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The White Flame 
 
THE 
 
 WHITE FLAME 
 
 A PLAY BY LUKE NORTH ti*^ 
 
 H-^Ah^ 
 
 ® 
 
 The Golden Press : Los Angeles 
 MCMX 
 
Copyright, 1909 
 Copyright, 1010 
 By James H. Griffes 
 All rights reserved 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ©CLD 25fl09 
 
Revised Author's Edition 
 of 240 copies of which 
 this is No, ^ 
 
 V 
 
 »N 
 
 IT 
 
J PBRSONS OF THB PLAY 
 
 TEACHER, guide and counselor on the Way' 
 
 ALESSANDRO, a neophite and pupil 
 
 JUDITH, a virgin of the temple 
 
 ^ ALEXANDER RELTON (Alessandro) 
 
 MRS. JULIA LISTON (Judith) 
 
 : MRS. MERTON-BLAKE, patron of Egyptian 
 i archeology 
 
 "JANET HARDS 
 
 DR. PLODINGER 
 
The White Flame 
 
 ACT ONE 
 
 TH^ CAUSE 
 
 The Time of this Act is in the early dawn of Egypt, 
 when the pyramids were new and human motive was 
 little mercenary, when religion and philosophy were one 
 and did not claim to be other than the Explanation of 
 Life and Nature. This was before theology, when cere- 
 monies were known to be but symbols and priests 
 were but teachers and friendly guides on the Way. 
 
 It was a time analogous to that still earlier time in 
 which man ceased to be Androgyne, and the De-volu- 
 tionary forces were still accentuating the Separation of 
 the sexes. Hence Asceticism was logically the way of 
 knowledge and power. 
 
 [A time remote and a Condition now Reversed.] 
 
 The Scene is in a chamber of the Great Pyramid. A 
 little to the right of center is an Altar on which burns 
 steadily a Blue Flame. Back of this is an imposing 
 entrance guarded by massive doors over which is an 
 
lo THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 intense White Light that remains very noticeable until 
 almost the end of the scene — and finally expires. The 
 walls and ceiling are of a polished colorless stone 
 that readily reflects the predominating hue of the lights. 
 A few silk-like tapestries symbolically marked relieve 
 the bareness of the walls, and the Exits to right and 
 to left center are closed by finely woven draperies of 
 dull and indefinite yellowish hues that blend with and 
 reflect the changing color tone of the room. 
 
 To the left is a large mound-like couch covered 
 with soft textures, carelessly and loosely arranged, in 
 hues verging from gray to almost green. It is some- 
 what strewn, and the ground about it, with white, yel- 
 low, and pale pink roses, and with lotus blossoms. 
 These flowers are individually inconspicuous and in 
 mass rather neutral of color and importance. 
 
 Extreme symplicity (but neither hardness nor bare- 
 ness) distinguishes the chamber and its every ap- 
 pointment. At no time during this Act is there a sharp, 
 positive color in the room. 
 
 The robes worn by the Teacher and by AlEssandro 
 are not white, but of a slightly toned yellowish gray that 
 might be mistaken for white. The simple but ample 
 costume of Judith is in hue a very soft but light blue. 
 The children are garbed in soft neutral tints and shades, 
 and of the flowers and greenery they carry none is 
 brilliant or positive in color. 
 
THE FIRST ACT ii 
 
 # 
 
 During almost the entire Act the prevailing color 
 tone of the room is distinctly blue, like the Altar light — 
 a diaphanous blue like summer mists between mountain 
 ranges. 
 
 As the Curtain rises a group of garlanded children are 
 slowly circling the Altar to decorate it with lotus blos- 
 soms and greenery. This pretty ceremony is accom- 
 panied bjr imposing but not solemn music and occupies 
 the first five minutes, by which time the audience is 
 seated, ladies have removed their hats and there is some 
 chance of the opening lines being heard. 
 
 Right and Left are from the viewpoint 
 of the audience. 
 
 Enter from left the Teacher, an elderly man, 
 and AlESSandro his pupil, much younger, about 
 thirty-five. 
 
 Children finish their innocent incantations and 
 exit to right. 
 
 AlESSAndro {gazing intently at the Altar). 
 The blue flame ; is it colder than the fires of the 
 rose? 
 
 Tkacher. Hotter, as the fire is hotter than its 
 fiame and the flame than its aura : a fiercer flame 
 
12 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 than red or gold — tenser, deeper, a subtler blaze 
 that burns a finer substance than does the grosser 
 flame. It is the blue flame of mentality, the true 
 symbol of Man. 
 
 AlKSSandro (musingly). And the test is ever 
 by fire? 
 
 Te;acher. Every test of life is a flame. Here, 
 in this Chamber of the Blue Light, remote from 
 the dust and moil of the world, shall fire read 
 thy secret thoughts and yearnings. 
 
