*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46198 ***
The Project Gutenberg eBook, Conquest, by Marie Carmichael Stopes
[Pg 1]
CONQUEST
OR
A PIECE OF JADE
A New Play in Three Acts by
Marie C. Stopes
D.Sc., Ph.D., F.R.S.Litt., etc.
1/- net
Copyright 1917 by DR. MARIE C. STOPES
New York
SAMUEL FRENCH
Publisher
28-30 West 38th Street
London
SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd.
26 Southampton Street
Strand
1917
[Pg 2]
[Pg 3]
Leatherhead, Surrey,
England.
Dear Mr. Delightfulest-Manager-in-the-World,—
I am sending you this play printed instead of
type-written because I think you will find it much easier
to slip into your pocket and read, and also because I
don’t know your address, and printed books have a way
of finding people without being addressed which typescripts
have not yet learnt. So instead of sending my
play round, in what people tell me is the usual way, to
lots and lots of managers in typescript and wasting ever
so much valuable time while they don’t read it, I am
sending it to you direct, and hope you will like it. When
you read it you will find that there is still another reason
why I am glad to see it in print.
First let me have just one word in your ear, please:
don’t look to see how many pages long it is, and (reckoning
“a page a minute”) say it is too short to fill an evening,
for I ought to tell you it is a full-length play but the
printer is war-economising and has printed it all on
fewer pages than he would have done in the days of
Paper, Peace and Plenty long ago.
While I was writing the leading part I pictured one
of our finest actresses in it, and she has read it and says
the play is “simply splendid”: if you want her to take
the part I will tell you her name and address, but she is
such an angel she will forgive you if some one you love
better seems to you to be the heroine.
Yours sincerely,
Marie C. Stopes.
[Pg 4]
Registered Copyright by Marie C. Stopes.
The Copyright of Conquest is the sole
property of the author, to whom application
should be made for a license to produce,
translate, place on the cinematograph or use
in any other way.
Addressing: Dr. Marie Stopes,
Craigvara, Leatherhead,
Surrey, England.
[Pg 5]
“CONQUEST,” or “A PIECE OF JADE.”
A New Play in Three Acts, by
MARIE C. STOPES.
Time: 1915. Place: New Zealand and London.
Act I.
An Out-station on the Hyde’s Sheep Farm,
New Zealand.
Afternoon.
Act II.
The Hyde’s Homestead, New Zealand.
Morning.
Three or four months elapse between Acts I. and II.
Act III.
The Duchess of Rainshire’s Drawing-room, London.
Evening.
About two months elapse between Acts II. and III.
[Pg 6]
“CONQUEST,” or “A PIECE OF JADE.”
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
In the order of their appearance:
- First Shepherd.
- Second Shepherd.
- Gordon Hyde, New Zealand Sheep Farmer.
- Roto, an old Maori.
- Nora Lee, A New Zealand Girl.
- Loveday Lewisham, Nora’s Cousin, out from England.
- Robert Hyde, New Zealand Sheep Farmer, Gordon’s Brother.
- John Varlie alias The Rev Dr. Chapman.
- Recruiting Officer.
- The Duchess of Rainshire.
- A Cabinet Minister.
- Smithers.
Also (Without words):
- Two (or Perhaps Three) Young Men in New Zealand Khaki.
- Ladies and Gentlemen, Guests at the Duchess’ Evening Party.
- Maid, Footman’s substitute in uniform.
- Two Plain Clothes Officers.
- One or Two Collie Dogs.
- Sheep—One, or More, if convenient.
[Pg 7]
“CONQUEST,”
OR
“A PIECE OF JADE.”
A New Play in Three Acts by
MARIE C. STOPES.
Act I.
The Scene is set in the hills of the sheep-raising
part of the S. Island of New
Zealand.
The back-cloth is painted with fine rocky and
wooded hills and lakes, rather like Scotland
but with a clearer, bluer sky and keener
atmosphere.
The stage represents a temporary camp in a
clearing, for the mustering and marking of
sheep. There are boulders and groups of
luxuriant trees. The grass is trampled
under foot. Right centre is an open
fire with cooking utensils. Back right
the corner of sheep enclosures. On LEFT is
a temporary cover, part canvas, part tree
branches.
Two Shepherds are DISCOVERED near the
fire, binding up the leg of a sheep. The
collie dogs prowl and lie around.
1st Shep.
(An old, wiry man.) A fine muster, this
year.
2nd Shep.
(A dour man, about 45 years old.) Aye.
1st Shep.
The best season I mind for ten years.
(Working with sheep’s leg.) Plague take
it, it’s slipped. Lie still you bleatin’ fule
ye! And sheep s’d fetch a guid price
this year and all.
2nd Shep.
Aye.
1st Shep.
I’m thinkin’ these sheep will be making
the fortune of the young masters, but they
do nought but make work for us.
2nd Shep.
(Spits.) Aye.
1st Shep.
The young masters must get an extra
man, we never had to handle so many
sheep.
2nd Shep.
Men’ll be scarce now.
1st Shep.
They will that. Do you hear they
recruitin’ fellows are scourin’ the country
for likely lads?
2nd Shep.
Aye.
1st Shep.
When did you know it?
2nd Shep.
’Bout a week ago.
1st Shep.
(Reproachfully.) And ye kept a tale like
that from me—and me that glad of any
bit of news in this lonesomeness. I call
that nasty of ye.
(2nd Shepherd is silent; spits slowly.)
I call that nasty of ye.
2nd Shep.
Aye.
1st Shep.
And what else do ye know ye might tell
me if—if, well, if I had a wee drop of
something to loosen your lips—(Pulls
out a flask and a tin cup and pours a
small drink—the dogs come up.) Down
Jock—get out Scottie. What news have ye
for this, eh?
(2nd Shepherd reaches out his hand.)
1st Shep.
Na-na. News first. It mayn’t be worth
it all.
2nd Shep.
The new young lady from England is
comin’ this afternoon.
1st Shep.
What young lady? Why don’t I know
a’ these wild doin’s? What’s she like.
Who’s she stayin’ with?
2nd Shep.
Old man Lee and his daughter.
1st Shep.
Have you seen her? What’s she like?
2nd Shep.
(Stretching out his hand for his drink.)
I’ve earned it.
1st Shep.
(Drawing it away.) Ye’ll tell me what
she’s like first.
2nd Shep.
A flower. You give it to me now.
1st Shep.
(Hands it grudgingly.) Well, perhaps
you desarve it. That’s news.
(He slowly fills a kettle out of a pail of water
which he observes with annoyance is nearly
empty and puts kettle on the fire.)
For why is she coming here?
2nd Shep.
London city was killin’ her. The doctor
ordered six months of healin’ air.
1st Shep.
If she’s as bonny as you say it’ll be joyful
doings for the young masters. Lasses are
scarce here.
2nd Shep.
There’s Nora Lee.
1st Shep.
Well, fule. She’s only one. We’ve got
two young masters, let alone the other
young chaps hereby.
2nd Shep.
Mister Gordon’s lame. What’d he do
with a girl?
1st Shep.
Only a bit lame, only a wee bit lame,
like—and he’s got a rare brain—look at
the exchange o’ reapers and such like he
rigged up for the freeholders around here.
He’s just chock full o’ ideas and always
dreamin’ and readin’ and talkin’ about ’em.
That’s what girls like. He’ll be as good
in a girl’s eyes as his brother—better I
shouldn’t wonder.
2nd Shep.
He’s no good for the war.
1st Shep.
And what matters that? Am I any good
for the war? Down Scottie, down will
ye! Yourself is not much good for the
war, and yet a pretty girl or two don’t
come amiss to your eyes even though they
never looked at ye. War! You’re crazy
on the war. Why man it’s more’n ten
thousand miles off and it’s a game for the
young chaps anyway.
2nd Shep.
It’s no game.
1st Shep.
It’ll raise the price of sheep. That’s one
thing I’m thinking. And we have more
sheep on this station to-day than there
have been in my memory. Aren’t there
now?
2nd Shep.
Aye.
(Gordon Hyde comes slowly on from right
wing, a fishing rod and bag of fish on his
shoulder. He is slight, bronzed, and with
a fine noble face. He limps, his leg
dragging. 1st Shepherd takes up a tin
of salmon and slowly begins to prepare to
open it.)
Gordon.
There’s a good haul for supper, lads.
(Throws down fish.)
(The Shepherds move a little from the fire
respectfully, but don’t touch their hats or
get up.)
1st Shep.
Aye, aye, Boss.
(He is just about to insert the tin opener,
Gordon suddenly notices him.)
Gordon.
What have you got there?
1st Shep.
A tin of salmon, Boss.
Gordon.
Stop opening it then. Use that fresh fish
instead. Tinned stuff is extra valuable
nowadays. It can be sent to the front.
We have time to think out here on these
hills. I have thought till my head reeled
and not yet found out what
big things we
[Pg 11]
can do for our country, but the little duties
are clear enough, and one of ’em is not to
be wasteful.
2nd Shep.
Aye, Boss. That’s true.
(1st Shepherd shamefacedly lays down the
tin.)
1st Shep.
Eh, Boss, the sheep’s fine this year.
Gordon.
What is the full tally?
1st Shep.
Mr. Robert hasn’t come in yet, but from
what I’ve heard, it looks to be the best
year on this station.
Gordon.
Fine. We can’t have too much wool and
mutton this year.
(Roto comes on from left second Entrance, somewhat
staggering under two pails of water.
He is an old Maori, with straight black
hair turning white, and a few tatoo marks
on his face. He has high cheek bones, a
broad nose, and full lips, but is light brown
in colour and very intelligent and fine in
expression. He wears a short pair of
pants, and a piece of fine matting on his
shoulders, his scanty shirt is open at the
neck and a string with a carved green jade
charm is partly seen.)
Roto.
Here is the water for Miss Nora’s tea,
Boss.
1st Shep.
(To 2nd Shep.) She has an healthier
thirst than yours.
Gordon.
(Busying himself smoothing a seat of
fern.) She’ll be tired after that long ride.
1st Shep.
The other lady’ll be worse. She’s not
native born like Miss Nora.
Gordon.
(Quickly.) Her fine lady cousin! She’s
coming, of course. I’d forgotten! Here,
you chaps, get that place straight.
(Indicates the shelter, which shows a
disorder of blankets, etc.) What is this
sheep doing here?
1st Shep.
Her leg broke when she tried to push
through over a rocky bit. I have tethered
her down. The young lady may like to
pat her or tie a ribbon round her neck
perhaps.
Gordon.
(Grinning.) You old fool. All right.
Leave her. Go and straighten things up
a bit in the shelter. ’Tis like a pig-stye.
(A clatter of horses hoofs, shouts of “Whoa
there, Nellie. Here we are,” etc., is heard
without. Two Girls with riding hats
and whips ENTER front right wing.
Nora Lee is dainty with light hair and a
rather sunburnt face and neck. She has
pale lashes; she is petite and pretty and
rather self-assured. She advances laughing.)
Nora.
Here we are!
Gordon.
(Springing up and limping hurriedly to
meet her, taking off his hat.) Oh, Nora,
I’m glad you’ve come.
Nora.
Where is Robert?
Gordon.
Out with the men. He’ll be back by
tea-time.
(Loveday stands a little back looking round
and waiting. She is taller than Nora; a
splendidly built, dark-haired and beautiful
woman, with a clear skin, deep searching
eyes, regular features. She walks like a
Queen and has a deep-toned, but soft and
thrilling voice. She is all in white.)
Nora.
This is my cousin, Loveday Lewisham,
Gordon.
(Loveday smiles, comes forward and shakes
hands with Gordon.)
You know I told you all about her, and
how she broke down with war-work in
England and is going to make her home
with us for six months. You know.
Gordon.
I do know. (Smiles.) I wish you welcome,
Miss Lewisham.
Nora.
Loveday.
Gordon.
Yes. This is a friendly country. My
name is Gordon.
Loveday.
How beautiful that view is. And what a
ride we had. Three hours of fairyland!
Nora.
Oh, that’s nothing! Let us show her
everything. Where’s old Roto? She
wants to see a Maori. And where is
Robert?
Gordon.
I’ll coo-ee for Robert.
(His coo-ee is long and penetrating so that it
re-echoes.)
And there is Roto. Hi. Come along,
Roto. Miss Nora wants to show you off.
(Roto advances from shelter, which is now in
better order, the blankets piled up, etc.)
Roto.
(Grinning.) Here, Miss Nora.
Nora.
Good-day, Roto. See, Loveday. This is
a real live Maori. Nothing wonderful
after all!
Loveday.
Oh, how do you do?
Roto.
Finely, Miss.
Loveday.
(Smiling winningly.) You are not nearly
so terrifying as I expected!
Roto.
(Grinning, pleased.) Maoris not allowed
to be terrible now, Miss.
Loveday.
That is a shame. I’d so much rather be
a savage myself. What do you do now
they won’t let you be a savage any more?
Roto.
Help with the sheep and cook.
Loveday.
(Stooping forward and taking hold of
Roto’s green jade charm hanging on its
long string round his neck.) And what is
that queer thing you wear round your
neck?
Nora.
(Hastily.) A jade charm—these natives
often wear them. They are very superstitious.
Gordon.
The Maoris believe in all sorts of charms
and magic and spirits. They have a
legend about these forests, for instance,
that a goddess of wisdom lives in these
hill tops and is a tree by day and a white
woman at night.
Loveday.
(Her eyes sparkling). Have you seen her?
Gordon.
Not yet—but sometimes—
Loveday.
But sometimes—go on—do tell me—
Gordon.
Sometimes after a day alone in these
forests, at sunset, when the heavens seem
opening, one half imagines Wisdom is just
behind one, slipping between the trees—I
(hesitates).
Loveday.
What an enchanting country. Tell me—
(Sounds of arrival disturb them. Robert
Hyde enters. He is like Gordon, but
much sturdier. He is very strong and
manly, with a more sensual and less
spiritual face. A very good fellow.)
Nora.
Here’s Robert. Robert! I have brought
Loveday. This is Loveday Lewisham.
She arrived last week, when you were out
here. She would come so as to see a camp
before you break it up. She wants to see
everything.
(Robert and Loveday shake hands. Robert
is evidently much impressed.)
Robert.
I’ll show her. (Goes over towards fire,
and points to sheep enclosures at back.)
Do you see those? That’s just the beginning
of them. We have a rare good
lot of sheep this year.
Loveday.
I am glad. We need everything good we
can get this year.
Robert.
We need everything we can get every
year.
Loveday.
But this year specially. There are so
many people in England who need extra
feeding and clothing. Your sheep will be
useful.
Robert.
I hadn’t thought of that.
Gordon.
Wool and mutton! Both necessaries. Of
course we’ve all thought of that, Robert.
Nora.
Loveday is simply obsessed with the idea
of the war, and says we ought not to have
any luxuries.
2nd Shep.
Aye. She’s right.
Loveday.
What is that sheep doing? (Goes toward
the lame sheep by the fire.)
Robert.
I dunno. Sick, I expect. Here, Roto.
What is that sheep here for?
Roto.
Leg broke, Boss.
Loveday.
Oh, isn’t it thirsty? Look how its tongue
hangs out. Let me give it some water.
Robert.
(Smiling.) It doesn’t want water.
Loveday.
Are sheep like rabbits? Don’t they need
water?
Roto.
(Laughing.) Rabbits!
Robert.
(Smiling.) Don’t you speak of rabbits to
a New Zealander! Rabbits are the very
devil here! We poison ’em, we shoot
’em, we trap ’em, we set dogs on ’em, we
set stoats on to ’em, we imported weasels
to catch ’em, we sent to Europe for ferrets
to hike ’em out, we breed cats to catch
’em, we wire ’em in, and burn ’em out,
and set poisoned corn over their runs, and
kill ’em by thousands—but millions of ’em
spring up out of the very earth and sometimes
threaten to starve out the sheep, they
clear the grass out. Rabbits! For the
Lord’s sake don’t speak affectionately of
rabbits.
Loveday.
(Laughing mischievously.) Darling little
furry things with nice white tails!
Robert.
(Groans.) But you’re joking! Come
and I’ll show you why we sheep farmers
hate ’em like poison.
(They stroll off together. Roto takes the empty
pail and goes off. Nora and Gordon are
left together.)
Gordon.
(Eagerly going, with a possessive air
toward Nora.) Oh, it is wonderful to
see you again!
