LAKE FOREST ACAI>KM UBRARY. THE PASSING SHOW The Passing Show Five Modern Plays in Verse K BY HARRIET MONROE BOSTON and NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MlFFLIN AND COMPANY press, Cambri&0c 1903 I I I c COPYRIGHT 1903 BY HARRIET MONROE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published November M.75-3 -KUX^U I Go, book of me, to the one who knows If one there be. Tea, bear me where that spirit goes, And set me free. M559929 CONTENTS The Thunderstorm i At the Goal 51 After All 67 A Modern Minuet 77 It Passes By 87 THE THUNDERSTORM A Play in Two Acts PERSONS OF THE PLAT. JOHN MATHER. ADELA MATHER, his wife. STEPHEN MATHER, his brother. DEXTER DALTON. LAURA DALTON, wife to Dexter. FELIX MERIVALE. Lois DALE. The action takes place at the country house of John Mather, during a summer afternoon and evening. The Thunderstorm ACT I. SCENE. ^he large living-room of a suburban house, with a broad screen door and windows opening on a roofed veranda. Lois DALE, at the window, is watching the heavy rain, while STEPHEN MATHER listlessly fumbles magazines on the table. Time, late afternoon. Lois. The rain would drown the summer if it dared. Deep in a thick gray sea. Stephen. It pours like mad. Lois. See the whipt trees praying for mercy ! Stephen. Yes A nice time, this, to ask a crowd from town ! Lois. Do you remember Stephen. What ? 4 THE THUNDERSTORM Lois. Those lovely lines That poem of your brother s which has made The lost world sing forever to the rain ? Stephen. Remember ? No ! John and his poetry ! Lois. How will you answer the avenging gods For such contempt ? Stephen. The gods will take my part. A man should play his role. Lois. And if your brother Were born to be a poet ? Stephen. He would be one, Instead of making steel. Lois. Of course how simple A thing it is to live ! Stephen. Genius will out. Lois. If all the happy stars conspire. If not, Who can persuade the stars ? Stephen. Has he done nothing? Steel is the better for him. Lois. Yes, and so You will not loose your hold. If he were born For singing, and this yoke upon his neck Were bound by all the indissoluble ties ! Your father dying then, his brave career To be fulfilled ; your mother, sisters, you THE THUNDERSTORM 5 To serve ! Ah, could a poet be a man, Loving and living, and deny these claims ? But now Stephen. And you would solemnly convince me That he should drop the mills and give himself Forever to the muse ! Lois. Give him himself. I care not whether he make steel or verses, So he be free. Stephen. Pshaw ! you are crazy too. *T is merely madness with him, mere excess ; One of his ways of rioting. Who knows What new fantastic license he may take When the wild mood is on ? Lois. What happens when The steam that ought to turn a thousand wheels Finds its vent closed ? Stephen. What a fine tragedy You build us out of common clay like ours, Here in the suburbs ! Lois. Tragedy should dwell In mediaeval palaces afar, Trailing her purple robes ! Stephen. Perhaps it s you Who are the poet. 6 THE THUNDERSTORM Lois. If it were alas ! Rather this tempest beating on my head Than to be housed in here ! Enter Laura Dalton. Laura. What s to be done ? No golf, no riding, nothing in the world But Stephen. Talk to me. Laura. Who could ask more than that ? Where s John ? Stephen. So always John. What do you want With John? Laura. To be amused. Stephen. Will no one ask My gifted brother for a moon or two ? He has a special line of moons. Laura. The sun will do A little sunshine. [Lois goes through the screen door and walks up and down on the broad roofed veranda, watching the rain ; then sits down out of sight. Stephen. Lois tires of us. Laura. No wonder! Stephen. Does your ladyship intend A compliment ? THE THUNDERSTORM 7 Laura. With you in such a temper, Why should she stay ? Stephen. With you seeking another, Should I be gay ? Laura. Oh, you are wearisome. Stephen. If so to you, what am I to myself? Laura. A god, I half suspect. Stephen. Since I adore A goddess ? Laura. Go adore some human girl, And marry* her, my boy, and so be sure To have one worshiper forever. Stephen. Sure ! Of any woman ? Laura. Oh, how cynical ! How most profoundly wise ! Stephen. And if I have A cynic s wisdom, many thanks to you, Who teach me day by day. Laura. Poor sufferer ! Have I not sins enough, and heavy enough That you should burden me with yours ? Stephen. One sin You have you like to watch me in the cage. But some fine day I 11 break it. Laura. And be free ? Nothing would please me more. 8 THE THUNDERSTORM Stephen. Yes, it would please you To feel my claws at last. Laura. And recognize At last the animal. Stephen. You guileless women With your conventional morality ! What would become of all your principles In any more indecorous land or age Than this, I wonder ? Laura. So are these your claws I do not like them. * Stephen. Hm ! this is a growl No more. Laura. Why should I listen to your growls ? [She takes a book from the table and sits down to read. He walks up and down. A pause. Stephen. It rains. Laura. Ah does it? Stephen. Once upon a time There was a deluge. Laura. Really ! Stephen. Your book Is quite absorbing. Laura {yawning ). Yes " Degeneration," The cheerful German outlook. THE THUNDERSTORM 9 Stephen. It is queer How many pages some men will consume To show what fools they are. Laura. And other men Must prove it in their deeds. Stephen. Yes, but with us The truth is not blazoned before the world ; It lies between one woman and oneself. Laura. Not always. Stephen. Do you mean Laura. Oh yes, I mean Only last night my husband laughed at you. Stephen. Damn him ! Laura. What would you do, I wonder now, In any world less decorous than this? Stephen. Kill, I suppose. Laura. And here you can do nothing But make yourself ridiculous. Stephen. Take care You go too far. Laura. Oh, let me read. Enter Dexter Dalton and Felix Merivale. Dalton. Not here ! He must be drowned, I think. Laura, wake up. What shall we do to-night to outwit the storm ? Laura. Give it its will. io THE THUNDERSTORM Dalton. I fancy we shall have to There, out-of-doors. But here, under this roof Come, let us challenge it. Laura. Do what to do ? As though one could be merry by design ! Merivale. A vaudeville ! Dalton. This literary juggler Will toss a novel, essay, play, and poem All in the air at once. Merivale. This connoisseur Of law and art will make miraculous leaps Upon the double trapeze. Laura (pointing to Stephen ). And there is one Who at a wink will swallow swords of fire. Stephen. If you provide them. Dalton. And the lady there Shall wield the whip and keep us in the ring. Laura. The ladle, do you mean ? Merivale. Ah, you have heard The story of Stephen. Of course we have. Merivale. The story Dalton. Which is it ? Who will guess ? Merivale. A new one, friends ; And apropos about a punch-bowl. THE THUNDERSTORM 11 Stephen. New ! As though he could for even a single day Keep a new tale unprinted ! Merivale. And if not T is you, my unappreciative friends Who are to blame. You force me to appeal To the wise public. Stephen. Happy public ! Laura. Come Tell me the tale. I am extremely wise, And sympathetic as a summer breeze. Stephen. Beware ! Laura. Tell me the tale. [Laura and Merivale sit down in a corner to talk. Dalton has been examining a landscape on the wall. Dalton. Ah, what a touch ! Where did John dig up this Cezanne ? Stephen. In Rouen. Some little local dealer did n t know What he had got and sold it for a song. You like it ? Dalton. It s a gem. What modeling ! ^The very pulse-beat of the sun ! It s queer What that old vagabond divined before Monet put brush to canvas. See that sky 12 THE THUNDERSTORM Brazen, relentless, dreaming of a storm ! I have seen skies like that. Stephen. Have you, indeed ? I doubt if Cezanne ever did. Dalton. But look He painted it. Stephen. Ah, did he ? I hate* pictures, Damn them at random, don t pretend to know ; But John adores that medley just because The painter stopped halfway. Your brazen sky Is the bare canvas. Dalton (confused}. On my soul, it is ! Just like Cezanne. Stephen (lighting a cigarette). To trip his worshipers ? Alas, these connoisseurs ! Why not admit That you and I don t know a thing about it ? Dalton. This light, you know the storm Stephen. Ah, yes I know It is the light, of course. Laura ( looking around). Tell me the quarrel. What are these gibes ? Stephen. Nothing we were admiring Cezanne s relentless sky. Laura. Look out, my jewel. I always said this sudden zeal for art Would get you into trouble. THE THUNDERSTORM 13 Dalton. Look at her ! Impeach my connoisseurship, if you dare, Before that picture. She refutes the slander, And makes me proof against the jeering world And all the freaks of genius. Stephen. Yes, I knew She could work miracles. Dalton. Come, Merivale, And help me down this Philistine. Merivale. Young David Suing for help ! The rain has spoiled my weapons I am as sluggish as a crocodile. Laura. We are a stagnant pool. Yet if some hand Should throw a single stone into its depths Stephen. What hand ? Merivale. What stone ? Laura. Anyone ! anything ! Oh, I am tired of sitting on the rim And staring at my inner consciousness. Merivale. Where is Miss Dale ? Ask her to throw the stone. Stephen ( contemptuously ). Lois ! Enter Adela Mather. Adela. Where is she ? Yes, and John is gone. I have been looking for him everywhere. 14 THE THUNDERSTORM Stephen. Portentous ! Adela. He s not here not in the house. Laura (rising abruptly). But she is ! Adela. Where ? Laura. She was where did she go ? Adela. Well, where ? Stephen. Don t be alarmed she s on the porch. Why are you always rushing here and there, And doing this and that ? Adela. How can I help it, Married to him ? Stephen. Let him alone ! Good heaven ! Send him to China, or the pyramids, And see if this unconscionable world Can get along without him. Merivale. There are others. Stephen. Perhaps. Merivale. Well, we shall see. [Exit Merivale to the porch. Adela. If I could know Just once what he would do that very minute, I might have hopes of ease. Stephen. You never will. Adela. I must. Oh, for a husband like the rest, THE THUNDERSTORM 15 Who travels in the road and does not wander Through every sunny field ! Laura. Faith, what a wish ! A husband like the rest ! Dalton. Faith, what a slur ! See how they love us, Mather, these our wives ; And then go find one. Stephen. He who puts his trust Upon a woman Laura. Is a Solomon Compared with her who pins her faith upon A man. Adela. They are such infants, and of all The children who blow bubbles in the sun, John is the willfulest. Laura. Then give him up, And let him blow his bubbles. After all, They shine. Stephen. And burst. Laura. Well, most things do alas ! So why not sparkle if you can, before The suffocating tragedy ? Adela. Meantime I shall go mad of sheer bewilderment. My brain is tired with following him, with trying 16 THE THUNDERSTOR M To think ahead of him. Stephen. The brains of women Were never made to think. T is not alone Yourselves you tire by thinking. Laura. Thought is slow, Roundabout masculine, in short. But we We know without it. Stephen. Far too well. Adela. Then tell me How does it stand with Lois ? Will she take him ? For I can neither think nor do I know. Laura. Well, Merivale is famous, rich enough, And most persistent Stephen. And a poet, too Laura. The people s own. And Lois Stephen. And our Lois Is thirty-one. Adela. What does she care for that ? Laura. What you or I or any woman cares. And yet Adela. Well Laura. Yet I dare not say she 11 do it. Stephen. Then she s a fool. Laura. Yes doubtless. Women are Frequently fools. THE THUNDERSTORM 17 Adela. If she should let him go She would deserve all the hard knocks and more That fate has given her. Laura. Yes poor girl deserve To play at odds with life till death comes by And pities her. Enter Lois and Merivale/r0;# the porch. Lois. I fear for you. Merivale. Alas Throttle your conscience. Lois. Novels rushing out From the hot press in legions, editors Clamorous for a line, three plays at once Crowding three houses, critics on their knees Merivale. Well, since they would not take my best alas ! I had to do my worst. Lois. The grateful people ! How richly they reward the lucky man Who gives them what they want ! come, friends and foes, What shall we do to dim his lucky star And save this laureled victor from success ? Merivale. Is she not kind ? Lois. Success the sycophant, Whose smile hides treachery, who fawns and serves i8 THE THUNDERSTORM That so man may forget and be her slave ; Success, who holds his weakness then by threats And whispered fears ; who hides the truth from him And the stern front of justice, and at last When she has won him wholly, till his soul Is mirrored in her eyes, casts him away To all the dogs of ruin. Laura. To your knees, And pray the gods for failure.