 A1.ESSANDR0. Of the flesh, I have none. 
 
 Teacher. May the flame attest it. 
 
 AlESSandro. The flame! How shall it attest 
 my thought? 
 
 Teacher. This altar fire shall burn a steadfast 
 blue that verges to a purer white, only while the 
 human thought within its range is centered on 
 the finer things of mind and soul — only while 
 active thinking and those aspirations of the soul 
 that lie beyond thought, shall prevail. Should 
 the mind waver and emotion steal upon thee, thy 
 lack of readiness to enter the Chamber of the 
 White Flame shall be attested by the altar light. 
 
THE FIRST ACT 13 
 
 Alessandro. How attested, my father? 
 
 Teacher. The flame shall change its color — 
 from blue to gold, to rose — perchance to sput- 
 tering sodden red. 
 
 AivESSANDRO. Is this magic? 
 
 Teacher. Magic is for children. Here we talk 
 as men. This altar light burns from a chemical 
 so pure, in an atmosphere so fine, that vibrations 
 of every thought and feeling affect it. Who shall 
 rule his mind and keep it to the diamond point 
 of aspiration — he shall safely pass this chamber 
 and enter the fiercer flame of the White Light. 
 
 AlESSandro. And this is the^ test of fire. 
 
 Teacher. Every span of life is but a flame, 
 my son, a flame to burn away the dross that 
 hides Reality. 
 
 Alessandro. What is Reality, my teacher? 
 
 Teacher. Words but symbol it. It is the heart 
 of the flame. In the silence of the White Cham- 
 ber thou canst reach nearer the Heart and know 
 of Reality more than words mean. 
 
 Alessandro. And this flame that life is burns 
 away the errors and missteps — consumes the 
 
14 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 dross and pettiness of existence. 
 
 Teacher. It is true. But there is a better 
 truth. Life holds no dross — save for those who 
 think it. This is truth that shall humble thee: 
 In all the world is nothing base or mean or use- 
 less, and he who treads the Way to liberation 
 from Rebirth shall learn to wait for the slowest 
 traveler. 
 
 AlESSandro. I do not ask for what another 
 may not have. 
 
 Teacher. Nor can any gain that which the 
 meanest shall not have ere life's long span of 
 deaths and births be over. In man's Great Day 
 on earth each soul plays every part, and learns 
 to bare its heart to every cry of human pain or 
 joy. Thus shall the mass attuned become, its dis- 
 sonance fade, and harmony be won. 
 
 AlEssandro. And then? 
 
 Teacher. Our Night of time prevails, and 
 man goes forth in one vast group to gain his 
 cosmic rest. 
 
 Alessandro. The end of time — ? 
 
 Teacher. Not so. For on the cosmic morrow. 
 
THE FIRST ACT 15 
 
 in mighty caravan, the human group, now god- 
 like in its range, betakes itself to other worlds. 
 * Tis profitless to think much on it — but speak 
 not of " the end." There is no end for mind and 
 heart that's free to soar beyond sensations' con- 
 fines and reach the core of things within the 
 flame. 
 
 * "Like a white eagle on some towering peak 
 Fronting the burning sun with radiant eyes. 
 So let thy mind to heights of knowledge rise. 
 When thou art hungered, flesh the curved beak 
 Of Meditation on wild thoughts that break 
 Old boundaries through. Fly thou 'neath boundless 
 
 skies, 
 In the fierce joy of power that satisfies. 
 To rend and to devour, and still to seek. 
 Yea, let thy mind plumed with deific might, 
 Flashing from star to star, all worlds explore; 
 Reaching new realms each year with tireless flight. 
 Breasting deep-winged the Empyrean's purple core. 
 Bathed in the Sun of suns whose dazzling light 
 Leads thee to gaze and fly forevermore." 
 
 AlESSAndro. My heart is lifted by the maj- 
 esty of the picture. 
 
 *Th« lines quoted «r« by Alys Thompson. 
 
i6 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Teacher. Yet in words as blunt and bald as 
 mother tongue may carry would I speak. Let 
 children have their toys of metaphor and trope. 
 Here by this flame of which thy very soul is 
 part — which vibrates to that human part of 
 man that spans the gulf of sleep and carries o'er 
 from life to life — we talk as soul to soul. When 
 you have reached the Chamber of White Fire 
 and stand within its fusing flame, then speech 
 within thee shall be stilled, cold reason laid aside, 
 and thou shalt Know. 
 
 Ai<ESSANDRO. I would enter. 
 
 Teacher. Patience. The door of knowledge 
 slowly turns. The White Flame but fuses and 
 attests. Of itself it gives no knowledge. And 
 there are distances yet to compass. 
 
 Alessandro. Distances? 
 
 Teacher. As presently you will find. A final 
 word I'd give you now, my son. What is this 
 that we call a Man ? 
 