Nora.
(Pertly, teasing him and evidently enjoying
it.) Women are scarce here, I know,
but there’s nothing else wonderful about
me.
Gordon.
For me you are the dream of God which
stirs the woodland, you are—(noting her
unresponsive face). I say, do sit down.
You’ll be tired after that ride. Let me
take your whip. Take your gloves off.
Those little hands must ache after holding
the reins for three hours.
Nora.
Pooh! I like having the reins in my own
hands.
Gordon.
And so you should, they are such clever
little hands.
Nora.
(Yawns affectedly.) Gordon, you’re a
romantic goose.
Gordon.
I’m not. Everyone thinks you are
wonderful, ask—
Nora.
Robert doesn’t think I’m at all wonderful.
Gordon.
Of course he does.
Nora.
Then why doesn’t he tell me?
Gordon.
He—he’s shy. But besides, though all
men may think such things about a girl,
they only say them when they love her.
Nora.
(Quizzically.) So you love me?
Gordon.
(Tenderly.) Is it a hundred or a hundred
and one times I have told you so?
Nora.
And what have I answered a hundred or a
hundred and one times?
Gordon.
You have never once said no!
Nora.
I didn’t ask you what I didn’t say, but
what I did say. And what did I say?
Gordon.
(Persuasively.) Say something different
this time. You can’t always be cruel,
with that sweet face you have.
Nora.
Oh, can’t I?
Gordon.
Don’t be, then.
Nora.
Besides I’m not cruel. You love me.
That is very nice for you. Being in love
is nice. Isn’t it?
Gordon.
Being in love with you would make the
world a heaven if only you were kind!
Nora.
I am kind—to myself. Being not in love
with you is much kinder to myself than
what you ask. You want me to be happy,
don’t you?
Gordon.
Of course! I’d die to make you happy!
Nora.
I don’t ask that. I only ask you not to
talk of love.
Gordon.
How can I not talk of it when I love you?
Nora.
(Turning away.) Well, if you are willing
to die for me, why not stop loving me?
Gordon.
No man could.
Nora.
(Flattered.) ’Um. Perhaps. But a man
could stop talking about it. Talk of something
else—anything interesting. What
is Robert doing away so long?
Gordon.
(Checking his tenderness with an effort,
speaking in off-hand tones.) Shewing
Miss Loveday the sheep. I say, she’s
handsome.
Nora.
Oh? I don’t think so. But you will be
soon making love to her I see. I needn’t
have worried about your worrying me for
long.
Gordon.
Don’t say that, Nora. You know you are
every beautiful thing to me. I hear your
sweet voice every time the bell bird calls.
[Pg 18]
I see your hair in the golden clouds after
the sunset; I think of you and the home
nest you are making somewhere, particularly
when I am out here sleeping out of
doors. You know I never shall think
there is anyone in the world like you.
Nora.
(Peremptorily.) Stop! Where are Robert
and Loveday? Call them, Gordon.
(Gordon coo-ees. An answer is heard.)
Gordon.
(With a little gust of temper.) You try
to prevent us being alone. You grudge
me these few minutes. It is cruel.
Nora.
Oh. La-la-la! (Whistles a snatch of
tune.)
(Loveday and Robert return, conversing.
Loveday comes quickly across to Nora.)
Loveday.
Oh, Nora, what lots of sheep! And the
hills, how beautiful they are. The air is
as clear as crystal and the sky seems so
big.
Gordon.
You notice that? Isn’t the sky the same
size in England, Miss Loveday?
Loveday.
No! The sky in England seems closer
down on us than it is here. Our sky,
even when it is blue, is as though all the
smoke from all the chimneys had got on to
it and weighed it down a bit.
Gordon.
Everything is big here; and mostly
beautiful. It makes big ideas come into
one’s head to be so solitary on these wide
hills. Big ideas hover but they won’t
settle down into words, so one doesn’t
know clearly what they are.
Loveday.
(Smiling encouragingly.) What are they
about, the big ideas?
Gordon.
Well, of course at present, about the war.
The war is so huge one needs to be away
from it, like we are here, to see how big
it is.
Loveday.
Yes. I felt that on the voyage out,
passing over those miles and miles of
clean, shining blue sea. I’d worked my
hardest in a tiny corner till I had broken
down, in London you know, but I didn’t
realise what I had been working at till I
was far away on the sea. Then I began
to ache and ache to find some way of
doing more for it than I had done.
(Whimsically.) And as I am on the
sick list I seem able to do nothing at all.
Gordon.
But you have done something. I’ve done
nothing yet.
Loveday.
“Your sheep——.”
Gordon.
(Smiling.) Wool and mutton are useful,
I help produce those, but I must do more,
Robert and I will both do more when we
see clearly what we ought to do.
Loveday.
That’s a Briton’s attitude.
Gordon.
I’ve thought of joining an Expeditionary
Force, but they haven’t called for us yet—and,
anyway, I don’t know if that is
the best one can do—to leave all these
sheep we are raising, you know. They
are needed.
(The beautiful note of the bell bird is heard
calling through the wood.)
Loveday.
(Clasping her hands.) What is that?
Oh, what is that lovely note?
Robert and Gordon.
(Together.) That is the bell bird.
Loveday.
Is it wild?
Nora.
Of course, it is quite common.
Loveday.
How clear and sweet! It is the voice of
New Zealand herself, calling to her sisters
all over the world, to wake, wake and sing
the triumphal song of the Empire. That
song will cross the waves in a thousand
[Pg 20]
hearts and echo in the very centre of our
lands.
Nora.
Don’t be a romantic goose, Loveday.
The bell bird is as common as thrushes
are in England.
Loveday.
You have so much beauty around you, has
it become common to you?
Robert.
Of course not, only we don’t say much
about it. You at home don’t pour out
poetry over every thrush that sits on a
haw-hedge.
Loveday.
I would if I could! (Smiling.) But I’ll
try not to make you think me too great a
goose. This beautiful country has gone
to my head perhaps. Everything here
seems perfect!
(Noises without of an arrival on horseback,
shepherds’ voices, dogs barking, etc.
Robert and Gordon look over their shoulders
and exchange a knowing grin.)
Robert.
I think I hear the voice of one in perfection!
(Enter John Varlie. He is a florid man,
with rather bulging eyes, a clean shaven
face, with a noticeable but small triangular
scar on the right cheek, one eyelid slightly
more closed than the other. He wears
American clothes and speaks with a strong
American accent. He is accompanied by
the shepherds and dogs.)
Varlie.
Waal, boys! Here we are again. I have
just delivered your new shearing gear
down at your homestead and they told me
down in the valley I should strike your
trail up here, so I flicked up my grey
mare to keep you from feelin’ lonesome
without me.
Robert.
(Amiably.) Halloo, Varlie. We aren’t
lonesome to-day.
Varlie.
(
Looking from one to the other.) The
ladies! I just can’t quit now though I
[Pg 21]
guess I’m as little wanted as a bug in a
blanket.
Robert.
Not a wet blanket anyway.
Gordon.
You’re welcome. We’ll show you off.
Miss Loveday Lewisham is fresh out
from home and wants to see all the native
sights. Miss Loveday, this is Mr. John
Varlie, the universal provider. A regular
conjurer who wafts the appliances of
civilisation into our rude wilderness.
Varlie.
Miss Lewisham, I’m proud to make your
acquaintance. Say, cut that Hyde. I’m
no conjurer. I’m a plain business man,
and only doing what any other business
man could do if he had the brains.
Robert.
That’s it. It takes a Yankee to think of
selling the goods we want in this part of
the British Empire.
Loveday.
What do you want?
Varlie.
(Slapping his leg.) What I’ve got here,
Miss Lewisham.
Nora.
(A little spitefully.) I often thought you
used your brains to make them think they
wanted to buy what you wanted to sell.
Varlie.
Aw—come now, Miss Nora. You’re real
cute, but you don’t think I could monkey
with British brains?
Nora.
(Lightly.) Well, the British brains in my
neighbourhood are not fair game for you.
(Looks at Robert.) They don’t know
what they ought to want (looks at Gordon)
or they want what they can’t get.
Varlie.
Well, they all ought to have this! (Produces
sample tin opener from his pocket.
The Shepherds look eagerly on.) Is
there a tin of food stuff around? Sure-ly?
Roto.
Here you are, Boss.
(Runs to the shelter and returns with one.)
Varlie.
Now this tin opener won’t only save your
breath, but it’ll let the recording angel
have a holiday. See that? (Has slit the
tin round rapidly and easily.) Can you
beat that with any tin opener you ever set
eyes on?
1st Shep.
Noa. That’ll be a useful kind—if they all
work as easy.
2nd Shep.
Aye.
Gordon.
Bully for you.
Varlie.
How many will you take? You chaps
ought to have one each. And the ladies!
There will be a day when the ladies are
alone to get the supper, none of you handy
Herculeses around. With this opener,
getting the supper is as easy as smiling.
Now then! Only sixpence each. Finest
American non-rusting steel.
Nora.
Fancy wasting your time with such a
trifle, Mr. Varlie.
Varlie.
Don’t fret. I ain’t wastin’ my time. I
came around your homestead with the big
dump of machinery. And I am like the
elephant’s trunk, calculated to pull up a
tree or pick up a pin. (Laughter.) I’m
picking up more than you think, maybe.
Loveday.
(Smiling and counting the people.) One,
two, three, why there are six of us, if we
have one each all round! You don’t mean
to tell me that you have six tin openers in
your pocket?
Varlie.
Yep. ’N I’ve got a pack horse over there
with sixty on it, and sixty dozen in
Dunedin, and sixty thousand where they
came from! Now, you’ll have one, Miss?
Loveday.
Yes, I will.
Varlie.
Bully. And you—
(Gordon takes it half laughing.)
Gordon.
All right.
Varlie.
And you—
Robert.
Not I. My jack knife has a claw that’s
good enough for me.
Varlie.
Now, Mr. Hyde, just let me....
(Leads Robert aside and tries to persuade him.
Meanwhile there is a clatter without as of
several horses arriving. A Recruiting
Officer and two or three Young Men,
all in khaki ENTER as if just from horseback
after a long ride.
Varlie steps aside whispering with 1st
Shepherd.)
Re. Off.
Hey, lads. They told me I should find a
covey of you here. Fine! I’m glad we
struck your camp. Whew! We’re dead
thirsty! Have you got any tea?
Gordon.
Sure. Those kettles are boiling. We’ll
have tea in a jiffy.
Robert.
Where are you going?
Re. Off.
Zig-zagging cross country to the outlying
stations.
(Varlie aside, whispering with 1st Shepherd.
The word “Germany” is overheard.)
1st Shep.
(Indignantly.) Are you askin’ who around
here sympathises with Germany?
Varlie.
(Annoyed.) No, no, you fool! You ain’t
got me square! (Shuts up note-book with
a snap and turns away.)
1st Shep.
Are you square?
Varlie.
(Tipping him.) Here’s to prove it. (The
Shepherd takes the money, but looks
rather distrustfully at Varlie. They
separate.)
Nora.
(To Recruiting Officer.) My! But
you look fine! That’s the first khaki
we’ve seen round here.
Re. Off.
It’ll not be the last, Miss. Khaki breeds
khaki.
Roto.
(Chuckles. Suddenly, to Robert.) He
is the colour of a rabbit, Boss, that’s why.
Robert.
Shut up, you fool. This is serious.
Loveday.
(Laughs.) Rabbits? (She looks mischievously
at Robert.)
Gordon.
Sit down and have tea first, and then tell
us all about it.
Re. Off.
Thanks. (To his Men.) You may sit
down too, lads. We’ve ridden hard. But
first water the horses.
(One of his MEN goes out with pails, assisted by
Roto. Splashing and champing sounds
are heard. In a few minutes THEY return
and sit with the rest.)
Robert.
Are you recruiting?
Re. Off.
You’ve hit it, my lad. (Takes off his hat
and wipes his forehead.)
Nora.
Let’s see your hat. It is smart.
Re. Off.
(Flattered, passes it.) There, miss.
(Nora leans over to Loveday and they examine
it together. Nora takes off her own and
coquettishly tries it on, catches Robert’s
eye, he smiles and looks away; catches
Gordon’s eye, he gazes admiringly at her,
she tosses her head and takes the hat off.
Mugs of tea are handed round, the men
drink thirstily.)
Varlie.
(Remaining, eagerly listening, leans over
to Recruiting Officer.) Say, stranger,
are you getting along well with your job?
Re. Off.
(Keenly.) And who are you?
Varlie.
Waal, I guess it can’t be hard for you to
lay your finger on the name of my country.
Re. Off.
I asked you.
Varlie.
I’m an Amurrican.
Re. Off.
Passports all right?
Varlie.
(Affecting laziness, drawing them out.)
I should say.
(Recruiting Officer examines them, looks at
him keenly, and passes them back.)
Robert.
He’s all right, Officer! We have had him
around the station many a time.
Nora.
He’s the only man with brains enough to
sell us the things we want.
Robert.
He has brains enough to sell us the things
we don’t want.
Re. Off.
Brains are always suspicious.
Robert.
Oh, I say! That’s being too British!
He’s all right. Some straight men have
brains.
Gordon.
And lots of straight men are muddled
headed enough to think that wasting
peoples time making a lot of truck nobody
wants is good for trade.
Re. Off.
Pardon. This tea’s good. Have you
more, Missy?
Nora.
As much as you want—Officer! Is that
what I should call you?
Re. Off.
That’ll do for me fine, Missy.
Nora.
Fill up the kettle, Roto.
Re. Off.
Now my men. ’tenshun. (All three rise.)
We’ll have our meeting.
(Roto returns, and he and the Shepherds
crowd eagerly behind the others listening.)
Loveday.
But we seem like friends now, are you
going to give us a formal speech?
Re. Off.
When we speak of our King and Country
we stand up to it like men, Miss.
Loveday.
Then so do we.
(She springs up. All rise and stand round the
Recruiting Officer who is flanked by
his own men.)
Re. Off.
God Save the King.
All.
God Save the King.
(A fleeting sneer is seen on Varlie’s face, but
he shouts louder than any.)
Re. Off.
(Oratorically.) We have lived in New
Zealand, some for years, some of us all
our lives, and we know what New Zealand
means to us. And most of us also know
the Old Dart, know her and love her.
Several.
Hear, hear!
Loveday.
(Whispering.) The Old Dart, what’s that?
Robert.
(Smiling down on her.) That’s England,
Great Britain, our pet name for the Old
Country.
Re. Off.
Now the Old Dart’s in trouble, fighting
for her life—and, my lads, it’s not only
her life, it’s our life, too, she’s fighting for.
Like a mother fightin’ for her young.
And, she’s not only fightin for her young,
which is us, she is fightin’ for the world!
for decency, and truth, for liberty.
All.
(Increasingly enthusiastic.) Hear, hear!
That’s right. Bravo.
Re. Off.
She’s fightin’ for liberty, fightin’ so that
promises shall be kept between nations as
decent men keep ’em between each other.
(A murmur of assent.)
You know if your neighbours were all the
time to lie to you over everything they
promised to do, you would never be able
to keep going with them. Like a man,
you’d have to up and show ’em what’s
what. And that’s what the Old Dart is
doing, and it is a big fight. But it is
going on in Europe, which is more than
10,000 miles away from us. You may
ask what has it all to do with us?
Robert and Gordon.
Not us. We know. We don’t ask what it has to do with us!
Re. Off.
(
Hesitates as if thrown off his track.)
Then you don’t need my speech.
(
Suddenly brightens and smiles appealingly.)
[Pg 27]
Don’t spoil my speech lads.
Pretend to ask so you can hear it. It
will make you feel real grand.
Robert and Gordon.
Fire away then. Hear, hear!
Roto.
(Excited.) That’s it, Mister. Give it us.
Re. Off.
(Continues more eloquently.) Now we
are New Zealanders, and we live in this
free and happy land, you may ask, what
has all this trouble in Europe to do with
us?
Robert, Gordon and the Shepherds.
Hear! Hear! We do, we do ask!
Re. Off.
(Very effectively.) But I answer you
lads, what language do we speak?
English! What race are we? Britons!