* Merivale. I am saved. Success may do her worst it is not much, While this philosopher despises her. Dalton. She s not so bad I think that even to-day If she should offer me her poisoned cup I d drink it to the dregs. Stephen. And ask for more. Lois. Yes, that s the way with us. And so even you, With million-dollar cases in your office And masters* masterpieces on your walls Even you have not enough. Dalton. No not enough. These million-dollar cases in the courts, That stay there with their millions ; and these pictures, THE THUNDERSTORM ig That hide their secrets from the rich and great To tell them unto babes ! Ah, do not fear ! Success ? there s no such thing ! [John Mather, who has entered the house unperceived from the other side, in riding dress , and thrown off a wet cape and hat in the hall, now walks in quietly. His top- boots and trousers are splashed with mud and rain. ^John. Despise it then. D alt on. Well, you re a spectacle ! Laura. God of the storm ! Adela. O John, what have you done ? Lois. Blown with the gale ! What did the thunder say ? "John. It said ride fast, And loose the world like me! Stephen. Fine day for riding. John. Glorious ! for ten thousand shining demons Joined in the race, slapping their saucy sides. Laura. And did you beat them ? John. Else how am I here ? Look the storm nods; the rain falls sul lenly, Heavy and straight and languid. But at first 2O THE THUNDERSTORM The fallen gods crossed swords with gods of light For a lost world. Lois. Which side had your allegiance ? John (smiling). My friend the devil deserves my loyalty. Has he not played me fair ? Adela (who has hurried out and returned with a glass of whiskey-and-water). Here, John, drink this. You 11 take your death. John. Death would be sweet to take A green place by the dusty road, a pause, A silence. Speak no ill of death ! But this Pale counterfeit of life ! Give it to Dalton, And help him change the color of his world. Dalton (taking it). If ever a color needed changing Laura. Yes We have been gray ashes and mud and lead. Show us the gold. Stephen. Being a poet. John. Ah Who told you ? Stephen. Lois tells me that the muses Wear mourning for you. THE THUNDERSTORM 21 John. Lois knows them. Lois. Hush ! I dream of them, but in their sacred groves You walk anointed. John. Then, by all the gods, This day we climb Olympus. Let us have Revels to match the tempest, set our feast Above these quarreling clouds, and for a night Make the immortals envious ! Lois. What are we To brave the gods ! Laura. Immortals, too ! The word Is given I feel the aureole round my hair. Stephen. Beware ! the earth s a comfortable place. Dalton. But tiresome, though. Let s try the other sphere ! Merivale. Myself have had some commerce with the gods John. And found them docile, did you ? You shall be Apollo, with the morning in your eyes. Merivale. A pretty tribute to my beauty ! Lois. Yes And talents manifold. Laura. And I 22 THE THUNDERSTORM John (bowing low). And you Who else but Aphrodite ? Stephen. By that token, I will be Mars. Da/ton. A proper role ! Lois. Nay, Jove Ruler of gods and men. John. Yea, so he is ; Jove of the cheque-book, the great modern god, Who keeps us groveling mortals at our work. Stephen. Poor Jupiter, whom all obey and fear! If I am he, who may not be beloved, Beware my lightnings ! Adela. Who am I then ? Laura. Juno The queen of heaven and mistress of the world. Adela. A pack of empty titles ! Lois (to John). Piteous, Tragic beyond the cunning of the fates, Is each new comedy you choose to play. John. Then play it to the death ! Lois. I cannot hear Your words for voices, nor can see you there For ghosts that rise. John. Defy them ! if you don t THE THUNDERSTORM 23 They strangle you. Behold her she is Pallas, With wisdom on her lips Lois. And pain at heart. John. Would you be wise and happy both ? Not here, Not even on high Olympus may you brave The envy of the gods. Hear me once more ! The word goes forth that may not be recalled. Dalton is Hermes Hermes the quick-witted. Light-footed, and light-fingered. Dalton. Ha ! and you ? John. And I am Bacchus he has whis pered me ! Bacchus, the god of revels. If I know him, He is the only sane one at the feast ; He, sad with too much joy, and heavy-witted With too much knowledge, who alone of all At loaded tables may forbear behold, I place his chaplet on my brow, and now Summon you in his name. When the clock grows Fat with big hours, meet me and have your will, Immortals all ! Laura. To hear is to obey. John. Go and prepare your souls each one alone. Lose the dark world 24 THE THUNDERSTORM Adela. But, John, it s dinner-time. John. He dines who will I fast before the feast. Dreams are the meat to feed on when the earth Sinks like a stone, the meat to make us bold Among the stars, our peers. Lois. To make us mad. John. And if there s joy in madness Merivale. Let us go ! Dreams or a dinner there s the choice. Stephen. I choose What I am sure of. Laura. There thou liest ! Nay, What he is never sure of does man choose T is Aphrodite speaks. Merivale. And Jupiter, Who hates the truth like other crowned kings Heeds not the blasphemy. Dalton. The word is given. Away each to communion with his soul ! Stephen. Or stomach. Adela. Heavens ! what next ! Lois. The word is given. When the black hours grow big John. When each has won His secret from the silence, come again. (CURTAIN.) ACT II. SCENE. The dining-room, with a round mahog any table set as at the end of a supper. A screen-door, at right, opens on the veranda. It is after midnight. The supper is over, but the people are toying with nuts, candies, wine-glasses, etc., and plenty of champagne is cooling on the buffet. Some of the party are drawn up to the table, others have left it, others recline classically on couches. They wear costumes ridiculously significant of the gods whose characters they assume, or of the modern import of those gods ; such draperies and emblems as they could make up im promptu from the resources of the house and garden, and wear or carry, usually over their ordinary dress. JOHN, as Bacchus, has the head of the table, with LAURA, as Aphro dite, in a costume charming but rather dar ing, at his right. His wife, as Juno, reclines on a couch opposite him, with MERIVALE, as Apollo, and LOIS,#J Pallas, near her. STE PHEN, as Zeus, reclines lazily at the rear, with DALTON, as Hermes, beside him. 26 THE THUNDERSTORM John. Now ye have feasted, fill your cups again ! We feed on things that perish, and from them Take the immortal essence, and so dare To know whither and whence, and bear un wearied The burden of the suns. Lift the wine high, And tell us, with its nectar on your lips, Your errand in a sacrilegious world That would forget the gods. What make ye here, Banished long since in shame ? Great Jove the king, What mak st thou here ? Stephen. . Since I am Jove the king, Why should I talk ? Deeds are my line, not words. My only voice is thunder. Laura. Dost thou find The hearts of mortals changed ? Stephen. How should I know, Who never think ? I m running railroads now And drawing cheques. The world was but a garden When I was young now it s a factory. * Well, it is easier to handle so, THE THUNDERSTORM 27 With all mankind going the self-same way, Doing the self-same thing. Laura. And yet to me T is the same wanton world. Now as of old Men make a great ado of business War, trade, and tyranny yet now, as then, They live and die for love. John. Hush ! dost thou dare Utter the secret word ? Banish the thought From our chaste company, lest it should bring Madness more rash than sparkles in this wine. Athene, from thy deeps beyond calm eyes Teach her the joys of wisdom. Lois. Ignorant Thou art, to deem that joy is wisdom s quest. Serene she is and selfless her desire. Beyond the lowly haunts of joy and sorrow She ranges with the stars. Laura. And so on earth Has little influence. John. And so on earth Has more than we, showing the way to spurn it, And thus be free. She is the enemy None but her do I fear. For all ye others 28 THE THUNDERSTORM This drug has sleep or madness. Drink it down, And let Apollo soothe us with a song. Tune up, sweet brother, or thy muses nine I 11 fuddle one by one. [They drinky all but John and Lois, who merely touch their glasses. Merivale rises , strikes his banjo^ and chants his song to its accompaniment. Adela (to Dal ton). What fools we are ! T) alt on. Can t help it, I suppose; it s in the air. Merivale. I am Apollo, who of yore in groves abided With maidens nine to hark enchanted to my song. I am Apollo, who upon the sun resided, Driving through heaven the fiery coursers all day long. To me came embassies from suppliant states in sorrow, To me came hearts at war and fearful of their doom ; For out of yesterday I dragged the shy to morrow, And lo, her eyes avowed their rapture and their gloom. THE THUNDERSTORM 29 But to-day t is a different role That the tired world bids me play; I who chanted of old to its soul Must amuse the poor world to-day. So I hint at a thousand loves In a delicate medley of rhymes, And I thrill when the spirit moves v Over popular wars and crimes. But who cares what I sing to my lyre? It is lost in the roaring of fire, For in clamorous towns I dwell Near the steel-forged gates of hell. John. A toast Apollo, though his voice be lost, His seven strings snapped ! All Apollo ! \hey rise and drink the toast y as before. Merivale. Sweet immortals, As I am modest, turn your favor from me. Why should I speak when Juno, queen of heaven, Is silent ? Adela. Do not vex your soul for her. Juno was always out of it, poor thing ! Poor fool ! Stephen. Great Sister, consort of my state, What brings thee earthward now ? 