 Alessandro. Your word I wait. 
 
 Teacher. A compound then of Mind, Soul, 
 and Spirit, 
 
THE FIRST ACT 17 
 
 Ai^esSANDRO. The sacred triangle? 
 
 Tmchejr. The triad, true, though I speak it 
 not as sacred. No thing is sacred beyond an- 
 other. All things are sacred — all and nothing. 
 But empty sounds, to real men, are words of 
 praise and blame. 
 
 AliSSSAndro. Some things change quicker — 
 some last longer? 
 
 TEACHER. Yes ; and of that Three which man 
 is, the Spirit only is eternal — and Formless. 
 
 Ai.E)SSANDRO. Mind and Soul, then, have form ? 
 
 Teacher. Yes, form, though mortal eyes may 
 not behold it. And having form they change — 
 but slowly, slowly, lasting out the round of man's 
 long earthly cycle on the Wheel of Rebirth. And 
 in these forms of mind and soul there dwells the 
 Formless Everlasting Ray that wills and works 
 and builds from Dawn till Night, and then from 
 Night till Dawn again, unending ! 
 
 AivESSANDRO. A mighty picture. Is man so 
 old — his world so vast? 
 
 Teacher. That more than human which man 
 is hath no Beginning — his world no confines. 
 
i8 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 AlESSandro. Of man's form and flesh thou 
 sayest but little, my teacher. 
 
 Teacher. Have we not done with these? 
 Man *s not his form, nor yet the wild emotions 
 that control and e'er destroy it. Man is that trin- 
 ity which intermittently reclothes itself in denser 
 form. This form man changes as the outer man 
 puts off and on his coat. 
 
 AlEssandro. This change — this change that 
 men call death — 
 
 Teacher. Is but life's Longer Sleep. 
 
 AlESSandro. To die then is to fall asleep^ and 
 wake again in some new form? 
 
 Teacher. In some new human form. Man 
 does not sink beneath his own estate, to enter 
 forms of animals, as some who reason not nor 
 see the Way of Things have said. 
 
 AlEssandro. But in this Longer Sleep we 
 lose the memory of daylight happenings. 
 
 Teacher. Of daylight's petty, fleeting hap- 
 penings. We do not carry to deep sleep ephem- 
 eral things of the external world. 
 
 AlEssandro. And so the loves and friendships 
 
THE FIRST ACT 19 
 
 of a life must end with death? And friends and 
 lovers know each other not upon the new life's 
 morrow ? 
 
 Teacher. Why, that is as it may be. If friends 
 and lovers know each other but by the garb they 
 wear, then with the change of garb must recog- 
 nition cease. 
 
 AivESSANDRO. But bonds that reach beneath the 
 flesh and form — ? 
 
 Teacher. May yet not rest upon more lasting 
 base than the emotions. These ever change and 
 fade: It is their nature. 
 
 AivESSANDRO. There may be stronger bonds? 
 
 Teacher. There are. And bonds that bind 
 Reincarnating Souls outlast the sleep of many 
 Nights of life and stretch into eternity. 
 
 AlESSandro. But we forget. Is there no sleep 
 without the loss of memory? 
 
 Teacher. Relatively none, since memory is 
 but the holding fast of things external and 
 ephemeral. But there is sleep without the letting 
 go of life, and they who pass into the White 
 Flame shall learn to draw the Shroud of Change 
 
20 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 about them, nor lose the thread of life. Who 
 conquers mind and makes it servant to the 
 Will — he hath conquered death. 
 
 AivESSANDRO. 'Tis at this door I knock. That 
 gulf of passing consciousness I'd bridge, and live 
 with those high souls who keep the knowledge of 
 the Way of Things from time's corrupting hand. 
 
 TeachiSr. The fire shall test thee — fire that 
 runs from youth's red blaze of passion to fiercest 
 flames of white. 
 
 A1.ESSANDR0. Men have worshipped fire. 
 
 Teacher. And still do worship it. But few 
 have sought the heart of fire. Men live in the 
 flame and the flame consumes. 
 
 AlESSAndro. Fire — vibration — 
 
 Teacher. Vibration is but the flame, Wouldst 
 reach the heart beyond the flame? 
 
 Alessandro. It is the goal for which I search. 
 Have I lagged, father, when thou hast led? 
 
 Teacher. Not so, my son. 'Tis time that thou 
 shouldst lead .... And the way is dark — 
 
 Alessandro. But I shall have thy hand to 
 grasp — 
 
THE FIRST ACT 21 
 
 TEACHER. Not so. . . . We part. 
 
 A1.ESSANDR0. Say you we must part? 
 
 T^ACHiSR. 'Tis so; for none may lean or fol- 
 low on the Way, but each must find it for him- 
 self — alone. 
 
 AlESSandro. I yet shall have the light of thy 
 guidance. The years I've sat to thy hand, the 
 wisdom fallen from thy lips shall light the Way 
 for me. 
 