Why, lads, the British over there aren’t
as British as we are; They are English
and Scotch and Irish and Welsh—but
what are we? All these British strains
mixed! Most of us have some Scotch
blood and some English blood and some
Irish blood mixed in our veins, many of
us have been to other parts of Britain and
got a touch of Canada, or Australia, or
South Africa into us. I say lads we are
more British than the folks in the Old
Dart. We are a fine blend of all the
flavours of different Britons, we are the
very essence of Britain! We are epitomes
of Empire.
All.
(Enthusiastic.) Hurray, that’s right.
Hear, hear! Go it!
Roto.
(Particularly enthusiastic.) We are, we
are, hear, hear, Boss!
1st Shep.
(Digging Roto in the ribs.) Ho, Ho!
Re. Off.
Do I need to tell you it’s a righteous war?
Gordon.
We know that!
Robert.
Shut up, let him give us his speech!
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) I wasn’t going into that. I
don’t have to tell our lads it’s a righteous
war. I only asked it like a rhetorical
question this time.
Roto.
Go on, Boss, go on. You speak most as
fine as a Maori chief.
Re. Off.
Now, if Britons are engaged in this war,
we are engaged, for are we not the Britons
of the British? We are. And lads, I
will tell you, in the words of our own
Prime Minister, Mr. Massey himself, I
say to you that “All that we have and
are is staked upon the issue of the war!”
All.
(Tremendous enthusiasm.) Hear, hear,
bravo, hurrah!
(A roar of sound drowns the actual words.
Varlie shouts, but has a slight sneering
smile on his lips as he watches the generous
enthusiasm of the others.)
Re. Off.
Now lads, you know we are free Britons
in this country. We expect every New
Zealander will do his duty because he’s
glad, aye and proud to do it. You are all
only waiting to be told what to do. We
have no compulsion. But when you
know what we are going to do, you’ll all
want to join in.
Shepherds.
Tell us Mister.
Re. Off.
We are a small nation. Only about a
million souls of us altogether, counting
women and children. Now that’s very
small as nations go. But what are we
going to do? We are going to put a
larger number of troops in the field than
[Pg 29]
the British had in the great battle of
Waterloo!
(All at first incredulous, then wildly enthusiastic.)
Re. Off.
Aye, Aye, lads. Well may you shout.
That’s what comes of being New Zealand
Britons. But we are going to do more.
We are going to do what the experts tell
us is the most possible that any nation can
do; in three years we are going to have
ten per cent. of our total population in the
field! That’s the maximum, the absolute
scientific limit of what any nation can put
in. And that means from our little
country we shall send one hundred
thousand men to the field.
All.
Hurray, hurray!
Loveday.
(Glowing.) How splendid, how splendid
you are!
Re. Off.
That’s it Missy, that’s how New Zealand
women take it.
Robert.
She’s English, she’s just visiting from
home!
Re. Off.
From the Old Dart? Our men’ll follow
you back Missy, all of us would like to,
only the years have passed over some,
and that ties ’em. When the years press
on your shoulders you can’t carry the
knapsack too! And I see some of you
chaps are too old.
1st Shep.
(Groans.) I am, curse the day I was
born.
Re. Off.
But all of you, every one of you has your
part to play. If you can’t fight you can
save. That’s what the people of New
Zealand haven’t realised yet. How many
of our patriots have reduced their consumption
of petrol or of beer by a single
gallon because of their patriotism? Yet
[Pg 30]
that is what they must do. That’s what
we all must do.
Men must fight
And women must save
The path of glory for Britons to pave.
(Loveday and Gordon stand a little apart and
are talking.)
Gordon.
Ah, this stirs one! I wonder if this is
what I ought to do?
Loveday.
(Smilingly shakes her head.) I don’t
know.
Gordon.
A man has only one life. That’s all he
can give to his country.
Loveday.
But the thousands of sheep you raise may
be even more useful! (mischievously).
It is a question you know—is one man as
much use to his country as his ten
thousand sheep?
Gordon.
Old men can raise sheep.
Re. Off.
(Louder, catching all eyes.) And now to
come to the fighting element. I’ve just
said, all of you can do something. But
those of you who can fight are wanted
now. Have you seen this paper? (Takes
official set of questions out of his pocket.)
Men.
(Shaking their heads.) No. What is it?
Re. Off.
Then I’ll read it to you. It is addressed
to all men between nineteen and forty-five.
Which of you are between nineteen and
forty-five?
Gordon.
(Looks across at Loveday and says to
her alone.) That’s a direct message to me.
(Gordon, Robert, Roto and the 2nd Shepherd
stand out, each saying “I am!”)
Re. Off.
(Slapping Roto on the shoulder.) How
old are you?
Roto.
(Quickly.) Forty-five, Mister.
Re. Off.
Open your mouth.
(Roto opens and shows browned teeth.)
Re. Off.
(Laughing.) Forty-five, with that hair
and those teeth!
Roto.
(Protesting.) I am, I am. My hair gone
pale when I was nearly drowned in the
Rotorua hot spring.
Re. Off.
Get out.
Roto.
(Persistently.) I’m strong man. I’m
young man, see my muscle. Feel my arm.
Re. Off.
You are not a Pakeha. You can’t fight
with the Pakeha.
Loveday.
(To Nora.) What is Pakeha? What
does he mean?
Nora.
Pakeha are white men, Englishmen.
Roto.
(Protesting.) My father was a Queen-Maori.
Re. Off.
Was he? That’s good.
Loveday.
Whatever is a Queen-Maori?
Re. Off.
In the great war, missy, the Maori war,
the Maoris who fought on the side of the
English, under Queen Victoria, you know,
they were called Queen-Maoris.
Roto.
My father fought with Pakeha then, why
not me to-day? Take me. I am strong
like the branches of the Kauri pine. I
am hard as my hei-tiki. My father was a
Queen-Maori. I will be a Queen-Maori
and fight for you. Take me.
Re. Off.
You are too old. You are sixty years old
if you are a minute.
Roto.
No, no.
Re. Off.
(To the 1st Shepherd.) He is on your
station, isn’t he? How old is he?
1st Shep.
Well, we don’t know exactly. But it is
about six years ago since we had a feast
and a good drink because he said it was
his fiftieth birthday.
Re. Off.
There! Stand aside my man. If you
are so strong you must do the work the
young men leave behind them.
(Roto protests, and expresses chagrin but says
no more.)
Re. Off.
(To Gordon not noticing his lameness
as he stands with the others.) How old
are you, sir?
Gordon.
Twenty-nine.
Re. Off.
(To Robert.) And you, sir?
Robert.
Thirty-one.
Re. Off.
Good! (To 2nd Shepherd.) And you?
2nd Shep.
Forty-two.
Re. Off.
H’m. You look more.
2nd Shep.
I’m forty-two (glares.)
Re. Off.
(Feeling his arm and looking at him.)
H’m. Well. Now lads. On this paper
are the following questions addressed
specially to you as you are between
nineteen and forty-five. Question A.
Have you volunteered for military service
beyond New Zealand as a member of an
Expeditionary Force in connection with
the present war? If so, have you been
accepted for service or rejected?
All Three.
No. No, Boss. No.
Re. Off.
Well, Question B. If you have not
volunteered for service, are you, being a
single man without dependants, willing to
become a member of an Expeditionary
Force? or (2) Are you—? By the way,
let’s settle that first. Are you all single
men?
All Three.
Yes. Yes. Yes, sir.
Re. Off.
Then I needn’t read the alternative
questions. Are you willing to become
members of an Expeditionary Force?
All Three.
Yes.
Re. Off.
That’s right, lads. Now I’ll be honest
with you, and tell you that all the law
asks of you is to sign copies of this paper
and send them in—you will get them
officially in a few days maybe—but that’s
not what I’m here for, to get from you a
mere scrap of paper with a promise for
the future on it. I’m here to get you
yourselves, lads, now. That’s better fitted
to a Briton than to write his name on a
bit of paper, and to go back to his ordinary
job! He that puts his hand to the plough
and turns back—you know what it says in
the Bible. You lads, and I, have got
acquainted this afternoon, and I know
you’re not that kind.
All Three.
No! We are not! We’ll come now,
right now!
Robert.
(Taking a step forward.) I’ll come at once.
That’s square. (Looking at Loveday
and smiling.) Can you fit me out in
khaki right now, Officer?
Re. Off.
The doctor’ll have to examine you (indicating
one of the men with him) and
you’ll have to take the oath.
Robert.
Yes, yes. Surely you have an extra
uniform handy!
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) It’s very irregular, sir. We’ll
see later, step aside.
Gordon.
Now me.
Re. Off.
(Examines him more carefully. Speaking
kindly.) Step across to me, sir.
(Gordon tries to conceal his limp as much as
possible, but of course fails.)
Re. Off.
(Shaking his head.) No good, sir. Why,
you’re lame!
Gordon.
Hardly at all. And I’m strong! I’ve
never been ill. I can ride day and night
in the saddle. I’d join the mounted rifles!
Re. Off.
Not a bit of good, sir.
Gordon.
(Unbelieving.) I’m the right age. I’m
strong. I can ride like a cow-boy. I can
shoot better than my brother.
Robert.
That’s so.
Re. Off.
Your bit is not at the front.
Loveday.
Oh, officer. Is it impossible? It is such
a trifling limp.
(Gordon looks acutely distressed but smiles
bravely and very gratefully at Loveday.)
Re. Off.
Not a bit more good than if you was to
ask, Missy.
Gordon.
(Half stammering in his eagerness.) You
must take me, somehow or other. You
must. I can shoot. I never miss my
aim! What is the good of coming here
and rousing us all up with your talk of
soldiering if you won’t take the best shot
in the place?
Re. Off.
(Kindly.) You’ll do no fighting, sir.
Gordon.
(Overcome.) Curse the tree that staked
me! Curse the fools that didn’t heal me
square!
(There is an awkward silence. He flings up to
Nora, who is a little apart from the rest,
his eyes blazing.)
Gordon.
Nora, what do you say? Aren’t I fit to go?
Nora.
(Calmly.) Of course not, Gordon. I can’t
think how you could have expected—
Gordon.
(Wildly.) Now I see why you never
loved me! You’ve teased me often
enough. I’ve made love like a man, but
to you, to you I was never a man! I see
it now. You all think me useless. You
don’t look on me as a man!
(A tense pause, Loveday and Robert look
rather awkwardly distressed.)
Nora.
(Somewhat cowed.) Don’t be silly.
Robert.
I say, old chap, don’t take it so hard.
Gordon.
Wouldn’t you take it hard if both your
country and the woman you love told you
plainly you were mere useless rubbish?
Loveday.
(Pitifully.) Perhaps you will find a still
greater thing to do for your country. It
is not only fighters she needs.
Gordon.
(His lips quivering.) You are kind. But,
oh God!—
(He goes toward shelter away from the OTHERS
and aimlessly unfolds the blankets, folds
them up again, and re-arranges the pile;
opens them out and re-folds them, and so on.
Meanwhile, the Recruiting Officer has
quietly asked questions of the 2nd Shepherd,
whose answers are satisfactory.
Loveday looks from one to the other, then sits
brooding, glancing pitifully at Gordon
from time to time.
While this is going on, the Recruiting
Officer takes Robert and the 2nd
Shepherd out, followed by the men with
him, leaving Nora, 1st Shepherd, Roto
and Varlie in a group. Loveday a
little apart.)
Roto.
(Grumbling, to 1st Shepherd.) You
have a black heart, you Pakeha tutua.
1st Shep.
Trying to lie about your age? You are
older than I am.
Roto.
Why not lie about your age, too?
1st Shep.
What would become of the sheep if I went
off? Are the sheep to die on the hills
because the Germans are scurvy dogs?
And the best lot of sheep we have had, too,
since I’ve been on the station!
Nora.
When will you black fellows learn not to
tell lies? What is the good of telling lies
any way, when you are always found out?
Roto.
I wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t wagged
his tongue! And to tell a bit of a lie so to
give your life, that’s no lie.
Varlie.
Ah, Miss Nora, don’t try to stamp out
necessary lying. The world would be in a
queer way if none of us told lies once in a
way. I’ll wager you this patent button
hook you tell lies yourself now and then.
Little ones!
Nora.
(Smiling.) Oh, well—when I say I’m glad
to see you, for instance, that’s not a lie.
It doesn’t take you in!
Varlie.
Freeze on to the button hook, Miss Nora.
I’ve won my wager. It is only sixpence.
Nora.
(Tosses it back to him.) What are you
dreaming about, Loveday?
Loveday.
Before ever I met you all—for months
past—I have been thinking about Gordon’s
problem. What is one who cannot fight
to do for our country?
Nora.
Save, as you said yourself.
Loveday.
It isn’t only fighting and saving the nation’s
needs. It needs thinking. Wouldn’t it
be splendid to see a man’s strength and
his brains put into thinking that might
save thousands of lives in the time to come.
Varlie.
People who talk about thinking are
generally fools. The wise man thinks his
hardest how to conceal what he is thinking.
Loveday.
(Swiftly and scornfully.) That’s a worldly
man, whose thoughts are grasping. I was
dreaming of a man whose thoughts would
be gifts.
Varlie.
Thoughts are pretty cheap gifts.
Loveday.
Is there anything we possess that did not
grow from a thought? Isn’t the freedom
in your country the result of the thought
of the men who framed your Constitution?
Isn’t all law, all order, all happiness,
thought, or the results of it?
Varlie.
Huh! That’s too deep for me.
Nora.
(Reproving.) You are such a dreamer,
Loveday. It’s so woolly to dream, stop it.
Loveday.
My dreams are beginning to clear. If no
one had ever thought, we would be savages
still. All human beings would be tearing
out each other’s eyes, always.
Varlie.
Yep. But talking about my thoughts is
not my job. (Yawning.) I must be
getting along. When are those fellows
going to start?
(Sounds of cheering and laughter and trampling
without. Robert comes swaggering on in
a Khaki uniform with hat jauntily tilted.
He is followed by the 2nd Shepherd with
Badge and Armlet. Recruiting Officer
and his MEN follow, grinning. The group
round the fire start up. All crowd round
Robert shouting, admiring and patting
him on the back. Robert goes up to
Loveday and salutes her, she smiles at
him cheerily.)
Loveday.
Bravo! How fine you look!
(She looks past him however, to where Gordon
is wistfully watching the group, and
mastering himself to come forward. She
smiles very sweetly and encouragingly at
Gordon. The sky slowly takes on sunset
tints.)
Nora.
(To Robert.) Give me one of your
buttons. I’ll wear it.
Robert.
(Putting her off, with forced gaiety.) With
the officer looking? Shame on you!
Nora.
(To Recruiting Officer.) A man
who’s enlisted is allowed to give away one
button, isn’t he?
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) One—only one—to the girl
he loves.
Nora.
(Invitingly.) Now, Robert, you hear!
(Gordon overhears this and waits eagerly for
Robert’s answer.)
Robert.
(Laughs and comically struts.) Don’t
shear my feathers off me yet!
Nora.
(To Varlie.) Men are vain.
Varlie.
Take one of my buttons! (Holds out his
coat.)
Nora.
(Eyes flashing.) When you’re in khaki!
Gordon.
(Pulling himself together, holds out his
hand to Robert, speaks huskily.) Good
luck, old chap, the best of luck!
(Loveday looks proudly at Gordon.)
Robert.
(Claps Gordon’s shoulder with his free
hand.) Keep the station going till I come
back, sonny.
Gordon.
I will, Robert.
Robert.
If I come back!
Nora.
(Excitedly.) Of course you will. You’ll
come back with a V.C., won’t he, lads?
All.
Of course. He’s just the make of a hero.
Hurrah! Bravo!
(All crowd round him shouting and singing
snatches of “Rule Britannia, God Save the
King,” etc.
The sunset is crimson by now.)
Robert.
Look at the sky! Come, we must be
getting back.
(All follow him, marching, waving branches,
etc., singing, “See the Conquering hero
comes.” The rest troop off, but Robert
turns and goes up to Loveday who is
lingering and keeps her apart.)
Robert.
Wait a minute, won’t you?
Loveday.
Yes? Of course, what is it?
Robert.
(Shyly.) I say, I—won’t you—(he takes
out his jack knife and cuts off a button,
offering it to her) I say, won’t you, won’t
you wear it, just to bring me luck?
Loveday.
(Hesitates.) Oh—I—
Robert.
Of course I don’t mean—to—to bother you
in any way. I mean it only in—in friendship!
Just to bring me luck. Do! There’s
nothing in it—nothing silly—like what they
said.
