apprehension). Oh ma- 
 dame! It is not fair. To marry me to someone I 
 already know. 
 
 MARTHE (sternly). Are you objecting? To a match 
 your father and the Baron have made for you? 
 
 BLANCHE. No, madame. But which, which is he? 
 
 MARTHE. Hugh de Losan. 
 
 BLANCHE (with a cry). Oh madame, my heart told 
 me! Let me speak with you alone. 
 
 MARTHE. Blanche? Leave us. 
 
 (The young ladies go out left by Center. Emelie 
 goes out Left front, followed by the nurse bearing her 
 hat.) 
 
 BLANCHE (as Rudel rises also). No, let him stay. 
 
 MARTHE (suspiciously). Him? Very well, remain. 
 
 BLANCHE (walking up and down in agitation until the 
 others have departed ', then in a low despairing voice.) 
 Madame, I must break the vow of secrecy. I cannot, 
 will not, marry Hugh de Losan. I I have accepted 
 him as my lover. 
 
 MARTHE (with consternation). My poor child, what 
 a catastrophe! (After a moment.) Why did you ask 
 that Rudel remain? 
 
 BLANCHE (wildly). To advise us! 
 
 MARTHE. He has not not been making love to you 
 himself? 
 
 BLANCHE, Oh no, madame! 
 
 RUDEL (reproachfully). Divinity, what suspicions! 
 
 MARTHE. You're the only troubadour who praises 
 brown eyes. 
 
 RUDEL. They are yours, goddess. 
 
 MARTHE. Hers too. I'm not going to have my trou- 
 dabour make songs that I pay for to someone else. 
 
 RUDEL. My queen! 
 
76 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 MARTHE. Well, / never asked you to swim a river 
 or leap a chasm. You're not mixing me up with your 
 other lady? 
 
 RUDEL. Enchantress, I meant that I would if you 
 did. I have many mouths to feed. I must have many 
 voices. But I have only one heart. 
 
 BLANCHE. How can you talk of songs when my 
 heart is breaking? Think of my position. My father 
 commands me to marry my lover! 
 
 MARTHE (with the utmost sympathy). But I don't 
 see what can be done about it. (To Rudel.) Do you? 
 
 RUDEL. In what degree is he your lover? 
 
 BLANCHE. All of them. 
 
 RUDEL. He went through the four degrees with 
 regularity? He hesitated and you encouraged him? 
 When you honored him, he confessed his pangs. You 
 retained him? Then when you raised him to the degree 
 of one listened to, you granted him a kiss? And the 
 rest in due course? 
 
 BLANCHE. Yes. 
 
 RUDEL, I fear if he becomes your husband you have 
 degraded yourself. The only chance is some flaw in 
 the ceremony. Describe it exactly. 
 
 BLANCHE. He placed himself on his knees before 
 me. Both knees in plumb, his two hands joined between 
 mine. He swore he thus devoted himself to me and 
 would obey orders. I raised him to his feet and led 
 him with a chain of flowers tied with one of my hairs. 
 In token he was my slave. 
 
 RUDEL. How can he be your husband,, having 
 solemnly sworn by all the ceremonies his life-long de 
 votion ! 
 
 MARTHE. You'll both have to put up with it as best 
 you can. Much good it would do you anyway, to refuse" 
 to marry him. 
 
 BLANCHE. But madame ! I have promised Henri de 
 Beuve to take him for my servant in case I lost Hugh. 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 77 
 
 MARTHE. You told him? Told him the name of 
 your lover? 
 
 BLANCHE. Oh no, madame. But I know he sus 
 pects. And when I marry Hugh, he will claim my 
 promise. 
 
 MARTHE. Well, what is there so dreadful about 
 that? He is clean, and has nice manners. Besides, 
 when Hugh marries you, he will naturally cease to be 
 your lover and go elsewhere. 
 
 BLANCHE (sobbing). But I don't want him to go 
 elsewhere and I don't want to go elsewhere either. 
 
 MARTHE. Oh yes, you will. When he can command 
 your favors, he will no longer desire them. (Blanche 
 sobs the louder, she goes on consolingly). You will 
 change your mind after you've been married a while. 
 
 BLANCHE. I won't ! I won't ! 
 
 MARTHE (sternly}. A lady must do as other ladies 
 do. Are the laws of society to be overturned on your 
 account? (A horn blows). Botheration! See who it 
 is arriving. If it is a knight, he will sit at the gate 
 until I come out to meet him. And I can't put on my 
 wimple until my hair is quite dry. (Blanche goes right 
 by Center.) It can't be Heloise so early. (To Rudel.) 
 What can two such clean and civil fellows see in that 
 poor simpleton? 
 
 RUDEL. Flower of the earth! Eyes for the milky 
 way in face of the effulgent moon? 
 
 MARTHE (much pleased). You have not said that to 
 your other lady? 
 
 RUDEL. Super-eminence! My heart is here always. 
 Double my wages and my voice will be here always. 
 
 MARTHE. When you sing to her, do you think of 
 me? 
 
 RUDEL. She is only an accident of my having 
 many mouths to feed. If she doubles my wages, I 
 could afford to be your slave for nothing. 
 
 (He goes Right front as Liane is seen at the back. 
 
78 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 She is a charming, aristocratic, and richly dressed wo 
 man of thirty. Her -figure presents the same tubular 
 effect as that of the others, though her clothes, of the 
 same style, have an elegance that is indefinably of the 
 city. Her wimple, under which is visible the structure 
 of two enormous side-rolls of coiffure, completely covers 
 her hair with the exception of two gigantic braids which 
 hang almost to her feet, one on each side. These braids, 
 however, are entirely encased in white cloth, laced with 
 ribbons. After her comes a tall and powerful peasant. 
 He bears awkwardly in both arms a huge wicker bird 
 cage open at the top. In this on a cross-piece standing 
 r 'T" shaped from the bottom is a gaily colored parrot. 
 After the man comes Blanche, who ushers them in and 
 goes out left behind the hedge. 
 
 LIANE (as she comes). Sister! 
 
 MARTHE. Liane! How delightful and unexpected! 
 
 LIANE. Dear Marthe! 
 
 MARTHE. I am dyeing my hair. I don't dare get 
 up in this hat. 
 
 LIANE (gaily as she pulls off her gauntlets and hands 
 them to the man, who gazes awkwardly over the cage). 
 Set it down. My parrot from Turkey. I have made 
 them all the fashion. I take him everywhere with me. 
 Designed the cage myself. Open at the top, so that 
 Sultan may come out when he pleases. (To the man.) 
 Here, you must learn to take these, so, and bow. (He 
 takes them.) There! (Coming to Marthe and seizing 
 her hands.) Sister! 
 
 MARTA. How do you like it? 
 
 LIANE. Fortunately no one will see it. 
 
 MARTHE (crossly). They are forever talking and 
 singing of our hair, yet we must always keep it covered 
 up. If it is so beautiful, why may we not show it to 
 men? 
 
 LIANE. My dear, if you begin to speculate why men 
 want women to do what they do, you will never finish. 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 79 
 
 The wise woman always does what they want and has 
 her own way at the same time. They want us to have 
 lots of hair and not show it. Very well, behold me, 
 do I not manage? 
 
 MARTHE. Why, Liane, your braids? Have they 
 something to make it grow in Paris? 
 
 LIANE (lifting up her braids). Oh, yes! Though 
 they show, they do not show. It is very fortunate. 
 
 MARTHE. But you used to have so little. 
 
 LIANE. And so I said when I was a girl, "Thank 
 God men want the wimple, though God knows why." 
 For it hid how little I had. And still I say "Thank 
 God men want the wimple though God knows why." 
 For it hides how much I have. (Laughing, she undoes 
 her wimple, throws it o\ff, disclosing her monstrous coif 
 fure.) In Paris only the queen may show her hair, con 
 sequently she hasn't as much as I have. Indeed, poor 
 creature, her hair is quite scraggy. She has nothing to 
 pin more onto. 
 
 MARTHE (scrutinizing her). But it is not only that 
 there is more hair. 
 
 LIANE (laughing). It is also that there is less. I 
 have no eyebrows. 
 
 MARTHE. Poor Liane! You have scorched them off 
 with your paint. 
 
 LIANE. An idea of my own. 
 
 MARTHE (amazed). What for? 
 
 LIANE, I said to myself, "God knows why men and 
 priests desire women not to show their hair. It is stu 
 pid but I must take things as I find them. Very well, 
 they shall see even less than they see now." Off go 
 my eyebrows. The effect is amusing and charming. In 
 a short while there are no female eyebrows in Paris. 
 Even the queen shaves hers off, pretending she thought 
 of it first. Poor creature, she lacks logic as well as 
 ideas. Since she shows the hair on her head, the effect 
 is one of poverty. 
 
80 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 MARTHE. But at first? Were people not scandal 
 ized ? 
 
 LIANE. Br-r-r-r-r ! The Cardinal comes to see me. 
 
 MARTHE. You? 
 
 LIANE. "My daughter, this is a grievous sin; the 
 Church forbids women to cut their hair." I am covered 
 with confusion and astonishment. "Father !" I cry. 
 "The Church commands a woman not to show her hair. 
 If I have committed sin, it was to avoid sin. Also I did 
 not cut; I shaved." 
 
 MARTHE. The Cardinal came to see you? 
 
 LIANE. I'm very important to the Cardinal. "My 
 daughter, you must get more money from the Count for 
 the new Cathedral of Notre Dame. It will go far to 
 cleanse you of your evil life. My daughter, get the 
 Count to oppose the English alliance. It will go far 
 to cleanse you of your evil life. My daughter, the 
 Countess has smiled upon the Albigensian heretic, bid 
 the Count be stricter with his other household. It will 
 go far to cleanse you of your evil life." Oh, I am of 
 great service to his Reverence. Besides, he pinches my 
 chin. 
 
 MARTHE (mournfully). The queen, the Cardinal! 
 Twenty miles to Paris, and yet I have never been there. 
 I go nowhere, see no one. A few knights and squires, 
 the Bishop perhaps. Who would not have said that 
 I was the most fortunate of us three girls ! Yet I am 
 only a housekeeper, a manager. You two are powers in 
 the great world. Heloise, the Abbess of Saint Deniers; 
 you, Liane, the the 
 
 LIANE. Mistress of the Count. 
 
 JEAN (who at the gate has been growing more and 
 more restless). Pardon, madame! Am I not to bring 
 in the hay? 
 
 MARTHE (in surprise). What are you doing here? 
 
 LIANE. At the gate I saw him cross the road. "My 
 God," said I, "he is the very giant I seek. Here my 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 81 
 
 man," I called. "Take my parrot and follow." Give 
 him to me. 
 
 MARTHE (amazed). Have you not men of the 
 Count's ? 
 
 LIANE. I have reviewed them all. I was in despair. 
 "But wait/' said I, "the country air and milk have per 
 haps composed a bigger giant than we have in town." 
 Here I am. And there he is. 
 
 MARTHE. What do you want him for? 
 
 LIANE. To carry my parrot. 
 
 MARTHE. Your parrot? My best farmer? 
 
 LIANE. Another of my ideas. I behold there is no 
 woman in all Paris with a man for a lackey. And even 
 the Count's lackeys are boys. An idea knocks at my 
 ear. "Liane," I say, "'why not the biggest man in all 
 Paris just to stand upon your staircase? The Count 
 will be enchanted; all Paris will be enchanted. The stu 
 pid Countess the poor queen all will follow thy ex 
 ample." I remember when a girl this Jean. I am come. 
 Behold him. He will be most imposing with my parrot. 
 
 MARTHE. I cannot spare my best farmer. 
 
 LIANE. Two men or three can take his place. 
 
 MARTHE. He has a family. 
 
 LIANE. They may go or stay as you will. If they 
 go, they will be glad. If they stay, he will be glad. 
 That is their affair. 
 
 MARTHE. But my husband. He will never consent. 
 
 LIANE (laughing confidently). We shall see. (Ta 
 Jean.) Go and wind up affairs. (Jean goe&.J 
 
 MARTHE. But where did you get this idea ? 
 
 LIANE. It is not difficult. Unless a man has two 
 establishments in Paris, he is not of the great world. 
 We don't keep such matters secret as one is taught to 
 do in the provinces. In Paris a man says, "What is the 
 good of a mistress unless people know it?" Since there 
 are two establishments, the man will take more pride 
 in that which does him the more honor. It is display 
 
82 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 which honors a man. For display I have each day a new 
 idea. I hold the Count by my ideas. 
 
 MARTHE. But when you shall no longer hold him, 
 my poor sister? 
 
 LIANE My poor sister, it is all very simple. Why 
 are you married? Because, being the eldest of three 
 daughters, you go with the land. Heloise, the next, 
 having no one to desire her since she has no land, goes 
 into the Church. I, the third, what am I to do? Even 
 so young, I am a creature of ideas. "Listen, Liane," I 
 say, "no one will marry you, you will not marry the 
 Church. Go to Paris where a man boasts of his mis 
 tress to the world. Not as here to himself only. Have 
 new ideas every day, but take care that he pays for all. 
 Why not, it is for his honor? Put away, coin by coin, 
 jewel by jewel. Then if the day comes when neither 
 your ideas nor charms may longer hold him, where are 
 you? You buy land and someone will desire to marry 
 you for your property/' And so I shall end where 
 my poor sister began, and meanwhile life amuses me. 
 Does life amuse you? But no, that is not a fair ques 
 tion. You see, it is all very simple. 
 
 MARTHE (feebly). But it is immoral. 
 
 LIANE (surprised). Have you not, has not every 
 woman a lover? 
 
 MARTHE. That is very different. No one knows 
 about it. 
 
 LIANE. Be logical. A matter of knowledge is not 
 a matter of morality. For the rest, I but save his pres 
 ents instead of using them like you. 
 
 MARTHE. But a lady's lover gives her nothing she 
 can use. Otherwise people would see and guess. My 
 poor child, gifts that can be used are immoral. 
 
 LIANE (laughing). So be it, that I am. 
 
 MARTHE. And think of what you lose. 
 
 LIANE. The Cardinal comes to see me, the world is 
 on my staircase, the queen copies me. What do I lose? 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 83 
 
 Let others puzzle their heads about what things should 
 be and what should not. I puzzle mine with original 
 ideas. How to make use of the amusing pretences with 
 which the world is full. If the world were different, 
 my ideas would be different. No one looks down upon 
 my children because I am not the Countess. If that 
 should ever happen, then I grant you I should be los 
 ing something. As it is, what? Two things I may pur 
 chase when I please. A name and a girdle. 
 
 MARTHE. A girdle? 
 
 LIANE. The poor queen with her stringy hair which 
 she alone may show, will not let us wear our girdles 
 unless we have names. Why she hit upon a girdle, God 
 knows. But very well. I have made girdles unfashion 
 able. Even the queen would take hers off now, but it 
 would make her ridiculous. Some day when I may 
 no longer set the fashion, I shall follow fashions set 
 by other ladies with no names or girdles. It is amusing ! 
 
 MARTHE (plaintively). It is all very mixed up. 
 
 LIANE. My dear, I look upon the world and find 
 everything mixed up. The Cardinal scolds me in gen 
 eral in the pulpit Brrrr! But in particular he visits 
 me and asks my assistance. (She purrs.) So it is 
 everywhere with men. Everywhere pretences. As for 
 women, I need not tell you what they pretend. I ask 
 myself will the poor world ever be logical. I answer 
 impossible. But if so, a clever woman will make the 
 best of it. Yet then it will be difficult. For if man 
 were not pretending, I could not flatter him by telling 
 him he is what he isn't. Man's illogicality is woman's 
 opportunity. 
 
 MARTHE (a* a horn blows). Oh, perhaps that is 
 Heloise ! 
 
 LIANE. Heloise ? 
 
 MARTHE. She sent me word. (Embarrassed.) You 
 see I didn't know you were coming. 
 
 LIANE (laughing merrily at her embarrassment). Too 
 
84 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 late now. (Walking aside.) But the Abbess is used to 
 black sheep. 
 
 (Heloise enters. The Abbess of St. Deniers is a 
 stately, able, authoritative woman of about 33 years. 
 Her dress is rich and elegant, as becomes a baroness 
 in her own right. Under it is to be seen the tubular 
 architecture evidenced by all the other ladies. Accord 
 ing to the habit of the times, the sole badge of her of 
 fice is a white turban, the drapery o\f which entirely 
 conceals her hair; but over it and the drapery floats a 
 long purple veil. She has been accompanied to the gate 
 by two nuns, dressed aristocratically but alike. She 
 dismisses them with a wave of her hand, and they go 
 out left.) 
 
 HELOISE. I knew I should find you here. Oh, the 
 time you have to waste! 
 
 MARTHE. My dear sister! 
 
 HELOISE (most warmly). Marthe! 
 
 MARTHE. Excuse this hat, my hair is drying. (In a 
 low voice, embarrassed.) Heloise, Liane. If you would 
 rather 
 
 HELOISE (greeting her most warmly). Liane! 
 
 LIANE. You have a new veil. I told you the red 
 one was unbecoming. 
 
 MARTHE (surprised though relieved). You meet some 
 times then? 
 
 LIANE. Often. 
 
 HELOISE. Various matters to consult about. 
 
 MARTHE (sighing with plaintive good humor). I go 
 nowhere. Not since we were girls have we three been 
 together. 
 
 HELOISE. First, the matter on which you wrote me. 
 
 MARTHE. Tell me, is my new hair becoming? 
 
 HELOISE. My dear, business before pleasure. 
 
 MARTHE. But 
 
 LIANE (laughing). Perhaps I'm in your way. 
 