 Teacher. Yet shall the Way be dark, my son, 
 all dark, save for the Light Within. All outward 
 fire is but the test. The light that guides shines 
 from the heart — the light that links the outer 
 form with the lasting man, the fleeting with the 
 Real; this Light alone can lead. 
 
 AlESSANDRO. I have no fear, father. 
 
 Teacher. And when the Way is darkest, say 
 to thyself, " I have no fear." To those who have 
 no fear no harm can come. 
 
 Ai^ESSANDRO. Than fear, is there no other 
 danger ? 
 
 Teacher. None. But thou shalt meet delays. 
 None shall escape the Wheel of Rebirth, nor 
 
22 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 reach to Nature's Inmost secrets and pay but 
 half the price. 
 
 AlEssandro. ril not complain. 
 
 Teacher. I believe thee. For ten years hast 
 thou lived well the life, and earned thy every 
 step. Has the path seemed long? 
 
 AlESSAndro. I have not measured time. I 
 came to you when days were dark, and wild 
 emotions tore the flesh. Wrenched from a soul 
 that was to me life's counterpart, these silent 
 chambers gave me peace. I bowed — and ceased 
 to feel. The flesh I have not conquered, but for- 
 got, and you have opened fairer visions to my 
 inner sight than I had known could be. For ev- 
 ery rose of life I've scorned a fairer bloom I've 
 found. 
 
 Teacher. And spilled the withered flowers in 
 reaching for the new. Thou hast learned that the 
 way of form is change. 
 
 Alessandro. But I have not forgotten the es- 
 sence of the Rose that thralled my soul and 
 senses. Why was it torn away? 
 
 Teacher. Life's test to sift the real from the 
 
THE FIRST ACT 23 
 
 fleeting — the essence from the bloom, the spirit 
 from the form. Men rage because the way of life 
 is thus and so, because they may not woo the 
 form and win the essence — nor eat their sweets 
 and have them. 
 
 AlEssandro. I have sought the essence. 
 
 Teacher. And thou shalt find. It will bloom 
 for thee anew. Joy comes in cycles. What has 
 been will be again. Cycles of heat and cold and 
 joy and pain now rule man's life, till he shall 
 learn to fix his heart on that which changes less ; 
 till he shall learn to welcome joy and turn deaf 
 ear to grief's commotion. But thou, Alessandro, 
 hast not set heart upon the Bowl of her you 
 lost — or this fine flame would register thy pulse- 
 beats and turn to rose or sodden red. 
 
 Alessandro. I drank a deeper draft than lips 
 of flesh may taste. I asked of life — perhaps too 
 much. 
 
 Teacher. None ask too much, and many ask 
 too little, content with husks and flowers that 
 wither ere they be fairly plucked. But thou shalt 
 drink again. There comes a time — when man's 
 
24 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 return to Cosmic Night begins and souls do 
 blend again — when separated Rays unite, and 
 each soul finds its counterpart. 
 
 Ale:ssandrd. That time! — is long — 
 
 Teacher. There is no time. 
 
 AivESSANDRO. No time? 
 
 Teacher. 'Tis all an everlasting Now. At 
 heart of Nature there's no measuring of hours. 
 Time's at the rim of life, and all that was or 
 shall be lies focused at the core of Things. Time 
 measures flesh. But now I go — farewell! 
 
 A1.ESSANDR0. My guide, my friend — oh ! more 
 than father you have been to me. And shall we 
 meet again? 
 
 Teacher. Beyond all doubt. Such bond as 
 ours is not so lightly broken. When the White 
 Flame beams upon thee, it shall reveal my out- 
 stretched hand. I go. Thy test, the flame — may 
 it waver not. 
 
 AlEssandro. Farewell, beloved teacher. I'll 
 hail thee soon. 
 
 Teacher. In the White Flame we meet. 
 
 They part. Bxit TeachER. 
 
THE FIRST ACT 25 
 
 AlESSandro (slowly and meditatively going 
 to couch upon which he rests, gathering poise 
 before essaying to enter the chamber of the 
 White Flame). I'm calm. My mind obeys the 
 will. . . . The flame burns steadily. Peace is with 
 me. What knowledge waits within? . . . I'll go. 
 {Half rising — chant of woman's voice is heard.) 
 That voice ! I've heard it in the deeps of silence, 
 in night's profoundest hours — and learned to 
 drive it 'neath the pulsing flesh .and all its vast 
 emotions. 'Tis a sound beyond these ears to hear, 
 a chord that vibrates in a subtler world than this. 
 I've felt its strength. Its cadences now guide my 
 steps to the Portal. {Rises, abstractedly — chant- 
 ing grows stronger — he walks slowly toward 
 the Altar, his gaze fixed on the portal of the 
 White Flame.) The peace and the strength of 
 our love, Judith! {Woman enters from right, 
 veiled — advances softly toward Altar. He ad- 
 vances slozvly, not seeing her. Chanting has 
 ceased. Unconsciously they approach each other.) 
 I walk as on air. Her spirit leads me. Judith. 
 