30 THE THUNDERSTORM Adela. I do not know. Did Juno ever know? Dalton. Juno is here To guard her interests ; that s my business too. But mine have multiplied since thieves became So numerous, the tricks of trade so deep. Wings are not swift enough I need to-day Railroads, the telegraph, the telephone ; ^ And even then, so dull are grown the gods, These men outwit me. John. Hermes, god of trusts, Of strikes and lock-outs and combines. At last We have no need of Mars look, he is ban ished ; For nimble Mercury, the unscrupulous, Is the great modern god of war. Dalton. Ah, yes. Mars cut a dash at first the blusterer ! But I have undermined his credit, even Married his sweetheart, you observe. Laura. He s rich, A good provider how could I resist him, Who need so much of late such palaces, And gowns ? Merivale. Since he has grown so powerful, A toast ! THE THUNDERSTORM 31 Him let Apollo praise Who 11 pay for singing ! When withered are the bays And love s a-winging, Money is good as new It fails us never. Give to the giver his due Hermes forever ! John (to Laura). Behold how low the gods are fallen. When even you, the queen of love and beauty, Drink to the lord of lies. Laura (softly to John). The queen of love ! But if I may not speak my one .great word, What then is left but lies ? John (aloud). Thou shalt speak all. To-night all words are uttered. Laura (softly). If thine ear, Wherein my word would rest, will hear it not, Then speech is but a lie. John. Not mine alone ! If stars reveal their souls and have no fear, Lo, shall we wear the world s hypocrisies, We who beyond the stars may range at ease ? [Standing, with brimming glass lifted. Drink to the truth, for now the truth is ours, 32 THE THUNDERSTOR M Now we are gods. The truth ! The veils are torn, The masks are buried with mortality, And he who lies must do it to high heaven ! The truth ! Vain is denial, vain more vain Is silence ; yea, unutterably vain The rags we wear to hide us from ourselves. Thus to the light lift up your brimming souls And let their secrets break upon your lips ! The truth ! \They rise, and lift glasses high to accept the toast, saying : Many voices. The truth! Lois. Does moody Bacchus dare Summon the truth the god who maddens her With wine, and smothers her with sleep, who fears To meet her level eyes ? John. Mad or asleep, Then only doth she flee the bounds of sense And shake her great wings free. The truth ! she s mine, By all her dreams ! mine, by the sudden lights That flame her frenzied eyes ! Think you to find her, Led by blind owls of learning? I have hated THE THUNDERSTORM 33 The owl since long ago he hooted me In Nysa s groves. The truth beware of her, Lest her swift fires consume thee ! Lois. She is mine For love, not fear. She dwells in quietness With wisdom, and the peering paths of science Lead to her grove. My votaries are hers, And they outrun swift Hermes with his wings, Yea, rob Jove of his lightnings. Stephen. Haughty maid, Beware those lightnings ! Truth is mine alone, For power is mine, and truth is power. . Merivale. Nay, mine ; For what is truth till it be uttered ? Mine, By all the muses ! Laura. Words ! vain, boastful words ! None of ye knows the truth. John. In beauty alone Laura. Nay, not in beauty nor song nor power nor wisdom, Nor yet in madness dwells the truth. Stephen. Then where ? Laura. Tis hence ye have no power to summon it. T is with the absent god. John. Drink to him then Challenge the absent god ! 34 THE THUNDERSTORM Laura. And dost thou dare ? John. Why not ? Laura. The insidious, vengeful, jeal ous god, Who even on the immortals has no pity Invoke him not ! John. Great Eros, now to thee We pour this golden wine. Bring us the truth Yea, though thou strip and scourge us, lash it home, That we may know the utmost, dare the worst, And so be free ! [They drink y as before. All but Lois. Eros ! Merivale (to Lois). Your heart s a-cold ! You will not drink to Eros then beware His vengeance ! Lois. What shall wisdom fear? Merivale. To die Of thirst at last. Stephen. Immortals, will you take This potion he has mixed to make us mad And let him pass it by ? No, by this lightning ! Down with it, Bacchus do not sit and stare While we sink deeper in your cups. Da/ton. Take heart T is not so bad, this potion. THE THUNDERSTORM 35 John. Bacchus gives Freely his wild delights. Yea, all but he May know the rapture, compass for an hour The rounded heavens and mount their peaks of fire ; While he, alone with dull satiety, Must brood upon their bliss. Laura. Who ever thought Bacchus would grow so eloquent ? Taste the cup, And with its magic on thy lips, thy song Shall make Apollo envious. Merivale. Try it then, And take Apollo s laurels if thou canst ! John. The cold green leaves keep them ! For me the fruit, Heavy and rich and red ! Stephen. Down with it then ! Dost hear me ? I am Jove ! Search thine own truth Even to the dregs. Drink, for the gods all thirst Till Bacchus drinks. Laura. Soften your heart with wine, That Aphrodite s word may sink as deep As burning coals in snow. 36 THE THUNDERSTORM John. What says she there, That face of stone ? Lois. Nothing. John. What thinks she there, She in whose thought we float like silver moons, Lofty, a-cold. She doth despise too much. Look, when I lift the glass how her eyes glare ! Laura. Bacchus ! a toast ! a toast ! With brimming cups We wait the magic word. Dalton. A song ! a song ! Tune up Apollo s lyre I found it first. Tis thine to-day. John. Your hearts ! give me your hearts, And let them beat the music of my song. (He sings.) Fill full your deep goblets, immortals ! Dark red be the flood ! For we who would pass the dream portals Must drink our heart s blood. We must drink our heart s blood ! Red wine ! with all life like a jewel Dissolved in the cup Love, faith, yea, and glory the cruel Fill full, fill it up ! Fill it full, fill it up ! THE THUNDERSTORM 37 Give all ! be it God or the other Who takes it at last ! Drink deep ! t is a sob that we smother, A die that is cast. T is a die that is cast. \Led by Stephen, they laugh and lift glasses with nervous hilarity. Lois. Horrible ! horrible ! Merivale. Oh, toss it off! Laugh that you may not weep. Lois. Weep weep forever ! Let the world drown in tears ! John. What does she say ? Lois. This that across your path I lay my sword : You shall not drink that cup. Adela. Shall not, indeed ! John. Your sword ! is it not always in my way? Laura. Forward ! it is not dangerous. Stephen. What folly ! Lois. Oh, for God s air ! oh, for the sound of wings ! Here there are flames and creeping things. Come out Into the storm. 38 THE THUNDERSTORM John. And then Lois. You cannot do it And sing your soul away. Do you not see The pit there ? Look you will not. Adela (to Lois). Who are you To take command here ? Let him have his way, So t is not yours ! Laura. Adela ! Adela (to Laura). You as well ! All, all these elbowing women ! Give me room I suffocate. Laura. Good God ! Adela. Mummers and masks ! Is it not clear as day, your pretty game ? I have a role to play. [During these speeches, the people drop par tially their disguises , so far as they may be easily and instantly cast off. Stephen (to Laura). Have you had enough? Is this the truth we drank to ? Laura. Do not touch me ! Stephen. So it is he ; you follow with the crowd. Faugh ! is there not one byway in the world But I must find my brother at the end ? Go you will never reach him. My revenge Is safe with him. THE THUNDERSTORM 39 Laura. I cannot hear nor see you. My soul is sick with loathing you. Stephen. Poor fool ! Where have I been these blind and babyish years Cringing even to abhorrence ! It is over. Out in the Klondike or the Philippines I will go find the man in me. Say more, Brave sister you alone are wise ! Adela. More more ! My head aches with it and my heart is sore. Lois. You have begun speak now. Merivale. That we may learn. Lois. And all the world. [John Mather, standing pale and still in his place, has lowered his glass at Lois s first word. When Adela says, " / have a role to play" he slowly, his eyes fixed on Lois and hers on him, pours away the wine in it. Then Lois faces Adela almost buoy antly, and her words, "And all the world " are said with radiant joy. John strikes the table, breaking the glass, and addresses the crowd. John. T is done, our little day, For greater days have come. Give up its ghost Away ! 40 THE THUNDERSTORM Adela. No, no, for she must speak. Lois. Tis true. We two have still a word ere the day ends. Give us our sacred hour. John. Then, shadows all, Pale maskers, mocking wraiths of gods that were, Let us go seek the dawn. Stephen. Where is the dawn ? Merivale. Better the darkness Adela. Gather up your rags, Lest I should strip them off. What do I care Who shrieks or shivers ? Patience has had her day Let truth have hers ! Laura. Horrible ! horrible ! ( To Dalton.) Take me away. Dalton (to his wife). If truth must have her day, Where shall we find it ? Laura. Oh, I am afraid ! Take me away ! [Dalton gives his hand to Laura, and des perately they hasten out. John turns to the two men. John. Well, is it not enough ? THE THUNDERSTORM 41 Merivale (to Lois). Will you not leave with me this place of storm ? The crowding feet will trample you, the mad ness Will pass and leave you cold. Ah, what is life ? A compromise to win we must concede. You shall have much, and even this day at last Shall be forgotten. Come ! Lois. This day is mine For all the rest, I know not. It is useless. My tale is told. Merivale. I read it to the end, Here in your face and shut the book forever. Steve, the play closes. Stephen. Leave them to their war. The hour has struck for you and me. Our war Is with the fate that struck it, in the day That dawns. [Led by John, the three men go out. Adela. . At last we meet. Lois. To meet no more. Adela. I see you as a shadow in my path, A thing I cannot wound nor crush, that makes A night around my soul. Lois. But what of him ? Who cares for you and me ? 42 THE THUNDERSTORM Adela. Is he not mine Mine by the law, mine by his vows? Lois. Yours yours ! It would be funny, this fond claim of women This mine and thine if it were not so sad. Adela. Whose is he then ? Lois. Whose then is everyone? He is the world s and God s. Adela. Not for your pleasure You try to steal away his soul from me, But for the world, and God ! Lois. His soul, say you ? I found it on the highway, beaten, robbed, And left for dead. Should I have passed it by With all who looked and passed? Adela. Samaritan ! Then it was charity that brought you here Here to my house. Lois. Ah ! have you won the right To invoke the ancient laws? What long ob servance Has made your house a temple ? Where is lit Its altar fire ? Adela. I Ve done the best I could. Lois. T is not enough then. Adela. And should he do nothing ? THE THUNDERSTORM 43 He married me, he pledged his love to me, And I poor fool fancied the tale was over, And nothing left to tell but happiness. Alas ! the bride-flowers withered in my hands, Dried up and blew away like dust. My own, My right, the one thing bound to me, escaped me. I am lost in the huge world. Lois. You held him close To keep him for yourself who is for all. , Where are the songs you should have bade him sing, The sons you should have borne him ? You denied him Life, that will never be denied. Adela. Life life! Was not the problem difficult enough Without all these ? Must I bear children too To tease my strength away? I gave him all, And what he gave was but a residue The little left through all the thievish days, When song and art and business and the world Had taken their plunder. And for even that little The women troop like hounds upon the trail, And I must watch in silence. 