 MARTHE. No, dear. (Embarrassed, she decides to 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 85 
 
 begin.) Since my letter comes another most important 
 matter. Now I shall have your advice on both. It was 
 Emelie I wrote you of. You remember our mother's old 
 friend in the mountains? After her death, her hus 
 band was given the property of a widow in the south. 
 He left his two children to get along as best they could. 
 The land could only fit out the boy and keep him in 
 Paris. The little girl ran wild with her peasant nurse 
 and has grown up a shocking savage. Her chest is posi 
 tively robust! I thought I could do no less for her 
 mother's sake, than give her the education of a lady. 
 But, poor child, her father and her brother will never 
 do anything for her of course. What shall I do with 
 her when I make her a lady? She must become either a 
 nun or or 
 
 LIANE (briskly). Or the supported mistress of a 
 man of her own rank. Yes? 
 
 MARTHB. Well, since you mention it. I thought you 
 had done so splendidly. Wrong as it all seems to my 
 old-fashioned ideas ! If you had rather not stay, 
 dear ? 
 
 HELOISE. Why the embarrassment? 
 
 MARTHE (nervously). It's very foolish, of course. 
 
 HELOISE. My dear child! Women who are born to 
 property have no occasion to think, but women who 
 are not must think clearly and speak frankly. In our 
 civilization which we must believe is the best so far, 
 since it sets a superstructure of Christianity upon a 
 Greek and Roman foundation in our civilization, a 
 woman has no place in the scheme of things except as 
 attached to something. If no man makes her his wife, 
 she may marry the Church. If neither happens, she 
 must attach herself to some man irregularly. Failing 
 the three, she starves. Since this Emelie has no prop 
 erty, unquestionably no man will marry her. She must 
 therefore marry the Church legally or some man ille 
 gally. Or shall we say, colloquially? 
 
86 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 MARTHE (more embarrassed at this candid speech). 
 Wei, then, that seeming to be the case distressing as it 
 is 
 
 HELOISE. You want to know which career will be 
 better for her. 
 
 MARTHE. My dear, you take my breath away. 
 
 HELOISE. Nonsense, my dear. You didn't expect a 
 nun to have the silly pruderies of a wife, did you? 
 What has she to bring to the cloister? 
 
 MARTHE (feebly). I thought she came because she 
 couldn't bring anything. 
 
 HELOISE. My dear! All convents have more appli 
 cants than they can accept. Consequently, selection is 
 necessary. What is her particular fitness for the life 
 of a nun ? 
 
 MARTHE (plaintively). Only that no one wants her. 
 She is not meek; she is not self-effacing; she has no 
 notion of woman's first duty, self-sacrifice. 
 
 HELOISE. My dear, you talk like a country sermon. 
 I am the last person to depreciate the idea of self- 
 sacrifice as an abstract religious principle. But a con 
 vent is an institution which church and society have de 
 vised as the best means to dispose of the unattached 
 woman. And if she ever really went to it to illustrate 
 self-sacrifice, she certainly does so no longer. 
 
 MARTHE. Not self-sacrifice! 
 
 LIANE (impatiently). My dear! It is not self-sac 
 rifice to find some place to go to. 
 
 HELOISE. Self-sacrifice is not, in our civilization, 
 either the motive or the result of going into a convent. 
 Look at ourselves. As things have turned out, it is you, 
 poor dear, who are sacrificed. Besides, I have traveled 
 all over Europe; you never leave your castle. I meet 
 my equals everywhere at all times and on equal foot 
 ing; you meet only your inferiors, who flatter you for 
 their own reasons. I have studied the Latin poets and 
 the Greek philosophers; you can, at a pinch, write a 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 87 
 
 letter, but you never see a book. I am a landlord to my 
 own right; you hold your own fief by consent of an 
 other. I have two incomes, spiritualities from my 
 churches and temporalities from my lands; you are your 
 husband's steward and can't spend your own money 
 without his permission. I may send my men-at-arms 
 where I will; yours must go where they are bid. We 
 nuns are the only women in the world who are eco 
 nomically free. In our civilization a convent offers a 
 woman her only chance of self-development. 
 
 LIANE. Ahem! Have I not developed myself? 
 
 HELOISE. Well, at least, the home offers her no 
 chance whatever. Your Emelie's qualifications for the 
 convent ? 
 
 MARTHE. I I suppose she has the virtues of any 
 young woman of her class. 
 
 HELOISE. Perhaps her vices show more individuality. 
 
 MARTHE. She is rebellious. 
 
 HELOISE. Good. We want women of moral and 
 physical courage. 
 
 LIANE. Bad for me. You must seem to rebel but 
 submit. It is the way to be charming. 
 
 MARTHE. She is proud. 
 
 LIANE. Bad. You must seem to be proud but not 
 be. It is the way to be charming. 
 
 HELOISE. Good for me. A woman who is to be in 
 dependent of a man has a right to be proud. 
 
 MARTHE. She complains of the lot to which heaven 
 has called her. (Liane shows impatience.) 
 
 HELOISE. I begin to be interested in your Emelie. 
 But I am a business woman conducting a business en 
 terprise. My convent must keep up its reputation. 
 Has she head enough to become a scholar, or will she 
 read and write only a little better than the average 
 man? Has she skilful hands. Can she become an ar 
 tist, a physician? My nuns must all be capable of dis 
 tinguished work. 
 
88 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 MARTHE. I thought she had only to say her prayers 
 and fast and that sort of thing. 
 
 HELOISE. My dear, why come to a convent to do 
 what she can do at home? 
 
 MARTHE. But she has no home. She has to go some 
 where. 
 
 HELOISE. Convents cannot become over-crowded sim 
 ply because women have no other place to go. 
 
 MARTHE. It is all very confusing. Perhaps it is my 
 hat. 
 
 HELOISE. My dear! In our civilization a woman 
 must either by her property or her personality win the 
 favor of an individual man. Otherwise, she starves or 
 goes into a convent. If a convent, she finds no men 
 there. Consequently, in a convent, she is judged for the 
 first time as men are judged. For her merits rather 
 than for her charms. As a mistress, she is judged by 
 her charms. As a wife, she is judged by neither. The 
 day may come when civilization will permit a woman 
 to marry as a profession. That is, to capture what hus 
 band she wishes, not merely because she has property 
 but by reason of her charm also. At present, she may 
 by the latter capture only a lover. As, theoretically 
 speaking, there are no lovers in convents, an unattached 
 woman who has charm should not select a convent as a 
 field to exhibit it in. There it is merit and not charm 
 that tells. But one cannot expect the day will ever come 
 when a man will marry a woman without property for 
 her merits. Consequently if she is ever to develop her 
 merits, it must be in the cloister. I am a business 
 woman conducting a business enterprise but I have 
 also the future of woman at heart. Do you not see 
 then that it is a good thing for religion and for so 
 ciety, as well as for my convent, that I select girls be 
 cause they are able to be and do something? 
 
 MARTHE. But the priests tell us 
 
 HELOISE (for the first time betraying impatience). 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 89 
 
 The priests ! They have no education whatever. They 
 know nothing of the past, so how can they have the 
 future at heart? Particularly of women. 
 
 MARTHE. But self-sacrifice is such a sweet idea. For 
 poor girls who need comfort because they have no place 
 to go. 
 
 HELOISE. The convents of Europe are overflowing 
 with applicants. If the day ever comes when the sac 
 rifices are greater than the rewards, or if she has to 
 sacrifice more there than at home, I predict there will 
 be no waiting-list. 
 
 MARTHE. Why do they tell us about it, then? 
 
 HELOISE. I am the last person to depreciate self- 
 sacrifice as an abstract religious principle. But they 
 tell us self-sacrifice because they wish us to make a vir 
 tue of a necessity. It is well to make one's necessity 
 a means of grace. On the whole it is a wise policy. 
 Especially when women can get round it, as we do in the 
 convent. 
 
 HELOISE, Then Emelie? 
 
 HELOISE. Liane and I will quietly observe her. To 
 see whether she will succeed through her merits or her 
 charms. The other case. 
 
 MARTHE. Blanche. {Impressively.) Her father 
 has picked out her lover to be her husband. 
 
 LIANE. My God! 
 
 MARTHE. But worse. She has a lover on the waiting 
 list. I tell her if she marries the present one, of course 
 she must accept the other. Or she has lost her honor 
 and is degraded. 
 
 LIANE. It is too ridiculous, how marriage compli 
 cates everything! 
 
 HELOISE (hesitating). Officially, I am not justified 
 in pronouncing an opinion. 
 
 LIANE (laughing). Oh, poor Heloise! Of course an 
 Abbess may have no opinion . 
 
 HELOISE (warmly). Not officially. However, I am 
 
90 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 also a woman interested in the advancement of women. 
 Naturally, this Blanche must marry where she is bid. 
 Ipso facto, her husband then ceases to be her lover. Are 
 you sure she has compromised herself with the second 
 one? 
 
 MARTHE. She has accepted his presents in the name 
 of love. 
 
 HELOISE. Then if she violates her oath, she is doub 
 ly degraded. A woman must either refuse presents 
 offered in the name of love, or accept them with the un 
 derstanding that she rewards them when free. When 
 her other lover frees her that is, marries her she must 
 accept him. 
 
 MARTHE. But she refuses. 
 
 HELOISE (with authority). She must accept him. 
 
 LIANE (laughing}. Oh, my poor Heloise! An ab 
 bess prescribe a lover! 
 
 HELOISE. I speak not as abbess but as woman in 
 terested in the advancement of women. I hope I'm 
 not unworthy of my calling. But I am a scholar and 
 have pondered the teachings of history. If a lady is 
 allowed to break the laws of love, now at last formu 
 lated, the advancement of woman is threatened. 
 
 LIANE (much interested). Begone, Abbess; speak, 
 woman ! 
 
 HELOISE. Marriage is a matter of securing property 
 rights. Man has never thought that love and marriage 
 except by accident went together. The Greeks and 
 Romans looked to their wives only for lawful offspring, 
 their love they found elsewhere. Their opinion is voiced 
 by Metellus. "If we could get along without wives, 
 we should all dispense with the nuisance." When Chris 
 tianity came along it too considered marriage a duty 
 rather than a pleasure, though a duty man would do 
 well to escape if he could and woman if she must. But 
 the theory still remained as before. Man desires mar 
 riage only for economic considerations. 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 91 
 
 MARTHE (weakly). Could this yellow have gone to 
 my head? 
 
 LIANE (impatiently). You had the property. There 
 fore you were married. Married early and often. 
 
 HELOISE. Now, for the first time in the history of 
 civilization woman is theoretically admitted to be man's 
 equal. In one respect only. Her attitude toward mar 
 riage. 
 
 LIANE AND MARTHE. How? 
 
 HELOISE. She objects to it also. 
 
 MARTHE (warmly). They take it when they can get 
 it. 
 
 HELOISE. So do men. Because of property. Men 
 object to it because it curtails their liberty. Not so 
 women, for they never had any liberty to curtail. But 
 the objection is in reality the same. That it destroys 
 love. Love can exist, say women, only where it is free 
 and unbound. Thus for the first time do men meet 
 women on a common ground as equals. This, the truth, 
 is important; but the humbug is even more impor 
 tant. 
 
 LIANE. Humbug? 
 
 HELOISE. To secure this equality, woman has made 
 use of man's greatest weakness. His much-boasted 
 ability to make a woman fall in love with him. And she 
 has secured not only equality but her theoretical superi 
 ority also. The male, however, does not admit the su 
 periority of the female. Only the lover admits the 
 superiority of his mistress. Hence it is not true but 
 humbug. Nevertheless, the pretence is of the utmost 
 importance, since no man ever pretended it before. It 
 is by pretences that civilization arose, and it is because 
 of this greatest of pretences that our civilization is 
 greater than those which have gone before. 
 
 MARTHE. My dear, you make my head swim. Or is 
 it this hat? 
 
 HELOISE. A woman cannot choose her husband but 
 
92 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 she can choose her lover. Hence the husband does not 
 have to please the wife, but the lover has to please the 
 mistress. The man who praises her most pleases her 
 best. Furthermore, circumstances sometimes compelled 
 him to make his rhetoric good or become ridiculous. 
 Thus his diction forced him into action. Especially 
 those professional lovers, poets and troubadours. Fur 
 thermore, a man may behave as he pleases to his wife, 
 and neither Church nor State can prevent. But he may 
 not behave as he pleases to his mistress, or she will 
 choose another lover. Thus the attitude of man toward 
 woman has changed though his distaste for marriage re 
 mains the same. Not because of his recognition of the 
 rights of his wife, for she has none. But because of the 
 demands of his mistress, who has at last elevated love 
 into a game like fencing, with its own rules and regula 
 tions. 
 
 LIANE (demurely). I always knew I was an impor 
 tant person. 
 
 HELOISE. As an abbess, I do not condone the break 
 ing of the marriage vow. But as a woman of the world, 
 I see that nobody keeps it anyway. And as a logical 
 student of history, I see that marriage existed before 
 Christianity, that it is still not founded upon love or free 
 will, and that Christianity in itself affords a woman 
 even fewer rights than did the Greeks and Romans. 
 For though she was divorced oftener, she herself could 
 divorce in return. It is love and not religion that has 
 advanced woman. Hence your Blanche must not dis 
 credit the laws of love, for profane as they are they 
 have elevated woman more than Christianity has ever 
 done. 
 
 MARTHE. This hat seems to overpower me. 7s my 
 hair quite dry? 
 
 LIANE (examining her hair). My dear, your doc 
 trines are not Christian, they must be dangerous. Yes, 
 it is quite dry. 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 93 
 
 MARTHE. Then take it off. I feel as if I was stand 
 ing upon my head. 
 
 LIANE (taking it off). Are you sure Christians were 
 meant to survey the past? 
 
 HELOISE. When men change their ridiculous logic, 
 I will change mine. 
 
 LIANE. How change their logic? 
 
 HELOISE. Since Christianity came in, both man and 
 the Church have treated marriage with profound illogi 
 cality. Because they have sought to elevate a transfer 
 of property into a matter of sentiment. And both of 
 them unite in saying "with all my worldly goods I thee 
 endow" when the woman who couldn't be married ex 
 cept for her property does the only endowing there is 
 in the business. But I predict that if marriage ever 
 does become a matter of sentiment, then indeed the 
 Church will be right in saying that it demands of a 
 woman self-sacrifice. (Jean passes the hedge.) 
 
 MARTHE (much shocked). My dear! Oh, Jean, here 
 is your hat. 
 
 JEAN (ruefully regarding the crown). I can't buy 
 another till Michelmas. 
 
 LIANE (laughing). You won't need it on my stair 
 case. Shall we not have the damsels in? 
 
 MARTHE. Summon my damsels. (Jean goes.) I 
 may announce you? 
 
 LIANE. Well thought of. I have a new name. An 
 other of my ideas. Lady No Girdle. Madame Sans- 
 Ceintre. Since the queen forbids me to wear my girdle, 
 I have made a droll name of it. (To Heloise.) The 
 Church would have women make their necessity a virtue ? 
 Behold how instinctively I follow its teaching. When 
 there is something I can't help, I make it more than a 
 virtue. A decoration. (The young ladies enter at the 
 back very demurely. They have great curiosity as to 
 the visitors.) 
 
 MARTHE (as they come). The first is Blanche. The 
 
94 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 black one is Emelie. Why, Emelie is not here. (Aloud.} 
 Young ladies, my sisters. The Abbess Saint Deniers 
 and Madame Madame Sans-Ceintre. (The young la 
 dies, in the midst of the second demure bow, stop and 
 stare at Liane's lack of girdle.) Be seated. (They all 
 sit down at ease upon the ground and dispense at once 
 with demureness. They exchange sly looks, apparently 
 on the subject &f Liane's name.) The Abbess will now 
 give us some edifying remarks. 
 
 (Emelie is seen coming along the back of the hedge, 
 her nurse expostulating with her.) 
 
 NURSE. I tell you you will be sick. You will die! 
 
 EMELIE. Let me alone! Don't be a fool! 
 
 NURSE, You will ruin yourself entirely! 
 
 EMELIE. Let me alone I say ! (She enters, followed 
 by the nurse. Under her loose gown it is seen that her 
 figure has become tubular. She is breathing cautiously. 
 The stays, like those of the other ladies, enclose her 
 entire trunk tightly and give no effect &f expansion at 
 the bosom.) 
 
 MARTHE. Emelie ! 
 
 EMELIE (in a tone rebellious and cramped). Madame! 
 
 MARTHE. Oh, your stays have come. 
 
 NURSE (indignantly). Look at her! Where I ask 
 you has the rest of her gone to? (The young ladies 
 titter merrily.) The good god never meant that your 
 outsides should be your insides. 
 
 MARTHE. Silence, nurse! The good god meant 
 women to look as though they might break. But they 
 never do, so don't be impious. 
 
 NURSE. Where I ask you have her breasts gone? 
 Her lights? Her 
 
 MARTHE. Silence! (To Emelie.) You look very 
 nice, my dear. 
 
 EMEUE (grimly). Thanks, Madame. (She sways 
 and falls into the arms of the Nurse, who lets her ten 
 derly to the ground.) 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 95 
 
 NURSE. My lamb! (Angrily.) I told you I ought 
 not to strap them as tight as I could. She will 
 die! 
 
 BLANCHE. Nonsense. That often happens. 
 
 MARTHE (plaintively). Of course, if you tried to do 
 the work of fifteen years in a minute ! If you had kept 
 her ribs soft with swaddling bands, they would bend in 
 more easily. 
 
 LIANE. My God, what hair the child has! 
 
 EMELIE (to the nurse). Go away! I'm all right. 
 
 LIANE (desiring to help her by easing the situation). 
 Madame Abbess, you were to edify us. Why do men 
 praise our hair yet never permit us to show it? 
 