 They are now quite close and feel the presence 
 
26 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 of each other, though her gaze is fixed intently 
 upon the Altar and he sees only the White Flame. 
 Both pause. 
 
 AlESSandro (now turns). Ah! . . . (softly) 
 Judith! . . . 
 
 Judith. I am Judith (throws aside veil), 
 
 AlESSAndro. And here! What tricks, what 
 luring dreams of paradise and glory, do the 
 senses lay before me now? 
 
 Judith. Alessandro! It is a vision, but fairer 
 than Fd ever hoped to see with eyes of flesh! 
 
 AivESSANDRO. 'Tis she! Judith! my life! 
 
 Judith. O, what strange joy is this? Can 
 dead men walk in holy places? 
 
 Alessandro. Judith, the breath of life is in 
 me. Our love — ah, this is all a dream, I think : 
 then let us dream it out! 
 
 Judith. And pray to wake no more. . . . No, 
 no, you must not touch me. Fm sacred to the 
 flame; my life is sworn to chastity. I could not 
 bear your touch. 
 
 Alessandro. 'Tis but a dream, Judith, a mid- 
 night charm of heavenly fancy. We'll waken 
 
THE FIRST ACT 27 
 
 soon enough. Let's lose no instant of its joy, but 
 treasure with a miser's care each faintest throb. 
 Eternity were not full pay for instants of thy 
 love! Judith, hast thou forgotten? 
 
 Altar Uame wavers and slowly turns to gold, 
 diffusing the room with golden light. 
 
 Judith. Forgot! Alessandro! thee — forgot? 
 When earth forgets the sun — and roses drink 
 no morning dew — thy kisses I'll forget! . . . 
 Yet, am I sacred to the flame, my life's fore- 
 sworn. I must not dream! . . . And you — ? 
 
 Aiv^sSANDRO. I seek the Way of Light — 
 and •— ~ sweet God ! I've found it in your eyes ! 
 Worlds were between us — I thought thee dead. 
 It was a lie to part us, a trick of life to make me 
 earn you ! 
 
 Both irresolute. He clasps her. She struggles 
 faintly. Altar light turns to pale rose — light in 
 room grows dim-. He hears her to couch. 
 
 Judith. They told me you were slain in the 
 war. . . . No, no, this must not be ! The flame — ! 
 
 Alessandro. It is! I only know it is! And 
 were there worlds of glory slipping from my 
 
28 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 grasp, in thy dear eyes are fairer worlds! 
 
 The rose tint of the Altar Flame deepens. The 
 White Light fading. 
 
 Judith. The flame — it darkens ! Ah ! a bright- 
 er Hght I see ! But thou — one kiss ! . . . Oh, 
 leave me now. I'll follow thee to other worlds 
 than flesh; when our two souls may blend. My 
 light — and life! . . . Go, vv^hile yet the White 
 Flame burns ! 
 
 AIvE:ssandro. There is no whiter light than thy 
 pure soul, and in its glow my spirit shall be 
 wrapt ! 
 
 White light over portal expires — room is in 
 darkness save for deepening rose glow of Altar 
 light. 
 
 Judith. Alessandro, my heart! 
 
 Al,ESSandro. Judith ! there is no light but you ! 
 
 The rose hue of the Altar light deepens as the 
 Curtain descends. 
 
 end Ot FIRST ACT 
 
The Second Act 
 
ACT TWO 
 
 THE EFFECT 
 
 The Time is modern. 
 
 The Scene is in the Egyptian room of a luxurious 
 home whose hostess, Mrs. Merton-Blake, is a famous 
 collector of Egyptian relics. 
 
 The stage is set as in Act I, except that to left, in 
 place of the garlanded couch, are several tiers of 
 chairs reaching back into a smaller room that lends 
 itself on occasion, in connection with the Egyptian 
 room, to an assembly hall in which Mrs. BlakE is 
 wont to entertain her friends with parlor talks by 
 notable persons of advanced ideas. 
 
 There has just been such a gathering to hear an 
 address on Reincarnation by Alexander Rei,ton^ and 
 as the curtain rises Mrs. Bi,ake is bidding adieu to a 
 few belated auditors. 
 
 In the room also are Janet Hards, spinster, 
 spectacled, usually knitting, confirmed materialist, 
 companion of Mrs. Bi,akE, familiarly known and loved 
 by everybody — wearing a gauze-like shawl that re- 
 sembles the veil of Judith's in Act I; and Dr. Plod- 
 
32 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 INGER, who has come to think that Reincarnation ex- 
 plains Things. 
 