Loveday.
(Smiling, very charmingly.) Shall I sew
it on again for you?
Robert.
Oh! If you won’t have it—you may sew
it on if I may keep my coat on while you
are doing it!
Loveday.
Very well. Heroes have to be humoured,
I suppose. Come along, it’s getting late!
(They follow the others, as she is going off she
looks back and sends a compassionate glance
towards Gordon.
The sky rapidly darkens. Gordon stays
behind, waits till they are all out of sight,
then he throws himself face down on the
ground, clenching his hands and moving as
though in pain. The bell bird’s clear sweet
note is heard. He lies in silence then
groans aloud.)
Gordon.
To both my country and the woman I
love, I’m not a man. I’m lumber—useless
lumber! Nora! Nora!
(Gordon crouches in despair. The stage is
now dusky, a pale moon shows. Softly,
without any noise, between the trunks of
two tall trees appears behind him the upper
part of a white figure, with the forehead
and head half covered by a floating white
veil; the face is tender and grave, the eyes
glowing as if inspired. In the shadowy
light the figure looks like a vision. Gordon
does not recognise that it is Loveday. He
slowly, as if mesmerised, rises on to his
knees. There is a sweet low call of the bell
bird far away. Stillness for a moment.
Loveday stands silent between the trees.)
Gordon.
(Still half kneeling, speaking in awed
tones.) You are a spirit?
(Loveday is quite still.)
Gordon.
You are the goddess of the woods come to
me in my pain! Tell me, you beautiful,
you wonderful—tell me, what have I to do?
Speak to me, speak to me!
(Loveday does not move; in a soft, penetrating
voice, she intones, like a chant.)
Loveday.
The bodies of men that can fight are
mown down like the grass.
The body of one young man, even if he
is a prince among men cannot slay
more than a hundred of his enemies.
But by thought a man’s brain might
conceive of a way to kill or to save
hundreds of thousands.
Now is the time for a Briton to arise
who can slay with his great thought
all the enemies of the future.
Now is the time for one to bring forth a
noble plan, so that all the treacherous
aggressors shall be for ever disarmed
and the peaceful nations be for ever
free from fear of onslaught.
(She draws the veil across her face, takes a step
back into the dusk and vanishes.)
Gordon.
(Exalted and trembling with eagerness.)
Angel! Goddess! Tell me—how—
(She does not return and makes no sound.)
Slowly the Curtain descends.
Act II.
Three or Four months later than Act I.
The Hyde’s Homestead, S. Island, New
Zealand. Left back, one end of the low
homestead with its broad, creeper-covered
verandah abuts on to the garden. A rough
piece of road runs across right back of stage.
Back cloth painted with luxurious vegetation
and vivid blue sky. Mixture of
common English fruit trees and Eucalyptus,
the lily-palm, masses of crimson ratas in
flower.
Gordon Hyde and Loveday discovered
sitting together in garden, down right.
Gordon has a sheaf of papers and writing
pad on his knee, pen in hand. Loveday is
chewing the end of a flower stalk as though
thinking.
Gordon.
(Laying down papers and looking at
Loveday with friendship and admiration
in his eyes, but not love.) It is good of
you coming over so often to help me. I
don’t know what I should have done
without you. The others try to slay with
laughter all my young ideas. I am
indebted to you!
Loveday.
No, no! It has been simply splendid for
me to see you work out these great ideas.
It has been wonderful to watch the little
germ of your conception grow and grow
and take practical shape in your wonderful
brain!
Gordon.
Oh, it is not mine. None of all this
(indicating papers on his knee) is mine.
All my ideas before that day had been
vague and muddled. Now I am only
writing down the ideas that vision, that
goddess gave me.
Loveday.
The practical ideas are yours.
Gordon.
No.
Loveday.
Yes. Indeed they are, I’ve watched you
shaping them.
Gordon.
No. The germ of everything was in that
beautiful message she gave me.
Loveday.
(Looking at him as though acquiescing
tenderly to humour him. He does not see
the look.) Who was it do you think?
Gordon.
A spirit.
Loveday.
(Triumphantly.) There are no spirits
you know—no spirits that talk to living
people. The ideas are your own, your
very own—
Gordon.
Perhaps the Maoris are right. This was
a spirit. It couldn’t have been imagination!
I heard her speak quite clearly.
Her wonderful voice was like music,
thrilling and deep like the songs of birds
in a cool, deep glade.
Loveday.
But you were overwrought. Imagination
plays tricks then.
Gordon.
Yes, I was overwrought. That recruiting
business had amazingly stirred me. But
what she said was so remote from my
misery that I could not have imagined
anything so vital, so full of hope. I felt
shamed, anguished. I felt my manhood
beaten in the dust, by my country, by the
woman I loved.
Loveday.
(Murmurs.) No, no.
Gordon.
Do you know what love is? Have you
ever loved? If not, you could never
understand my shame.
Loveday.
I have never loved—
(His face is averted, she looks at him long and
tenderly.)
until—
Gordon.
Ah, but you—beautiful and radiant as you
are will never know what it is to have love
spurned—as I have.
Loveday.
I’m not—so—sure!
Gordon.
(Eagerly.) Are you not sure that my love
is spurned? Do you think Nora, after
all, may love me?
Loveday.
That’s—that’s not quite what I meant.
But—when—when once Nora sees how the
great world honours you for these ideas (taps
papers on his knee) she will love you, she
must. All women will love you and bless
you—for you will be the saviour of their
sons!
Gordon.
But Nora is so living—so—feminine. I
don’t think dreamy things like ideas
appeal to her. Oh, how well I remember
her as a girl with her golden hair flying!
We three were brought up together, she
and Robert and I. She never cared about
reading, but always played some real game.
Loveday.
As she gets older she will see that ideas
are real. Perhaps, and then—
Gordon.
Wish that for me!
Loveday.
Are you sure you wish it for yourself?
Gordon.
Sure! Wish it for me! There is something
wonderful about you. Your wishes
would bring me luck.
Loveday.
I wish you every, every happiness.
Gordon.
That’s vague. Say, “I wish that Nora
may love you and make you happy.”
Loveday.
I wish that if Nora loves you she may
make you happy.
Gordon.
Ah, if (suddenly looking at her). What’s
the matter with you? Your voice sounds
tired. Are you tired?
Loveday.
Yes. That’s it. I am a little tired.
Gordon.
We’ll stop the work.
Loveday.
No, no. See. I’ll come here in the
shade. (She moves where he can’t see her
face.) Now read over some of what you
have written, and I’ll listen critically.
Gordon.
(Looks at her for a moment, then reads.)
“The nations shall unite and have a
super-parliament to which they shall all
send a small number of representatives.
This super-parliament shall make International
laws, but it shall chiefly exist to
prevent any nation flying at another’s
throat. If necessary, by force.” (In
another tone.) Flying at another’s throat,
doesn’t seem formal enough, does it?
Loveday.
Perhaps not. Mark it. Go on.
Gordon.
“In order to prevent any murderously-minded
nation flying at another’s throat (in
different tone) as Germany did at Belgium.
That example will never be forgotten.”
Loveday.
Never. But go on.
Gordon.
“In order to prevent for ever,” I’ll add
for ever, shall I?
Loveday.
Yes.
Gordon.
“In order for ever to prevent any murderously-minded
nation flying at another’s
throat, or stealing any of the rights, or
breaking any international law, the super-parliament
shall have behind it the whole
of the armaments of the world.” That’s
good, isn’t it? That’s the point.
Loveday.
Splendid! That’s where your scheme
differs from all the dear crack-brained
pacificists. Have you written out the
clauses by which that is secured?
Gordon.
Yes. (
Shuffles the papers.) “The super-parliament
is to have complete control of
all the armies and all the armament
factories in the whole world. Any individual
or group of individuals violating
[Pg 45]
that monopoly and attempting private
manufacture of armaments shall be subject
to instant death.”
Loveday.
Good!
Gordon.
You are bloodthirsty!
Loveday.
I am only cruel to villains to be kind to
the virtuous. But I’m afraid a really
sneak-dog nation, like—well, like some we
could mention, would have made armaments
secretly and piled them up.
Gordon.
No, no, because—(shuffles the papers.)
Where is it? There is to be a clause
preventing any such hanky-panky.
Loveday.
There is no doubt, that if that is managed
properly, however greedy or treacherous
any individual nation might be, it simply
wouldn’t dare to go to war.
Gordon.
That’s the idea.
Loveday.
And that is a much more practical idea
than that of the pacificists who talk about
voluntary limitation of armaments.
Gordon.
They idealise human nature.
Loveday.
Now your plan compels decent behaviour.
Gordon.
Don’t call it mine. It is all the gift of my
fairy genius of the woods.
Loveday.
(Smiling as though tenderly humouring
him.) Have you seen her again—your
spirit in the woods?
Gordon.
No, only that once.
Loveday.
Well, what you told me of her words then
was just the vague dream of an idea, but
look at all these sheets and sheets of
carefully worked out clauses. All these
actual, practical, useful ideas are yours!
Gordon.
They are not. Though I was dreaming
and longing vaguely for something of the
kind, I’m not big enough actually to have
thought it out.
Loveday.
You are. You are big enough for anything!
Gordon.
Nora doesn’t think so.
Loveday.
(Scornfully.) Nora!
Gordon.
Why are you so keen on making me think
too well of myself?
Loveday.
Not too well.
Gordon.
Why do you trouble that I should even
think well of myself at all?
Loveday.
Because when a man is a man he should
respect himself as one man respects
another.
Gordon.
You are wonderful—women generally try
to make a man feel a worm.
Loveday.
(Hastily.) What I like best about this
splendid scheme of yours is, that even
Germany will have to accept it when it is
proposed to her, because she is all the
while demanding “only her own national
safety,” and pretending she has no aggressive
desires, so she can’t have the face to
refuse to join in—and yet when she does
her militarism will be choked. Nothing
could destroy all militarism more completely
than this!
Gordon.
Yes. And she would give herself away
so utterly if she stood out!
Loveday.
And if she did stand out, she’d—
(Nora, with a basket of fruit on her arm, enters
from road.)
Nora.
(Laughing.) Halloo, you two? At it
again? Settling the affairs of the world
in this remote spot!
Gordon.
Why not? Every spot is remote from
somewhere else.
Nora.
London is not remote from the war, and
if your ideas aren’t boiled gooseberries,
they had better get to London.
Loveday.
Of course they will get to London. All
ideas reach London in the end.
Gordon.
Robert left me here on trust. I must keep
his sheep going, at any rate till I can get
a responsible manager. Then I’ll go to
London.
Nora.
London has got too many ideas of its own
to listen to an utterly unknown New
Zealand sheep farmer.
Gordon.
(Sighing.) It may take time!
Nora.
(Laughing.) Time! It’ll take more than
time. You don’t know a soul in London.
Gordon.
I don’t, that’s flat.
Loveday.
I do.
Nora.
You do? Of course you do. You will
have to write him introductions. How
will you begin? “A young genius, called
Gordon Hyde, has ideas to set the Thames
on fire. For love of me please give him a
match”—or—“Gordon Hyde is my dear
friend, and a dear fool, and as sometimes
fools rush in where angels fear to tread,
please send him in your motor car at once
to the Prime Minister.”
(Both laugh, though Gordon flushes as if
somewhat hurt.)
Loveday.
You laugh because you don’t know how
powerful a really great idea is.
Nora.
I don’t. Perhaps because I’ve never met
one.
Loveday.
(Seeing Gordon looking wistfully at
Nora, rises.) Here, Gordon, give me
those papers. We have done enough for
the present. I’ll take them into the house.
(She saunters along the verandah and
enters the house.)
Gordon.
Sit down, Nora. You’ll be tired after
picking all that fruit. I’ll carry it over
for you when you are rested.
Nora.
I can carry it quite well myself. I’m
every bit as strong as you.
Gordon.
Don’t, Nora. Don’t always be cruel now.
Nora.
I’m not cruel. It would be much crueller
to keep you dangling around, puffed up
with hope.
Gordon.
I’d be happier.
Nora.
Only for a bit. It couldn’t go on.
Gordon.
Why not?
Nora.
Am I the kind of girl never to marry?
Gordon.
Nora! You’re not—not engaged?
Nora.
Not—yet.
Gordon.
But—when will it be, I wonder!
Nora.
Now, you are rude. Couldn’t I be engaged
any minute I liked.
Gordon.
Nora, how you tease me! And yet, I
believe, underneath it all you are fond of
me—a little.
Nora.
Of course, I’m fond of you. We were
brought up like brother and sister.
Gordon.
But now, Nora—oh, bother!
(There is a hullabaloo outside and Roto and
the 1st Shepherd run on looking towards
road and shouting.)
Roto. 1st Shep.
Hey, mister, here’s a sight. Look at that now! The first, the very first that’s been along that road. Hoo-o!
(There is the sound of a carefully driven car,
and a spidery looking motor car driven by
Varlie draws up at the gate. Varlie
waves his hat. All run forward,
Loveday comes out of the house, the collie
dog runs up, and a babble ensues.)
Varlie.
Yes, siree. I’m the boy to get the hustle
on to these roads. I’ll lay my bottom
dollar this is the first car that has pulled
up at this Homestead.
Several.
Yes. It is. It is that. Just fancy!
Nora.
I say, what an idea! You are a smart
man, Mr. Varlie.
Varlie.
Smart! It ’ud tickle a racer to get ahead
of me. I’m out to bring this country up
to date. Why, you folk would go on
sleeping here same as if automobiles had
never been invented.
Loveday.
And I wish they hadn’t!
Varlie.
You just say that, Miss Loveday, because
you are a beautiful English girl—for
England’s so small it is most over-run
with automobiles, that drop off it into the
sea—but you wait till you see what this
little roundabout can do for these God-forsaken
stations.
Gordon.
(Grinning amiably.) Don’t you lay it on
too thick if you want to sell your car.
And I suppose that’s what you’re after?
Varlie.
Sure! (Laughing.) Did you think I
was intending to give it to you?
Gordon.
We might do without it.
Varlie.
Not likely. Not when you had once set
eyes on it. The ladies would fair grab at
it if you let it slip.
Nora.
There is my dad—he’ll be mad not to see
it. He is away out in the hills, or I’d
fetch him along this minute.
Varlie.
Waal, let me show you what this little
packet of lightening can do. With this
back seat raised she will take four of you
into the city in just one-third of the time
that your horses would take you on their
backs. And you arrive spick and span
as a daisy in your glad rags instead of
carrying your things to change every time
there is a dance or a the-atre.
Nora.
(Clapping her hands.) Splendid, simply
splendid. Wouldn’t that be lovely!
Loveday.
It might.
Gordon.
If it didn’t jib half way.
Varlie.
No, siree. Not if you drive her right.
Nora.
You’ll have to learn how, Gordon.
Gordon.
If you have the car I will learn to drive
it all right.
Nora.
I must have it.
Gordon.
Your dad’ll never spend so much just on
your running about.
Varlie.
But I’ve not done yet, by gum! See
what business she’ll do. See what she
will carry. If you don’t have that little
back seat raised, but have it locked down,
this whole back top of her will open out
on a hinge, and run behind on runners,
stretching her out like a trolley car. See?
(He manipulates the back of car as
he speaks.) Then you put up these rails,
bolt ’em together—and look at the freight
she’ll carry!
Nora, Gordon and Others Together
Wonderful! I say, that’s neat. Fancy that now! That’s a difference from my young days.
Varlie.
She won’t carry machinery or dead weight
like that—but all your ordinary freight—flour,
groceries—all you want out from
the city—she’ll take in your fruit so that
you can sell it fresh in town instead of
letting it rot on your trees—she—
Gordon.
Have you sold any around here?
Varlie.
Sold any? Why, there’s scarcely a
station that isn’t ordering one.
Nora.
We must, dad must!
Varlie.
Ah, Miss Nora. I bet your poppa knows
his duty to a peach like you!
Gordon.
(Prowls round the car, examining it
closely and with interest.) Where was
she made?
Varlie.
That’s an Amurrican made sample, but
when I have booked enough orders, the
firm will set up and make them here.
Gordon.
It is ingenious.
Varlie.
Any suggestion you like to make, sir, I’ll
report to my firm. We are out to supply
to this country what she requires. It’s a
fresh, growing country with fresh-growing
needs, and the firm that doesn’t try to foist
off continental models into it, but supplies
those needs, will get some business.