 HELOISE. The subject upon which I am asked to dis 
 course is, like all of our customs, a primitive survival 
 modified by Christianity. The hair was once considered 
 a source and later a symbol of strength. To cut it was 
 a mutilation performed by the powerful upon the weak. 
 In the pre-Roman civilization of these regions, an un 
 married girl wore her hair loose and flowing. On her 
 wedding day, she herself cut it off to show that she had 
 become a servant to her husband. 
 
 LIANE. Cut it off? No husband is worth it. 
 
 HELOISE. The Roman bride only pretended it was 
 cut by binding it upon the head. With Christianity, the 
 hair took another aspect. The Scripture says that it is 
 the crowning glory of women. But being her crowning 
 glory, it was often her crowning allurement and hence 
 her crowning shame. If allurement it should be hid. If 
 glory it should be sacrificed. Thus we see that the cus 
 tom of hiding the hair indicates in its heathen origin the 
 weakness and slavery of woman, and in its beautiful 
 Christian significance the allurement to man which is 
 her natural depravity and the sacrifice to man which 
 is her natural duty. 
 
 YOUNG LADIES (variously). How sweet! How nice! 
 Self sacrifice is so lovely! 
 
96 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 JEAN (appearing at gate). The master has returned 
 from hunting. And with him, the Bishop. (He goes. 
 All the ladies at once put on their wimples. These the 
 young ladies have been carrying on their arms or as 
 scarfs. Emelie, however, drops hers suddenly over the 
 low hedge. But, like the others, she rises as the Sieur 
 Guillaume de la Garthelaud, the Bishop, Hugh de Losan, 
 and several other young gentlemen enter. One sees at 
 once from Blanche's behavior that Hugh is her lover. 
 Guillaume is a healthy, active, animal nature, endowed 
 with no graces of mind or deportment, but with as much 
 social veneer as was deemed sufficient for a man 
 of his time, whose chief contribution to society was his 
 strong arm; nor is he without a certain childlike charm 
 of naive assurance, varied with naive bewilderment upon 
 encountering anything he cannot understand. He is ac 
 companied by the Bishop of Orleans. Acrinus of Or 
 leans is attired according to his fancy, as were most 
 clericals of the time. He affects all the extravagances 
 of the exquisite of his day, and the only sign of his re 
 ligious function is his tonsure. His hair is long, and 
 his clothes suggest more a military than a clerical. He 
 has a knife attached to his richly ornamented girdle, 
 many rings upon his fingers, green shoes highly turned 
 up at the toes; and upon his hand is perched a hunting 
 hawk.) 
 
 MARTHE (going and kneeling to him for his blessing). 
 Father ! 
 
 ACRINUS. My daughter! 
 
 MARTHE (rising and introducing). My sisters. The 
 Abbess of Saint Deniers. (The gentlemen all bow, the 
 Bishop with marked coldness.) Madame Madame 
 Sans-Ceintre. (All the gentlemen in the act of bowing 
 stop and stare at Liane's lack of girdle.) His Rever 
 ence, Bishop Acrinus of Orleans. My husband, Sieur 
 Guillaume de la Gartheland. (Guillaume and the Bishop 
 walk at once to Liane.) 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 97 
 
 HELOISE (quietly to Marthe). Emelie has not put on 
 her wimple. 
 
 MARTHE (in consternation). Emelie! (Turning to 
 her.) Your wimple ! 
 
 EMELIE (putting her hands to her head, and in a loud 
 voice which attracts the attention of all). My wimple! 
 
 YOUNG LADIES (scandalized but in tones colored with 
 jealousy, annoyance, or malice). She has not put it 
 on! 
 
 GUILLAUME (lustfully). What hair! 
 
 LIANE (to herself). She has lost it on purpose. 
 
 MARTHE (severely). A lady should always have it 
 ready in case gentlemen arrive. 
 
 ACRINUS (significantly). My child, no woman loses 
 her wimple. Sometimes she forgets where she last put 
 it. 
 
 EMELIE (her arms clasped over her head, as if to hide 
 her hair). Nurse, where is my wimple? (She takes a 
 threatening step forward as the nurse in bewilderment 
 turns towards the hedge.) 
 
 NURSE (understanding Emelie' 's intention, and throw 
 ing up her hands in noisy despair). My child has lost 
 her wimple! My child has lost her wimple! 
 
 GUILLAUME AND HUGH (stepping toward Emelie). 
 Where did you have it last? How could you have lost 
 it? 
 
 MARTHE (stopping Guillaume). No, let her find it 
 herself! 
 
 BLANCHE (stopping Hugh). Hugh, how should you 
 know where her wimple is? 
 
 HELOISE (quietly after all this confusion). Take my 
 veil. (She puts her purple veil over Emelie's head. It 
 completely covers her hair, which, however, shows dis 
 tinctly through it). 
 
 EMELIE. Oh, thank you, Reverend Mother! Mon 
 sieur, Sieurs, Reverend Father ! I am covered with 
 confusion. 
 
98 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 MARTHE {aside to Helmse and Liane). She is hope 
 less. For all of us ! 
 
 LIANE. She has a career. 
 
 HELOISE. I will take her. (Marthe is much mysti- 
 fed.) 
 
 ACRINUS {angrily, as Guillaume laughs). It is no 
 laughing matter. She may be clever, she may be stupid. 
 Either way, she is impossibly so. 
 
 MARTHE (anxious to recover from the unfortunate in 
 cident). Father, will you address a few words to the 
 young and heedless? 
 
 ACRINUS (looking sternly at Emelie). Young ladies, 
 a few remarks on the whole duty of women. In the 
 very beginning God demonstrated, as St. Augustine so 
 beautifully observes, that woman should be in subjec 
 tion. Since He refused to make her in His own image. 
 But no sooner was she created than he put her under a 
 curse, for the mischief she had wrought upon innocent 
 man. Thus her subjection and her depravity go hand 
 in hand. When Christianity came to the world, it found 
 her everywhere in subjection as was meet and proper. 
 But did it abandon her to her inferior state? No, rec 
 ognizing that Original Sin came through woman, it il 
 lustrated the beautiful doctrine of forgiveness. By ele 
 vating an institution of the state into a sacrament of 
 the Church, it protected inferior woman as never be 
 fore. Under Roman Law there was nothing sacred 
 in marriage, and man could cast you off at his pleasure. 
 But now the Church will not allow you to be cast off, 
 except for reasons of utmost importance. In return for 
 this supreme protection never before extended to woman, 
 it asks of you only self-sacrifice. 
 
 YOUNG LADIES (variously). How beautiful! How 
 noble ! So sweet ! 
 
 ACRINUS, Young gentlemen, the weak should sacri 
 fice themselves gladly, but the strong have services of a 
 more positive nature. I would speak of what befits your 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 99 
 
 manhood. The woman having no importance of her own 
 naturally seeks to illustrate the importance of her father 
 or husband by outward adornment. If you array your 
 selves in the fineries and fopperies of woman, there 
 fore, you imitate one who is in subjection. It is well 
 that woman should illustrate the strength of man, but it 
 is not well that man should imitate the weakness of 
 woman. 
 
 (The young ladies receive this edification coldly and 
 look at each other with sly expressions of disapproval). 
 
 MARTHE. What a pity ! Men's clothes are so nice. 
 
 LIANE (who during this speech has suddenly become 
 very interested, and has assumed the position of one 
 trying to think out an idea which has suddenly seized 
 her) . A beautiful edification ! The less men dress the 
 better ! 
 
 HELOISE. I, too, agree with the Reverend Father. 
 But for a wholly different reason. When a man dresses 
 as much as a woman, there is a suspicion that he can 
 not fight or do a man's work. That he is more interested 
 in displaying his importance than in getting it in the 
 first place. 
 
 ACRINUS (edgy in being differed from and exhibiting 
 the priest's jealousy of the abbess). Why is the Rev 
 erend Mother so manifestly interested in her own 
 charming attire? She works, does she not? And at a 
 man's task? 
 
 HELOISE (taking his personal tone). I will answer 
 that question, Your Reverence, when you tell me why 
 you dress so well? 
 
 ACRINUS. To illustrate the dignity and richness of 
 my service. 
 
 HELOISE. And I have the additional reason, as your 
 Reverence has said, of having no importance in my own 
 sex. Though discharging a man's task. 
 
 ACRINUS (more annoyed). No woman should dis 
 charge a man's task. It is against nature. 
 
100 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 HELOISE. Your Reverence quotes nature. In nature 
 it is the male that dresses, not the female. And why? 
 To attract the attention of the humble female. He does 
 not choose her, she chooses him. Thus, by his argu 
 ment, the Reverend Father would seem to say that the 
 male in nature illustrates his own weakness by his su 
 perior finery. The weakness of having to be chosen 
 rather than to choose. 
 
 ACRINUS {decidedly raspy). The male is the stronger 
 because he is able to dress that way. The female cer 
 tainly would if she could. The Reverend Mother's ar 
 gument is obviously fallacious. Let us hope that the im 
 piety of which it also savors is quite unsuspected on her 
 part. 
 
 LIANE. Well, the point in both cases is the same. 
 Men ought not to be so dressy. Women should assist 
 the Church in discouraging it as much as possible. 
 
 GARTHELAUD (to Acrinus). Ask her now. What she 
 is down here for. 
 
 ACRINUS. But the Reverend Mother has not perhaps 
 come here to bandy words with the Bishop of Orleans ? 
 
 HELOISE (puzzled and at once apprehensive"). I 
 came down to see my sister. And 
 
 ACRINUS. To bear a message from the Baron. 
 
 HELOISE. Yes. (She goes to the gate and summons 
 her two nuns. One of them gives her a document. She 
 reads.) "To the Sieur Guillaume de la Garthelaud." 
 (She hands it to him.) 
 
 GARTHELAUD (handing it to Acrinus). Read it. 
 
 ACRINUS (handing it to her). You may read it to the 
 Sieur. 
 
 HELOISE (with more apprehension). It is private. 
 At least, there is nothing to the contrary. 
 
 ACRINUS. Its contents are public. 
 
 HELOISE (breaking the seal and reading). "The 
 Sieur Guillaume de la Garthelaud having now been 
 spouse and husband to Marthe de la Garthelaud for three 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 1Q1 
 
 years and having had by her no child, I hereby announce 
 the marriage to be null and void and commission him 
 to marry again. Such marriage to be as follows. Either 
 he shall marry according to my designation some woman 
 I shall give him with her land, that he may bring chil 
 dren to be heirs of said property; or said Marthe de la 
 Garthelaud shall voluntarily relinquish her dowery and 
 marriage to another of her own designation, and he 
 shall marry her instead, retaining his present lordship 
 of her lands and estates. She in this event to live upon 
 her lands and estates according to her wish or to retire 
 with all honor to a convent. If she refuse, I will, the 
 present marriage being annulled, marry her to another 
 man of my choosing, who shall be guardian of her land 
 until she present him with an heir thereof. Given this 
 day, the twelfth of August in the year of our Lord, 
 1260, by me the Over lord of the Fief and Estates of 
 said Marthe de la Garthelaud. 
 
 Francois Courbise de Courbise Baron." 
 
 MARTHE (staggering helplessly). Oh! (Liane has 
 come to her during the reading. Heloise also now puts 
 an arm around her.) 
 
 HELOISE. You knew of this? 
 
 ACRINUS. I was not unaware of his lordship's in 
 tention. 
 
 MARTHE (wildly). How can my marriage be null 
 and void, father? Did you not marry us? According 
 to the regulations of the Church? Can a man cast off 
 his wife because she brings him no children? Father, I 
 appeal to you ! 
 
 ACRINUS. My daughter, Holy Church protects all 
 marriages within her pale. 
 
 HELOISE. You seem to know the Baron's mind. 
 What grounds has he? 
 
 ACRINUS (to Garthelaud). On what grounds did you 
 appeal to the Baron to annul this marriage? 
 
 GARTHELAUD (surprised and indignant). I? 
 
102 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 ACRINUS {quickly and sternly). You! 
 
 GARTHELAUD (sulkily). That it was no marriage. 
 That she married within the degree of spiritual kin 
 ship. 
 
 LIANE. How? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. I was godfather to her third husband's 
 child. 
 
 MARTHE. Father! I deny that I ever saw this man. 
 Until the Baron selected him to be my husband. 
 
 ACRINUS. Narrate the circumstances. 
 
 GARTHELAUD. We served in Tripolis together. I 
 brought him home wounded to his wife. She was in 
 childbirth, and the alarm of the wounded master plunged 
 her into greater danger. It was feared that she would 
 die and with her the unborn child. They thought both 
 could not live, and decided to save the child. 
 
 LIANE (indignantly). Oh! 
 
 ACRINUS. In such extremity so rules Holy Church. 
 
 GARTHELAUD. The mother lay unconscious and was 
 thought dead. The child threatened each instant to 
 expire. Thus it was hastily baptized, and I, being there, 
 stood for its godfather. But it was the child who died 
 while yet its mother was unconscious, and the father 
 also. When later, the Baron gave to me the widow and 
 her lands such was my sensitiveness I didn't care to 
 remind her of the painful first meeting. 
 
 LIANE. And when did your conscience, Sir, finally 
 become as sensitive as your heart? 
 
 GARTHELAUD (sulkily divining her satire). What are 
 you driving at? 
 
 LIANE. When did you at last discover that you, the 
 godfather of a day-old infant, were living in grievous 
 sin with its mother, who was unconscious during all the 
 time you held your holy office? (Heloise seeks to hush 
 her.) 
 
 GARTHELAUD. I found out when I was told. 
 
 HELOISE. Who told you? 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 103 
 
 ACRINUS (quickly'). That is beside the point. The 
 sin is the same whether anyone told him or not. 
 
 HELOISE. Who told him? 
 
 GARTHELAUD (sulkily to Acrinus). Why should I 
 take all the blame? You told me. 
 
 HELOISE. The Bishop ! 
 
 ACRINUS. This discussion breeds mutiny in the 
 Church. I protest that you, Abbess, are guilty of mis 
 conduct. 
 
 HELOISE. How did you know that he was within the 
 degree ? 
 
 ACRINUS. I decline to answer. 
 
 MARTHE (suddenly). You baptized the child! 
 
 HELOISE (shocked). And afterward married the god 
 father to the mother! 
 
 ACRINUS. You incite against the laws of Holy 
 Church. I tell you, Abbess, you are much condemned to 
 make this schism and sedition. 
 
 HELOISE. You insisted that this matter be public. 
 Did you know at the time that he was within the de 
 gree? 
 
 ACRINUS. You have no right to question me. 
 
 HELOISE. I have the right to question this man. 
 Who knew that you had stood godfather? 
 
 ACRINUS. You need not answer. If I bid you keep 
 silent. 
 
 GARTHELAUD. Why should I keep silent? What is 
 it after all? And what are you pushing it off on me for? 
 The Baron knew it. 
 
 HELOISE. When you married her? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. That was why he selected me. 
 
 HELOISE (more shocked). Why he selected you? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. In case she had no children. And I 
 shouldn't be killed in the wars like her other husbands. 
 So that the marriage might be annulled, and he might 
 marry her again. 
 
 MARTHE. Marry me qver and over again until I give 
 
104 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 him children ! For fighting men ! I have no rights what 
 ever. 
 
 HELOISE (seeking to quiet her}. The land must pro 
 duce fighting men. What would become of the land if 
 there were no fighting men? (To him.) And if there 
 were no children? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. I was to go elsewhere. We Garthe- 
 lauds are famous for our children. 
 
 HELOISE. But if he knew you were disqualified and 
 selected you for that reason, someone must have told 
 him. You ? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. How did I know I was disqualified! 
 (With injured innocence). Do you think I would have 
 been degraded enough to marry her illegally? 
 
 ACRINUS (hotly). Degraded! How dare you con 
 demn the opinions of your betters? You'd have jumped 
 at any property the Baron offered. 
 
 GARTHELAUD. Oh, I would, would I? Then I will 
 hold my tongue no longer. 
 
 ACRINUS. I command you in the name of Holy 
 Church! 
 
 GARTHELAUD (hesitating). Can he command me to 
 be silent? 
 
 HELOISE. Only when someone lesser is speaking to 
 you. I command you to speak, in the name of Holy 
 Church. 
 
 GARTHELAUD (vindictively). He told the Baron. 
 
 HELOISE. The Bishop? When? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. At the time. That's why the Baron 
 picked me out to marry her. 
 
 ACRINUS (to Heloise). You have created a public 
 scandal in the church. Who are these ignorant people 
 to understand the workings of minds higher than their 
 own? As for me, I have a clear and quiet conscience. 
 It was I indeed who told the Baron that this man 
 could not marry her lawfully. Yet see how the shame 
 wherewith you sought to confound me recoils upon your 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 105 
 
 own head. He was about to marry her to an Albigensian 
 heretic. And for the same reason that the Church 
 might annul the union if it bore no fruit. Would you 
 have approved this marriage, Abbess? 
 
 HELOISE (with honesty^. No. 
 
 ACRINUS. When I threatened him with Holy Church, 
 he laughed aloud. "What care I for your priestly mum 
 meries, I must man my lands. She or the land, I care 
 not which, must yield me fighting men." Seeing she 
 must marry without the pale of the Church, would I 
 or no, I thought a good Christian better than a heretic. 
 Especially as none knew that he had been her child's 
 godfather. Do you challenge my decision, Reverend 
 Abbess? 
 
 HELOISE. I crave pardon, Reverend Bishop. It was 
 forced upon you by hard necessity. 
 
 GARTHELAUD. But why try to put it off on me? As 
 if I asked to have my marriage annulled? Leap from 
 the frying pan into the fire! What do I know of this 
 property I am to marry? I mightn't like the hunting. 
 