 On the Altar, as in Act I, is a Blue Flame giving 
 its tone to the light of the room, and over the impos- 
 ing entrance back of the Altar is the same strong 
 White Light. 
 
 The lights do not waver or change as in Act Ir 
 being merely replicas of the ancient symbols. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE^ (shaking hands with several de- 
 parting guests), I'm so sorry things turned out 
 as they did. 
 
 Guest. We enjoyed your discourse very much, 
 Mrs. Blake. 
 
 2d Guest. Yes, indeed — perhaps as much as 
 we should have enjoyed hearing Mr. Relton, 
 
 3d Guest. How unfortunate that he should 
 have been taken ill so suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE. I regret it exceedingly, friends, 
 I assure you, and I know Mr. Relton is greatly 
 distressed over his failure this evening. 
 
 A Guest (as they are going out), I am sure 
 we all wish him a speedy recovery. 
 
 Following departure of Guests servants slowly 
 and noiselessly remove chairs and place a couch 
 
THE SECOND ACT 33 
 
 left, making the room still further resemble itself 
 in Act. I. 
 
 Doctor. He was not physically ill, I think, 
 Mrs. Blake? 
 
 Janet. Too much head work. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. No, he was not physically ill, 
 doctor — nor is his trouble mental, as you sup- 
 pose, Janet. 
 
 Janet. Is this more mystics, Sara? 
 
 Mrs.' B1.AKE. You may call it that, or any- 
 thing. Names don't count. But I must tell you 
 about Alexander. You saw him turn pale as he 
 looked about in this room — 
 
 Doctor. Why, he staggered — almost fell as 
 he stood before this ghostly relic. 
 
 Janet. And he left your assembly without a 
 word — almost rude, I thought — but he is a 
 good sort at heart, I am sure, Sara? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Doctor — Janet — I have a sus- 
 picion — but let me think it out a little first. 
 (Observes that servants have finished arranging 
 room.) There, as the room is now arranged, it 
 almost exactly duplicates the chamber in the 
 
34 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Pyramid from which these relics were taken. 
 
 Janet. How do you know that, Sara? 
 
 Mrs. Bi<AKE. I was there with the exploring 
 party, my dear, and we took a flashlight of the 
 room before dismantling it. 
 
 Doctor. And these lights — ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. One doesn't study these things 
 for years without learning something. They com- 
 plete the picture now, but for the ancients they 
 played deeply significant parts and were of prac- 
 tical use. . . . Now, I am wondering . . . could 
 Alexander have seen this altar and its light — 
 this very room — before? 
 
 Doctor. How impossible, since he has only 
 just returned from his long visit to India, and 
 you have had these relics but a few weeks. 
 
 Janet. Why, what are you thinking of, Sara? 
 You didn't even have an Egyptian room when 
 Mr. Relton lived here. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Oh, I mean — yes, you are go- 
 ing to laugh at me — I mean could he have seen 
 them in times past, in other ages — but there, I 
 have said so much, I must say more. 
 
THE SECOND ACT 35 
 
 Doctor. Do, by all means. I will try to keep 
 Janet quiet, and I — well, I have ceased to laugh 
 at things merely because they are outside my ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Janet. You can't laugh; you're too old. But 
 ril be still. Tell us, Sara. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Alexander's mother married a 
 New Yorker who spent much of his time in In- 
 dia—had an estate, or something, at Adyar. 
 Alexander was born, and his father died there. 
 
 Doctor. Was the son educated in India? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Partly there, and partly in this 
 country. His mother was my distant cousin, but 
 closest friend. When she came to live here with 
 me, in the early days of her widowhood, our old 
 time friendship grew more intimate. Now come 
 close and listen : Alexander was a peculiar child. 
 He had visions and such. All through his boy- 
 hood he talked of strange things, of things he 
 had seen and known before he was born. 
 
 Janet. Umph! He needed exercise. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. And in his wandering talks he 
 often spoke the name of a woman or girl — Ju- 
 
36 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 dith, I think it was — whom he sought as a play- 
 mate. His poor mother worried over this a great 
 deal, but his father, who was a student of the 
 Eastern philosophies, rather encouraged the boy, 
 and said his vagaries were the dim recollections 
 of past incarnations, the memory of events and 
 experiences of former lives. 
 
 Jankt. Poor woman — husband and son both 
 crazy ! 
 
 Doctor. Oh, not so crazy, perhaps. Anyway, 
 Janet, I promised that you would keep still. 
 
 Jane:t. But I can't when such folly is taken 
 so seriously. 
 
 Doctor. I don't see much folly in this. Such 
 things do happen. I have met similar cases in 
 my practice. 
 
 Jane:t. What did you prescribe — belladonna, 
 or morphine? 
 
 Doctor. I listened and tried to learn some- 
 thing. 
 
 Mrs. Blakk. Now, Janet. 
 