Gordon.
That is so.
Varlie.
Why, the folk around here don’t know
what it is to spend money. There’s a
power of unconscious demands right here
waiting the supplies. You need to learn
how to require luxuries.
Gordon.
(Hotly.) And waste good work making
things we are happier without! No!
Till this war is settled up, and after it,
till everyone is fed and clothed decently,
work must be spent on those jobs, not on
senseless fripperies which enslave us to
make some soulless idiot rich!
Varlie.
(Strolls towards seat, down left.) Say!
Have you got any lemonade? I’m as dry
as a fish. (Sits.)
(Nora and Loveday sit near him.)
Gordon.
Here, Roto, fetch along the drinks! (Roto
hurries into the house.)
1st Shep.
(Hovering near car, to Gordon.) Eh!
But it’s a fair miracle. Boss!
Gordon.
(Leaving the car and coming to outskirts
of group, down left.) Like all miracles,
it don’t seem sure to work.
(Roto returns, with tray of drinks and tumblers.
Gordon helps to hand them round.)
Gordon.
(To 1st Shepherd, stretching out with
a tumbler towards him.) Here you are.
1st Shep.
Thank you, Boss. (Comes up to outskirts
of group and stands there sipping his
drink.)
Varlie.
(Cheerily.) Waal, and how have you
been making time fly since I was here
last?
Nora.
Much as usual, only we work harder and—(laughs)—Gordon
moons more than ever
now he has someone to encourage him!
Varlie.
Ah, writes poetry, does he, poor chap?
Gordon.
No. I don’t.
Nora.
Well, what you do is just as useless.
Loveday.
It isn’t! He is working out ideas of great
practical use—immense—there is nothing
more important in the world.
Varlie.
So that’s how the land lies! (Twinkling
a knowing look at Loveday’s unconscious
face.) And what is the great idea, if I
don’t intrude?
Gordon.
It is to make another such war as this
impossible.
Varlie.
Oh, ho! That’s a real smart idea, that is!
Are you going to do it by preaching to the
armies, or lovin’ ’em like brothers, or how?
(Roto and 1st Shepherd guffaw loudly.)
Gordon.
I’m no silly mug of a pacifist.
Nora.
Their idea—
Loveday.
His idea—
Nora.
Well then, as you like—his idea is to have
only one army in the world. Ha, ha, ha.
He, he, he! Isn’t that practical!
Loveday.
Nora, you are a tease! It’s nothing of
the sort, Mr. Varlie. Gordon’s idea is to
have an international parliament, a super-parliament,
and for that to have complete
control of an international army, and also—what
is very important—complete control
of all armament making.
Gordon.
Then any nation would have all the rest
of the world against it directly it tried to
do anything aggressive.
Loveday.
Yes. That’s where it will get Germany
so splendidly. Germany pretends she
goes in for her militarism only for self-preservation.
Now this international
scheme will secure her self-preservation,
but will entirely destroy her militarism
and make her aggression impossible!
Varlie.
Donnerwetter! (Confused, trying to
cover his mistake.) Sake’s alive—
Nora.
(Pertly.) Are you a German?
Varlie.
What do you take me for? I’m Amurrican.
But I’ve travelled in Germany, like most
travellers.
Nora.
It would be a joke if you were a German,
wouldn’t it?
Varlie.
(Cheerfully.) I’d be taking risks, wouldn’t
I? But let’s hear more of this idea. It’s
a great idea if it’ll kill German militarism!
Why (looking at Gordon), I’d no idea
you were such a top hole genius.
Loveday.
Now you’re laughing, too. None of you
seem to think war can be made impossible.
Roto.
That it can’t, Missy. Not while men are
men.
1st Shep.
(Agreeing.) That’s so, that’s so!
Loveday.
How can you think that, Roto? Why,
there used to be war in this very land
between you and the English, and now
there is none.
Roto.
That’s because the Pakeha are strong.
They make laws we have to obey. If a
Maori kill a Pakeha or a Maori now, the
Maori is hung by the law. So Maori and
Pakeha live without killing.
Loveday.
But that’s just it! If the International
Parliament was strong and it made laws,
the nations would have to obey and if one
nation went to war and tried to kill another,
[Pg 54]
that nation would suffer. So the nations
would live without war.
1st Shep.
(Shaking his head.) He, he, he! That’s
likely! (Whistles to the collie and goes
off.)
Varlie.
Germany would never consent.
Gordon.
Then she would openly proclaim that her
militarism is aggressive and not for self-defence.
It would have to be one of the
terms of peace that she did come in.
Varlie.
Waal, that may not be so easy.
Loveday.
Then all the more need for Gordon’s
scheme. It is the only way to destroy
militarism.
Gordon.
Without some such plan the nations will
all be burdened beyond endurance, with
armament making and the upkeep of
armies.
Loveday.
And all the lovely face of England will be
scarred with factories and works, and her
people go grey and weary under roofs
instead of singing while they work under
the blue sky. And not only in England
but everywhere, machines, machines,
machines will sap the vitals of men and
women and make life a grey and sordid
fear!
Nora.
Aren’t they just too absurd for anything,
those two! As though it was their business
to set the world right!
Gordon.
Whose is it then?
Nora.
Nobody’s.
Gordon.
It is the business of everyone to make the
world safer and more beautiful—
Nora.
(Putting her fingers in her ears.) Aren’t
they hopeless! (To Varlie.) Come
along, and I’ll show you my bed of English
roses. You’ll like them.
Varlie.
(Rises, throws down a nearly burnt cigar
and goes with her across stage, standing
down right with her to admire a rose bed
in bloom.) I guess you’re the best rose
among them all.
Nora.
(Smiles as if pleased.) You have nothing
to sell me!
Varlie.
No. But I might have something to give.
(Meanwhile Gordon limps off after smiling at
Loveday. She picks up a book and begins
to read.)
Nora.
You never give anything unless you get
its value back!
Varlie.
This time it is a free gift I’m thinking of,
but I don’t deny I might get its value
back! More than its value perhaps.
Nora.
Well, I’m sure you haven’t got anything I
want as a gift.
Varlie.
Ah, you Angel face. Couldn’t you take a
free gift of a man?
Nora.
What man?
Varlie.
Suppose it was myself!
Nora.
(Meditating.) You are a man.
Varlie.
I am that. Would you take me as a free
gift?
Nora.
But what would I do with you?
Varlie.
Waal—what does a woman do with a
man? Sometimes she marries him.
Nora.
Oh! Well—but that wouldn’t be a free
gift of a man. You would get me in
exchange.
Varlie.
Didn’t I say I might get more than its
value back for my gift?
(Meanwhile Roto is sitting on the ground not
far from Loveday, finishing Varlie’s
cigar, and playing with a carved jade curio.
Between the puffs of the cigar, and under
his breath, he hums snatches of the following
song:
[Roto.
He roa te wa ki Tipirere
He tino mamao,
He roa te wa ki Tipirere,
Ki taku kotiro.
E noho pikatiri,
Hei kona rehita koea,
He mamao rawa Tipirere
Ka tae ahua.])
Nora.
Then that’s no bargain for me!
Varlie.
Say, you think it over. I’ve got a mighty
fine business now, and you could help me
in it. You could live in the city or run
about with me or whatever you liked—and
say, Angel face, I think you are just
the best ever!
Nora.
You’re smart—but—
Varlie.
(Leans over quickly and kisses her.) Say,
Angel face, that’s a man’s kiss, ain’t it?
Nora.
Oh! (Confused, half pleased, half indignant.)
That’s not how to treat New
Zealand girls! (She runs into house and
slams the door.)
(Varlie, satisfied with himself, strolls back
across stage and stands looking down at
the green jade curio Roto is cleaning
carefully. Loveday continues to read
near by.)
Varlie.
Say, Sambo, what’s that pretty thing?
Roto.
I’m not a Sambo.
Varlie.
That’s right. I beg yours.
Roto.
(Resentfully.) My name’s Roto, and I
thought you knew it, Boss.
Varlie.
I did, then I didn’t, and I do now. Waal,
Roto, let’s get back to the trail. What’s
that? (Seats himself so that he can see
the curio in Roto’s hands.)
Roto.
That’s a hei-tiki.
Varlie.
A hei-tiki, is it? Does it tick?
Roto.
Silly joke. Hei-tiki is Maori.
Varlie.
What for?
Roto.
For this. (Shows greenstone charm round
his neck.) Same here.
Varlie.
Let me see.
Roto.
No. No one touch but me. It is tapu.
Varlie.
Tapu? What does that mean?
Roto.
No one may touch but me. This one is
tapu, sacred.
Varlie.
I won’t hurt it.
Roto.
When tapu put on anything, no one can
touch unless tapu is raised.
Varlie.
Waal, and how is the tapu raised?
Roto.
Long ago, only death did—now—oh now,
in weak men’s time—money will raise tapu.
Varlie.
The almighty dollar! And how much
money will raise this tapu?
Roto.
Much, very much.
Varlie.
Why?
Roto.
This very rare, very useful hei-tiki.
Varlie.
How so?
Roto.
It has death in it, secret, strong death.
(Loveday looks up from her reading and
watches quietly, and with simple curiosity.)
Varlie.
How?
Roto.
Great secret. A very great wise chief
found how to get secret poison from karaka
kernels.
Varlie.
Karaka?
Roto.
Every New Zealand Pakeha knows karaka
seeds, very bad poison. But kills too
quick, too ugly, legs all stiff anyhow—all
know that karaka poison. But this great
chief took part of karaka seed-poison, mixed
with magic, and then it kills more slowly
in one, two hours after, like as if the man
died of himself.
Varlie.
And who do you want to kill?
Roto.
Me? No fellow. All friends. But this
hei-tiki useful. It has secret poison, no
[Pg 58]
doctor could tell was poison. That’s why
tapu would cost much for a pakeha to
touch it.
Varlie.
I’d like to have it. How much?
Roto.
Good Maori-stone carved hei-tiki, with
secret death. Very much cost.
Varlie.
Twenty shillings?
Roto.
Oh, no, no! Two hundred shillings.
Varlie.
Gosh! Let me see it.
Roto.
No.
Varlie.
Waal, you can’t get my bottom dollar for
a thing I haven’t even seen!
Roto.
(Holds it carefully in his hands.) Well,
see.
(The audience also can see a green jade carving
of very peculiar shape.)
Varlie.
Where is the poison?
Roto.
Quite safe. Inside. If top pressed hard,
pushes bottom on one side, and poison
drops out.
Varlie.
Is the poison coloured?
Roto.
Three or four drops clear like water. One
drop enough. Try! And take the poison
yourself!
Varlie.
You old scamp. I guess you are not
friends with me. You’d like me to take
the poison!
Roto.
(Cunningly.) You’re not deep friend to
our Pakeha, are you?
Varlie.
(Laughing noisily.) That’s a good one!
(Looks up and sees Loveday.) Say, Miss
Loveday, did you hear that? He don’t
seem to trust me!
Loveday.
He has queer intuitions sometimes. But
perhaps he is only afraid of your business
superiority.
Roto.
Very cheap, Maori-stone, safe kill, no
pakeha doctor could tell.
Varlie.
(Laughing.) He’s a nice villain!
Loveday.
He’s all right. If he wanted to use it he
wouldn’t talk about it.
Varlie.
You’re smart. Do you believe in it? Or
is he just pulling my leg?
Loveday.
I believe in it. Gordon knows about a
thing like that. I thought he said it was
the last though.
Roto.
This the very last. This worth much money.
Varlie.
(Taking out a pocketful of money.) Come.
I’ll have it, to keep you out of mischief.
Take twenty shillings?
Roto.
No.
Varlie.
Forty then?
Roto.
No.
Varlie.
Fifty then? (Lays out the money
temptingly.)
Roto.
(Looks eagerly at it, then yields.) Ten
more.
Varlie.
Oh, all right! (Lays down money.)
(Roto takes up the money, and hands the green
stone to Varlie who looks at it [so that
audience can see its shape] then slips it into
his pocket.)
Varlie.
(Laughing reassuringly and sitting a
little nearer Loveday.) These queer old
curios get me every time. I’ll test a drop
of his precious poison on a mangy old dog
I have, and if it is as he says, I’ll wash it
out and keep eau de cologne in it. The
jade is a pretty shape.
Loveday.
Yes, it is. And it is quite a good bit of
jade, too. It is worth money. But do be
careful with the stuff. I more than half
believe what he says.
Varlie.
An old hand like I am at life, don’t run no
risks with a bit of jade. I’ve seen too
much of the world.
Loveday.
You have travelled much?
Varlie.
I should say! I have run around a bit,
and got into many a good scrape in my
time. Why, any day you are lonesome,
Miss Loveday, ask me for the story of my
wounds!
Loveday.
I’ve been rather lonesome this afternoon.
How did you get that red triangle on your
right cheek bone? I have often wondered.
It is so regular.
Varlie.
(Turns his right cheek so that she can
see it, points it out and turns again so
that audience can see the bright red,
definite small triangle on his cheek.) Ah,
now that’s one of my best stories. I was
a spry young fellow then. (Looks at her.)
Now, if you were a smart girl you’d say,
“That’s not long ago then, Mr. Varlie!”
Loveday.
(Smiling.) I’ll say it if it is a regulation
part of the story. Is it?
Varlie.
Waal, as you are a high and mighty young
English girl, we’ll take it as said.
(Sounds of footsteps and panting along road—1st
Shepherd hurries on carrying a
telegram held out before him.)
1st Shep.
Where’s Mr. Gordon? Oh, where is he?
This telegram’s for him.
Loveday.
He went round the back of the house not
long ago.
1st Shep.
Oh, terrible, terrible. That I’ve to take
him this telegram.
Loveday.
What is it?
1st Shep.
Bad news, terrible bad news. The postman,
he told me.
Loveday.
(Anxiously.) But tell us.
1st Shep.
Oh, Missy, how’ll ever Mister Gordon take
it? Mr. Robert has been killed.
Loveday.
(Sinking back in chair.) Robert killed,
oh! poor Gordon!
Varlie.
Sakes alive, that’s a knock out.
1st Shep.
That’s what I say. It had better been the
other way about.
Loveday.
(Swiftly, in anger.) How can you say
that?
Nora.
(Running out of house.) What is the
fuss?
1st Shep.
(A little important as being the bearer of
sad news.) Ah, Missy, it’s sad tidings
there is in this telegram. Mr. Robert’s
killed.
Nora.
(Screams and staggers. Loveday springs
up and goes to her.) Robert, Robert!
Killed. How do you know? It must be
lies. How do you know?
1st Shep.
Postman told me. This is a Government
telegram, telling it to ye, official.
Gordon.
(Hurries round the house and comes centre
forward.) Whatever is the matter?
(Roto comes in and learning news from Varlie,
shows signs of real grief.
All hesitate to tell Gordon. 1st Shepherd
holds out telegram.)
1st Shep.
It’s, it’s bad news, Mister Gordon.
Gordon.
The telegram is official—it’s—is Robert
wounded? (Tears open the telegram.)
Gordon.
Killed! (Lets telegram fall, and staggers
forward to chair, all are silent.)
Nora.
(Crying softly.) Oh Robert, Robert,
Robert!
(Loveday tries to soothe her and is sad also.
Roto sniffs. The collie dog comes up to
the group, looking from one to the other,
then goes to Gordon and rubs against him
licking his hand. Gordon pats him.)
Gordon.
Good old chap. Yes, he’ll never come
back. Your master is dead—died a hero’s
death.
Varlie.
(Comes up and shakes Gordon’s hand.)
Accept my condolences.
Gordon.
Thanks—thanks, you’re kind. (Pays little
attention to him, goes over to Nora, who
is still weeping.) Nora, dear. (He kneels
beside her.) How sweet of you to care so
much—he, he’d be proud if he knew.
Nora.
(Fiercely.) He wouldn’t! He never
cared for me. And I loved him—and I
hate you. Go away!
(She pushes him roughly from her so that, on
his knees, still, he scarcely keeps his balance.
She turns and weeps fiercely in Loveday’s
arms. Loveday, soothing her, really
watches and feels for Gordon. As he
staggers blindly to his feet, she looks with
infinite tenderness and pity towards him
and stretches out a hand to steady him.
He takes it, and clasps it for a moment.)
Roto.
(Wailing.) What’ll happen? What’ll happen
now Mister Robert won’t come back?