 MARTHE. Property! We women are only transmit 
 ters of property! I may live in mortal sin so long as I 
 transmit my property. And unless I do so, I am to be 
 cast away. Any man, any man I must submit to, so 
 long as he is father of my child. What do I know about 
 him? Nothing, it does not matter. Bring us a child by 
 him. The first man that was allotted to me squandered 
 my land. It did not matter, he might be father of my 
 child. The second and third were filthy swine, it did not 
 matter, they might be father of fighting men. Thank 
 God for these fine wars of theirs that killed them off 
 before they beggared me or made my life a hell. And 
 then my last husband ! My only peace is when he is off 
 fighting. He locks me in my tower, starves me, beats 
 me 
 
 GARTHELAUD. Well, I like that! You're my wife, 
 aren't you? Did I ever beat you unlawfully? Did I 
 
106 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 ever break a bone or put out an eye? If the law didn't 
 allow husbands to beat wives in reason, a pretty life we 
 should lead with you. 
 
 MARTHE (hysterically). Transmitters of property! 
 
 HELOISE (soothing her). My dear, my dear! Prop 
 erty must be transmitted. Otherwise the state is in 
 chaos. It is no good to quarrel with the inevitable or 
 der of things. The question is what are you going 
 to do about it? Your marriage stands annulled. Since 
 you married without its pale, the Church cannot in 
 tervene to protect you. Are you willing to marry again 
 a man of the Baron's choosing? 
 
 MARTHE (wildly). No, I have had enough of mar 
 riage. 
 
 HEI/OISE. To resign your dower, then, to an inmate 
 of your household? 
 
 MARTHE (more wildly). Why must I give up my 
 land? My home? My all? 
 
 HELOISE. You cannot help yourself. It is not legal, 
 but if you refuse to marry, the king will bear the Baron 
 out. It is not legal, but you could not look to the 
 Church for support. You must at any rate give up your 
 present husband. 
 
 MARTHE. What do I care for him ! Let him go to 
 his hump-backed widow. I want to be let alone. 
 
 HELOISE. You cannot be let alone if you keep your 
 land. If you want to be let alone, why not delegate 
 your dower to a woman of your household ! 
 
 MARTHE (vindictively). What woman I choose? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. Does it say that? 
 
 HELOISE (handing him the document contemptuously). 
 Read. 
 
 GARTHELAUD. I am a fighting man. Not a woman 
 or a priest. Do you want me to unsex myself? (To 
 Acrinus.) Does it say that? 
 
 ACRINUS. She may designate the woman. 
 
 ^ART/HE. Let me think, let me think! (The young 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 107 
 
 ladies surge forward eagerly, all save Emelie.) You 
 drive me mad among you. What chance has a woman 
 with your church and king against her? A woman of 
 gentle soul who asks but to be let alone. (To Garthe- 
 laud.) If I could find some woman who would make 
 your life a hell! (Suddenly.) Emelie ! I choose you 
 to be this man's wife. 
 
 EMELIE. Me! (The young ladies look at her with 
 indignation and contempt.) 
 
 NURSE. Such luck! 
 
 GARTHELAUD (laughing). What hair the minx 
 has! 
 
 ACRINUS (quickly). Emelie is rebellious and froward. 
 She will mismanage your estates. 
 
 MARTHE. She will make his life a hell. I choose 
 Emelie. 
 
 EMELIE. Thank you for nothing. I refuse to marry 
 your lout of a husband. 
 
 NURSE. Are you mad? 
 
 (The young ladies, Garthelaud, the Bishop, each 
 show amazement accompanied by other emotions. He- 
 loise and Liane are delighted at the decision). 
 
 MARTHE (indignantly). Are you too good to be 
 beaten ? 
 
 EMELIE. Not because he beats you. 
 
 NURSE. Why shouldn't a man? 
 
 EMELIE. I should not mind being beaten. But the 
 man who beats me must be a master not a puppet. A 
 man who goes where he will to marry, not where he is 
 sent. ( The young ladies are aghast but are nevertheless 
 delighted that Emelie is out of the running.) But I've 
 seen enough today of your gentlemens' marriages. If 
 I marry, I shall marry because I want to and not to 
 transmit properly. And since no gentleman marries 
 for any other reason and it would not suit me to marry 
 a peasant, I shall not marry at all. I refuse your gra 
 cious offer, madame. 
 
108 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 MARTHE. What was good enough for me, an heiress, 
 is not good enough for a pauper! 
 
 GARTHELAUD. Did anybody ever hear the like! 
 
 ACRINUS. A woman rebelling at the position God has 
 called her to! What would become of the structure of 
 society ! 
 
 EMELIE. You, Madame de la Garthelaud, who choose 
 me to make her husband's life a hell; you, Sieur de la 
 Garthelaud, who go from woman to woman at the bid 
 ding of your master like a prize horse; you Bishop of 
 Holy Church and God knows what, who find your silly 
 eins deadly when it pleases you to find them so ! You 
 may all of you go to the devil. I shall not sacrifice 
 myself to the structure of your society unless I see 
 something coming out of the sacrifice for me. 
 
 ACRINUS (sharply). Abbess, this is your doing al 
 though you may have meant it not. Speak to this poor 
 lost child. 
 
 HELOISE (firmly). I approve her decision. 
 
 ACRINUS (aghast, to Liane). Tell her what she 
 foregoes if she refuses to marry. 
 
 LIANE. You forego four walls in which you are a 
 prisoner to be treated as your jailer pleases. You fore 
 go a girdle, which is already unfashionable. You forego 
 a name, which you may buy when you please if you 
 have ideas. 
 
 ACRINUS (much shocked). I leave you all. (To 
 Marthe.) I am sorry for you, but no wonder with such 
 impious sisters God sent you no children. He wisely 
 means the race to die out. (He goes.) 
 
 BLANCHE (running and throwing herself before 
 Marthe). Oh Madame! Marry him to me! And save 
 me from something worse. 
 
 GARTHELAUD. What do you mean, something worse? 
 A proper spirit for a woman to marry in ! I refuse to 
 take her. 
 
 MARTHE. You will take anybody I pick out. But I 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 109 
 
 shall not marry you to any such spiritless creature. 
 
 BLANCHE (going to Heloise). Madame Abbess, I 
 give myself to you. 
 
 HELOISE (gently but definitively). I am sorry but I 
 have already a long waiting list. 
 
 BLANCHE. Madame Sans-Ceintre, take me to Paris 
 with you. 
 
 LIANE. Child, you would be lost in Paris you have 
 no ideas. 
 
 BLANCHE (wildly). And I must marry 
 
 MARTHE (quickly and sternly). You must marry the 
 man your father has selected. 
 
 BLANCHE (going). My heart is broken. (She goes 
 out Center.) 
 
 MARTHE (enumerating). Rosalie, Berenice, Annette, 
 Jeanne. Not one of the simpering creatures could make 
 your life a hell. 
 
 YOUNG LADIES (variously). Oh, Madame, we would 
 try! 
 
 MARTHE. Not one but would make my life a hell if 
 I stayed here. 
 
 GARTHELAUD (coolly). It is not purgatory which in 
 terests the Baron but posterity. Come, I am willing 
 to do my duty as a man. One wife is the same as an 
 other to me. 
 
 MARTHE (despairingly). Must I choose? Must it 
 always be self-sacrifice for a woman? Must I choose 
 between a home in which I am no longer mistress or a 
 convent where I have no home at all? 
 
 GARTHELAUD. You are better off than I am. I have 
 no choice. 
 
 MARTHE (going on). Have I no rights? Must I 
 choose? 
 
 HELOISE (suddenly). No! You can circumvent the 
 Baron. 
 
 MARTHE AND LIANE. How? 
 
 HELOISE. Make your home a convent. Give your 
 
110 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 lands and tenants to the Church and remain mistress of 
 all. The Baron will be powerless to touch you. 
 
 MARTHE. I can? 
 
 LIANE (laughing heartily'). Did I not say a clever 
 woman accepts things as they are and has her own 
 way, too? 
 
 MARTHE (to Garthelaud). I hereby give myself and 
 my estates and all upon them to Holy Church and claim 
 her protection. I regret that when I am abbess I 
 cannot in some way make your life a hell. But let us 
 hope the hump-backed widow can. Meanwhile, sir, you 
 are no longer my husband. Good afternoon ! 
 
 GARTHELAUD (speechless with anger, to the young 
 gentleman}. Come! (At the gate.) Now that she has 
 become a nun, Madame Abbess, I suppose she will have 
 more children than is convenient. (He goes and with 
 him the young men.) 
 
 MARTHE. Young ladies, this place has become a nun 
 nery. Do you wish to remain here? 
 
 YOUNG LADIES. Oh no, Madame. 
 
 MARTHE. Then return to your fathers at once. At 
 once, do you hear? (The young ladies exist hastily.) 
 
 HELOISE. Emelie, I want such girls as you. 
 
 EMELIE (angrily). Why do you make a jest of me? 
 
 HELOISE. It is no jest. With liberty of self-devel 
 opment you may go far. 
 
 EMELIE. As far as abbess? 
 
 HELOISE. The election of abbess falls to the ablest 
 of the nuns, but rarely to one who has no property. 
 
 EMELIE. You had no property. Why then? 
 
 HELOISE. Why do you ask, my child? 
 
 EMELIE. To make up my mind. 
 
 HELOISE (slowly). I had the influence of the Count. 
 
 EMELIE. Why, if you had no property? 
 
 MARTHE. You are impertinent. 
 
 HELOISE. No. I got it because of my sister Liane. 
 
 EMELIE. How did she get it? 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 111 
 
 HELOISE. She is (She pauses.} 
 
 LIANE. His mistress. 
 
 EMELIE. Then I also will be somebody's mistress. 
 
 MARTHE. Emelie! Sooner abbess of my nunnery 
 than that! 
 
 EMELIE. Stuff! Everybody has a lover and nobody 
 cares. What then is the difference between Madame 
 and you? Only that her lover supports her. It is 
 property that makes you object to her kind of mistress. 
 She sells in a good market what you buy in a poor one, 
 and naturally it annoys. But why pretend it is some 
 thing else? The pot is imprudent to abuse the kettle. 
 Suppose some day she objects to your kind of mistress? 
 Because by giving away what she is forced to sell, you 
 destroy her market. 
 
 LIANE. My god! 
 
 EMELIE. Then it will be war to the death between 
 you because of property. In the end you will win 
 out because your children have the name. But, to save 
 your face, you will have to give up your lovers and 
 pretend you never thought of such a thing. 
 
 HELOISE. She is inspired! 
 
 EMELIE. Meanwhile, I have no property and I must 
 therefore go somewhere. Because Madame is mistress, 
 Madame is abbess. Very well then, I will go at once 
 to headquarters. 
 
 MARTHE. But but surely it must be wrong to make 
 love a commercial matter! That is why marriage and 
 love cannot exist together. 
 
 EMELIE. Everything is a commercial matter. Why 
 shouldn't love be like everything else? The trouble 
 with your marriage is that there is no love to begin 
 with. It's a good thing for women that love can be a 
 commercial matter or women like me would have no 
 means of support. But it's a good thing for men also. 
 
 HELOISE (much struck with her reasoning). How do 
 you reason it? 
 
112 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 EMELIE. If there is ever love in marriage, who has 
 it? The man or the woman? The woman. That is 
 because the man is living off her property. People 
 learn to like what they have to pay for. If men support 
 the women in marriage, perhaps they may love them 
 too some day. "Where the treasure is the heart is 
 also/' they say in church. What do they say it for? 
 They say it to make you want to go to heaven. 
 
 HELOISE (shocked). It is bad taste to quote the 
 Scriptures when you are talking logic. The Scriptures 
 are not logical but inspirational. 
 
 EMELIE (gasping). I'm stifling in this thing! I shall 
 take it off! 
 
 MARTHE (tearfully). Take it off? 
 
 LIANE (vigorously). Then no man will want you 
 at all. 
 
 EMELIB. Surely I'm more attractive without it. 
 
 LIANE. My God, don't I know it? Don't ask me 
 why a man who wants us attractive, wants us also to 
 look like a piece of macaroni! The sensible woman 
 does what men desire, and they desire us fragile. God 
 knows why they are such fools. 
 
 HELOISE. Women have been made weak so that men 
 might appear strong. They must seem incapable of 
 useful effort. Especially when supporting the men. 
 
 EMELIE (gasping with physical pain, all the more as 
 she is beginning to expand with an idea). But, but 
 aren't your gentlemen like our peasants? Don't they 
 want to see we have breasts and hips? 
 
 LIANE. Yes. But chiefly they want to see we can't 
 stand up alone. The appeal to their egotism is greater 
 than the appeal to their appetite. 
 
 EMELIE (suddenly blurting out). But can't they have 
 both? 
 
 LIANE. Ah, both ! But both are impossible. 
 
 EMELIE. Air ! Air ! (Liane and Heloise run to her f 
 and in their arms she sinks to the ground.) 
 
ACT III The Craft of the Tortoise 113 
 
 NURSE (coming in with Emelie's new long green 
 shoes). God never meant such things! (She sees 
 Emelie and runs to her.) My lamb! Idiot, I told you 
 I mustn't strap them as tight as I could ! My lamb ! 
 (She hauls away the stays, which Liane has been loosen 
 ing as the women surround Emelie, and holds them up.) 
 Bah! (Holding up the shoes.) Bah! How can she 
 ever walk in them! And with that steeple on! 
 
 MARTHE (feebly). She must walk in two sections. 
 
 EMELIE (getting to her feet, and in a firm weak 
 voice) . Give me that thing ! And those shoes ! 
 
 NURSE. How can she ever walk in them, I say ! 
 
 MARTHE (terrified at her bluster). In two sections. 
 
 EMELIE (suddenly grasping her idea). Two sections! 
 (Taking a long gulp of air.) The gentleman demands 
 that the lady be weak, the waist small? 
 
 LIANE (electrified, seeing that she is getting at an 
 idea). Yes, yes. 
 
 EMELIE. Then we must be and not be at the same 
 time! 
 
 LIANE AND HELOISE. But how? 
 
 EMELIE. The larger you are at both ends the smaller 
 you are in the middle. (She runs and gets her wimple 
 from behind the ledge, thrusts an end into the Nurse's 
 hands.) Hold it! (Holding the other end upon her 
 waist, she whirls herself up in it, binding it tightly like 
 a bandage.) There! 
 
 LIANE (disappointed). But that is nothing. 
 
 EMILY. That is only one section. The other, how 
 shall I show you? (Pointing to the trees.) Why should 
 we be like that? Why not like that? 
 
 LIANE (grasping the idea). My God! 
 
 EMELIE. I see it, I see it! How shall I show you? 
 Oh ! (She runs to the parrot cage, unbuttons the wicker 
 top from its floor, leaving the parrot sitting within on 
 his cross-piece. She carries the wicker cage to the center 
 and pops it over her head. The hole fits around her 
 
114 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT III 
 
 hips. Snatching off her purple veil, she drapes it on the 
 wicker frame.) Behold! (Liane and Marthe and 
 Heloise snatch off their wimples and drape them also, 
 and the nurse claps on her hood. Emelie stands in the 
 midst triumphant, both her arms stretched out.) 
 
 MARTHE (tearfully). But you can't sit down in it. 
 
 LIANE (triumphantly). They will know we can't 
 work then. 
 
 HELOISE (with a touch of solemnity). She has done 
 what women have done with the convent. What women 
 have always done. Made the best of what they couldn't 
 help. 
 
 LIANE (in ecstasy). And it will waste more goods! 
 My God, it is the idea of ideas ! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT IV 
 THE HALF AND HALF BUSINESS 
 
 New York. The drawing room of Emmeline's apart 
 ment. The first floor of a converted residence on one of 
 the lower numbered streets off Fifth Avenue. Here 
 several commodious rooms arranged as a house-keeping 
 suite may still be had for a moderate rental, if one fore 
 goes a few conveniences and trimmings of the modern 
 apartment house. The furnishings of this high-ceil- 
 inged wainscoted room, cheerful in spite of its white 
 marble mantel and grate and its old-time aristocratic 
 stolidity, are noticeably simple but have an elegance 
 which accords with its still unmodified architecture. 
 One sees that the present tenant has fastidious taste and 
 practical intelligence, and is accustomed to manage a 
 moderate income in a way to derive the most of esthetic 
 enjoyment from it. Only the profusion of flowers, 
 scattered in vases everywhere, betokens extravagance. 
 One wonders, perhaps, how a person who could spend 
 patient years in assembling five pieces of such harmoni 
 ous furniture, can endure so indiscriminate and crowded 
 a horticultural exhibit; and hopes it may be but the 
 spoils of some recent festival. 
 
 An electric bell is heard. It rings again before the 
 door at the opposite end of the room opens in response. 
 A young man in overalls enters. His good-looking face 
 has an expression of almost childlike sweetness and 
 simplicity of nature with indications of a childlike petu 
 lance and stubbornness. A woman would recognise ab 
 
 115 
 
116 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 once that he is eminently a man who repays manage 
 ment. He brushes off his overalls impatiently and shows 
 reluctance to attend the door, but in a moment as the 
 bell rings again decides to do so. He opens with some 
 embarrassment to a modish and attractive young woman. 
 She carries gorgeous furs from which hang many bushy 
 tails and legs with claws, and even mounted heads. She 
 is handsome and hard-lipped, and Wears with complete 
 sophistication a gay mercenary manner. She regards 
 him with surprise, especially as his embarrassment 
 increases. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Oh ! Please tell Miss Archer that Mrs. 
 Boyer is here. 
 
 GARETH (awkwardly but with a geniality which he 
 brings to his rescue). They're out. I was here work 
 ing, and so the girl asked me 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Didn't Miss Archer leave word? 
 