 Janet. Oh, I'm all attention. It really is in- 
 teresting. 
 
THE SECOND ACT 37 
 
 Doctor. Do you mean to connect these child- 
 hood visions with the occurrence of this evening, 
 Mrs. Blake — his all but fainting as he entered 
 this strange, weird room of yours? 
 
 Mrs. Blake:. Of course, Doctor, I am only 
 guessing. Suppose this room and its ancient 
 trappings suggested a former and a similar scene 
 to him. This room just as it is now furnished 
 was an Inner Chamber of a school of life and 
 philosophy. The mysteries of life and death, the 
 plan of nature, and the course of evolution were 
 taught in these secret halls of the Pyramids. 
 
 Doctor. There were great Adepts in those 
 days, it is said. 
 
 Janet. What is that, Doctor — an Adept? 
 
 Doctor. One who has kept still and listened 
 for a good many ages, until he has learned a 
 great deal more than some noisy people ever will. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Don't be so hard on Janet, Doc- 
 tor. 
 
 Doctor. I feel responsible for her. All her 
 materialism she imbibed out of the books I am 
 now regretful of having written. 
 
38 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Jane^T. The conceit! 
 
 Mrs. Bi^akE. Some of us learn as we grow 
 older. 
 
 Janet. Umph. They need to. 
 
 Mrs. Bi^AKE. I think even Janet could learn 
 from Alexander Relton. He has made the sub- 
 ject of Reincarnation a life study, and the rea- 
 sonable and simple way in which he presents it 
 is very convincing. There, that's his footstep. 
 {Enter Ai^exander^ averting his gaze from al- 
 tar.) I'm so glad you feel well enough to rejoin 
 us, dea — {correcting herself — but JanET no- 
 tices) — to rejoin us, Alexander. 
 
 Alexander. Oh, I wasn't ill, dear Mrs. 
 Blake — and Miss Hards — Doctor {hawing to 
 them, taking hostess* hands frankly). 
 
 Doctor. Not seriously, at any rate, I hope. 
 
 Alexander. An emotional derangement, I 
 should call it, Doctor. And I am heartily ashamed 
 of it. {Looks fearlessly toward Altar, hut qua^ 
 vers a little.) I feel that I owe you all a sincere 
 apology. It was a weak, childish thing. I can 
 scarcely understand my own weakness, and cer- 
 tainly not excuse it. 
 
THE SECOND ACT 39 
 
 Mrs. Blake {significantly) . It was something 
 far stronger than a passing emotion, Alexander. 
 Come, tell us about it. We are all comrades here. 
 
 Alexander. No, seriously, Mrs. Blake, I can't 
 explain it any other way than as emotional — 
 well, shall I say, insanity? 
 
 Doctor. With the same seriousness and frank- 
 ness, Alexander, I should not call it insanity. 
 
 Alexander. But my mental processes were 
 entirely inactive. Indeed, that was my fault. The 
 mind should have been held to its post of duty. 
 When the mind is lax all sorts of curious things 
 creep into one's life. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. But there are things — forces, 
 events, beyond the control of the mind, Alexan- 
 der, are there not? 
 
 Alexander. Undoubtedly, as you women know 
 better than men, but I am skeptical of my own 
 present power to reach them. We live in an in- 
 tellectual age. We worship reason, and I think 
 we must prove all our knowledge by reason. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. But your experience when you 
 first entered this room — Is it painful for me to 
 recall it? 
 
40 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Alexander. I have scarcely tried to account 
 for it on other than emotional grounds. I have 
 no other clew — the blue air here, the strange yet 
 familiar room — the dreaminess of the scene as 
 I first entered — it stirred deeply — I had seen it 
 before — oh, what do I say ? — I don't know — 
 I haven't reasoned it out yet — I am not reason- 
 ably sure of anything, sometimes. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Nor will reason alone ever en- 
 able you to be sure of anything, Alexander. 
 
 Doctor. It rather proves things to us, I think. 
 I would certainly repel any idea or feeling that 
 I could not rationalize. 
 
 Alexander. That is the way I feel about Re- 
 incarnation, Doctor. Personal experience and in- 
 tuitions are valueless as proof save to the indi- 
 vidual who may have experienced them, and in 
 my own case, at least, I distrust them all iniless 
 I can rationalize them. 
 
 Janet. You don't mean to say you can ration- 
 alize this idea of Reincarnation, do you, now? 
 
 Doctor. She was quiet for a long while. 
 
 Alexander. If I could not reason it out step 
 by step I certainly would not advocate it as a 
 
THE SECOND ACT 41 
 
 solution of the problems of life, however much I 
 might privately hold to it. 
 Doctor. Nothing else seems to explain life. 
 Mrs. Blak^. Life is but a hideous nightmare 
 for the millions if Reincarnation is not true. O, 
 when I think of its terrible inequalities, its 
 crimes, its prisons, its slums, and its palaces — 
 Janist, You are ready to take wings and fly 
 away with your Reincarnation notions. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE. It is you materialists who would 
 fly from the world and its troubles, instead of 
 remaining here and helping to right them. You 
 and the Christians propose to go away from earth 
 for ever at the end of seventy years or so. 
 