1st Shep.
Eh, eh, dear, dear.
Gordon.
He won’t come back! (He looks up
suddenly, and seems to gather strength.)
He won’t come back! He has done his
job for the Empire! That frees me!
Now I’ll do mine! I’ve nothing to keep
me here.
1st Shep.
Why! the sheep do, Boss.
Gordon.
Robert charged me to keep the station
going for him till he came back. Now
he’ll never come back; I’m done with the
station! Other men must raise the sheep.
Loveday.
(Her eyes sparkling.) You’ll go to
London?
Gordon.
Yes. We have often said I’d have to go
to London some day to get my job put
through.
Varlie.
(
Half aside.) The man’s mad! He
doesn’t propose seriously to bring forward
that devilish scheme of his. (
Aloud.)
[Pg 63]
What will you do? Have you the dollars?
It’ll take a good deal of money!
Gordon.
No. All I have is the homestead, and the
sheep. But I’ll sell them.
Varlie.
It’s the worst time to sell just now.
Gordon.
I’ll lose something of course, but the
homestead and all is really worth quite ten
thousand pounds altogether.
Varlie.
Snakes! It’s not worth nearly half that.
1st Shep.
Yes it is, Mister. It’s a good station.
None better hereabouts.
Varlie.
Is it freehold?
Gordon.
Yes. And unencumbered.
Varlie.
Is it all yours?
Gordon.
Yes—now it is. Robert and I shared it.
He left his will with me—he said his share
was all for me, as he hadn’t got a girl.
(Nora is seen to shudder as though hurt.)
Varlie.
Then you can sell at once.
Gordon.
I shall.
1st Shep.
Don’t ’e, Mister Gordon, don’t ’e. You’ll
best wait. Land’s not sellin’ just now.
Wait a bit.
Gordon.
But my work won’t wait! I shan’t.
Loveday.
Splendid! Go.
Gordon.
You say so? You back me?
Loveday.
Yes. Yes.
Gordon.
Well, I have one on my side.
Varlie.
It’s a fool business.
Gordon.
I must sell at once. Perhaps neighbour
Lee might like to join this station on to his.
Nora.
(Looking up fiercely.) My dad? I won’t
let him. I won’t!
Varlie.
You’ll not get a purchaser at present.
Roto.
That’s true, Boss. No one is buying land
just now.
Gordon.
(
Turning away.) Well, I must sell for
else I have no money to go to Europe
with and I
will go. It will be a very
[Pg 64]
expensive job. Propaganda costs. I must
put my scheme before the Prime Minister
of England, and it’s no good to write to
him. I must see him, I must talk to him.
Varlie.
Has he a good opinion of you?
Gordon.
He doesn’t know me yet.
Nora.
(Scolding.) How do you think that you,
an absolutely unknown Colonial with a
hair-brained scheme, are going to get at
him?
Gordon.
I’ll manage it somehow.
Varlie.
London is not like Dunedin, I opine. Do
you know anyone in London who knows
the Prime Minister?
Gordon.
No. But I’ll get to.
Nora.
Do you know a single living soul in
London?
Gordon.
No. But I will when I get there.
Loveday.
He will. I’ll see to that!
Nora.
(Spitefully.) Oh! Do you know people
who know the Prime Minister of England?
Loveday.
(Quietly.) I do.
Nora.
(Taken aback.) Oh! Who?
Loveday.
The Duchess of Rainshire.
Varlie.
(Very alert, evidently taking note of the
name.) Does she know the Prime Minister
intimately?
Loveday.
Yes. He often comes to see her.
Gordon.
(Triumphfully.) Splendid! You never
told me that, Loveday, when you said I
should have to go and see him somehow.
Loveday.
(Smiling.) I had it up my sleeve though.
There was no need to speak of it so long
as you were not going. Now (sadly) you
can think only of this work. I’ll be proud
to help in it. It is worth doing.
Gordon.
With Robert’s example before me—I’ll do
it, or die.
Loveday.
You’ll do it.
Gordon.
But it may take a long time, and I must
have money, plenty of money too. I must
sell the station at once.
Varlie.
(Drawling.) I’ve put my thinking cap on.
A business connection of my firm is looking
out for freehold in this country. If this is
freehold, I reckon I’d be safe to get my
money back from him if I bought it myself.
Gordon.
You!
Varlie.
Yaas. I’ve got plenty of free cash when
it’s wanted, you know. Business hasn’t
been bad lately, and—waal. I’ll lay down
for this freehold of yours.
Gordon.
Good. That’ll save ever so much time I
might waste in looking for a buyer.
Varlie.
Let’s strike then.
Gordon.
It is worth ten thousand pounds.
Varlie.
Shucks!
Gordon.
But I’ll take less.
Varlie.
Waal?
Gordon.
Say seven thousand—for money down.
Varlie.
(Laughing derisively.) What do you
take me for?
Gordon.
It is really worth that, why the sheep
alone—
Varlie.
Sell your sheep separately then. I ain’t
buying sheep, I’m buying land.
1st Shep.
But you can’t do nothin’ with this land
without sheep, Boss.
Roto.
It’s worth more than seven thousand
pounds, that’s a bargain price, Boss.
Varlie.
Sell elsewhere then.
Roto.
Do, Mister Gordon. Next month a Pakeha
I know is coming to the city. He thinkin’
of a station like this. I fetch him along,
Mister Gordon.
Gordon.
Next month! I want to be half way to
England next month.
Varlie.
(Lighting a cigar.) I’ll give you four
thousand five hundred for it—
Gordon.
That’s too little to discuss.
1st Shep.
That’s robbery, Boss, don’t take it. After
the war it’ll fetch three times that. After
the war—
Gordon.
After the war will be too late for me.
The international super-parliament must
be considered in the terms of peace.
1st Shep.
(Groans.) Them ideas! You’d let the
sheep rot for ideas!
Varlie.
I’ll give you four thousand five hundred
for it, down to-day.
Gordon.
To-day!
Varlie.
Right now. We’ll ride into the city and
get a notary to fix it up all square.
Gordon.
That’s better than waiting for an uncertain
buyer—but it’s very little—
Varlie.
But it’s here, to-day.
Gordon.
To-day. Well, I’ll take it!
Varlie.
Done. A deal. Shake.
(Roto and the Shepherd mutter, and shake
their heads.)
Nora.
You’re a perfect fool, Gordon! You throw
away more than half your fortune so as to
be able to rush off to England with a crack-brained
scheme! Why not write to the
papers instead?
Gordon.
(Looks helpless, says appealingly.) Oh,
Nora!
Varlie.
A lot of energy is let off safely in gas to
the papers. Hyde is bottlin’ his energy up
it seems. That makes him dangerous, eh?
Gordon.
(To Loveday.) You’ll give me a letter
of introduction?
Loveday.
(Smiling sweetly.) No. I won’t.
Varlie.
Gee. Even she thinks you are going off
the rails.
Gordon.
Loveday, you said you would give me
a letter of introduction!
Loveday.
How many introductory letters do you
suppose the Duchess of Rainshire gets?
A letter would do you very little good.
Gordon.
(Crestfallen.) Oh, Loveday, what do you
mean?
Loveday.
Why! (Taking a step towards him,
radiant, in the centre of stage.) I’m not
going to trust to letters, which people can
put in the waste-paper basket!
Gordon.
But, what do you mean, Loveday?
Loveday.
I’ll come with you myself! I’ll wait on
their doorsteps (I know lots of people in
London), I’ll waylay them at parties,
and seize the very best opportunities for
getting the right people to know you.
Gordon.
You will? You are a brick! How
splendid!
Varlie.
(Somewhat disturbed, aside.) Ach! The
English are mad enough for anything.
Gott sei dank I know of this! (Aloud.)
What about Mrs. Grundy?
Nora.
Yes. A pretty pair you will look. What
will people say?
Loveday.
When the whole world’s future is at stake,
do you think I care what people say?
Varlie.
Who was it said the English are all mad?
He was right.
Gordon.
It is too much, Loveday!
Nora.
You are English. You will make me agree
with Mr. Varlie’s opinion of your country’s
sanity.
Loveday.
British women are free from the need to care
what foolish people think! (Turning to
Gordon.) We will go to London, Gordon,
and there I’ll work for you and your great
idea, for all I’m worth!
(Gordon takes a step towards her, his face
shining with enthusiasm.)
Act III.
About a Couple of months later than Act II.
The Duchess of Rainshire’s drawing-room,
London. The fore-part of the stage represents
an alcove of the big drawing-room;
the back of the stage opens out so as to
suggest a large room beyond. Heavy
curtains hang on either side of back of
alcove. Left second entrance, a door
leading direct from alcove to outer hall.
Left front, up against wall and projecting
into room, a grand piano, closed. Right
front, a large Chesterfield placed at convenient
angle. One or two small chairs,
big pictures, a palm or two, etc., as in a
first class house.
The Duchess of Rainshire, Loveday and
Gordon discovered in the foreground.
Back of stage occasional guests pass to and
fro in the big drawing-room, and faint
sounds of music in the distance are heard.
The Duchess is a middle-aged, smart woman
of the world, with a commanding manner
and quick way of speaking, but kindly.
Gordon.
(Standing, speaking earnestly declaiming
as though concluding a long argument.)
I fear I have bored you, there is so much
to say, but perhaps the chief point is that
there shall not only be international law,
but adequate force behind that law to
enforce it.
Duchess.
(Stifling a yawn.) Well, Mr. Hyde, I’m
sure I wish you the success you deserve,
and not what I fear you are likely to get.
London simply swarms with panaceas and
their parents.
Loveday.
(Appealing.) But they haven’t all got
you to help them!
Duchess.
Oh yes, most of them have! But mercifully
the schemes counteract each other on
the whole, or where should I be?
Loveday.
You must not allow anything to counteract
this.
Duchess.
(To Mr. Hyde.) Well, young man,
remember! It’s neither for yourself nor
for your ideas I’m launching you on the
defenceless man at the helm, but simply
because Loveday used to have fascinating
freckles on her nose when she was six
years old.
Gordon.
I know I owe her an awful lot. And you
too. I’m ever so grateful, I can’t say how
grateful. Posterity will—
Duchess.
(Interrupting.) You are going to say that
I’ll go down to history as the patron of
genius, of course—I’m glad to hear it. It
may help to counteract the other way I
shall go down to history. No one who has
had two successive husbands, both Dukes,
could fail to find posterity as critical as
the present generation is spiteful.
(Gordon looks bewildered.)
Loveday.
Don’t believe her, Gordon. Everybody’s
awfully fond of her.
Duchess.
Go and think that over somewhere by
yourself, young man. I haven’t seen
Loveday since her escapade into Greater
Britain and I want to hear from her how
this little island looks in true prospective.
(Gordon bows and goes toward back of stage
and mingles with other quests, strolling out
of sight. Meanwhile a guest or two stroll
partly round the alcove, but seeing the
Duchess talking, retire.)
Duchess.
(Taking Loveday’s arm and pushing her
down on to sofa, sits beside her.) Now,
Miss, your confessions.
Loveday.
He is really wonderful.
Duchess.
Though New Zealand is British my
experience of home Britons tells me it is
not peopled by geniuses. He is exceptional.
Naturally.
Loveday.
Not at all naturally.
Duchess.
Hoity-toity.—I’m not old enough to say
that properly, but it is so effective, I’m
beginning young, so as to get enough
practice before my public use of it. So—hoity-toity!
(Loveday smiles, says nothing.)
Duchess.
What’s wrong, don’t I say it properly?
It ought to elicit some retort from you
which should reveal your secret more
completely than ever.
Loveday.
I haven’t got a secret.
Duchess.
Hoity-toity!—I think I did it rather better
that time—
Loveday.
(Earnestly.) I haven’t a secret really!
Duchess.
I must have done it better: you retorted,
telling me that you have a secret.
Loveday.
(Laughing.) I haven’t, really and truly I
haven’t.
Duchess.
Hoit—no. I’ll vary it. Fiddlesticks!
Who is it?
Loveday.
Who is what?
Duchess.
Whom are you in love with?
Loveday.
Nobody.
Duchess.
Is he in love with you?
Loveday.
Who? Nobody? Yes. Nobody is in
love with me.
Duchess.
He. (Points with her fan through opening
of alcove.) Your New Zealand Genius.
Loveday.
(A shade despondently, but unconscious
of it.) No, he is not.
Duchess.
(Pouncing.) Ha! that’s it, is it?
Loveday.
That’s what? Oh, dear! Why is it I
[Pg 71]
always talk such bad English when I am
with you?
Duchess.
Tush. Tell me about him!
Loveday.
(Brightening.) Oh, how nice of you. I
did so want you to take an interest in his
ideas. They are so wonderful. They
will make—
Duchess.
I don’t care one Jellicoed submarine about
his ideas. Tell me about himself.
Loveday.
He is a little lame, poor boy—
Duchess.
So I have observed.
Loveday.
But it isn’t fundamental. He got a stake
through his thigh when he was a lad and
it healed badly. It must have been
dreadful for him.
Duchess.
Are you going to marry him?
Loveday.
Oh, how can you say such things? It has
never entered his head!
Duchess.
Hoity-toity.
Loveday.
Oh, it hasn’t!
Duchess.
Well, here is a personable young man for
whom you feel pity, and you are twenty-seven
to his thirty. I only ask, are you
going to marry him?
Loveday.
(Rising indignantly.) How can you say
such things. I never thought of it! Why
he—he loves someone else!
Duchess.
Oh, that’s the trouble, is it? Where is
she?
Loveday.
In New Zealand.
Duchess.
(Patting Loveday’s hand.) Then that’s
all right, my dear. You can have him if
you want.
Loveday.
But I don’t want, that way.—Oh, I don’t
want any way! Oh, why do you have
such dreadful conversations?
Duchess.
That’s it. Quarrel with your benefactor!
Are you going to flounce out of the house
before the Prime Minister comes?
Loveday.
I can’t now—but I’m not going to take
anything back because you promised to
help us.
Duchess.
(Laughing delightedly and pulling Loveday
down again beside her.) Oh, so it
is us?
Loveday.
Only for this piece of work, till his idea is
launched, of course. What do you suppose
I came across from New Zealand for?
Duchess.
(Chuckling.) I wondered.
Loveday.
Don’t you care a bit for a big idea that
will help the world? Can’t you imagine
a woman gladly crossing the world to have
even a small share in helping it forward?
Duchess.
I could imagine it; but I have never yet
observed it.
Loveday.
Well, you can now. Look at me.
Duchess.
I do, my child, and I see a young woman
in love.
Loveday.
(Shaking herself.) Ooh!
Duchess.
Never mind, my dear. He is a personable
young man enough. There are no available
Dukes, Earls or Marquises I can recommend
at present and I believe in people
marrying for love. I have seen too much
of the other thing. So what can I do for
you?
Loveday.
You know quite well. I only asked you,
begged you, to make the Prime Minister
listen to him.
Duchess.
Oh, the poor man! When he comes here
for an hour it is for relaxation and quiet.
He looks to me to protect him from
Cranks, not to stuff them down his throat.
Loveday.
(Emphatically.) Gordon is not a crank.
Duchess.
All cranks have emphatic relatives who
testify ardently to their sanity.
Loveday.
I’m not his relative.
Duchess.
Hoity-toity.
Loveday.
(Smiling.) That doesn’t react with me
any longer. (Coaxing.) Come now, be
an angel and introduce Gordon to the
Prime Minister. Don’t say anything
about your suspicions that he is a crank.
Just say he is a nice young man from
New Zealand.
Duchess.
And what am I to say about you? Or are
you dying to be sacrificed on the altar of
friendship and have nothing said about
you?
Loveday.
Oh, yes.
Duchess.
You don’t insist on an introduction too?
Loveday.
No. I ask only one introduction. Promise
that.
Duchess.
Very well.
Loveday.
You darling!
Duchess.
But I will use the introduction for you,
not the man. The Prime Minister likes
young girls if they are at all good looking,
and I think one may call you that.
Loveday.
Oh, you mustn’t! I won’t be introduced.
Duchess.
What! You refuse to be introduced to
the Prime Minister?
Loveday.
(Punching a cushion.) I do. I do
absolutely. That one introduction is for
Gordon. You promised one; and Gordon
is to have it.
(The Rev. Dr. Varlie, separating himself
from the guests, has strolled into the alcove.)