 GARETH. Maybe with the girl. But 
 
 MRS. BOYER (coming in). She expects me. I'll wait. 
 
 GARETH (after a dubious moment). All right. (He 
 goes to inner door but pauses there with indecision.) 
 
 MRS. BOYER (divining the cause of his hesitation and 
 smiling at him brightly). Well? 
 
 GARETH. I the girl is out, and 
 
 MRS. BOYER. I won't steal anything. 
 
 GARETH (again helping out his embarrassment with a 
 winning grin). If the place was mine, I'd take a 
 chance. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (amused and interested) . The maid took 
 a chance on you. 
 
 GARETH. But she knows me. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (willing to prolong the conversation). 
 You've worked here before, I suppose? Or do you 
 mean she knows you personally? 
 
 GARETH (quickly, his tone indicating some resentment 
 to the situation). No, I I've worked here before. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 117 
 
 MRS. BOYER. At any rate, you have the table silver. 
 Nothing to steal here but flowers. And I'd need a cart 
 for them. (She pauses before a large ornamented pot 
 of trellised roses standing in front of the grate, tied with 
 a very expensive and unbecoming sash ribbon.) 
 
 GARETH. Pretty swell, aren't they? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Beautiful. A bit impressive, for the 
 room. 
 
 GARETH (disappointed). You don't like it? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Yes. At the proper distance. 
 
 GARETH (cheerfully). Makes the others look like 
 thirty cents, don't it? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (coming to table and uncovering a five- 
 pound box of candy, taking a piece). Here's something 
 to steal. 
 
 GARETH (his tone showing some waspishness). Help 
 yourself! If you smoke, here's a box of one hundred 
 cigarettes! Something classy. Everyone of them 
 marked. Metropolitan Club. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (coolly but inoffensively). You seem to 
 have worked here pretty often. 
 
 GARETH. Look here. She's not hiring me. Miss 
 Archer's a friend of mine, and now and then I do things 
 for her. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (flashing a radiant smile). Of course I 
 saw at once you weren't just a workman, Mr. ? 
 
 GARETH (much pleased). Garrity. (Quickly.) 
 Gareth Garrity. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Gareth? What an odd pretty name. 
 
 GARETH (half proudly , half apologetically). My 
 mother got it out of some poetry. Count Tennyson's. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Yes. What sort of work are you 
 doing ? 
 
 GARETH. Arranging the electric lights in the dining 
 room. She wants things to look fine tomorrow night. A 
 special dinner. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (nodding). I'm coming. 
 
118 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 GARETH. What sort of books do you write? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. I? 
 
 GARETH. Nobody's invited but authors. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (cattily). I see. Well, she's made one 
 exception in my case. I sometimes publish literature 
 but I'm rather careful not to write it. 
 
 GARETH. Yet I've run across your name somewhere. 
 Picture too. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (smiling engagingly). Guess. Mrs. 
 Boyer. Hilda Boyer. 
 
 GARETH. The breach of promise case with the 
 octopus ! 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Octogenarian. I see you read the 
 Daily Sphere. 
 
 GARETH (gallantly, his tone becoming more intimate). 
 An old man with his money ought to pay. What else 
 would be in it (He hesitates and grins delightfully.) 
 For a peach like you. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). So I think. 
 
 GARETH (regretfully). Well, you'll excuse me? Em- 
 meline Miss Archer made me swear on a stack of 
 bibles I'd be through before four o'clock. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (significantly). Yes, I was due then. 
 Our committee meeting. We had to swear on a stack of 
 bibles to be through at five. Careful about her dates. 
 
 GARETH (quickly). She has to be, a busy woman 
 like her. I don't see how she finds time to write so 
 many books. Great, aren't they? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (with alluring candor). Mr. Garrity, 
 how splendid it must be to have a loyal and admiring 
 friend like you! And how nice of you to help her out 
 in so many ways ! A self-supporting woman needs a 
 man to depend upon. 
 
 GARETH. What can I do for her? Not a marker to 
 what she does for me. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (confidentially). What does she do for 
 you? 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 119 
 
 GARETH. Lets me know her, isn't that enough? 
 She (Checking his enthusiasm.) I guess I must go 
 to work. (He goes abruptly.) 
 
 (Mrs. Boyer looks after him with some amusement 
 and envy. She goes at once to the pot of roses, and 
 takes up the envelope which is attached to them. Glanc 
 ing at the door, she takes out the card quickly.) 
 
 MRS. BOYER. "Queen Rose of the Rosebud Garden 
 of Girls Gareth." Reading Tennyson with him to 
 educate him I suppose. (She goes and takes another 
 piece of candy, and calls gaily.) Mr. Gareth I mean 
 Mr. Garrity, I'm stealing again. Don't you want to 
 come watch me? (He comes to the door; she hands him 
 a piece.) 
 
 GARETH (more emphatically than the case seems to 
 demand). No, thank you. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Please be a thief with me. 
 
 GARETH. Never eat it. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. That's just like a man. A real man, 
 I mean. 
 
 GARETH. What ? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. You're too proud. Because some other 
 man gave it to Emmeline. Fine but foolish. Besides, 
 don't you see that turn-about is fair play? 
 
 GARETH. What do you mean? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Those lights for Emmeline's dinner. 
 They would have cost let me see fifteen dollars? 
 
 GARETH. Twenty-five anywhere, not counting my 
 idea. Got the stuff wholesale, too. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Lucky Emmeline ! Well, he'll be there, 
 author or no author. Why shouldn't you enjoy his 
 candy then? Especially when I beg you to. Now can 
 you refuse? 
 
 GARETH (grinning at her). Yes. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. That's really morbid of you. 
 Please ! 
 
 GARETH (relenting}. No. (He laughs as she puts 
 
120 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT TV 
 
 a chocolate into his mouth.) What do you mean, author 
 or no author? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. You don't think Emmeline is wasting a 
 special dinner on authors, do you? Unless they're very 
 successful ones. People one invites to special dinners 
 give dinners or something else in return. Else they're 
 not worth wasting time on. 
 
 GARETH (hotly). She wastes time on me. What can 
 I give her? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Jobs every now and then that she 
 wants done. And a lot of other services, I guess, if the 
 truth were known. (Soothing him down.) Besides, 
 you're the sort of man no woman would call a waste of 
 time. 
 
 GARETH (pleased but suspicious). Why? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (alluringly). How stupid men are! 
 
 GARETH. Say, will you do something for me? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (gaily). Yes. 
 
 GARETH. Tell me which you like best. (He brings 
 out a packet of half a dozen neckties, folded without 
 being wrapped, all solid colors and very sober. He 
 throws them over his arm.) 
 
 MRS. BOYER. For you? I should have thought you'd 
 like a pattern or a stripe. 
 
 GARETH (with suspicious emphasis). Not on your 
 life! They're loud or sissy. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. But perhaps my taste wouldn't agree 
 with Emmeline's. 
 
 GARETH (bashfully but pleased). Oh go on. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. I like this dark one. (Holding it up 
 under his chin.) Yes, it's quiet and manly. Just suits 
 you. Bright colors cheapen a manly man. 
 
 GARETH (a little flustered at her flattery and her 
 nearness). Just what she says. (The bell rings, he 
 stuffs the ties in his pocket.) 
 
 MRS. BOYER. There's Emmeline. 
 
 GARETH. She has her key. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 121 
 
 MRS. BOYER (seeing his hesitation}. Shall I go? 
 
 GARETH. That's all right. (He opens the door as 
 she follows.) 
 
 EDMUND (at door t in a tone of surprise). Miss Ar 
 cher at home? 
 
 GARETH. No, Miss 
 
 MRS. BOYER (interrupting). Mr. Atkinson! How 
 do you do? 
 
 (Edmund enters. He is an alert trim young man 
 with perpetually sparkling eyes. He wears an Oxford 
 cutaway and dark gray trousers, giving the effect of a 
 subdued dandy. He takes her proffered hand.) 
 
 MRS. BOYER (after a perceptible second of hesita 
 tion). Mr. Garrity, Mr. Atkinson. 
 
 EDMUND (shaking hands with Gareth, who has nodded 
 stiffly). How do you? Which one's answering the bell 
 today ? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Both. Emmeline (The telephone 
 bell rings.) Maybe that's she now. (She moves toward 
 the phone.) 
 
 GARETH (who has the start of her). I'll answer it. 
 (Explaining awkwardly as he takes the receiver.) You 
 see, she expects only the girl or me to be here. Hello. 
 Yes it's me. Annie had to go out. I know, but I 
 couldn't get through in time. Now, Em Miss Archer 
 what could I do? (Awkwardly but with relief at 
 having discovered some way to say he is not alone.) 
 She's right here, want to speak to her? Yes, I'll tell 
 her. Goodbye. (He hangs up the receiver. In speak 
 ing, his voice had at once assumed a caressing quality 
 but also the tone of one habitually conciliatory. Both 
 Mrs. Boyer and Atkinson have noticed this at once, and 
 both show great interest. Especially Atkinson, who has 
 taken a step forward. Gareth goes on to Mrs. Boyer.) 
 Miss Archer says to tell you she's awfully sorry but she 
 didn't have a moment. She phoned to say she had been 
 unavoidably detained and would be here at four-thirty. 
 
122 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 Would you please wait? Or if you could use the half 
 hour in this part of town, couldn't you go out and come 
 back? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughingly, comprehending that Emme- 
 line wants her to go). I'll wait. 
 
 GARETH. Then excuse me. (He goes.) 
 
 EDMUND (eagerly). Who is he? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Apparently, a friend of Miss Archer's. 
 Doing some work for her. 
 
 EDMUND. I was coming to see you later. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. What is your esteemed proprietor's 
 proposition ? 
 
 EDMUND (hesitating). I'm to sound you tactfully to 
 see whether you would consent to publishing some of 
 the letters you'll use as evidence in your case. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). Indeed? How much is he 
 offering ? 
 
 EDMUND. He wants to make a campaign of it. If 
 he can get five letters worth the money, he'll publish 
 one a day. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. How much money? 
 
 EDMUND. Two thousand. See here, don't blame me. 
 It's rotten. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). Business is business. Tell 
 him I'll split the difference. And this is my last offer. 
 Twenty-five hundred. 
 
 EDMUND. The proposition came from you? (Laugh 
 ing curtly.) I see I've done him an injustice. Both 
 morally and commercially. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Don't be silly. Is a man to take a 
 year of a woman's youth, good looks, and freshness 
 all perishable products and get out of it for 
 nothing? 
 
 EDMUND. That's for the jury to say. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Suppose it's made up of twelve sex- 
 protecting men like yourself? Then I've thrown good 
 money after bad. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 123 
 
 EDMUND. And for a paltry twenty-five hundred 
 you'll accept the condemnation of most 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Most men. Who fear their own letters 
 might come home to roost. 
 
 EDMUND. And women, too. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Some of them will say so to you. For 
 their own reasons. But in their hearts they will agree 
 with the majority of women. That you men play so 
 rotten a game that we have a right to get out of it what 
 we can. Precious little I can tell you. 
 
 EDMUND. Then you're going to make men fight shy 
 of you all your life. For a paltry twenty-five hundred? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Not at all, Don Quixote. If that cam 
 paign is handled right and I propose to see that it is 
 by the time the third letter is printed, he will offer 
 to settle out of court. 
 
 EDMUND (laughing curtly}. I've done you a com 
 mercial injustice. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (with equal good humor). Of course if 
 you tell this to your esteemed chief, don't neglect to 
 point out that the letters will be quite worth his while 
 at that. 
 
 EDMUND. I'll tell him when I take your answer. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (going toward phone}. I might as well 
 do it here. 
 
 EDMUND (involuntarily}. I'd rather you wouldn't. 
 
 MRS* BOYER (pretending not to see his meaning). 
 You want me to go out? In case Emmeline should 
 come in. 
 
 EDMUND. Well, yes. That's another reason. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. All right, I'll go. (At door.) Emme 
 line, I see, is rather careful about her dates, even if 
 she does slip up once in a while. I ought to warn you 
 that he had orders to quit at four, and our committee 
 meeting at five. I don't know where you come in. 
 (She goes.) 
 
 EDMUND (after a moment of appreciation of Mrs* 
 
124 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 Boyer's cattiness Edmund looks around at the flowers, 
 picks out a modest vase which one supposes are his. 
 Good-humor edly) . Also ran. (Going to the pot of 
 trellised roses.) Hm! The usual expensive horror! 
 (Seeing the envelope, he takes it up, puts it down again; 
 goes and lifts the telephone, puts it down again, and 
 goes to door of room and calls.) Mr. Garrity! (Gareth 
 comes to door.) Got a minute? 
 
 GARETH (curtly). No, but I'll take one. 
 
 EDMUND (holding out his case). Have a cigarette? 
 
 GARETH (taking it after hesitating). Not Metropoli 
 tan Club! 
 
 EDMUND (puzzled, then comprehending with a laugh). 
 Just a modest wage-earner like yourself. Light? (At 
 a loss how to begin.) See here, Mr. Garrity, if I give 
 you my confidence, will you give me yours? 
 
 GARETH (on the defensive). What are you driving 
 at? 
 
 EDMUND. I make fifty dollars a week and have my 
 people to help along. I work on a newspaper and have 
 a little money beside that. What do you do? 
 
 GARETH. Not that it's any of your business, but I'm 
 an electric inspector. I make four dollars a day and 
 haven't anybody to look out for. Now say what you've 
 got to say. 
 
 EDMUND. Are you in this floral exhibit, too? 
 
 GARETH. That's none of your business either. But 
 I am. 
 
 EDMUND (pointing to the trellised pot). My boy, 
 we're competing with millionaires. (Gareth chuckles in 
 spite of himself.) Yours? 
 
 GARETH. Why not? 
 
 EDMUND. But but they must have cost a week's 
 salary. 
 
 GARETH (proud of his management). Got 'em at a 
 wholesale nursery before the Easter prices began, and 
 left 'em at a Third Avenue florist I'd done some work 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 125 
 
 for. Bought the basket wholesale. Ribbon cost most 
 of all. Got a milliner I'd worked for to tie the bow. 
 Looks like the Plaza, don't it? Cost me just nine 
 dollars and forty-two cents. Now what's all this 
 about? 
 
 EDMUND. I hardly know how to say. 
 
 GARETH. Are you coming to her particular dinner 
 tomorrow ? 
 
 EDMUND (hearing of it for the first time). No, are 
 you? 
 
 GARETH. I? Of course not! 
 
 EDMUND. It's the Metropolitan Club I guess. 
 
 GARETH. What's the idea of telling me who you are 
 and what you make? 
 
 EDMUND. Frankly, I wanted to know who you were. 
 
 GARETH. Why? 
 
 EDMUND. Why did you want to know if I was the 
 Metropolitan Club? (Gareih shows anger.) I fancy 
 we both know why and would rather not say. (He 
 offers his hand, which Gareih after a moment shakes 
 heartily.) 
 
 GARETH (diffidently but with determination). Did 
 you ever hear about me? 
 
 EDMUND. No. Did you ever hear about me? 
 
 GARETH (fiercely). Why should I hear about any of 
 you! But I guess there's not much stuff coming in 
 here I don't see. Books, flowers, candy, cigarettes. And 
 whenever I want to take her out to dinner, she's always 
 going with somebody else. Taxi at seven, theatre, sup 
 per at a dance place afterward, taxi back! And some 
 of them have their own cars for an all Sunday spin in 
 the country. Oh, she lets me hear that all right! And 
 why shouldn't she? I ask you why shouldn't she? 
 
 EDMUND. Well, if it's any consolation, she lets me 
 hear it too. 
 
 GARETH (derisively). Oh you! 
 
 EDMUND. You're the one who buys everything from 
 
126 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 Victrolas to knitting needles wholesale, aren't you? 
 Well, I've heard about him. You needn't be afraid 
 you're not in the running. The Metropolitan Club may 
 give her a better time, but you're also a very profitable 
 friend. 
 
 GARETH. What do you mean? I can't give her any 
 thing she wants. 
 
 EDMUND. How many of her presents did you engi 
 neer last Christmas? 
 
 GARETH (pleased). Say, she makes a bushel of them, 
 don't she? And not a man in the bunch. Did you ever 
 figure out she was so stuck on her women friends ? 
 
 EDMUND. My boy, when a woman is invited to din 
 ner she has to pay for it. Her mere presence at an 
 other woman's table isn't supposed to be a sufficient 
 compensation. She expects a man to think that, but 
 not another woman. (The telephone rings. Both men 
 make a jump toward it, exclaiming "Emmeline." Then 
 both hesitate.) I'm not supposed to be here. 
 
 GARETH. Me neither. Promised her I'd be gone in 
 five minutes. 
 
 EDMUND. I'll match you to see who gets in Dutch. 
 All right, pray for me. (Taking up receiver.) Hello. 
 (To Gareth.) A man! (In phone.) No, she's not at 
 home. Who am I? Well, really, who are you? The 
 maid has scalded her finger and that's the reason she 
 couldn't come. Yes, I'm the doctor. Well, hold the 
 wire and I'll see if Miss Archer left any message. (He 
 puts his hand over the transmitter.) He says she 
 phoned him to call her up most importantly just before 
 four o'clock. That was Mrs. Boyer's and the com 
 mittee's date. Looks as if she wanted them to know 
 about it. Perhaps it's the Metropolitan Club. Want 
 to have a look at him? 
 
 GARETH. Say, what do you mean? 
 
 EDMUND. Game for anything that happens? 
 
 GARETH (deciding). Yes. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 127 
 
 EDMUND (in phone). Hello, the maid says Miss Ar 
 cher expects you to tea at a quarter to five. Not at all. 
 (He hangs up, and both men begin to pace the floor in 
 excitement.) 
 
 GARETH. What's the idea? 
 