44 THE THUNDERSTORM Lois. Did you give ? Give more then. I, who find him in the pit, See not your gift upon him, and your voice, Calling, I do not hear. Adela. He will not take What I can give, and though I shriek aloud He hears me not. Lois. The shriek is your own woe, The gift a chain. Adela. And you would bid him break it You and this questioning age, which undermines All that was sure in our unstable world. Oh, how I hate it all ! Hear now my word ! I honor more the creature on the street, Sinning for lust or greed, than her, the spotless, Whose delicate dalliance lures the souls of men And cheats the law. By what fine name soever You call it, what is this but your desire Unto my place? Lois. Is it possible you read So ill the book of fate ? Adela. Even so I read it. Lois. Some things are locked away from hu man hope ; Some things too distant are even for desire. Look at me ! I am one who stands aloof. THE THUNDERSTORM 45 If I have strength, ah, take it ! courage, use it ! Give him his own ! If I was born to love, With a heart big for life and death and sorrow, Learn of me, be what I shall never be ! You who have lived, fed upon joy and pain, Know you the agony of us who starve, Unrecognized by the strange eyes of God ? Here, like the ruined wreckage on the shore, I watch the mighty ocean bearing out Its fleets into the storm. I see the ship Steered to the rocks the ship my soul would sail, And all my futile valor rots away Into the waste of life. Adela. It is your choice. Marry the man who wants you leave to me My own. Lois. Enough of you and me ! The need, The longing and the dreams that meet in him Are his forever. Happier am I, Lonely, and free to give him all, than he Who blindly wove these meshes round his soul. Speechless, he looks at me with haggard eyes, And every joy my life has ever known Runs to his feet in tears. All that I am 46 THE THUNDERSTORM Is his or yours to serve him, and at last It will avail. Adela. Your plight puts mine to shame. My married love becomes a shabby thing Beside the heroic purple of your passion. I was not born to understand his ways, Dowered with your exquisite sympathy. So be it ! But yet I am his wife. When we are old We two will smile at the dim thought of you And make a tale of this. Lois. Oh, if it be A tale whose end is joy, I shall be glad Even in my solitude of life or death. If you will take my task, give him himself, Then has my love availed, and I may vanish Out of your lives forever. Be his wife Is it not enough? Give all, and more, and more, As the warm sun gives to the longing earth. Then will you make a summer for his soul, And he will rise on wings into the light, And I shall be forgotten. Adela, T is my last word to you, and, if you will, T is your last thought of me : take from his life The need of me. THE THUNDERSTORM 47 Adela. I cannot oh, I cannot ! I am too weak, too selfish, too afraid. (She weeps.) Why was I born ? Lois. Are you not here beside him ? You must be strong to do it. Adela. I have failed. Better if I could give it up and die. The past is never over nevermore May I begin again. [John Mather appears at the doorway. Adela observes him and runs out, still pas sionately weeping. Lois turns and sees him, and stands in silence, while he ap proaches and bows low. John. So it is said. Lois. You never said it, though thank you for that. John. What was the need ? Could I not see you knew it ? Lois. I knew it as the clover knows the bee. When he has flown, how may a poor flower know ? John. You doubted me ? Lois. I doubted my own joy. 48 THE THUNDERSTORM John. T is joy, then ? And I feared to bring you sorrow By loving you. Lois. Sorrow ! If it be true There is no longer sorrow in the world. John. May I be glad then ? Lois. Listen if to-morrow This wonder that you tell me is no more For it must end John. As ends the world Lois. Remember You need not grieve for me nor think of me. This hour is mine forever. John. Share with me ! Is it not ours forever? Lois. T is as though I died now you may rightfully forget. John. And put you in the grave. How cheerfully You bid me look upon the dark again ! Lois. All all is yours. Remembering or forgetting, What difference ? If I touch you as I pass John. With plumy wings - Lois. If I but say a word, THE THUNDERSTORM 49 Surely my little utmost all is done, And you may make a song of it. John. It makes My life a song. Lois. Good-by now. John. Is it this Your word ? Lois. Two words, the greatest in the world, I say to you I love you, and farewell. Are they not all ? John. Ah no for there are deserts Where you and I would be a world. Lois. Ah no ! Too bright the sun is there not to be borne. It would suffice too much. John. It would suffice. Lois. It would consume. If you were born, perhaps, To conquer, not escape John. But here alone See, do you find me conquering ? Lois. Tis done, Our little day, for greater days are come. [She opens the broad screen-door. Look, where the storm fell black, now rides the moon. 50 THE THUNDERSTORM The thick rain all is over nothing left But the rich wetness on the shining leaves, And all to-morrow s flowers. I do not fear To leave you. John. But I fear. Lois. Ah, where you are My life is will you make me live in vain ? Come to my heart ; and kiss me on the lips, My love, my lover ! [They embrace. John. The great words you said I say them too I love you, and farewell. We shall outrun desire and hope at last, And find each other somewhere in the light, When I have done your bidding. Tis the hour Good-by. Lois. The east grows brave for me. Good- by. [She goes out. AT THE GOAL At the Goal SCENE. A bedroom exquisitely furnished with precious old furniture, rugs, and hangings, and softly lit by a night lamp, and a wood-fire burning on the broad hearth. A sick MAN, about fifty-five years old, lies in bed motionless, half comatose. A WOMAN of fifty, dressed as a nurse in a blue and white striped gown, with broad white collar and long apron, sits looking in the fire. She rises as her patient stirs, and notes the change which comes over him. He opens his eyes, breathes less heavily, and tries to lift himself a little. man. Turn up the lamp. That firelight flickers so, And shadows clutch at me. For hours and hours I have been flying out under the moon ; And in my arms asleep were many children, The sons and daughters I have never known. 54 AT THE GOAL It s queer that billowy motion of the air I almost sang against it in my joy To hold my sons at last. But then I fell Fell back to this. Why did I hear out there A voice I have not thought of all these years, And see a face floating beyond the world ? The woman. The time has come. The man. Why do I talk so much ? " Close-mouthed as Drake," they say of me, but now Some busy little devil wags my tongue. The woman. The silent years are speaking. The man. She was pretty That country girl. I kissed her by the pool Down in the woods. I was a country boy A baby ! And I vowed to go to town And work for her, and come and marry her, And all the usual thing. The woman. And she believed. The man. What raptures we get over ! Do you know What it is to come to town ? The woman. Do I not know? The man. Those black blows of the city on one s heart, Red-hot between them and the fire. The shock ATTHEGOAL 55 And agony and fright of it ! I felt Everything change. I died and was reborn Harder, more keen. The pitiless battering New-shaped me, and I took the shape and gave Thanks for the blows that struck a weapon out Fit for great wars. The woman. And who should feel its edge Sooner than she ? The man. She ? oh, that little past Where she was faded, dwindled, blew away. The woman. You never took the trouble to strike her dead. The man. What man could think of woman when the roar Called him to battle ? Inch by inch I crept ; Yes, rank by rank I passed them, while the field Grew large around me. Men are fighters yet : In banks and shops and inner offices We wage the modern war. The woman. And women still Think you are lovers. The man. Love is made for those Who can get nothing else. The woman. Who ask naught else. The man. Love ! can love give to me the big round world 56 AT THE GOAL To play ball with ? What lover s madness ever Can match that thrill that gathers in the brain And tingles in these aching finger-tips As one by one the mighty men go down And take their orders ? Have you ever heard The little fools who live because we let them Talk of the vanity of power ? The woman. I prove Daily the vanity of all things. The man. Bosh ! Then you have never lived. The woman. Millions like me Have never lived because just one like you Must play ball with the world. The man. Who moves the world, The million or the one ? Is it my strength, My single strength good God ! The time is with me, Whispering, pushing, arming me a spirit That will not be denied. What have I done ? Wrecked and remade, torn down and built again After the brave new plan. Let them beware Who stand against me, let them rot in sloth Who do not help me ! I have heard the voice I care not for their railing. AT T H E G o AL 57 The woman. Heard the voice ; And won intolerable, unutterable Wealth by its bidding. The man. Won the good hard money Powder and shot and rations, and the zeal Of the embattled armies. Money first, And then the rest for him who dares. The woman. No matter What wreckage and what cries. The man. No matter no ! A redness at the dawn, a richer soil For the new harvest. The woman. T is no matter then Who falls. The man. Who are you to dispute with me, As though my youth stood here again, with all Unanswerable follies in his eyes ? Turn to the light you with your stripes and apron, You nurse or prophetess. There is a mist That hides you, yet Come closer, give me room. Who are you ? The woman. One who never lived. The man. You are 58 AT T H E G O AL The woman. I am your past. The man. And you are here. The woman. I bring The lost things. The man. Let them go ! The woman. They burden me. I give them back to you. The man. Intolerable ! The woman. Withered and shrunken, would you know them now The lyric joy, the love, the modesty, The faith ; the beauty of the blossoming world All June, all sunshine ? Would you know them now The burden I have carried all these years ? The man. How came you here ? The woman. I have been very patient, Because I knew that we should meet again. The man. You knew. The woman. Fate has denied me other things, But never that. The man. I think I must be dying. I must have tramped the whole big track around ATTHEGOAL 59 To find you standing like a column there, Just where I started from. The woman. Yes you must die. The man. To-night ? The woman. Before the dawn. The man. And all is done You have fought for me ? The woman. We fought and we are beaten. A little vivid hour is yours to think in Then all is done. The man. Death. Now. Lord, what a mess they 11 make of it, Davis and Chalmers ! Call them ! The woman. They are gone. The man. Damn them ! Could they not watch with me an hour ? Write then. The woman (taking paper and pencil). Go on. The man. Tell them to wait, keep cool. Tell them to let Wisconsin fall to nothing, And get control of it ; for we must have it To strengthen C. and