Duchess.
Well, I suppose it must be.
Loveday.
You are a dear.
Duchess.
But for your purpose, it is not the Prime
Minister you want first of all. There is
another Cabinet Minister whose word in
the Prime Minister’s ear would be priceless.
Loveday.
Oh! Then please introduce Gordon to
him first!
Duchess.
He’s very amiable.
Loveday.
Splendid. Is he here to-night?
Duchess.
Yes. Go and fetch your phenomenon. If
you two are to be found here when wanted.
I’ll either send for you or stroll this way
with him if I can.
Loveday.
Thanks awfully! (Goes through curtains,
to drawing-room beyond.)
(The Rev. Dr. Varlie advances. He has a
considerable beard, and wears clerical garb.
He politely presents himself to the Duchess.
She greets him without enthusiasm.)
Duchess.
Oh, Dr. Chapman, I’m glad you found
time to come for a little relaxation.
Varlie.
Oh, dear lady. I take no relaxation in
these sad times. But I wanted a word
with you before your next Committee for
the relief of the homeless Serbians. As
you know, the American people have been
stirred to the depths, and out of the fulness
of their hearts they have sent me to join
my ministrations with yours. As you well
know, these weeks past I have put my
back into it.
Duchess.
Very good of you I’m sure. We can’t
have too much help. Practical help.
Varlie.
At the last Committee Meeting I opined
that a cheque would not be out of place in
your hands, Duchess.
Duchess.
Never.
Varlie.
(Taking out his pocket book.) Waal, my
flock answered my prayers, and sent this
to me for you. If you could sign the
receipt yourself, Duchess, it would be like
placing seed in fertile ground. I know
your secretary does such routine work for
you, Duchess, and that’s why I took this
chance of handing it to you myself.
Duchess.
Of course I’ll sign the receipt if you like.
Is that all?
Varlie.
Waal, the other business will do when we
meet at the next Committee.
Duchess.
(Moving off, back of stage.) Then come
along with me, and I’ll find you an
interesting girl or two to entertain you.
You just missed one as you came in.
Varlie.
So I divined from her earnestness. A
lovely type.
(They go out together. In a moment Loveday
and Gordon return.)
Loveday.
So we are to sit here till she comes or
sends for you.
Gordon.
(Gratefully.) I say. You do work
miracles.
Loveday.
It is the Duchess who will do that. Isn’t
she a dear?
Gordon.
She terrifies me rather.
Loveday.
For moments, just at times, she terrifies
me. But all the safe times in between I
know she is a dear.
Gordon.
I say, I’m nervous you know.
Loveday.
Oh, don’t be! You will only have a few
minutes this time: just to make a good
impression. If you do that then the
Minister may give you a serious interview
later.
Gordon.
I’m wretchedly nervous. Is he, is he
short with people?
Loveday.
He likes people to be short with him! He
is dreadfully bored by long-winded cranks
of course.
Gordon.
I say, what do you think? (
Pulls out
some papers from his pocket.) I thought
of wording Clause 29 of the suggested
constitution as follows: “The Super-Parliament
is to have the power of prohibiting
the manufacture of
anything
which in its opinion constitutes a menace
to the Peace of the world: with power to
[Pg 76]
inflict the death penalty on all concerned
in any infringement of its prohibition in
any country.”
Loveday.
Yes. I think that is good. Coupled with
the other clauses that makes it safer.
Gordon.
I hope the Prime Minister will see that.
I must learn this clause off by heart now.
Teach it to me, will you?
Loveday.
You don’t know the other clauses off by
heart, do you?
Gordon.
Yes, of course I learnt them. I couldn’t
read them to the Prime Minister, could I?
And I’m so nervous, I’d muddle them up
unless I just learn them off.
Loveday.
(Horrified.) You don’t intend to say off
all the thirty-three clauses of the suggested
constitution to the Prime Minister at this
first meeting, do you?
Gordon.
(Simply surprised.) Why, yes! I’m to
tell him the ideas, aren’t I?
Loveday.
Good heavens! not in a block like that
though. After you have made an impression
on him you must give him these
all typed out so that his secretaries
and colleagues and everybody can make
marginal notes on them and hash them up.
Gordon.
If I’m not to say the clauses I have learnt,
what on earth am I to say?
Loveday.
Say you have an idea worth his serious
attention—say—oh—whatever he makes
you feel will reach his attention!
Gordon.
Good heavens. What a gamble!
Loveday.
Not a bit. The inspiration will come.
Gordon.
You have been my inspiration for so much
of this.
Loveday.
No, no. I have only suggested a word
here and there.
Gordon.
I owe you so much. How strange it is I
should have met you the same day that
[Pg 77]
the vision came to me. Next to my
vision-spirit, you are the source of all the
ideas worth anything in it.
Loveday.
Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. I simply
had nothing concrete in my mind at first!
It is you, you, you who have put all the
ideas into practical, living, useful shape.
Gordon.
But I had no concrete ideas at first!
Loveday.
Well, you evolved them out of your inner
consciousness.
Gordon.
(Obstinately.) The vision, and you, gave
me the ideas to work out.
Loveday.
(Almost irritably.) It’s sheer nonsense,
that old vision! The thoughts were yours,
yours, yours! She only mumbled a little
vague tosh!
Gordon.
(Astonished.) Loveday!
Loveday.
Well, I’m tired of seeing you being so
humble, and failing to realise how splendid
you are, and how the credit of it is all
your own.
Gordon.
Loveday.—You don’t really think that?
Loveday.
I do.
Gordon.
(Whimsically.) I’m so accustomed to
women thinking poorly of me—Nora—
Loveday.
(After a pause.) Does she—does she still
hurt you, Gordon?
Gordon.
No I have waked from my foolish dream
of love for her. She, she was too cruel—and
besides—she, you know, you heard—she
loved Robert.
Loveday.
(Joy showing in her face, which she tries
to conceal.) Then you feel free.
Gordon.
Yes. Thank God I’m free from love of
any earthly woman.
(Loveday’s face falls.)
Gordon.
You make most women look small, and
then—then—anyway, I’m not the type of
man such a woman as I could love now,
[Pg 78]
would look at. Thank God, no mortal
woman can rack my heart. My vision
Queen has my heart and my dreams.
(Loveday looks bright—then a little mischievous.
Varlie returns, strolling round the room,
unnoticed by them. He starts somewhat at
seeing them talking together so deeply and
nods as if recognising something and saying
“ha ha” to himself. He studies the angle
of the room and places himself back of the
piano, turning towards the wall and
pretending to examine a picture. Meanwhile
Loveday and Gordon continue,
unaware, to talk.)
Loveday.
Spirits don’t appear. She must have been
a real woman.
Gordon.
Impossible.
Loveday.
But a spirit is more impossible! (triumphantly).
So you see, every single bit of
credit for it is yours.
Gordon.
Yours.
(Both laughing say together “yours.”)
(From back of stage, enter Cabinet Minister
with the Duchess. The Minister is
old, benign and white haired, with a long
white beard. A plain clothes detective
[Smithers] in evening dress follows him
at a little distance and hovers near the
curtains at the back.)
Minister.
Ah! I remembered that this alcove is
generally nice and quiet. You are a good
hostess, my dear.
(The Duchess throws a comical look at the
back of the sofa where Gordon and
Loveday are sitting.)
Duchess.
I’m glad you think so! It isn’t easy to
satisfy different people at the same time.
Minister.
All I ask is a quiet cup of coffee with you,
my dear. Can we have some coffee here,
by the way?
Duchess.
Of course. (Slips quickly to wall and
rings.) It will be here directly.
Minister.
And your coffee is good. Ah, it reminds
me of Paris in the late seventies—when I
was a young man. But you didn’t know
Paris in the late seventies I expect? No,
no, of course not.
(Maid in smart uniform, waistcoat, brass
buttons, enters from entrance right, going
quickly up to the Duchess, who whispers
“coffee at once, here.” Maid goes out.)
Minister.
Paris in the seventies was an adventure.
Duchess.
Any city is an adventure to the right man.
(Maid enters with coffee, Minister helps himself
to sugar and cream, stands centre
of stage holding it in his hand.)
Minister.
That’s true. You are a witty woman, my
dear. And that’s a thing not often come
by now-a-days.
Duchess.
Modern women are all clever, and cleverness
kills wit as a magnifying glass kills a
complexion.
Minister.
Good, good.
(Loveday and Gordon, observing their nearness,
rise and stand a little way off. The
Duchess signals imperiously to Loveday,
but she makes a determined grimace and
slips round the left side of the sofa. As
she leaves Gordon she whispers “The
great moment is coming—Good Luck.”
Gordon stands hesitating. The Duchess
signs to him to come forward.)
Duchess.
Ah, here is the young man of whom I
spoke to you. May I introduce Mr. Hyde?
You said you could endure a chat with him.
He wants your influence with the Prime
Minister you know. I tell him you are
even more important.
Minister.
Flatterer!
(Loveday behind the group waves her hand
joyously. Hyde looks relieved and very
pleased.)
Duchess.
The power behind the throne, Mr. Hyde.
Minister.
(Kindly.) Ah, how do you do, Mr. Hyde.
(Shakes hands after carefully turning and
laying down his coffee cup on the corner of
the piano behind him, placing the cup so
that it is on the audience side of the piano.
Varlie, who is still standing with his back
to the group, looking at the picture above
the piano, notes this quickly and keenly.
He is seen by the audience to be listening
intently.)
Minister.
How do you do. You come from Australia
I believe?
Gordon.
New Zealand, Sir.
Minister.
New Zealand, yes, yes. A thousand miles
by sea from the nearest port in Australia.
Gordon.
Yes, Sir.
Minister.
I remember that because I was there
myself when I was a young man and very
much it surprised me to be sure. I had
always pictured New Zealand as being to
Australia like England to the Continent.
Yes, yes. A thousand miles away. Just
think what a difference it would make, if
England were a thousand miles from
France at this present moment.
Gordon.
Yes indeed, Sir.
Minister.
So it is very fine of you young New
Zealanders to join in with us all the way
you do. Very fine.
(Loveday crosses to right of stage and looks
curiously at Varlie but without recognition.)
Gordon.
We are Britons all, Sir.
Minister.
Yes, yes. We are all fighting shoulder to
shoulder, though I expect the realisation
of it has hardly touched you yet.
Gordon.
My only brother was killed a few weeks
ago in Gallipoli, Sir.
Minister.
Dear, dear. A sad business that. I’m
sorry for that, my lad.
Gordon.
(Beginning to be desperate.) And that is
one reason why, Sir, I am so anxious to ask
your help for my scheme of international—
(Varlie meanwhile has very quietly slipped
round so as to be on the front of the piano,
within reach of coffee cup.)
Minister.
(Putting up his hand and gently interrupting.)
Now don’t talk about schemes,
young man. This is my recreation hour.
Seeing you carries me back to when I was
a young chap myself. My father was one
of the old school and sent me round the
world to finish my education.
(Varlie’s right cheek now faces Loveday, she
gazes at it, starts with amazed half recognition,
for the top half of the scar is visible.)
Minister.
I remember very well going to New
Zealand—and seeing its pink and white
terraces. Ah! They were wonderful,
wonderful.
Gordon.
They must have been, Sir (his heart
beginning to sink into his boots).
Minister.
Yes, of course. They were destroyed
before you could have seen them. A
terrible volcanic outburst that! Incredible.
Why those great pink and white terraces
looked as though no power on earth could
destroy them. So beautiful they were too!
So beautiful. Like coloured marble that
had been spun into lace cascades by
[Pg 82]
magicians. Well, well,
sic transit gloria
mundi! (
He shakes Gordon’s hand.)
I’m glad to have had this little talk with
you, Mr. Hyde. These pleasant meetings
help to link up the Empire. Good-bye.
Good Luck.
(Meanwhile, through the last part of this
conversation, Varlie has taken out the
Green Jade Carving, seen in Act II., from
his pocket. Loveday recognises it and
shows tense anxiety and suppressed excitement.
Varlie glances stealthily round the
room, and sees that no one is looking at
him, for Loveday pretends not to see him;
she then turns her head just in time to see
him drop a drop of the poison into the
coffee cup on the piano, and quickly to turn
away, his back to the group, and go to
another picture, hanging down right front
of the piano. Varlie calmly pretends to
be absorbed in examining the picture.
Loveday is for a moment weak with
amazement and anxiety, and is evidently
hesitating as to what course to follow, by
the time the Minister says, “Good-bye,
good luck.”)
Gordon.
Good-bye, Sir, thank you. (Desperate.)
And may I come and see you in office
hours about my scheme? It is very
important, it—is a series of clauses for an
international arrangement which will wipe
German Militarism and all other militarism
off the earth—it—
Minister.
If you must send it—and I really ask you
not to, I am deluged with other people’s
ideas—if you must send it, my secretary
will attend to it. Good-bye.
(Gordon steps back very dejected. The
Minister turns, takes up his coffee cup and
says a word to the Duchess.)
Minister.
And now for our chat, my dear.
(He raises the coffee cup, about to drink slowly.
Loveday springs forward and dashes the
cup from his hand, spilling the coffee.
[Note.—Better have a brown carpet so
that the successive stains of a long run
won’t show.] The Duchess and Minister
look amazed.)
Loveday.
(Panting but quietly.) That man, that
man there!
(Points at Varlie, who is now in the corner
between the footlights, the piano, and the
Minister’s group. Very unostentatiously
he digs the jade piece into the earth of pot
and has barely covered it by this time.)
Hold him, Gordon, hold him.
(Gordon literally hurls himself on Varlie
and, before he has time to turn, has his two
arms pinned from behind. The two men
struggle. The Minister looks bewildered.
Hearing the struggle the evening-dress-clad
detective near the curtains comes forward
hurriedly and helps Gordon. They
succeed in holding Varlie.)
Duchess.
For God’s sake don’t have a scene in
public.
(She runs across room and rings repeatedly.
Maid comes in by door right.)
Duchess.
(To Maid.) Draw those curtains instantly
and stand by them. Don’t let anyone
in, not anyone unless I tell you.
(The Maid hurries to obey and draws the heavy
velvet curtains, shutting off the alcove from
the main drawing room and stations
herself by them.)
Minister.
Dear, dear, what is this all about! Why
it is a clergyman! isn’t it? What on
earth are they handling a clergyman in this
fashion for? Why, Smithers man, you
are to guard me, not to assist a young
ruffian in mauling a reverend gentleman.
Smithers.
(Puzzled, half relaxing hold on Varlie)
I’m sure, Sir, I don’t know—
Loveday.
Don’t, don’t leave him! For God’s sake
hold him.
Duchess.
What on earth is this outrageous fracas
about? Loveday, I’m amazed! The
Rev. Dr. Chapman is an American whom
I know and respect. Let him go at once,
Smithers. And you, Mr. Hyde, you
outrageous humbug!
Loveday.
Don’t! (She goes quickly up to Varlie,
pulls his beard with one hand, and it
comes off.)
(Amazement and consternation of all.)
Loveday.
Yes, I thought so! Look, Gordon, see
that scar on his cheek, that little triangular
red scar! But anyway you must know
his face now, it is Varlie!
Varlie.
How the devil—What does all this mean!
You attack the Minister of Peace! I am
the Rev. Dr. Chapman, as you well know,
Duchess. If I choose to wear a false
beard till my own grows because I desire
to follow John the Baptist’s example,
though alas late in life, is that any crime?
Why don’t you go round among your
guests and arrest the ladies with false hair.
They intend to attract and deceive while I
but symbolise my belief in the Nazarene
vows.
(He seems to be making an impression on the
Duchess and the Minister.)
Loveday.
No! Hold him, he’s dangerous. Hold
him till I can tell you all!
Gordon.
Sure, Loveday, I’ll hold him, even if Mr.
Smithers won’t.
Loveday.
Oh, but you both must. Listen. The
reason I spilt the coffee was that he had
put poison in it!
Minister. Duchess.
(Incredulous.) Poison? Poison!
Loveday.
Yes, poison. A deadly, secret poison,
made from the karaka nut. It would
never have been detected, never! A few
hours later you would just have had a
stroke and died! Of course he knows
how dreadfully important you are.
Minister. Duchess.
Bless my soul. Are you raving or am I dreaming, young lady. How do you know this—this amazing thing? Fiddlesticks—tush—but, good God.
Loveday.
I saw him do it.