 EDMUND. I'm coming. At a quarter to five. 
 
 GARETH (understanding). Me too. 
 
 EDMUND (warningly). She'll try to scare you off. 
 
 GARETH (suspiciously). Why me any more than you? 
 
 EDMUND. Me too. But it won't work with me. 
 
 GARETH (angrily). Oh it won't? Well, I'm not so 
 easy as you think. 
 
 EDMUND (extending his hand). Don't get riled. 
 We've got to stand together. (Gareth immediately 
 grins and shakes his hand cordially. The telephone 
 rings. Both men jump apart exclaiming "Emmeline.") 
 
 GARETH. I'll match you. 
 
 EDMUND (grimly). Your turn. 
 
 GARETH (in receiver, most mildly and conciliatingly) . 
 Hello. (To Edmund.) A man! (In phone.) Yes 
 this is 3065. I say this is 3065. No, she's not at home. 
 The girl's scalded her hand. Yes, I'm the doctor. All 
 right, hold the wire. (Putting his hand over the trans 
 mitter.) She phoned him to call her up about four- 
 thirty, important. 
 
 EDMUND. Ask him! 
 
 GARETH (in phone). Hello. She says Miss Archer 
 expects you to tea at a quarter to five. Don't mention 
 it. (He rises excitedly.) Quite a party! 
 
 EDMUND. Yes ! 
 
 GARETH. What are you going to do? 
 
 EDMUND. See them! 
 
 GARETH. But she'll find out. 
 
 EDMUND (surprised). Naturally. I'll tell her. 
 
 GARETH. You've got your nerve. This will put me 
 in bad. 
 
 EDMUND. No worse than me. What of it? 
 
128 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 GARETH. What of it? I thought of course you'd get 
 us out in some way. 
 
 EDMUND. You said you were game. 
 
 GARETH. Yes, but 
 
 EDMUND. See here. I don't know how long she's 
 kept you dangling around. Or what you're dangling 
 for. But I've been two years at it, and I don't propose 
 to dangle any longer. She's got to decide pretty quick 
 whether she'll marry me or not? 
 
 GARETH. Marry you? 
 
 EDMUND. You don't expect her to marry you, do 
 you? 
 
 GARETH. That's none of your damn business ! 
 
 EDMUND {sympathetically but aware of the humor of 
 his position). My boy, she's balancing me off with 
 with the Metropolitan Club and God knows how many 
 limousines and country places. Where do you think 
 you'd come in? 
 
 GARETH (fiercely). How many times did you ever 
 eat with her here alone? 
 
 EDMUND. Never. Stands me fifteen dollars when 
 she dines with me. 
 
 GARETH. So you never went to market and cooked 
 dinner for her on the girl's day out, hey? I have lots 
 of times. And I could tell you something else if I 
 wanted to. Did she ever invent a name for you? Be 
 cause she wanted to call you a name all her own? 
 
 EDMUND (jealously). You don't mean to say she's 
 got one for you, too. 
 
 GARETH. That's my business. 
 
 EDMUND (more jealous yet still sympathetic). See 
 here, my boy. Excuse me for saying so, but it's only 
 decent. You're wasting your time. (Pointing to the 
 pot of flowers.) Your money, and your your heart. 
 She'd never marry you in the world. Why, she couldn't. 
 You better cut it. 
 
 GARETH, (furiously). Who asked your sympathy? 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 129 
 
 All for my own good, too! You're a hell of a one to 
 advise me to clear out. 
 
 EDMUND (angrily). Don't be a fool! 
 
 GARETH. I'm in charge of this house just now. Get 
 out or I'll throw you out. 
 
 EDMUND (standing his ground). You will, will you? 
 (The telephone rings. Both men jump apart, exclaim 
 ing "Emmeline.") My turn. (Into the receiver, with 
 moderated exasperation.) Hello! (To Gareth.) A 
 man! (Angrily.) Yes, this is 3065. What do you 
 want? She can't come. She's scalded her arm and I'm 
 the doctor. (A pause.) Hold the wire. (Springs up, 
 walks the floor excitedly.) 
 
 GARETH. What is it? 
 
 EDMUND. What the devil do you think it is? 
 (Clenches his fsts as he walks up and down, then re 
 turns to receiver.) She says Miss Archer expects you 
 to tea at five o'clock. Sharp! (Hangs up.) I suppose 
 you'll throw us all out! 
 
 GARETH (sinking into a chair and putting his head in 
 his hands). The four of you! And every one of you 
 in her set with education, money 
 
 EDMUND (comforting him). Lord, she could have 
 taken a millionaire long ago if she wanted him. Money 
 isn't what she wants. Money is stupid. She likes us 
 because we are interesting. 
 
 GARETH (looking up). There's a chance of her 
 marrying us? 
 
 EDMUND. Well, she wants money enough. She 
 won't marry me unless she has to. 
 
 GARETH. What do you mean, has to? 
 
 EDMUND. To keep me. But she's got to make up 
 her mind pretty quick. 
 
 GARETH (uneasy but contemptuous). Yes, when it 
 came to a show-down you'd crawl. 
 
 EDMUND. Perhaps I would. But I'd bluff to the 
 limit. 
 
130 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 GARETH. Say, what right did she ever give you to 
 dictate terms to her like that? 
 
 EDMUND (wildly). Emmeline! She's said it to all 
 of us! 
 
 GARETH (still very apparently quoting). All the 
 same, it's morbidly masculine. The airs of men make 
 me sick. 
 
 EDMUND. My boy, that's their little game. Every 
 woman tells every man that. He's morbid, unreason 
 able, selfish. When he isn't that, he's thick-skulled, 
 coarse-grained, heavy-fisted! They have all the intui 
 tion, all the finer feelings, all the delicate instincts there 
 are. That's their little game I tell you. They've been 
 inventing the rules of it for centuries. At last they've 
 got us so we really think we're the clumsy ele 
 phants they say we are. (The door button rings. 
 Both men cry "Emmeline" and dart toward the tele 
 phone. ) 
 
 GARETH (whispering). It's the front door. 
 
 EDMUND. Our first guest. 
 
 GARETH. Let's not hear it. 
 
 EDMUND (nervously). You go get ready. 
 
 GARETH. I well, all right. 
 
 (He goes quickly. Edmund draws a long breath, 
 flexes his muscles, opens the door. Mrs. Garton stands 
 there. She possesses an unaggressive but pervasive air 
 of feminine good form. An embodiment of the best 
 standards of femininity, reared from the cradle to be, 
 do, and desire the correct thing. What little individu 
 ality the thorough educational process has left her, oc 
 casionally appears in a wistful bewilderment when the 
 instinct of self-preservation, not yet quite ironed out, 
 vaguely protests at any danger it sniffs from without. 
 She is richly but quietly gowned, and her black furs are 
 heavy and elegant.) 
 
 MARTHA. Oh ! 
 
 EDMUND (recovering). How do you do? 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 131 
 
 MARTHA. Mrs. Garton. Our committee is meeting 
 with Miss Archer. 
 
 EDMUND. Yes, er come in, won't you? My name 
 is Atkinson. 
 
 MARTHA (puzzled to account for his presence). 
 Thank you. (She enters.) You're not a newspaper 
 man? 
 
 EDMUND. Sort of. 
 
 MARTHA. But the papers were to know nothing of 
 it. Until our plans were formulated. It is distressing 
 enough anyhow that this is an age of advertising. If I 
 had my way, our work should be done only by one 
 woman's heart speaking to another. 
 
 EDMUND. Pardon me, I'm not here on business. 
 
 MARTHA. Oh! Still, now that you are here. After 
 all, what can be done in our strident times without pub 
 licity? Miss Archer has doubtless told you? 
 
 EDMUND. I know only there's a committee meeting. 
 From Mrs. Boyer. 
 
 MARTHA. Yes, society women can always interest 
 newspapers. That's why I chose her. It all came out 
 of Miss Archer's last great book. The Dog in the 
 Manger. The one where the Mayor who had done so 
 much for labor and the poor had his public life defeated 
 because of the revelation of certain domestic irregu 
 larities. That book was the third turning point in my 
 life. In a flash of lightning I saw suddenly that Miss 
 Archer was right. That both women and the Church 
 lack a sense of proportion. Of course I'm not in the 
 least condoning his sin. But after all what were his 
 domestic irregularities compared to his public services? 
 Yet the condemnation of women and the pulpits ruined 
 his life work. And after closing the book I said to 
 myself quite involuntarily, "That is my life work." To 
 change the public attitude of women toward the viola 
 tion of the marriage vow while keeping all their personal 
 condemnation for it absolutely intact. I had no sooner 
 
132 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 seen that this was really my life work, than I saw it 
 was only an extension of my previous life work. You 
 perhaps know I am president of the Society to Maintain 
 that Woman's Place is the Home. I saw at once that 
 this new idea was really only the old one. To keep 
 Home and State entirely separate. Though the instinc 
 tive sentiment of every woman is God-given and im 
 plicitly reliable, her logic is not always infallible. She 
 must be made to see that her affairs are not the State's 
 affairs, and that the State comes first. So I organized 
 a committee to discuss propaganda. And asked 
 the Woman's Suffrage society to send a representa 
 tive. 
 
 EDMUND. What! Woman's Suffrage! 
 
 MARTHA. So I thought at first. But women must 
 drop their minor differences and unite in a common 
 purpose. Though suffragists make the fundamental 
 error of mixing up Home and State, still the misguided 
 creatures think they have the welfare of the State at 
 heart. 
 
 EDMUND. But Emmeline Miss Archer goes even 
 further. She is a femininist. 
 
 MARTHA. I have never been able to find out what 
 their platform is. I believe that having ruined the 
 Home, they want to abolish it altogether. Yet even 
 that is in the name of the wider interest of the State. 
 So we three, differing so enormously, can yet all join 
 hands in this crusade. And say what you will, women 
 are a power. 
 
 EDMUND. Do you mind if I run away? I've an 
 appointment at five. (Going to door, he calls.") Gar- 
 rity! Garrity! That's funny. He must have slipped 
 out the back way. 
 
 MARTHA (sighing as she surveys the flowers). How 
 many admirers Emmeline must have! 
 
 EDMUND. Frightful to think of all the money men 
 spend on flowers for the same woman! 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 133 
 
 MARTHA. Oh, that's unreasonable, isn't it? Almost 
 morbid, don't you think? 
 
 EDMUND (cheerfully). A man can never acquire the 
 finer feelings a woman is born with, can he? By the 
 way, I was to tell you that Miss Archer expects a 
 gentleman to tea. At five. Good afternoon. (He goes.) 
 
 MARTHA (beginning after a moment to rehearse a 
 speech). Gentlemen of the Legislature. It is repug 
 nant to my feelings as a woman to stand before you in 
 this public capacity. But I cannot shirk my duty; and 
 it is my mission to come and tell you what you know so 
 well already. The Home is part of the State but the 
 State is not part of the Home. The whole can never be 
 part of one of its parts. The Home is the unit of the 
 State but politics must be kept out of it. (The phone 
 rings. After a moment of uncertainty, she answers it.) 
 Perhaps that's Emmeline. (In the phone.) Yes? No, 
 this is not Emmeline. Oh yes, you are the gentleman 
 she was expecting to come to tea at five. Not at all. 
 (She hangs up the receiver.) 
 
 EMMELINE (opening the front door and speaking off). 
 Thanks so much for the lift in the taxi. I warned you 
 I shouldn't ask you in. It was a beautiful luncheon, 
 you extravagant young man. Even if your necktie did 
 quarrel with my hat. Drop in some afternoon for a 
 cup of tea. I'll phone you. Goodbye. 
 
 (She enters. A young woman of charm, distinction t 
 and beauty, with masses of black hair. A broad stole 
 of leopard skin drags from her shoulder in barbaric 
 opulence, from the ends of which hang the legs of the 
 animal with conspicuous highly polished claws; a large 
 muff to match, hanging with the bushy tails of several 
 other animals. Sane, humorous, poised, she impresses at 
 once as a healthy and achieving person. She has an air 
 of assurance born of a consciousness of her personal 
 attractions and increased by subsequent successes other 
 than social. Yet there is a suspicion of complacency 
 
134 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 which would tell against a less pleasing personality.} 
 So ashamed! Really never late for anything. (Shak 
 ing hands.) Where is Mrs. Boyer? 
 
 MARTHA. Not come yet. 
 
 EMMELINE. Oh! Who was here when you came? 
 
 MARTHA. A Mr. Atkinson. 
 
 EMMELINE: (concealing her surprise and disapproval). 
 No one else? Excuse me. (Looking in room Right, 
 then calling.) Annie! (Returning after a moment.) 
 Mr. Atkinson is a brisk and delightful person, isn't he? 
 Came on business I suppose? No message? 
 
 MARTHA. He left yours. 
 
 EMMELINE. Mine? 
 
 MARTHA. That you were expecting a gentleman to 
 tea at five. 
 
 EMMELINEI (making a rapid calculation). Annie must 
 have told him in that helpless way of hers when she 
 had to go out. Yes, I couldn't help it. He is leaving 
 town tomorrow. He gave me a lovely dinner at the 
 Biltmore last night appallingly expensive. So before 
 he went, I simply had to give him a cup of tea. 
 
 MARTHA. It's perfectly all right. What a nice 
 place! Too bad these fine old downtown houses have 
 to be cut up into apartments. 
 
 EMMELINE. The worst of it is there's no hall ser 
 vice and people can come up without phoning. You've 
 no chance to be out. 
 
 MARTHA. I wish our third member would come. 
 
 EMMELINE. I hope you understand, Martha, that 
 you are in for the stiffest thing you ever tackled. Bad 
 enough to make headway with most of the suffragists. 
 But you with the antis? You understand what we are 
 doing? That we mean to invade the field of woman's 
 traditional morality and sentiment? 
 
 MARTHA. I understand it quite completely. But it's 
 only her public attitude. Her public attitude and he* 
 private attitude should be kept quite separate. No one 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 135 
 
 understands that so well as we who are opposed to 
 mixing up State and Home. (With a tinge of warmth.) 
 Why, then, should it be easier with the suffragists? 
 
 EMMELINE (picking her words carefully, and thus 
 adding to the previous impression that she regards 
 Martha as a child). Why because because women who 
 believe in their political independence generally believe 
 in economic independence also. And woman's traditional 
 morality and sentiment about man's domestic irregu 
 larities are largely the result of her dependence on 
 man and hence competition for his support. Her own 
 livelihood was threatened. 
 
 MARTHA. Emmeline ! 
 
 EMMELINE. I don't mean, mind you, that's all there 
 is to it now. 
 
 MARTHA. There's no such thing as morality and 
 virtue born in woman as a sex? Just because she is a 
 woman ? 
 
 EMMELINE (conciliatingly) . Perhaps not just that. 
 But most virtues are in a broad sense economic. An 
 act helps or harms. If one, it is good; if the other, 
 bad. 
 
 MARTHA. Virtues were virtues and vices vices be 
 fore the beginning of time. Before ever the earth was. 
 
 EMMELINE. Well, dear, need we go into that? I 
 just wanted you to appreciate our campaign would be 
 difficult. It's going to be hard to make women see that 
 there are twelve commandments, and that one-twelfth is 
 not greater than eleven twelfths. 
 
 MARTHA. But it isn't only women. The pulpits did 
 as much as the women to ruin the Mayor in your book. 
 
 EMMELINE. The Church is supported by women. 
 Consequently it caters to them largely and falls into the 
 same exaggerations. Besides, ministers come in the 
 category of women anyway, in their traditional remote 
 ness from actual economic affairs and their traditional 
 subservience to another's will. 
 
136 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 MARTHA (breathlessly). Emmeline! Do you mean 
 to say I'm going to attack religion? 
 
 EMMELINE. Not at all, dear. Just showing you how 
 it comes that both Church and women lack a sense of 
 proportion. 
 
 MARTHA (almost tremulously). Tell me one thing, 
 Emmeline. There's nothing in this cause, is there, 
 which will endanger our position? Pardon me, dear, 
 but I feel I must say it. Nothing which will work out 
 as your Suffrage has. To lessen the innate chivalry of 
 men to women. 
 
 EMMELINE. Chivalry? A beautiful gesture in the 
 grand style. Only superficial manners, empty deference 
 without real protection. Look at our Southern States 
 if you wish to see in a word what is man's chivalry to 
 woman? Where chivalry is the highest the age of con 
 sent is the lowest? (A pause.) So many things you 
 could understand better if you were not a happily mar 
 ried woman. 
 
 MARTHA. Oh! (Suddenly speaking out of a pent- 
 up emotion.) I am not a happily married woman. 
 
 EMMELINE (distressed). Forgive me. 
 
 MARTHA. I had no intention of saying it. I never 
 told anyone before. But my husband is not only untrue 
 to me. A a mistress for years. 
 
 EMMELINE. Martha! I am sorry. I 
 
 MARTHA. And she makes him spend a lot of money. 
 Money I need for my children, for his home, and his 
 position in society. Her furs are better than mine. 
 Goes around in her ermine while I'm worn out with 
 the struggle to keep up appearances. On half his 
 income. 
 
 EMMELINE (gently). Why do you not divorce him? 
 
 MARTHA. Break up the sanctity of our home? De 
 prive my little ones of their father? Send them into 
 life publicly branded as the children of a divorced 
 woman? No, a nice woman takes a man for better or 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 137 
 
 for worse, but forever. She must submit in silence. 
 Hold fast to all things, suffer all things, endure all 
 things. For the sake of society and her children. 
 
 EMMELINE. But don't you see that he has already 
 broken up your home? 
 
 MARTHA. No one knows it. Even the children do 
 not realize it themselves. Oh, what I have gone through 
 trying to keep up appearances with them, with every 
 body ! As for money my money this woman is plaster 
 ing herself with! the only way I can get any at all 
 is by overcharging. 
 