O. Tell them you hear me ? The woman. I follow you. The man. And in that copper deal They must be smooth and secret, soft as death, 60 ATTHEGOAL And let that fresh young fool keep up the game With his dead father s millions. Blusterer ! He 11 find himself entangled in my nets. Then they can draw him in without a noise Him and his properties. ^he woman. Can draw him in "The man. Tell them to draw the world in, for this age Is bigger than the world, and men are born Who shall own kings yea, give them peace or war, And make the aging earth anew. Alas ! Have I been bold, and wasted not, nor spared, Stopping at nothing, heaping stone on stone To build a great colossus, only to leave it Undone and insecure ? Tell them good Lord! They cannot do it. What s the use of them When I am gone? Cold wheels without the fire To move them. Do not write. Give me the paper. [He tears it to pieces. What incoherent fragments death will make Of all my plans ! AT TH E GOAL 61 woman. And none will know nor care. The man. The imbecile, satiric, thankless world Will go its way without me. The woman. And forget you. The man. It shall not. On the gates of hospitals My name is carved in stone. Millions of mine Shall build a mighty palace of the arts. Where I walked flowers will grow. The woman. The people s treasure The spoil of purchased laws and managed markets, Restored a little after many years. The man. Bah ! Have you naught to say of states enriched, Deserts made habitable, men employed ? Open your eyes one mind, even to-day, May find a world and give it to the race ; And such as you would stop the work with scruples Cobwebs no brave man sees. The woman. And such as I Would bid the brave man cast away the world And save his soul. The man. His soul must take its chance. 62 ATTHF,GOAL The woman. Be honest, then. Give it the truth to carry Up to the throne of God. Stand by your life, And drop the hospitals and galleries The lies. The man. The playthings. I who work with fate Must have immortals for my playfellows. I love these lovely things. I make them mine. I rest in them. The woman. Yours ! yours to take and give ! They were not, are not yours that is the lie. The man. The lie the truth! An evenly balanced world You make of it. The truth the lie ! The woman. Well? The man. Well There is no absolute not here. The woman (looking about). Not here. The man. The truth, the pure uncompro mising truth What man would know it ? The woman. Not another hour Is given to you to turn and face the truth, Blinding, destroying. AT T H E G O AL 63 The man. Not another hour It is too short. The woman. It is enough. The man. Perhaps If I had married you there in my youth, We should have tried to face it. The woman. Can you feel That other life ? The man. We might have done great things. The woman. Together for the world. The man. If you had loved me, It might have been. The woman. If I had loved ! The man. The truth! This is revenge, not love. The woman. If I had loved The man. As woman must who saves her world the love Unspeakable, enduring. The woman. I have sorrowed. The man. Wept for the renegade, perhaps. My name, Looming so large of late, has made you dream Down in your quiet place. But now to-night You face me with an eye as free as mine. The glamour all has faded. You are glad. 64 AT THE GOAL The woman. You blind and buffet me. I do not know. The man. Time time is given you. I who sweat and pant Wave but a dusty banner as I pass The woman. Into the distance. The man. When the long dark ride Is over, shall I find you at the goal Again ? The woman. I have not loved I do not know. The man. Wait I shall look for you. The woman. We are two braggarts Two miserable creatures who have failed. The man. Then here s to better luck on the next course ! Shall I go on ? The woman. Is there no more ? The man. Where is she ? The woman. She waits my summons t is the modern way. The man. She fears ? The woman. She weeps and trembles. The man. Do not call her. The exquisite, soft, feminine, brilliant thing She is for life, not death. ATTHEGOAL 65 The woman. And I for death. The man. Take heart. You who have seen so many die Live now. The woman. I who have seen so many die For the first time see death. The man. Like a great river It washes over me. The woman. Hold fast. The man. So So Give me your hand. Now I can wait a little. See do you smell the clover? The woman. It is over The little vivid hour. The man. So cool and sweet ! Come to the fields [He dies. The woman. I cannot ! oh, I cannot ! [The woman throws herself on her knees beside the couch, her arms stretched over the form of the man. After a time she slowly rises ; closes the eyes, disposes the arms i smooths sheets and pillows, and after a close long look in the face passes out. AFTER ALL After All SCENE. A pathway in hell. On the right snow drifts, on the left the lake of fire. A few spirits are half visible. Chorus of Spirits. See them coming Flakes that drift, Ashen mists That shift and lift. Shaken off, Ghosts of pain, Down from earth They fall like rain. Room for the lost ! There s room in hell. Damned and tossed With curse and knell, Spewed from earth, Refused in heaven, 70 AFTERALL Hail to the lost, By torments driven ! Lo ! who cometh ? Wise was he. The last fine secret He would see. Alone, aloof From life and care, He spun his cobwebs In the air. Hush and wonder ! One hath risen To greet this wisp, So blanched and wizen : She who tore Her soul in two, Who dared the utmost Life may do. \jThe spirits of a man and a woman meet. She. Ah you! He. Yea, I. She. How did you come ? He. I slipped like sleet adown the wind. She. You from your heights. AFTER ALL 71 He. The dry years thinned My soul. It grew too cold and numb For earth. She. So high and still you were I used to think you need not stir To enter paradise. He. And now The dry snow sifts me, and my brow Chills the dark wind. She. And I in flame Bathe my hot wounds away. He. At last We who have lost may know the game. She. Yea, we who missed the fateful cast, Faltering when the angel passed, May count his footsteps one by one Down to our earth, back to his sun. He. And we who never spake before May utter pallid words. She. And we Whose wind-drawn senses feel no more, May tell the ruinous heart-throbs o er That beat us down this bitter path. He. We pale inheritors of wrath, Who might be treading, hand in hand, Spaces afoam with wings. 72 AFTER ALL She. If you, That day when God was with us two, Had given me the supreme command. He. If you had stood less proudly there Against the sun, had seemed aware Of the desire that did not dare. She. I who dared all ! He. If the red lips, That smiled, had trembled once. If even One quiver of the finger-tips Had proved you woman She. If like a man You had torn the veil He. We blurred God s plan Rust on the shining rim of heaven. Chorus of Spirits. Come and see them Cringe and cower Fools who missed The perfect hour! Dumb and blind, To them was given Light, love, joy, A glimpse of heaven. In the full day They lost the way. AFTERALL 73 Spurn them, laugh at them Saints astray! She. I saw the open gates that morning, Heard seraph songs. He. I felt the warning From heaven to hell measured the fall. She. We looked in the archangel s eyes And dared not follow. He. We are here. She. How swiftly fell that black surprise ! I saw you not, and over all A thick doubt grew, a foggy fear. He. I turned and made me over-wise With learning, called the loss of you By the fond name of sacrifice ; And in my solitudes again Dreamed I might find the truth for men. She. And I wandered the dark world through, Driven by that reckless need of love Which maddens women. He. While above All need I urged my flattered soul. She. \ drank the cup of drunkenness, And lo, it cursed that could not bless Another woman s joy I stole. 74 AFTER ALL He. Yea, when the uproar came to me, I marveled that such fire could be In one who seemed so cold. She. You lit The fire. He. If I had nourished it, Out of my cold philosophy It would have driven the chill. She. Ah me ! Then the great fame you made He. Will die. My truth was but another lie. I had not lived, I could not know. She. My bliss was but another woe. Strained to my heart it turned to stone; And when God bade me let it go I would not, though it dragged me prone Down to these fires that melt it not Where on my breast heavy and hot It lies. He. Hush ! do you hear the cries Hurled from the wrath that never dies ? Chorus of Spirits. In winds of fire and sleet Whirl on forever! Never to part nor meet, Forgetting never. AFTE R A LL 75 When the great ghosts wheel down Cringe ye and cower ! Who chose the fiery crown Shall wield the power. Make way ! make way ! Intruders gray ! Slip through the drear shades As ye may ! Flee in fear ! Come not near ! Slaves ! eternally Shift and veer ! He. Warped and twisted and bent are we Dried hopes blown down the vales of pain. She. Hush ! do you hear that sound like rain Of falling souls ? Look, do you see ? He. And one with lightning armed ? She. Ah me ! I know him, he has passed me by. He. Flee from the whirlwind ! Dive and fly! She. Down ! down ! I hear you not. The gale Blackens around me. He. Lo, I fail ! 76 AFTERALL Chorus of Spirits (approaching). Somewhere or other The mad world is spinning. Our game now another Gay crowd is beginning. Ha, ha ! they will botch it, For God has control. We nip it and notch it He plays for the whole. He rumbled and grumbled We would not give ear. Our power he has humbled By pitching us here. Since heaven is not for us And earth s but a fool Since either would bore us In hell let us rule ! A MODERN MINUET A Modern Minuet SCENE. A small room opening into a dancing hall in a modern town house, where a costume party is going on. The room is furnished in eighteenth century style > and a young man and woman, dressed in costumes of Queen Annes time, are discovered alone. The music of a dance is dimly heard. Althea. Ah no, I cannot hear, how dare you tell Your tale in prose, my lord ? Roderick. Is it not well To speak the truth, even though a maid be fair And royally appareled? Althea. Look, we wear The Addisonian livery. Let our speech Ripple with rhymes and flatteries, I beseech. Why have we slipped the iron leash of time, 80 A MODERN MINUET Escaped out of the real, save to climb The trimmed and velvet slopes where maids and men May play at passion ? Roderick. Let me pledge you then A flowery love. A garden is my heart, Planted with rose trees set with formal art Between green hedges. There you come like spring, Bidding me bloom while all the sweet birds sing. Althea. And the red rose half open in its bud Is that for me ? Roderick. Take my life s richest blood, Crimson, deep-scented. Althea. Lo, the white one there ! Roderick. Tis my new hope greeting the sunny air. Breathe gently, lest thou sweep its petals frail Down the chill wind. Althea. May a chill wind prevail In your fair garden ? Roderick. Fickle is the May, Proud, merciless. Look if she smiles to-day To-morrow come the darkness and the storm. Althea. To-morrow is not, never is. When warm A MODERN MINUET 81 Shines the sweet sun through the soft sifted air Who counts the thunders ? Roderick. When the sun shines fair He who stands tiptoe on the peak of rapture Thrills with sharp pain because no dream can capture Another moment so divine. Althea. Which proves How