Varlie-Chapman.
(Putting on a superior air.) Can you
really even listen to such an absurd
charge against one of my cloth?
Loveday.
I can prove it. You will find on him a
green carved jade hei-tiki, it has a secret
recess in which the poison was. It must
be on him. He couldn’t swallow it, it’s
too big. Search him!
Varlie-Chapman.
(Calmly.) Search me, officer—if you are
an officer—to satisfy the hysterical young
lady and settle this absurd business once
and for all.
Loveday.
Don’t trust him. Have another man in to
help. I charge him with attempted
murder you know, murder of the most
important Cabinet Minister.
Duchess.
Oh, Loveday, this is too awful (She sits.)
Minister.
I feel a bit shaken, perhaps I may sit too.
Smithers.
This is serious you know. It had better
be looked into if you’ll excuse me, sir. I
have some of my men outside. If you
would ring three times quickly, and then
twice more, my men will come in.
(Loveday rushes to the bell and does so.)
Thank you, Miss.
Varlie.
Waal, if this isn’t high comedy! But
most unseemly! And to think that it is
in your house, Duchess, that I should be
served up with this nice little surprise
party.
(Enter two stalwart plain clothes men from
door on right.)
Smithers.
Hold this gentleman firmly while we search
his pockets. Excuse me, sir, but I think I
ought to satisfy myself.
Duchess.
I’m terribly distressed. I don’t know
what to think. I have known Loveday
since she was six and had freckles on her
nose, and she has never been hysterical.
Loveday.
(Quietly.) I’m not hysterical now there
are two such nice strong men to hold Mr.
Varlie.
Minister.
(Pathetically.) Could I have some coffee
do you think, my dear? I was really
needing it before——
Duchess.
Of course. This awful fracas must have
exhausted you.
Minister.
(Shaking his finger playfully at her.)
No fancy cakes now!
Duchess.
There are none in my house, not even to-night.
I may not be clever, but I can see
the obvious as well as most people, and it is
glaringly obvious that anyone whose hands
are steady enough to decorate foodstuffs can
handle tools of more use to the country.
(To Maid by curtains.) Go and fetch
some hot coffee at once. I will stay by
the curtains while you are gone. Don’t
say one word to anyone, mind!
(She goes out quickly through door right.
Meanwhile Smithers systematically
searches all Varlie’s pockets. He finds a
revolver, which he lays out with an accusing
look.)
Smithers.
That don’t look like a clergyman, sir!
Varlie.
All Americans have those little pets on
them. In the backwoods I have had to
have it cocked on to my congregation so as
to hold their attention!
(Meanwhile Loveday is quite quietly and
unobtrusively looking round the corner,
front right, where Varlie had been
standing before his arrest. The coffee
comes in, the Minister drinks it, the
Duchess returns from the curtains and
the Maid takes up her place there again.)
Minister.
This is very painful, my dear, very painful.
I’m sure I don’t know what to think.
Duchess.
We must wait and see.
Varlie.
Waal, Duchess, in a time like the present
I quite understand your young girls getting
hysterical. Don’t let my position make
you feel bad. I bear no malice. It is my
duty and my pleasure to turn the other
cheek!
(Loveday stands gazing curiously at the palm,
down right, near where Varlie was. The
smooth green moss is broken through in one
place, and rough earth shows.)
Smithers.
(Rising.) There is no jade ornament too
large for him to swallow on him that I can
see.
Varlie.
Naturally! It grieves me that you should
be so inured to deception, young man,
that you should doubt my word.
Minister.
There, there. It was all a fancy. But
you and I and the Duchess can forgive a
pretty girl more than this, can’t we, Mr.,
Mr.——
Varlie.
Dr. Chapman, sir. Now your myrmidons
can unhand me, I reckon.
(Smithers hesitates to give the order.)
Loveday.
Don’t! It’s not settled. Look at this.
(Smithers comes forward and looks at pot as
she indicates.)
Smithers.
I see nothing there, Miss.
Loveday.
The earth has been disturbed here—look,
the rest of the pot is covered with moss.
Duchess.
Oh, Loveday, Loveday. The gardener
has pulled up a weed, I suppose. Pulling
up weeds always does disturb the moss.
Even the Government knows that.
Loveday.
Gordon, Mr. Smithers—haven’t you a
penknife one of you? Dig just there for
me, please do.
Varlie.
(Gets suddenly restive in his keepers’
hands.) This is the limit! This beats
everything. She put it there herself.
Smithers.
(Looking at him keenly.) Put it there?
You said there wasn’t anything just now.
Varlie.
I have had enough of this. (To the two
holding him.) Let me go, you monkey-faced
jumbos. (To Smithers.) I’m
due at our Embassy. You can do your
agricultural work as well when I’ve gone.
Smithers.
(Now suspicious of him.) We’ll just see
first if there is anything in this plant.
Varlie.
She did it herself. She simply put something
in herself!
Loveday.
(Spreading out her hands.) Look! I’ve
got white kid gloves on! I couldn’t have
done it without leaving earth on them!
and there isn’t a grain!
Minister.
(Leans forward intently interested.) She
is a bright girl that. I call that clever.
Duchess.
Clever, yes. But not witty! She lost an
opportunity of saying, “I have the proof
at my finger tips.”
Minister.
(Chuckling.) No case! The white gloves
of a Judge on circuit!
Duchess.
Good! Ha, ha!
Loveday.
Look at his hands. Look!
(Varlie closes his hands [which are gloveless]
and clenches his nails in.)
Varlie.
By gum, you don’t insult me like this!
Smithers.
Please open your hands, sir.
Varlie.
I won’t, damn you.
Smithers.
You had better, sir.
Varlie.
I dropped a coin in a flower bed this
afternoon! I have some earth in my nails
anyway. (He half opens his hands
reluctantly.)
(All lean forward to see. Two fingers are
stained and there is earth in two or three of
the nails.)
Smithers.
You’d have washed your hands if what
you say about dropping a coin is true before
coming here, sir. Hold him well, men.
Yes, Miss. I’ll dig this pot up for you.
(He digs with his penknife, all wait breathlessly,
in a minute the green jade ornament appears.
He wipes it with his handkerchief, holds it
out to Loveday.)
Smithers.
Is that it, Miss.
Loveday.
(Eager.) Yes, yes, that is it!
Minister. Duchess.
(Coming forward to look at it.) Dear, dear! Fancy! I said Loveday wasn’t hysterical.
Smithers.
That looks as though the young lady was
right. You’ve had a narrow escape, sir!
Varlie.
That don’t amount to shucks! What
does that prove. There is only wild talk.
I tell you I’m known at the American
Embassy, I’m known to the Duchess here.
You can’t begin to prove I ever saw that
green trumpery. The only thing you’ve
got against me is that I wore a false beard!
(Sneers.) Bring that up against an
American citizen and a minister of religion
and you would look queer in the Law
Courts!
Loveday.
And you are known to me—to us. To
both Mr. Hyde and me. You were Mr.
Varlie in New Zealand.
Gordon.
Yes, Varlie, there’s no mistaking you!
You bought the freehold of my Station and
all my sheep and I’m not likely to forget
it.
Loveday.
And you travelled all over New Zealand,
selling things under the name of Varlie,
and you wouldn’t be pretending to be
somebody else and a clergyman too, if you
were honest. Besides (scornfully), I saw
you buy that special secret poison from
Roto, the old Maori, and you made very
special enquiries about its use, too!
Smithers.
(As though recollecting something.)
Varlie—Varlie—New Zealand. The
secret service particular warned me against
a man called Varlie who has been hauling
in a lot of freehold in New Zealand under
various names, and travelling for German
American firms. We had lost track of
him. (Joy spreading over his face.) You
don’t mean to say he is John Varlie! Not
John Varlie, Miss?
Loveday.
Yes, yes.
Gordon.
That’s the name I’ve known him under in
New Zealand for months.
Smithers.
My, men! We have got a haul. Well,
ladies, the man is safe now, anyway.
There is no need to bother you any more
to-night.
Duchess.
Cleverness seems to get an appropriately
solid result, Loveday?
Smithers.
You are staying here, Miss? No? Your
address, please.
(He takes out a note book, she tells her address
[a mumble and dumb show].)
And yours, sir? (Gordon does the same.)
(Meanwhile the Minister looks from one to the
other, turns to Duchess.)
Minister.
He is evidently really a dangerous man!
But a clergyman too! What an outrage
to the cloth. That’s the kind of thing to
make atheists.
Smithers.
(Snapping his note book and turning
quickly.) He is no clergyman. A very
dangerous man, sir. It is all a pretence
too about his being an American. He is
an out and out German, sir, and I make no
doubt the young lady was right about his
attempt on your life, sir. I expect you
have had a narrow escape. We won’t
trouble you any further to-night. Take
him off, men. I’ve got all the addresses.
Good-night, ladies—good-night, sir, good-night,
sir. (Goes out after Varlie, led
by the men, unresisting now.)
(Loveday and Gordon look at each other.
Duchess subsides into sofa by the
Minister.)
Duchess.
As I said, even London is an adventure for
the right man. (Fans herself.) Loveday,
come here.
Minister.
(Rises and shakes her hand, keeps it and
pats it.) My dear young lady, my dear
young lady. The service you have done
me is too great for thanks. You may
command me—always. And I hope I
may often have the happiness of serving
you. But please give me something to do
at once. What can I do for you?
Loveday.
Oh, there is one thing you can do for me,
if only you will! Will you!
Minister.
An-y-thing you like to ask, my dear, if it
is humanly possible. What is it?
Loveday.
Please, oh please, let Mr. Hyde tell you
about his wonderful International plan.
Minister.
Of course, of course! So he is a friend
of yours, is he?
Gordon.
(Coming forward.) I have that great
honour, sir.
Gordon.
(Takes out sheaf of papers.) If there
was a Super-Parliament constituted as I
suggest Prussian Militarism, all Militarism,
is not only defeated now, but for ever!
It is plucked out by the roots, but not at
the ruinous cost of imposing militarism on
all other nations. Oh, there’s so much.
(Hesitates.)
Loveday.
(Breaking in, her voice almost chanting,
like one inspired, its notes resembling
those used by her at the close of Act I.)
And Militarism is met, not by the weakness
of a too trusting idealism but by force
controlled by intelligence. Law is devised
with behind it international force, which
shall protect the nations, as law backed by
civil force protects each man and woman
in Britain.
(Hyde starts, gazing intently at her set inspired
face and seems to recognise her voice. He
stretches out a hand, withdraws it, and
whispers in awed voice.)
Hyde.
My queen! My vision. It is she! (Sits
as though entranced.)
Loveday.
(Does not notice him, but continues uninterruptedly.)
And the nation which
will not come into this council of nations
proclaims itself an outlaw, an aggressor, a
planner of evil, and it inscribes its own
doom, for law that is outraged takes
vengeance implacable.
(There is a pause, she relaxes—smiles.)
Minister.
My dear—I must think.
Loveday.
(Holding out her hands to him appealingly.)
You are the most powerful man
in England, it is for you to initiate this
new era, of international safety and peace.
Whatever the terms of an ordinary
peace, militarism will spring up again to
ravage the world. Let Britain lead in
this new enlargement of law and freedom,
for this is the only way to bring security
to the world.
Minister.
(Very seriously.) I will think about it,
my dear.
Duchess.
(Returning to her normal.) If that is
cleverness it makes me a little dissatisfied
with mere wit.
Minister.
(To Hyde.) Have your suggested constitution
typed out, young man, and bring
it to Downing Street the day after to-morrow.
I’ll send you a card with the
hour. Your address? (Hyde hands
him a card.) I’ll try to get the Prime
Minister interested. Good-night.
Loveday.
How splendid.
Minister.
Good-night, my dear, good-night. If you
leave it very long before I see you again,
I’ll have to send for you. Heaven guard
you, my dear.
(To Duchess.) I must say good-night.
I have long outstayed my time.
Duchess.
Let me see you off my premises. I only
pray there are no more adventures for
you on them. I hope exterminated
dangers leave rest behind them. (They
go off back centre together, the Footman
pulls curtain apart to let them
out and follows them. Faint strains of
music are heard from distant room.)
Loveday.
(Sits on sofa, looks at Gordon with a
rapt gaze.) Your chance, the world’s
chance, has come!
Gordon.
(In awe-struck voice, tenderly. He stands
half stooping before her.) And you, you
are not only my friend but my Goddess,
my vision! Your look just now—your
wonderful voice when you were speaking
to the Minister a little ago. It was you
that night in the woods—you I have been
adoring, and from you I have been
drawing my inspiration!
Loveday.
(Softly.) It was I in the woods. Chance
gave me a moment’s inspiration! which
you worked into reality.
Gordon.
(Half kneels before her.) I know my
love can be nothing at all to you—I am
not a fit mate for you. But let me go on
kneeling to you! Don’t spurn me.
Loveday.
(Slowly.) Why are you so sure your love
is nothing to me?
Gordon.
(As though blinded by a sudden shaft of
light in the darkness.) Oh! It can’t be
that it is anything to you?
Loveday.
Your love is everything to me.
(Slowly he advances, with almost incredulous rapture. They kiss.)
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
PLAYS OF OLD JAPAN: THE “NŌ”
By MARIE C. STOPES and
PROFESSOR JOJI SAKURAI
PREFACE by BARON KATO
The Times says: “The Sumida River is a little play which, even
in translation, one feels to be of great beauty and intolerable
pathos. Dr. Stopes has written a lucid and serviceable introduction
on the ‘Nō’ plays, which deserve the study of every
student of the drama.”
The Morning Post says: “The translators have chosen a rhythmic,
simple, irregular verse, which isolates just that element of pure
tragedy that underlies the native literary crust of ornament....
We are convinced that drawing-room and library will welcome her
to their hearts.”
T.P.’s Weekly says: “We advise all who care for the drama to
read this book. The effect may be compared to that of having the
best work of Synge with an added national and religious interest.”
The Spectator says: “Dr. Stopes has made the ‘Nō’ and their
history for the first time accessible to the ordinary reader ...
there is pleasure to be got from them even by those who only
read a translation of the poems.”
The Times (New York) says: “Dr. Stopes has placed the English
reader under a debt of gratitude by her work on these exquisite
lyric plays.”
The Athenæum says: “The author’s vivid and imaginative
sympathy has really enabled her in some degree to communicate
the incommunicable.”
W. HEINEMANN. 5/- net.
[Pg 96]
MAN
OTHER POEMS & A PREFACE
BY
MARIE C. STOPES, D.Sc., Ph.D., F.R.S.L.
Fellow of University College, London.
“The title-poem, wherein is set forth with thoughtful earnestness
and no little grace of language the changing aspects of
man to the eyes of ripening womanhood, and ‘The Brother,’
a ‘true and unvarnished’ tragedy, deriving force from the
very homeliness of its telling, stand out most clearly in a
volume of which the dominating qualities are clearness of
vision and a distinctive point of view.”—The Athenæum.
“Dr. Stopes is by calling a fossil botanist, and her
scientific training gives restraint and substance to all her
verse. This is particularly noticeable in the longish poem
which opens the book, tracing the changing image which
man assumes in the mind of a growing girl—a difficult theme
well treated from the personal point of view, and in graceful
measured phrase. But there is no lack of emotion in her
pages; she sings with enthusiasm of the joy of married love;
and sometimes in a minor key of regret for old, dead loves.
Her highest level, we think, is reached in ‘Tokio Snow’—a
beautiful fancy expressed in stanzas which have a curious
but very successful rhyme-scheme, and ‘Human Love,’ an
impressive moment of spiritual reflection on the theme
‘Amantium irae.’”—The Times.
W. HEINEMANN. 3/6 net.
Women’s Printing Soc., Ltd., Brick St., Piccadilly, W.1.
Transcriber's Note
The following apparent errors have been corrected:
- p. 10 "Gordon Stop" changed to "Gordon. Stop"
- p. 30 "Iv’e" changed to "I’ve"
- p. 34 "blazing" changed to "blazing.)"
- p. 42 "anquished" changed to "anguished"
- p. 51 "ingenius" changed to "ingenious"
- p. 72 "stuft" changed to "stuff"
- p. 75 "luovely" changed to "lovely"
- p. 85 "Varlie-Chapman (Calmly.)" changed to "Varlie-Chapman. (Calmly.)"
The following are used inconsistently in the text:
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 46198 ***