 EMMELINE. By overcharging? 
 
 MARTHA. An arrangement with all my tradesmen. 
 They are very nice about it. They charge him every 
 month twenty per cent more than I have had. And 
 hand it over to me when he's paid the bill. 
 
 EMMELINE (rising and concealing her condemnation). 
 That must be humiliating. 
 
 MARTHA. It's the only way I can preserve the sanc 
 tity of my home. And get decent clothes for my back. 
 
 EMMELINE (as the bell rings). That must be Mrs. 
 Boyer. Shall I 
 
 MARTHA (dabbing her eyes and cheeks). Just a mo 
 ment. All right. 
 
 EMMELINE (opening door). Leonora. So ashamed 
 to be late. 
 
 MARTHA (a* Mrs. Boyer comes in). Leonora Ash- 
 ton! Are you Mrs. Boyer? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Martha! (The ladies embrace warmly.) 
 
 EMMELINE. I thought you knew it. 
 
 MARTHA. Surely I heard somewhere your name was 
 Hilda. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. My middle name. I dropped the 
 Leonora after college days. (Scrutinizing Martha.) 
 Really, you know, seeing you again makes me feel like 
 our old basket ball team. You remember you thought 
 it unladylike for us to have a yell. Emmeline persuaded 
 
138 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 you that if we had athletic contests like the boys we 
 must have everything else that went with them. (She 
 sits upon sofa.) Before I say another word, I really 
 must slip off my shoes. They always hurt me. But I 
 can't go round with feet like a hippopotamus. 
 
 MARTHA (sitting down beside her). If you don't 
 mind, Emmeline. Though these I have on are a world 
 too large. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Don't be a humbug, Martha. No men 
 present. 
 
 EMMELINE (sitting down beside her and slipping off 
 her shoes also). It's a great relief. 
 
 MARTHA. Poor mother was scandalized when mine 
 began to to expand. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. I bet we have gym and basket ball to 
 thank for that. Those shapeless sneakers. 
 
 EMMELINE. It's girls doing things instead of sitting 
 at home embroidering. Glove-makers and shoemakers 
 say the average is a size larger. 
 
 MARTHA (tremulously). Where is it going to stop! 
 
 EMMELINE (shrugging). The price we pay for better 
 health and stronger constitutions. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. More than they're worth. 
 
 MARTHA. I told you then that athletics were unlady 
 like. I don't care what they say, I shan't let my daugh 
 ter go in for them. 
 
 EMMELINE. There's one consolation. If women have 
 to have bigger hands and feet, they can force men to 
 change their ideal of feminine beauty. All the Greek 
 goddesses had big hands and feet. (Complacently ap 
 praising the furs of the other two.) How well our furs 
 go together! We look like three hunters of old, don't 
 we? Dressed in the beasts they killed. 
 
 MARTHA (with a gasp). Hilda! You are the one 
 who is suing the old gentleman for breach of promise. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). Going to be shocked like 
 Emmeline ? 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 139 
 
 MARTHA. The publicity of it! To expose one's in 
 timate and sacred things in the market place. But of 
 course after spoiling your chances for two years he 
 owed you something. 
 
 EMMELINE. What right has she to his money? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (gaily). He's a man, isn't he? 
 
 EMMELINE. What right has she? 
 
 MARTHA. Wouldn't she have a right if he had mar 
 ried her? He almost married her. He kept other men 
 from marrying her, didn't he? If you lease an apart 
 ment and don't take it, the landlord says you kept other 
 people from taking it and makes you pay. I know be 
 cause I've tried to break my lease and couldn't. I saw 
 an apartment I liked ever so much better and for less 
 money, too. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). Believe in alimony, don't 
 you Emmeline? Didn't you write a book on that? 
 
 MARTHA. Do you get alimony? And run your home 
 to suit yourself? Aren't you lucky? But I don't think 
 you're quite fair if I may say so in wanting alimony 
 and breach of promise too. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Silly, as if I could get it! But I'd 
 better be on with the new love before I'm off with the 
 old, hadn't I? 
 
 MARTHA. Oh, I am relieved! So long as you don't 
 have both at once. A woman can't be too scrupulous in 
 such matters. 
 
 EMMELINE. Alimony, yes. Only under certain cir 
 cumstances, however. But you have no children and 
 you have your own income, you have not sacrificed your 
 youth and strength to a man. If you have to go to 
 work, you wouldn't have the slightest handicap by rea 
 son of your marriage. 
 
 MARTHA. Why, Emmeline, you're positively immoral. 
 Heaven knows I don't believe in divorce. What God 
 has joined together let no man put asunder. Except a 
 legal separation for life of course. But if a man can 
 
140 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 get quit of a woman without its costing him anything, 
 what's to prevent him doing it over and over again? 
 
 MRS. BOYER. It's a social duty women owe. Why 
 shouldn't the cad I married pay me money? Do you 
 know what he did ? We agreed to get a divorce in France 
 because it's easier. So I bought a place over there, and 
 the French law allowed him to keep half of it. Now in 
 stead of supporting only his mistress, I'm supporting a 
 second wife beside. 
 
 MARTHA (rising with decision and stepping out over 
 her shoes). There comes a time when logic must go to 
 the wall. I don't care if women are mixing up State 
 and Home! I don't propose to start any campaign 
 which will make it easier for men to dodge their mar 
 riage ties. 
 
 EMMELINE (quietly). I told you I was surprised. 
 (To Mrs. Bayer.) How did you come to be in it? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). An idle rich woman must 
 do something these days. A cause keeps her before the 
 public far better than charity bazaars. 
 
 MARTHA. Come with us. Protect the sanctity of the 
 Home. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. No lost causes for me. I want to blaze 
 a trail. 
 
 EMMELINE (coolly). You would damage any cause 
 you undertook. A rich woman who levies a tax upon 
 one man because he gave her his name and wants an 
 indemnity from another because he didn't. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (rising energetically and stepping out 
 over her shoes). Stuff! Men have enslaved and ex 
 ploited us since history began. We have a right to get 
 even whenever we get a chance. Precious few chances 
 we have. 
 
 EMMELINE. I grant women have been slaves through 
 out history. And so they have for their birthright the 
 typical slave morality. Anything they can appropriate 
 of the master's they think is theirs by rights. But be 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 
 
 logical. A woman cannot exist, any more than a na 
 tion, half-slave and half-free. You refuse to go back 
 to the old days when you were slave? Then be entirely 
 free. But being free as a man, be as honest as a man. 
 Give up the old slave morality. 
 
 MARTHA. Free as a man? Men break their mar 
 riage vows whenever they want to. Which is gen 
 erally. 
 
 EMMELINE (seeing an opportunity to tangle her up). 
 Well? 
 
 MARTHA (almost in tears). And women don't want 
 to. They ought to want to or men ought not to want 
 to. That's the only way there can ever be equality. 
 
 EMMELINE. Well? 
 
 MARTHA (helpless at being forced to pursue her 
 point). Women should either have no sentiment in mar 
 riage at all or men should have more. It's this half and 
 half business which sacrifices women. They were 
 brought up to have sentiment about marriage and men 
 to laugh at it. (With the fervor of discovery.) That's 
 the trouble. Oh, Emmeline, can't you write a book about 
 it? That would be a splendid new cause for us. I'm 
 sure we can all join hands in it. 
 
 EMMELINE. Which side will you take? It's hopeless 
 trying to change men. Two thousand years of senti 
 mentalizing haven't made them monogamous yet. Do 
 you want to change women? 
 
 MARTHA (aghast). I don't know what I want. I 
 want something different. We women wear out our 
 hearts and our lives in a forlorn hope. Battling to keep 
 up a sentiment which men have grown tired of pretend 
 ing. Men don't believe in the home. And we women 
 have got to try to save it. Even if you have profaned 
 it with politics. 
 
 EMMELINE. Why have you got to save it? 
 
 MARTHA. Emmeline! Home is where mother is. 
 The one sheltered oasis in the desert of the world. 
 
142 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 EMMELINE. Save it for men? You confess they 
 don't believe in it, and apparently you are right. Save 
 it for women? You say their working and voting will 
 ruin it, and apparently they intend to work and vote. 
 Save it for the children? Apparently they leave it as 
 soon as they are able. For whom then must you save 
 it? Nobody seems to want to stay in it. 
 
 MRS. BOYER, Fiddlesticks ! You're trying to saw off 
 the limb you're sitting on. Abolish the home and you 
 abolish the importance of women. 
 
 EMMELINE. Not if they work and vote. Besides, 
 which is the more important? The woman a man's try 
 ing to marry or the woman after he gets her? 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). You have me there. She'll 
 always be important until man stops wanting to run 
 after her. (Indicating flowers.) By the way, you seem 
 to have considerable importance. 
 
 EMMELINE (suddenly noticing trellised pot, goes to 
 it and holds up ribbon with surprise and delight.) Why! 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Sweet little trifle, isn't it? 
 
 MARTHA. How could any florist have killed those 
 roses with that ribbon ! And such loads of it ! 
 
 EMMELINE. Florist! This ribbon cost four dollars 
 a yard. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (cattily). Fortunate you can wear it. 
 
 EMMELINE. Yes, I wanted one just like it for a 
 gypsy costume, and decided I couldn't afford it. I sup 
 pose he would have been shocked if I had let him buy 
 it for me. But now he'll be complimented if I wear it 
 instead of throwing it away. Aren't men amusing crea 
 tures? (Indicating the rest of the floral exhibit.) And 
 isn't it frightful what they spend for flowers ! 
 
 MARTHA (sighing). No one spends any on me. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing shrewdly). When they might 
 spend it on something that didn't fade so soon, you 
 mean, Emmeline? By the way, who was that interesting 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 143 
 
 young man who let me in? Doing something for you, 
 I believe? 
 
 EMMELINE (carefully casual, suspicious at the patness 
 of the inquiry). He came here to inspect something 
 or other. Occasionally he's fixed some things for me 
 since. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Seems to know you rather well. 
 
 EMMELINE. A simple, naive nature very interesting 
 to me as a novelist. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Well, if he's as handy as he's good- 
 looking,, I'd let him inspect me often. 
 
 MARTHA. Oh, Emmeline ! Will you let him fix things 
 for me? Everything is out of order, and I simply can't 
 afford it. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). Go it, Martha! Get all 
 you can out of them I say. Little enough, heaven 
 knows ! 
 
 EMMELINE (vigorously). Girls! It's disheartening 
 to try to do anything for women when that's their gen 
 eral attitude. Here you are both of you. Parasites. 
 Each in your own way, one in the open, one in secret. 
 But each getting all she can by the means at her dis 
 posal fair or foul. I grant you that men never did, 
 do not yet, play fair themselves. But how are we ever 
 going to mend matters? If you women aren't willing 
 to be honest even when you get the chance! 
 
 MARTHA (aghast). Honest! 
 
 MRS. BOYER. You are, of course. 
 
 EMMELINE. I work for my living, I owe nothing to 
 any man, I pay for what I get. If a man invites me 
 to dinner, I always ask him for a cup of tea. 
 
 MARTHA (somewhat terrified at her vigor). Oh, a 
 gentleman was coming at five. 
 
 EMMELINE (sharply). What do you mean? I told 
 you so. 
 
 MARTHA. No, someone phoned. I thought it was 
 you and answered. 
 
144 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 EMMELINE. Answered? Who was it? 
 
 MARTHA (increasingly nervous). I don't know. I 
 thought it was the one Mr. Atkinson spoke of. 
 
 EMMELINE (going to door and calling). Annie! 
 (Coming away again after a moment.) I'd like to know 
 how Mr. Atkinson knew about a gentleman coming to 
 tea. 
 
 MRS. BOYER (laughing). Or what gentleman. (The 
 bell rings. The ladies all dive for their shoes.) Must 
 be inconvenient for people to come without sending 
 their names up. 
 
 MARTHA (whispering apologetically). We'll go at 
 once of course. 
 
 EMMELINE. I may want you to help me out. (She 
 opens the door to Edmund.) 
 
 EDMUND (banteringly). Good afternoon, Emme- 
 line. 
 
 EMMELINE (without cordiality). Good afternoon. 
 
 EDMUND. Well, mayn't I come in ? 
 
 EMMELINE. You can't see me without phoning, you 
 know. But Mrs. Garton wants to speak to you. (As 
 Edmund enters and Martha grows more fluttered). To 
 get that message straight, Martha. 
 
 MARTHA, I quite forgot what gentleman you said 
 was coming to tea. 
 
 EDMUND. I didn't say. 
 
 EMMELINE (tartly). Well, who is it? 
 
 EDMUND. I hope I am. For one. 
 
 MARTHA (helplessly). But I phoned someone else. 
 
 EDMUND (exultantly). Someone else? That makes 
 two of us then. 
 
 EMMELINE (frigidly). Exactly. 
 
 EDMUND. Not exactly. That is, apparently, you 
 didn't figure on me. But now I've happened in? 
 
 EMMELINE. When / want people to tea, I usually 
 ask them. 
 
 EDMUND. You're embarrassing me. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 145 
 
 MRS. BOYER {gaily). Perhaps you're embarrassing 
 her. You've asked yourself. Martha has asked some 
 one name unknown. Maybe Emmeline took the lib 
 erty. 
 
 EDMUND. Did you, Emmeline? 
 
 EMMELINE. Perhaps it was presumptuous. 
 
 EDMUND. That makes three of us ! And at least 
 two of them unexpected. 
 
 EMMELINE {pointedly). At least two. 
 
 MARTHA {nervously). I must be going. 
 
 MRS. BOYER. Shall I take this young man along with 
 me? 
 
 EDMUND. I shall stay till I'm put out, Mrs. Boyer. 
 
 MARTHA {shaking hands). I'm sure I had the best 
 intentions. 
 
 MRS. BOYER {at door). Good-bye. Better come 
 along. Oh, by the way, he split the difference. {They 
 
 #>) 
 
 EDMUND. Why don't you tell me to go, if I'm in the 
 way. 
 
 EMMELINE. I thought I'd let it dawn on you. 
 
 EDMUND. That's a good idea. 
 
 EMMELINE. Besides, I wanted to ask you a question. 
 Did Annie let you in when you first came ? Who did ? 
 
 EDMUND. Garrity. 
 
 EMMELINE. Oh! How soon did he leave? 
 
 EDMUND. Not before we'd chatted a while. 
 
 EMMELINE {suppressing her annoyance). Well, why 
 don't you ask me who he is? 
 
 EDMUND. I know. A good-looking giant you think 
 you're educating. You're really making him unfit for 
 any other woman. You don't want him yourself and 
 you're keeping him from everybody else. Oh, I don't 
 blame you unduly. Every woman likes to own a man, 
 whom she can order to come and go as she pleases. Es 
 pecially if he shakes his chain every now and then and 
 growls fiercely. They don't like 'em too tame. 
 
146 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 EMMELINE (suppressing her annoyance). I thought 
 I told you always to phone when you wanted to call. 
 
 EDMUND. I came on business. The same that brings 
 me now. 
 
 EMMEHNE. And that is? 
 
 EDMUND. To ask you to marry me. Before the rush 
 begins. 
 
 EMMELINE. Must we go into that again? I told 
 you while I had my book to finish I couldn't have any 
 thing on my mind. 
 
 EDMUND. So you said a year ago. Then you began 
 this book before you'd finished the other one. Will you 
 marry me? 
 
 EMMELINE. I really can't dispose of a little trifle like 
 that when I'm expecting another man at any moment? 
 Either way, it will spoil my tea. 
 
 EDMUND. My dear Emmeline, I don't care if you 
 expect one man or five, I demand an immediate an 
 swer. 
 
 EMMELINE. B-r-r-r-h! And what if you don't get 
 it? 
 
 EDMUND. Then I'll get out. For good. 
 
 EMMELINE (deciding on other tactics). The usual 
 masculine hold-up. I know we'd come to it sooner or 
 later. 
 
 EDMUND. Now that it's later, take me or leave me. 
 
 EMMELINE. Are you really serious? 
 
 EDMUND. Grimly. 
 
 EMMELINE. What right have I ever given you to dic 
 tate like this? (He snorts.) Have I ever led you on? 
 
 EDMUND. You haven't exactly shoved me off. 
 
 EMMELINE. Two years ago you came to me with a 
 man's usual lordly ideas about a woman. She was his 
 to choose if he wanted her he would see if she'd suit. 
 When you decided that you did want me, of course I 
 must take you at once. How about letting me see if 
 you'll suit? 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 147 
 
 EDMUND. Two years is long enough to find out. 
 
 EMMELINE. We haven't the quick wits of the lords 
 of creation. 
 
 EDMUND. Because you're trying to decide on so many 
 at once. And each one with nobody in his mind but you. 
 
 EMMELINE (scornfully). That's likely! 
 
 EDMUND. I should say it was. No man has time 
 and money enough to run after two women at once. Not 
 if she's on to her job. 
 
 EMMELINE. Do you mean to be offensive? 
 
 EDMUND. Merely defensive. Do you marry me or 
 do you not? 
 
 EMMELINE. Young man, march. 
 
 EDMUND. Not before an answer. 
 
 EMMELINE (gaily). Shall I call a policeman? 
 
 EDMUND. Emmeline, if I go out of that door I'm not 
 coming back again. 
 
 EMMELINE. You can't bully me into an answer. (He 
 starts to the door determinedly. She goes on more coax- 
 ingly.) I haven't time for an answer just now with 
 someone coming to tea. 
 
 EDMUND (stopping). To tea? Oh, yes. (He comes 
 back.) Emmeline, I adore you. Wouldn't you find life 
 stupid with one of your millionaire duffers? 
 