foolish tis to think. The soul that loves Tears the pale web of thought, the theories Whose thick and twisted wisdom once was his Before the light burst in. Roderick. The loving soul Fashions a doubt out of each dream s control, An agony out of each bliss denied. Althea. But who can gauge a bliss till it be tried, Or of the most adventurous dream beware Till he has leashed it winging in mid-air ? Roderick. Such reckless valor ne er moved mortal man As mine were if I dared the space to span Twixt me and my desire. Althea. When man dares not The gods blot out a planet from the spot Where it should wheel around some star s bright seat. 82 A MODERN MINUET Roderick. Ah give me then the universe com plete ! \He falls on one knee and kisses her hand. Althea. Nay, nay beware ! Your lady s finger-tip Takes not the homage of the eye and lip. Roderick. Set me some task ! The sword rusts at my side. Bid me through dark wars cleave a pathway wide. Althea. Life is but war the field awaits the brave. Rise and go forth to conquer and to save. Roderick. But ere I rise a gauge ! lest I return Spent, wounded, and you know me not, and spurn The world-worn warrior from your palace gate. [She unclasps and hands him a bracelet. Althea. Take then this bauble. On my pulse it sate Counting the heartbeats. Lo, I wait unfriended Till the brave fight be won, the trial ended. Roderick (rising). And if a century or two should fling Their spell about us ere once more I bring This token to your feet, if the bold world A MODER^ MINUET 83 Should down the zones of change be madly whirled Into a dumb and unromantic day, Then should I find my lady waiting? say! Plain words upon her lips, her gown unquilted, Her hair of nature s gold, her manners wilted Into a democrat simplicity Then would she know me, though my garments be No longer silken, though my head emerge Out of this snowy coil yea, though I urge An homely suit and pledge a workman s hand, Without the sword in t ? Would she understand Though all else change, my heart is hers for ever ? Althea. Ah, if time plods through centuries when we sever T is but his custom, for whene er we meet, After long ages lost and incomplete, The world seems made anew. Roderick. Let it be ours That glad new world, its rush of glowing hours ! There let us laugh at time and all the slaves Who creep through sunless paths into dark graves Blind, unaware of love. Sweet, do you love me? 84 A MODERN MINUET Althea. Hush ! by the stars that speak the truth above me, How dare you strain our airy rhymes and lies With that great word ? Roderick. Tell me then with your eyes, Truer than stars. In any way you please Tell me you love me. Tell me, or I seize From your shut lips the pledge. Althea. Would you not scorn A patched and powdered promise ? Roderick. Hearts are sworn In every livery, and the pledges spoken Under a mask are not more lightly broken Than plain vows clad in rags. Althea. Ah, give me time A century or two whose rush sublime Shall blast this florid world and make a new one. Better for simple souls to work and woo on, Before the sun climbs out of yonder lake. Roderick. A century or two for your sweet sake Is but an hour. Devoutly will I wait, Your knight kneeling till dawn in lonely state, Ere from his love he hears the high command That puts his valor to the proof. Althea. The band A MODERN MINUET 85 Ripples a minuet. Before that change That leap of time out of this narrow range, That sudden sun-burst o er a world awake Shall we not tread a lordly measure, take A proud farewell of the dear vanities P Roderick. For that or any walk in life you please, My hand is yours. Althea. Come! with your hand in mine, No road too rough is and no stage too fine. [They make the minuet bow and courtesy, and go out hand in hand, taking the minuet step in time to the music. IT PASSES BY PERSONS OF THE PLAT. DR. MERRILL. RICHARD BLAKE. HAROLD HUMPHREY. ISABEL EVERETT. ELLEN RATHBOURNE. KATE DOANE. IDA DOANE. PHCEBE EVERETT. It Passes By SCENE. Front drawing-room of a town house facing a broad avenue ; a beautiful and home like room, full of color, furnished with taste and elegance but without great richness. Hexagonal trifle window at rear of stage gives to the street. Fireplace with low fire at right ; at left, double doorway from the hall, with doors rolled away and -portieres drawn back. Partly visible through it, at the end of the hall outside, is the front door, giving also to the street down a flight of steps. One or two elms are visible through the windows, their leaves browning and fall ing under the warm October sunshine ; be yond them, across the street, the dim row of houses. A little girl of five or six has thrown her doll face downward on a chair, and 90 IT PASSES BY stands at the window looking out. A hand some woman of about thirty-five, her mother, enters from the hall Phoebe. What are they doing, mother? Isabel (without noting). I don t know. Phoebe. But look so many people Isabel (searching the tables for something). Never mind. Come here, and help me. Phoebe. Won t they go away ? Isabel. I think so, dear. Where can it be ? He had it Phoebe. There s a policeman. Is a circus coming ? Isabel. What are you saying? Phoebe (running across and dragging at her mother s skirts). May I stay and see it ? Look, mother, may I ? Isabel (following to the window). What a crowd, my robin ! All down the street no end to them I wonder Why they are here. Phoebe. Is it a circus then ? And will there be gold chariots ? IT PASS ES B Y 91 Isabel (sitting and lifting the child to her knee). Little one, Mother knows nothing, nothing any more Phoebe. But why ? Isabel. All day and night, two days and nights, Father has suffered so ! Phcebe. Why don t you whisper ? Isabel. My darling must be still again to-day, Still as a baby birdling in its shell. And by and by, when something happens there, Out in the street, she must not run upstairs, Nor call to mother Phcebe. Must I stay alone ? Here all alone ? Isabel. Dolly is waiting here. Dolly will play with you. Phcebe. But she is tir^d. Isabel. And all the people and the horses there To look at Phcebe. Who will tell me ? Isabel. And perhaps If you watch quietly, some one may come. Phcebe. Who? 92 IT PASS ES BY Isabel. Let me think. Perhaps your newest friend Your Mr. Blake. Phatbe. Oh, will he ? Isabel. Or perhaps Look there ! some one is coming. Do you see? Phcebe (springing out of her mother s lap and clapping her hands). Miss Ellen ! Isabel. Run and welcome her so softly Still as a sunbeam [The child runs and opens the door, admit ting Ellen Rathbourne, a young woman of twenty-five or twenty-six, who catches her up in her arms. Ellen. Darling ! Phoebe. You must whisper Father is ill. Ellen. Isabel, is it true ? Isabel. These two days. Ellen. Oh, what is it ? Isabel. Pain pain. Ellen. You do not fear ? Isabel. No no ! but it is hard To see a strong man suffer. Ellen. Go to him I T PASSES BY 93 Leave her with me. The soldiers, Phoebe mine, Soon we shall see their banners down the street. Phoebe. And bands? and will they march ? Isabel. What is it then This crowd ? Ellen. The governor have you forgot ? This morning the procession passes here. Isabel. I had forgotten utterly. Ellen. He goes In state to his last rest his first and last. Isabel. He had his foot upon the White House stair When the grave opened. Ellen. Do you think in heaven He finds the fairest mansion half so fair? Isabel. He loved the fat old earth. Ellen. I saw him once Isabel. I felt him once that day he spoke for Grant In the convention, when the galleries Went mad with cheers. Ellen. And now how suddenly Isabel. The ladder breaks with him ! Phoebe. I hear a drum. Ellen. See how they crowd ! The yard, the steps 94 IT PASSES BY Phcebe. Look, mother ! I hear a drum. Isabel. Far, far away, my brown one, What do you see ? Phcebe. So many people waiting. Isabel. And something down the street? Phoebe. It shines like silver. Isabel. Soldiers, with banners. Watch until it grows Into an army. Ellen, have you heard Tell me before I leave you have you heard Richard is here again ? Ellen. Why yes. But why The shadow in your voice, my Isabel ? Do you imagine that his name can still Set my least nerve a-tremble ? Isabel. Oh, I know, Yet somehow, so irrational am I, I catch myself regretting it is over. Ellen. Well, it is over. Isabel. Years of sun and wind, Out in that Arizona wilderness, Have stamped him like a monumental rock With ruggedness. Ellen. I laughed at his white hands ! I T PASS ES B Y 95 Isabel. And the fierce colors of those arid wastes Those deep, eternal, terrifying colors. Stringing the earth with jewels mountain-high He makes me think of them. Ellen. Colors of death ! So will the earth harden and bake at last, When we are gone with all our lives and loves. Why will you talk of dead things ? Do those drums Muffle your thoughts like shrouds ? Isabel. Are you not hard ? Ellen. You married women ! tell me why it is That everything is nothing to you. Queer ! A man may jilt a woman, throw her over For any base entanglement, and then The best of you will plead for him. Isabel. Oh, Ellen Do you dare judge by deeds ? What a man does Is accident so cramped are human lives. Great souls go blundering on, even to the heights, While we stand shuddering at the dismal fields They struggled through and passed. 96 IT PASSES BY Ellen. He would not send A messenger why do you say these things ? Isabel. For love of you. Ellen. You do not know me then. There is no ember of that old fire left. When chance brings us together we shall meet Without emotion. Isabel. If it were to-day? Ellen. To-day, to-morrow, or beyond the last Of all the morrows. Phoebe. See that soldier there, Riding against the people will he kill them ? Isabel. I hope not he s the marshal mak ing room. Phcebe. What for? Ellen. For a great conqueror. Phcebe. A giant ? Ellen. Yes, one who stalks between us and the sun With little winks for eyes that see too clear. Phoebe. I don t like giants. Ellen. Even when they are kind ? Phoebe. See Mr. Humphrey pushing through the crowd, And Miss Doane see them ! I T PASS ES B Y 97 Ellen (waving and smiling out of the window}. They can scarcely move. Three more guests, Isabel : they re coming in, Or trying to. Isabel. Then you shall play the hostess. To-day I cannot see them I must go. Ellen. Leave all to me, and do not give a thought Either to Phoebe, or the invading world. They shall be mine to-day. [Isabel throws her arms about Ellen s neck an instant, then goes out at left and runs upstairs. Phoebe. But will he come On horseback ? Ellen. Patience, darling. Who can tell ? The marshal cantered by, The great drum-major came ; The soldiers too In coats of blue, The guns with hearts of flame. And all the world said why ? And all the world said where ? We carry just A peck of dust Out to the garden there. 98 IT PASS ES B Y Phcebe. Say it again. Ellen. Nay, Phoebe, nevermore. The gilded horseman jumps, The big policeman thumps, The people stand like stumps And will not budge them See, they are coming pushing up the steps, And you and I must give them the best place And be polite as princes. Let them in, And I will bring the chairs [Phoebe runs to the front door again and of ens it, admitting Kate and Ida Doane, and Harold Humphrey. Ellen brings chairs to the windows, humming in time to the drums. We carry just A peck of dust Out to the garden there. Here take the box. One moment, and we ring the curtain up. Kate. These holidays ! what can you do with them? I meant to hide from this, take refuge in Some innocent excitement hemming sheets, Playing the mandolin, or reading through That artless tale of Mrs. Ward s. But no IT PASS ES B Y 99 This youth was so unutterably bored By one day s exile from the daily grind, He vowed to spend the morning, stay to lunch eon, And otherwise afflict us. It was then I grasped at this procession, and was saved To share him with you. Harold. She can tell the truth Weil once a year at least Of course you know How shrewd are her devices to conceal The sweet affection that she cannot choose But give me. Kate. Whose affection ? Harold. On my soul I have forgotten, though there was a time When pity made me weep to think of it. Kate. Your only tear, and may she never know? Ida. They will talk nonsense, even at funerals. Phoebe and I are honest ; we are here To see the show. We shall not miss a flag. Phcebe. But no one tells me. Ellen (grandiloquently). Now the beat of drum Rhymes with the tramp of armies. Row on row ioo IT PASSES BY The gleaming cohorts, like a summer sea, Roll on in waves that sparkle to the sun. Now the furled flag, the sad obsequious dirge, The muzzled guns, mighty with memories, Bear to its port a life. Look, ere t is gone. Interpret, lest it glide into the past Unheralded. \jThe drums are fasting the house, rolling a slow and solemn march at the head of the procession. Soon they grow slowly fainter. Kate. A prologue to this play ! Ellen. A prologue, Harold of the ready tongue. This bark, that dims beyond our narrow verge, What was it when it rode the swelling seas And took the gales with joy ? Harold. What was it not ? A shifty ship, built to be serviceable In any kind of traffic. Once a coaster, That hugged the shore of politics, nor dared Venture beyond three fathoms lest it sink. A transport then, carrying back and forth Opinions, purposes, adapted to The popular demand, and sold so cheap No man need care if they were worn a day And thrown away the next. A privateer, IT PASSES BY 101 That took the chance of war to make a show And win the prize of glory. Then, grown bold, A slaver next, dealing in gangs of voters, Chained, labeled for delivery at the polls, Ready-made freemen. Last, perhaps a pirate, Slashing for power, be the flag friend or foe, And winning it, only to fall at last There within sight of golden pinnacles The city of his dream. \In speaking, Harold advances from the win dow. Ellen follows. Ellen. If this is all Why did the people love him ? Harold. Blank the people! Why are the people fools ? Ellen. If this is all Why do we bow when he goes by to-day, And feel a sudden dimness at the eyes To see death beating him ? \_She sinks into an arm-chair standing with its back toward the hall and window. Harold. I cannot tell. The feminine mind should never roam at large To shift the planets from their courses. Ellen. Yet Why are you here if this is all ? 102 IT PASSES BY Harold. Compulsion, And a deep joy in dirges. Phcebe. See the flag ! Why don t they let it wave ? Harold (returning to the window). Precisely why? Why do they furl it up in crape, I wonder, When you and I would rather see it float ? Phoebe. Listen ! (A pause.) It s solemn, is n t it ? [Kate suddenly looks frightened and nses from the window-seat, signing to Ida for silence. She takes Harold by the arm and quietly leads him to front of stage. Ellen remains in her chair > her head in her hand dreaming. Kate. Good heavens ! What shall we do ? Harold. Don t scare a man to death J Do about what ? Kate. Did n t you see him ? Harold. Whom ? Kate. Why, Richard Blake. Harold. What, back again ? Kate. . Oh yes Two days ago but coming in IT PASSES BY 103 Harold. Why not ? Kate. Have you forgotten how he went away ? Harold. What do you mean ? Kate. Oh, give away your brains If you can t use them ! You forget already That he and Ellen Rathbourne were engaged Five or six years ago, that he forsook her For some low creature, and when that was over Fled to the wilds ? Harold. Oh yes, I do remember. Kate. Indeed! Well think again. What shall we do ? Harold. Do nothing. Kate. But she has not seen him since. He will come in she should be spared Harold. Oh, pshaw ! She has to meet him sometime why not now ? Now to the sound of dirges, and the tramp Of fate s inexorable armies ? - Hush ! Now is the time. Don t interfere with chance, Who has her plans, deeper than yours or mine. If we are summoned here as witnesses Be grateful in all humbleness. Kate. I own The pride of sex. If she should pale before him, IO4 IT PASSES BY So much as tremble, all the woman in me Would feel defeated. Harold. Put her to the test Else there s no triumph. Phoebe (at the window). There s the doctor coming. I 11 let him in. [She runs to the door. Harold. Besides, it is too late. [Ellen rises from her revery, throwing her arms up wide and her head back ; and turns slowly toward the door. Kate and Harold turn and face the door. Ida stands quietly at the window. Enter Dr. Merrill, a man of fifty, and Richard Blake, about thirty , of powerful athletic build, his fair skin bronzed by exposure. Richard shows the least possible trace of emotion at seeing Ellen. I he Doctor, a few feet in advance, extends his hand to Ellen, who greets him first with perfect aplomb. No one seems embarrassed. Harold and Kate go toward the hall to meet Richard, as he stands, hat in hand, beside the por tiere. The drums sound faint in the dis tance, to the north left. IT PASSES BY 105 Ellen. Good morning. Doctor. Your benig nant smile Shines on the just and unjust, like the sun. You bring a rover with you. Mr. Blake, You and the sun are comrades. Kate (to Harold). Look at her ! She does it well. [Ellen extends her hand to Richard indiffer ently , and he takes it an instant, bowing low in silence. Harold. Of course she does. (To Richard.) It s good To see you here again. How is the West? You wear its colors bravely. You have changed. What is the city like after these years ? Richard. An orchestra, playing a banging tune Into incredible silence. Kate. Music then ? Richard. Intricate harmonies my ear has lost The clue. Ellen (to the Doctor). Your patient, is it serious ? Dr. M. (taking off his overcoat). A little troublesome, but not alarming. 106 IT PASSES BY These youngsters trust this Indian summer day, But I must put my faith in coats. The host ess ? Ellen. You are the only guest she sees to-day. Dr. Merrill. Who entertains the world. Look at that stoop ! If this young athlete had not struck for me I should be digging yet. Ellen. Such patient crowds ! Dr. M. A mighty funeral ! Kate. Is it not a pity He could not live to see it ? Harold. The last act Of a long gaudy melodrama. Dr. M. Listen ! How easily does youth dispose of him, Who played so large a role ! At least admit He took the stage and held it, even dared Try to be president. Harold. Yes, died of scheming. Dr. M. At any rate he did things. Come, confess How long since you have voted ? Harold. I refuse To chronicle my virtues to the shame Of this most blatant politician. IT PASS ES BY 107 Dr. M. Then Tell me whom shall we nominate next June Instead of him ? Harold. Some farmer from the plough, Or you, or me, or yonder officer, Who rides so like a turkey. Dr. M. It will be Strange not to hear his voice or shout his name. The galleries will miss him. Harold. Yes, their hero. Dr. M. Well, there is work to do even now. I leave With you his reputation. \he Doctor, who has been retreating to ward the door, followed by Kate and Harold, now goes out and upstairs. Richard approaches Ellen, whom Phoebe is trying to drag to the window , and speaks to her, quite indifferent as to whether the others hear him or not. A brass band, flaying a dirge, begins to be audible in the distance from the south. Richard. I have come Three thousand miles to have a talk with you. I am persuaded you will not refuse. io8 IT PASSES BY Five years of thinking make me sure at last That it is right to see you. Ellen. I will hear What you may say, though you mistake, I think, To be so sure. Richard. Tell me the place the time. Ellen. It must be here and now. Harold (aside to Kate looking at Richard). Look at them now ! Kate (smiling). Don t you think we can see better outdoors ? Such a fine dirge is coming, and beyond The regulars the guns ! Harold. Yes, let us join The brave unwashed, beg them for standing- room, And be good socialists. \Exeunt Harold and Kate, to the front steps. Ida rises from the window seat. Phcebe. May I go too? Miss Ellen, may I ? Ellen. Go take care of them. [Phcebe pirouettes gleefully, seizes Ida by the hand y and they go out. They, the crowded steps, the street, etc., are remotely visible through the open door. IT PASSES BY 109 Richard. Well after all it is a little thing I have to tell you, and it matters not Where it is spoken. It is due to you, Whom I so greatly wronged, that I should say You are the only woman in the world For me, and will be always. Ellen. Do you think I value your regard ? Richard. No, not to-day, Nor can you yet believe in it. Perhaps You will not ever. Yet it is the truth, And such small reparation as may lie In such a truth I offer you. Ellen. In time I may have faith in you again, but now This seems an insult. Richard. . Leave it then to time, Or else forget it. I am going back Back to the desert. There is one thing more That should be said, and yet I know not how To say it. You are strong ; you have no fear, Nor any need of service. If life hurts You will close with it and conquer. Yet at last, Some day when you are weary of your strength, When all the hour fails, and the past alone Looks fair and sure, you may be willing then iio IT PASSES BY To think of me as longing for a chance To serve you, even the slightest ; you may speak Thus to your heart : This man, to whom I gave My first young foolish ardor, he who vowed To love me always arid betrayed the vow, It seems that he has kept it after all And somewhere on the earth he lives for me. Ellen. How strange! to see you there, to hear your voice Uttering promises, just as of old, And yet to feel no faith ! I did not know The past lay dead so deep that you, even you, Would seem a ghost to me. [The music of the dirge grows louder in the street. Richard. And yet to me It is the only thing alive. For me The summer blooms there always, and the storm That wrecked it once has faded into light. I cannot tell how lovely is the place, How rich, how still. Ellen. The light that never was ! Richard. It is the garden of my life. To you Whatever fruits may grow ! IT PASSES BY in Ellen. Will it be sweet The fruit of dead hopes and corrupted lives ? Why do you lead me toward the place of death I fled from long ago ? Richard. . But it is gone. Life out of death, bloom out of decay So runs the law. Alone there on the plains, By night and day, under the sun and stars, The law has driven me the offended law, Armed with its vengeance. And I fled fled fled Afraid to look. Gaunt summer buried me Deep in dry storms, the livid winter rode Stiff at my side, and still I was afraid. Still I could hear the clatter and the cry Behind me. Well at last I clutched my fear And turned. Behold, the thing that followed me Was love. How strangely beautiful it was Austere and