 EMMELINE. How do you like my new hat? I al 
 ways depend on your taste. For me. You haven't any 
 for yourself. I'm ashamed of those gay ties of yours. 
 
 EDMUND (critically). Charming. But what's the 
 use of having such glorious black hair if you're going to 
 hide it. That red rose should hang down on your pink 
 ear. (He pulls himself up.) No, you don't! Do you 
 marry me or do you not? 
 
 EMMELINE. You really must be going. 
 
 EDMUND (sharply). Goodbye, then! (He strides to 
 the door.) 
 
 EMMELINE. Now, Bunny dear! Don't be unreason 
 able. I can't answer you all at once. (Alluringly.) 
 
148 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 You're the last man in the world I could answer all at 
 once. 
 
 EDMUND. Darling! (With a swift change.) What 
 do you mean by that? 
 
 EMMELINE. Can't you guess? 
 
 EDMUND. No. That's why you said it. 
 
 EMMELINE. You're as stupid as the rest of them. 
 
 EDMUND (wildly). Trickery! You women haven't 
 an honest bone in your body. 
 
 EMMELINE (changing her tactics). Please go. 
 
 EDMUND. Not until I have my answer. 
 
 EMMELINE. My answer is no. 
 
 EDMUND (blankly). No? (He starts to go, then 
 comes back.) Then I won't go until something else 
 happens. 
 
 EMMELINE (icily). Good afternoon. (She goes into 
 room. Edmund, after a moment of uncertainty in which 
 he feels foolish, picks up his hat and goes toward door. 
 The bell rings. Emmeline at once appears; and speaks 
 softly, quickly, and coaxingly.) Bunny dear, don't be 
 mean and do help me. I have a particular reason for 
 my being alone when he comes. (With confusion, of 
 the attractiveness of which she is quite aware.) It's 
 nothing at all and I'll explain to you later. But won't 
 you go out through the kitchen after I let him in? 
 (He hesitates.) When I have humbled myself like this? 
 Aren't you going to show your appreciation that I've 
 asked you what I wouldn't ask any other man in the 
 world. (Edmund comes to her at the door as if about 
 to embrace her in his flight, but she dodges and prettily 
 accelerates his departure.) Please! (She quickly runs 
 to the mirror as the bell rings again, takes off her hat 
 and opens the door. To Gareth, who has left off his 
 overalls.) Oh! what is it? You're always forgetting 
 and leaving things. 
 
 GARETH (with suppressed excitement). I haven't 
 forgotten anything. I want to see you. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 149 
 
 EMMELINE. You can't come in. 
 
 GARETH. Yes, I will. {He enters.) 
 
 EMMELINE {noting his seriousness). I am expecting 
 someone. 
 
 GARETH. Yes. Which of them are you going to 
 marry ? 
 
 EMMELINE. Them? 
 
 GARETH. The whippersnapper or the other fellow? 
 
 EMMELINE. What is this? 
 
 GARETH. Are you going to marry either of them? 
 
 EMMELINE. What right have you to talk in this way ? 
 
 GARETH. Will you marry me? 
 
 EMMELINE. You ! 
 
 GARETH. I love you. I can't think of anything else 
 but you. I'm mad for you. 
 
 EMMELINE. Are you going to spoil our wonderful 
 friendship ? 
 
 GARETH. Friendship ? You always knew I loved you. 
 
 EMMELINE. I didn't. That is 
 
 GARETH. You always knew I worshipped you. 
 
 EMMELINE. Y-yes. But worship is not love. I 
 hoped that you would see that you must keep it from 
 becoming love. 
 
 GARETH. That's a lie. (Shocked at himself for an 
 instant.) What have you kept me dangling round for? 
 I'll tell you. Because it interested you to see me in 
 love with you. To see me fumbling about and wonder 
 ing how far I'd dare go and how I'd go about it. Be 
 sides, I was useful. 
 
 EMMELINE (proudly and coldly). I think, Gareth, 
 you'd better leave. 
 
 (Gareth looks at her despairingly. But as he has 
 been somewhat appalled at his own daring f he turns to 
 go. At the door he pauses.) 
 
 GARETH (pleading like a child). If you're sending 
 me away like this, just because you think he might be 
 coming there's plenty of time. To settle this right 
 
150 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 now. I guess I know all there is to know about how 
 crazy you would be to marry me. But that ain't the 
 point. I've known that all along and so have you. And 
 I wanted it to go on and so did you. What right had 
 you to keep me all raw like this ? If you didn't intend 
 to marry me or or wouldn't ever love me? Are you 
 going to? That's what's got to be settled right now. 
 
 EMMELINE. I think, Gareth, you had better go. 
 
 GARETH. All right. But 111 never come back. 
 
 (The bell rings. Both are, for their different reasons, 
 arrested by it. Then Emmeline walks into room right. 
 After hesitating Gareth opens the door. To Edmund.) 
 
 EDMUND (coming in and looking quickly around for 
 Emmeline). So you're the first? 
 
 GARETH. For two cents I'd lick the life out of you, 
 you shrimp! Right here! 
 
 EDMUND. Come, get on your company manners. I 
 see you've changed your tie for the tea-party. 
 
 GARETH. You be damned! (Chuckling angrily). 
 And your damned tea-party too! So that's what you 
 came nosing round for, did you? 
 
 EMMELINE (appearing at door, in a withering tone). 
 What was it you came nosing round for, Mr. Atkinson ? 
 
 EDMUND (coolly). Because as I opened the kitchen 
 door, to scuttle out as requested, I saw who your caller 
 
 was. After a turn about the block, I came back to 
 
 (He pauses.) 
 
 EMMELINE. Well? 
 
 GARETH. You needn't worry about what you came 
 back for. There ain't going to be any tea-party. 
 
 EMMELINE AND EDMUND. What? 
 
 GARETH (with a mixture of pride and alarm). I 
 stopped them all at the street door. When they got out 
 of their taxiesl Told them I was the doctor and Annie 
 had scalded herself all over and was going to the hospi 
 tal. The five of them and their taxies! The whole fu 
 neral! (Edmund cannot restrain a burst of laughter.) 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 151 
 
 EMMELINE. The whole five of them? 
 
 EDMUND. I invited them here this afternoon. They 
 phoned while he was here working and I was here wait 
 ing for you. Now what are you going to do about 
 it? 
 
 EMMELINE (icily). May I ask what we did it for? 
 
 EDMUND. To see them. I had met one of my un 
 known rivals. Oh, yes, rivals ! I wanted to look over 
 the others and figure out my chances. (Unable to re 
 strain a chuckle.) And now Garrity has upset the pot. 
 
 GARETH (furiously). Thank God she's got no use 
 for you either! 
 
 EMMELINE (in a low voice tremulous with anger). 
 Both of you gentlemen had better go at once. 
 
 GARETH (pleadingly). Emmeline! 
 
 EMMELINE. And not come back again. 
 
 GARETH (after a moment, slowly, sadly, and passion 
 ately). Suits me. Since I met you you've held me up 
 for everything. My time, my money, my thoughts. I 
 haven't owned anything about myself or had a plan of 
 my own. And you knew it. What did you expect to 
 give in return? Emmeline, you ain't honest! {He 
 goes.) 
 
 EMMELINE (to Edmund after a moment). One word 
 before you go. I hope you don't believe there's been 
 anything between us. (He is silent.) Say so. 
 
 EDMUND. Of course not. 
 
 EMMELINE. Thank you. 
 
 EDMUND. Thank me? Emmeline, much as I love 
 you, I would think better of you if there had been. 
 
 EMMELINE. How dare you! 
 
 feoMUND (very gravely). A woman has no right to 
 interfere like that with a man's life unless she intends 
 to love him or to marry him. 
 
 EMMELINE (imperiously). What do you mean? 
 
 EDMUND. You know very well what I mean. You 
 condemn the tactics of women well enough when you 
 
152 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 want to. But you don't attack them for what you are 
 doing yourself. Selling your femininity. 
 
 EMMELINE (angrily}. Selling? 
 
 EDMUND. For flowers,, theatre tickets, suppers, din 
 ners, motor rides. You won't bother with a man unless 
 he gives you a good time. But you take care to hold out 
 hopes to him, hopes that make us spend more on you 
 than we can afford. And what do you give us in re 
 turn? Your society. Your society, in which you pru 
 dently and deliberately dangle before our eyes, the eyes 
 of purchasers you mean to cheat, what another kind of 
 girl sells honestly, in the open market and without sen 
 timent. You're both of you peddlers and she's the 
 straight one. Sometimes, in spite of your calculations, 
 love sweeps you off your feet and then you're ashamed 
 to go on haggling. Then no matter whether you marry 
 the man or run away with him, you become honest for 
 once. 
 
 EMMELINE. Honest! Honest! You prate of being 
 honest! After centuries of oppression, of brutality, of 
 inhumanity in order to keep us your slaves. 
 
 EDMUND. Oh, yes, I'll admit it. And it has made 
 you what it always makes people. A race of tricksters 
 and traders. Oh, I don't blame woman in general. She 
 has done what she was forced to do. But you women 
 who by reason of education, industry, profession, talent 
 have raised yourselves out of the pit a man-made civili 
 zation dumped the whole of you into 
 
 EMMELINE. Who no longer need eat out of a man's 
 hand and fawn upon him for our next day's food! 
 
 EDMUND. Yes. Are you any better than the rest of 
 them? No, you are tricksters and traders still. A lit 
 tle more subtle, that is all. Look at your attitude. 
 There's nothing honest about it. You want to be treated 
 as superiors and inferiors at the same time. We must 
 look up to you and yet we must protect you. Give you 
 the privileges of the weak and the rights of the strong. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 153 
 
 The woman who was frankly a clinging helpless vine 
 was far more honest. She never dreamt of anything but 
 privileges, she knew she was weak and had to be pro 
 tected. She knew she had but one thing to sell and she 
 got herself to market as quickly as possible. And 
 thanked God if the man who bought her was decent to 
 her. 
 
 EMMELINE. Decent? You've never been decent to 
 us. Now you magnificent men want to play fair, as you 
 call it, for the first time in history. And you wonder 
 why women can't chuck up at once the experience of 
 ages. After being for thousands of years only what 
 civilized man has forced them to be, dependents in the 
 home or outlaws on the street. And with your thou 
 sands of years of opportunity you're not so civilized 
 after all. We've still got to fight every step of the way. 
 With the only weapons your superior strength has not 
 been able to wrench from us. Trickery and sex. What 
 taught us to use them? The need of competing with 
 each other for you, the only means of livelihood you 
 left us. Now we make you compete for us, when we're 
 lucky enough to be attractive to you. When we're not, 
 we starve. On the miserable wages you give us. 
 
 EDMUND. Wages? Look what you make. 
 
 EMMELINE. You know very well I'm talking of 
 women in general. 
 
 EDMUND. You know very well I'm talking of you in 
 particular. What do you spend on me? 
 
 EMMELINE (astounded). You? 
 
 EDMUND. Absurd, isn't it? But just because you're a 
 woman I must spend on you. Pay for your society. 
 Why must I? What do you pay for mine? 
 
 EMMELINE (sparring for wind). For yours? 
 
 EDMUND. All well enough when women didn't make 
 their living. But now that they do, why should we go 
 on spending? That's a tradition you don't want to lay 
 hands on. Why? 
 
154 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT iV 
 
 EMMELINE. Because because 
 
 EDMUND. God knows ! The same reason, I suppose, 
 that when a man breaks his engagement he's an un 
 mitigated cad. But when a woman breaks hers, she's 
 wisely found out her mistake in time. Well, what do 
 you spend on me? 
 
 EMMELINE (with triumph and with relief}. I dress 
 for you. That's what I spend. 
 
 EDMUND (staggered at her nerve). For me? 
 
 EMMELINE. Yes, it takes all my money to dress. To 
 make myself charming. Men demand it. 
 
 EDMUND (derisively). And if we didn't, you wouldn't. 
 
 EMMELINE (spying a better point). Yes. Woman 
 demands it herself. Because she has an instinct man 
 does not possess. The eternal and indestructible instinct 
 for beauty. The shop girl denies herself a crust to buy 
 a pitiful bit of finery. 
 
 EDMUND. To catch the eye of a man. To dress her 
 self for market. 
 
 EMMELINE. She would do it anyway. Her heart 
 craves beauty. Even if she pays for it with her poor 
 starved body. Where would beauty be if it weren't for 
 women? It is we, we who have kept alive the charm, 
 the fragrance, the color of life. Would you like to see 
 it go ? Think how dingy and drab the world would be if 
 we didn't beautify it with our clothes. Look at what 
 you men have come to. Once you dressed even better 
 than women but you were too lazy, too selfish, too pur 
 blind to keep it up. Year after year your clothes have 
 become more sober, more grubby. Until now they're 
 just dry goods with pockets in them. Uniforms. All 
 alike, no distinction, no variety, no individuality, no 
 charm. Where is your ancient splendor and beauty? 
 Why, you've nothing left but your necktie. You said 
 that in exchange for your dinner I give you only a cup 
 of tea 
 
 EDMUND. I didn't! 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 155 
 
 EMMELINE (with a moment of confusion). You might 
 as well. But I give you with it a gown that has cost me 
 hours of thought and time. I give you delight for the 
 hungry eye hungry for the beauty you don't know how 
 to create for yourself refreshment for the humdrum 
 mind, food for the weary spirit. 
 
 EDMUND. You are altogether adorable. 
 
 EMMELINE. But these little things I have to save and 
 scrimp for. I can't feast your spirit and your stomach 
 too. Better a cup of tea where beauty is than a stalled 
 ox with ugliness. (Coaxingly.) Confess now, don't my 
 clothes afford you a great deal of pleasure ? Even when 
 you're too stupid to see it? 
 
 EDMUND. Darling! You are exquisite, radiant. To 
 keep you so I'd spend every cent I made. (He tries to 
 take her impetuously in his arms. She partly avoids 
 him.) 
 
 EMMELINE. Aren't you sorry you spoke to me like 
 that? 
 
 EDMUND. I was a brute. 
 
 EMMELINE. Just the usual, blundering, thick-witted, 
 dull-eyed, earthly male. 
 
 EDMUND. Adorable creature of air and fire, will you 
 marry me? 
 
 EMMELINE (still evading his embrace). I'm glad you 
 wore that tie, Bunny, to ask me in. I like you in black. 
 With your eyes, you ought never to wear anything live 
 lier than gray. 
 
 EDMUND (retreating). Aha! What has become of 
 our beauty and splendor? You've got at last what 
 you've been working for all these years. One by one 
 we've left off the silver buckles, the silk stockings, the 
 purple knee-breeches, the flowered waistcoats, the plum- 
 colored coats, the ruffles, the laces, the hats with sweeping 
 plumes. Why? You made us. With your serpent's 
 tongue you hissed into our ears that they were unmanly, 
 effeminate. That's been your little game all along. Now 
 
156 The Craft of the Tortoise ACT IV 
 
 you've got us just where you want us. Look at the opera, 
 at dinners, dances. We're all black and white, like a 
 row of whiskey bottles with labels on them. To set 
 you off. With your shimmer and color and warmth and 
 sparkle and glow. Men made you weak in order that 
 they might appear strong. Well, you've got your re 
 venge at last. You've made us ugly that you might be 
 the more beautiful. 
 
 EMMKLINE. Ridiculous ! 
 
 EDMUND. Ridiculous? When did you begin to fleece 
 us of our last shred of gaiety and distinction? When 
 did silk stockings go out? When was the last Beau 
 Brummel? I'll tell you. Just when the first woman 
 began to talk about woman's rights. 
 
 EMMELINE. Absurd! There's no connection! 
 
 EDMUND. All the connection in the world. You saw 
 in that damnably tricky way of yours that if you got 
 your rights, you'd have to support yourselves and then 
 your position as spender for man would vanish. Oh, 
 doubtless you didn't figure it out! But your instinct 
 warned you you'd have to get something to put in its 
 place. Even your instincts are dishonest. So, syste 
 matically, deliberately, you discouraged our fineries. 
 For that very purpose. So that you could corner all the 
 beauty and charm of the world and manufacture a new 
 reason for men's spending money on you when the old 
 one should give out. Now it's rainbows for women, uni 
 forms for men. {Striking his chest.) Lit up with black 
 ties! 
 
 EMMELINE. Bunny, you're positively epic! 
 
 EDMUND. Trickster, peddler, sophist, serpent, god 
 dess, divinity, beauty will you marry me? 
 
 EMMELINE. I'll see. 
 
 EDMUND. Come out to dinner with me. While you're 
 seeing. 
 
 EMMELINE. I have an engagement, (Giving him his 
 hat.) You really must go now. 
 
ACT IV The Craft of the Tortoise 157 
 
 EDMUND {trying to embrace her, she eludes). Will 
 you tell me tomorrow? At the latest? 
 
 EMMELINE. Maybe. Or the day after. Goodbye. 
 
 EDMUND {at door). I love you. 
 
 EMMELINE. You're a dear boy. And so amusing! 
 
 EDMUND {with good-humored exasperation). Go to 
 the devil. {He exits.) 
 
 EMMELINE (going to the mantel, she takes up the rib 
 bon. Then goes to the phone). Cortland 725. (She 
 reaches for a chocolate out of the candy box and nibbles 
 it.) Hello, I want to speak to Mr. Garrity. (Takes 
 another nibble.) Hello, that you Gareth? So glad I 
 got you before you left. You were a dear naughty boy 
 to buy me that ribbon after all. And so clever of you 
 to outwit me in that way. Oh don't be cross, you funny 
 nice Bunny! Don't you want to come round on your 
 way from work and cook dinner? All right. I'll make 
 the salad. Suppose you get a porterhouse steak and 
 some nice fresh mushrooms. 
 
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 The craft of the C7 
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