fair ! A stillness grew around me. Then the vast world came close, the mighty hills Drew near and clasped me, even the bright white moon Laid her cool hand upon me. And I knew The sorrow all had vanished, and the joy Would stay with me. ii2 IT PASSES BY Ellen. When one may be alone Perhaps tis easy to remember. Richard. You You have forgotten ? Ellen. I have waked. Richard. It passed And left no bitterness? Ellen. How can I tell? The dream just vanished and the truth was there. And, after all, the truth is best perhaps. I owe you thanks for knowledge. Richard. Once I feared Your faith so luminous it was, so tempting To the black winds. And afterwards I feared The shadow there. I took the shock for you, And felt a darkness falling. Since the change, Since my great night, but one desire has held me To reach you through the silence. But it seemed So far ! The stars are awful in that south Unwinking eyes of the great noiseless God, Conscious, inscrutable. I watched them shine Through the keen vivid blue, until it seemed Much nearer to the stars than to your feet. Ellen. Yes I was far away. IT PASSES BY 113 Richard. Alone in crowds As I upon the desert. Ellen. But it passed. Richard. I could not come. Ellen. I could not hear. Richard. But now After the years of longing, suddenly The spacious earth consented all its wastes Of sand and sage ; and the high spheric sky, Even to its verge of suns invisible, Consented, and I came. Ellen. How strange it is Incredible that all is just the same, You here, and I, and yet the love is gone ! Richard. Not strange. Ellen. Did not I call it by large names ? Eternal and unchangeable it was, Fate ordered it, God sanctioned it, our souls Were one for life and death. Richard. For life and death. Ellen. I have never been so sure of any thing, Never so sure. And yet to-day perhaps This festival of death is made for that, And the long dirges mourn it. 14 IT PASSES BY Richard. Peace be with it ! And honor! Ellen. Peace and honor! It becomes A happy memory which has been a shame. Now I may light white candles on that altar, Set lilies there. Richard. I bring them, and from me You take them. Look ! I thank you from my soul. [He takes her hands, and they look in each other s eyes a moment. Ellen. Why did my lover leave me ? Richard. Oh, your eyes Conjure these desolate years away ! [He drops her hands and turns away. Ellen. Tou left me. Richard. Ask it of him the scholar, general, President almost. Ellen. Unto Caesar then You dare appeal. Richard. To Caesar ! Ellen. Hush he pays The forfeit. \jThe dirge is passing the house. Soon it be gins to grow slowly fainter. IT PASSES BY 115 Richard. Lavishly we lay all down Ellen. Why ? Why ? Richard. There is a beast that drives us on, And a dark riddle waiting in the pit. Ellen. And in the pit you do not spare the lost The riddle who is woman. Richard. Once she was. Ages ago, before such brutes as I Made her a devil. The score is old between us Eternity will strike the balance there. Ellen. And I was singing up those mapled hills A thousand miles away and dreaming dreams. I should have stayed. Richard. No no, I was not fit. Undisciplined, unguided, all my life The slave of impulse no, it was to be, Must be, to save us. Ellen. Though we died of it. Richard. I saw you lying white, in a scorched world. Ellen. I learned to be alone, and not afraid. Richard. I saw you always so the courage came. 1 16 IT PASSES BY My life had been a garden made for me ; Now it should be a desert. I would gnaw The rocks for sustenance, winnow my will Through whirling sand-storms. I would take from men Nothing, from fortune nothing. I would give The leaping beast in me a bitter fight Ellen. Hush! I grow dizzy. Let me think ! So you The traitor and deserter, whom I swept Out of my life you are the faithful lover, And I the faithless. Richard. You were brave. Ellen. But now Now you are here, a man, a conqueror Oh yes, I see the battle in your face, The victory in your eyes now you are here. Why do I fail ? Richard. Good God ! it is not you ! Ellen. Have I grown hard while you were growing great ; Self-righteous, while that fight for life or death Taught you humility ? I must have lost Some fineness of the soul that once was mine, Or I could take your hand and go with you Up to the mountains. IT PASSES BY 117 Richard. Hush ! Ellen. The saddest thing Is change. I thought I could not live ; and then, When death refused me, knew I could not smile Ever again. And then I am ashamed To tell how soon my life bloomed out again, And all the past of ecstasy and pain Was utterly gone, as it had never been. Richard. The only thing that passes not. Ellen. I wondered If anything endured, if human souls Forgot their seasons like the trees ; I dared not Measure the perfidy. And even to-day. It frightens me to feel, deep in my heart, The quest of love, to search the eyes of men Each casual new one with that secret hope. Oh, you despise me ! [ She sinks into a chair > burying her face in her hands. The dirge in the distance comes to an end and stops. Richard. Nothing can forget. Each summer leaves the record of its growth Even in the tree. So you have won from me The power of greater love. Ellen. Is it not shame This eagerness that will not rest from seeking, n8 IT PASSES BY That conjures dreams to feed on, seals my heart Lest lips and eyes betray it ? What are we More than the beasts, if every sense allures us. And nothing steadfast proves the ruling soul ? And what am I more than that other woman, Save for the casual fate which cast me here, And her upon the street ? Richard (seizing her wrists). Be still ! Good Heaven ! How ignorantly Ellen. I have shocked you so Forget me now you know me as I am. I never dared confess it to myself. Richard. The quest of love, you call it. You are blind It is the quest of God. You will not find The starry soul that you are looking for, Even at the marriage altar. But at last This violent tumult of the blood will still Into a deep serenity, and then The big round world with all its throng of souls Will be too little for your love. Ellen (looking up at him). Perhaps I shall no longer feel ashamed, my friend, Now I have told. IT PASSES BY 119 Richard. Shame is a deadly thing A curtain at the windows of the soul. Ellen. I will begin to learn I have begun. For knowledge is the thing I thought that out To save us from ourselves. Do we not need it We women whom long ages have shut up With mad emotions ? It is sweet to feel The cool white hand of knowledge on my brow And bid her lead me toward the far-off light. Perhaps at last Richard. At last Ellen. I may be fit To do some work in the world. Richard. And all those years The thought of you will be my gladness. Ellen. Strange ! Shall I learn to be glad in all those years ? [Phoebe comes tripping in. Phoebe. Miss Ellen, you re not looking. [Ellen turns suddenly and catches the child up with a passionate embrace. Ellen. But we will. Phcebe. It s coming Mr. Humphrey says it is I2O IT PASSES BY With six black horses, and a lot of men Singing a song. Ellen. And will you show it to us ? Phoebe. It s big and black, with feathers wav ing on it. It s coming next and these are the Hussars. \hey approach the windows. Ellen. Splendid ! see how their horses shine and prance ! Phcebe. Why do you stay in here ? Richard. Because we see Things even more wonderful. Have you not heard She is a princess ? Phtebe. Who ? Richard. Miss Ellen is A princess with a wand. She has a throne Up in the mountains. Phcebe. Will she sit upon it ? Richard (sitting down and taking Phoebe on his knee). A throne made of new gold, with draperies Torn down from flaming worlds purple and yellow, Queer blues that burn like scarlet, till the sun Boils over, streaks the whole round polished sky IT PASSES BY 121 With orange and hot green, and slowly then Simmers away. The night comes sailing softly Above her throne, and cools the ashen air Into a vast clear fathomless white blue That shows the stars to her such flashing stars Each one a soul that sings. Phoebe. And is it far ? Richard. As far as heaven, perhaps. Ellen. Further than death. Phoebe. I saw a princess once. She had a star Lit on her forehead. [ To the south right a dirge begins , chanted by mens voices, with long pauses between strophes. During the first stanza, Isabel comes down the stair, followed by the Doctor. Isabel pauses at the door an instant, looking with keen anxiety and hope at the three seated unobservant in the window. The next instant Phoebe runs to her mother, followed by Richard. (Song without?) Soldier, ruler, hero, friend In thy train once more we wend. Lead us onward to the end. 122 IT PASSES BY Phoebe. Mother, come and look ! Isabel Ah, Richard ! Richard. Dear my lady ! \He takes her hand and bends over it. Kate, Ida, and Harold enter behind her from the steps. Isabel. It is good To win you from the desert, to expect Your shadow at my door. Richard. But I have come To say good-by. Isabel. No no you shall not say it. [She glances beyond at Ellen, who at Rich ard s word had turned to look out. Harold (to Kate). She has a heart, you say. Kate. If she has not Harold. Ah, Mrs. Everett, to you at last Our homage ! Isabel. Did the other guests make way ? Kate. They all stood up, like silent sentinels, And then, when we besought, they all sat down. And so, row upon row, we gazed at ease. Harold. They were so still that even my elo quent tongue Caught the disease. The Doctor. Keep it a moment more. IT PASSES BY 123 (Song without.) Life was lavish, life was bold. Now her blows and boons are told, Now her dreams thine eyes behold. Harold. Nay, but not all her dreams ! The Doctor. Now verily Doth the old order change, since he can die. Isabel. How vast the infinite must seem to him Who was so busy in his little world! Richard. He took its error frankly with its good, Lived on the level of his time. Harold. Perhaps, But not above it. Ellen. Not a prophet but Harold. A type, an average. Ellen. And something more A man. Isabel. And with a heart ! The Doctor. And something more A leader. Isabel. Publicly and privately He erred and yet Richard. We bow to let him pass. 124 I T PASSES BY Phcebe (clapping her hands at the window}. It s here ! \_All stand silent with bowed heads. The chant grows loud without. On the highway fared thy feet. Marching ever, brave and fleet, Through the wind, the dust, the heat. Phoebe (looking up at Richard). Why do they sing ? Is it for God ? [Harold smiles^ and some of the others. Richard stoops and lifts her. Richard. For God, or else how could he know ? Ellen. Ah, Phoebe ! ^The Doctor. So he is gone ! Harold. And we must go. Isabel. And I Back to the sick. Harold. I to the office. Kate. I To which, of half an hundred things that claim me ? Harold (to Richard). And you what is it calls you from the West ? Richard. Dry wastes, that thirst for rivers. IT PASSES BY 125 Harold. You will reap Harvests, where never blade of grass has grown. Ellen. The wilderness will sing for you. Richard. And you - Ellen. Oh, let me learn ! Phoebe. Is it all over now ? [The chant is heard more faintly. Comes the long sweet solemn night. Sleep and silence close the fight. Hush till morn reveals the right. THE END. Electrolysed and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. , b NEDWICK S BOOK STOKb 171 NO. MICHIGAN AVE. CHICAGO 1. ILL. "OUT-OF-PRINT-BOOKS" 100