 Doctor. Yes. The Christian spends his eter- 
 nity in heaven or in hell, and the materialist 
 spends his in the dreamless sleep of the grave. 
 
 A1.EXANDER. Both ideas are essentially the 
 same. Modern materialism echoes the old Chris- 
 tian theology in declaring that man is only a 
 transient guest on this earth, that he comes here 
 at birth, remains for a few years, and then goes 
 away for ever. 
 
42 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Doctor. And that is why earth is the hell of 
 turmoil and misery that it is. Man's treasures 
 are laid away somewhere else, and where his 
 treasures are there is his heart. 
 
 Alexander. When the rational side of Rein- 
 carnation is thoroughly understood by you social 
 reformers (to Janet) and men realize that this 
 earth is their permanent home for many, many 
 ages, then we will see more serious and united 
 efforts made toward bettering its conditions. 
 Paradise is not entirely a dream, but a true sym- 
 bol of a social state that shall one day exist on 
 this earth — 
 
 Janet, who has been bending over her knit- 
 ting, shrugs her shoulders derisively — then he- 
 comes interested, sits back and raises her glasses 
 above her eyes, 
 
 Mrs. Blake. When the heart and mind arc 
 really focussed upon this earth, instead of some 
 distant sphere. 
 
 Janet. Oh, shucks! children. When you're 
 dead you're dead all over. Fve seen many a 
 corpse. . . . Where did I put my glasses? 
 
THE SECOND ACT 43 
 
 (searching for spectacles.) Now, if we have 
 lived before why don't we remember it? 
 
 Doctor (taking glasses from her forehead 
 and handing them to her) . Here are your glasses, 
 Janet, and here is the answer to your question 
 why we don't remember. Why didn't you re- 
 member where you put your glasses? 
 
 Janet. I was thinking of a man, I suppose. 
 You were talking. Tell me, why didn't I remem- 
 ber? 
 
 Doctor. Because your mind was on something 
 else. We remember that upon which the mind is 
 centered. We don't recall our former lives be- 
 cause from infancy our minds are centered upon 
 the petty details of this life. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Well, I think some people re- 
 member some things (with a glance to Alexan- 
 der). 
 
 Alexander. It may be, Mrs. Blake ; but it is 
 improbable in our materialistic times, and cer- 
 tainly unreliable as proof of the fact of Reincar- 
 nation. 
 
 Doctor. But you don't deny the possibility? 
 
44 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 A1.EXANDER. No ; many improbable things hap- 
 pen continually. 
 
 Doctor. Or that two people could recognize 
 each other, from some strong attachment in a 
 former life — ? 
 
 Alexande:r. Why, nothing is impossible. But 
 they would hardly recognize each other from any 
 physical recollection, for surely the bodies in 
 which they reside must be greatly dissimilar to 
 those of a previous life. 
 
 Doctor. Well, not so greatly, perhaps. There 
 would be characteristics, even mannerisms, car- 
 ried over — and then such a recognition, if it oc- 
 curred, would not be physical. We feel each 
 other. We instinctively like or dislike this or that 
 person we meet for the first time. 
 
 AivEXANDER {speaking rather abruptly). Oh, 
 if an attachment in one life were founded on 
 something more than a surface affection. If a 
 love or a friendship were much deeper than the 
 physical, if it existed on a more lasting plane 
 than that of sensation — affection, or emotion — 
 if it were rooted in the reincarnating natures of 
 
THE SECOND ACT 45 
 
 them — if it were a friendship or a love of the 
 soul — why, it would carry over. It does, I am 
 sure. And no doubt we in this room are drawn 
 together by some such pre-existing bond. 
 
 Janet. How delightful! Then we are all soul 
 affinities. 
 
 Mrs. BlakE. Horrors ! I hope not — not since 
 the newspapers have got hold of the word and 
 degraded a term that really was expressive of 
 something more than a physical passion. 
 
 AivSXANDER. Well, I am going back to the 
 library now, good people. I only came down- 
 stairs because I felt I owed you all an apology 
 for my rudeness. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. We knew it was unintentional, 
 Alexander. 
 
 Doctor. I'll go with you, old man. Au revoir, 
 ladies. 
 
 As the two men go out AIvExander deliber- 
 ately stares at Altar, hesitates a moment — is al- 
 most overcome — controls himself, and goes 
 slowly out after Doctor. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. There's something very deep in 
 
46 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 all this, Janet. Alexander is mentally a very 
 strong man. I wish I could remember more of 
 his youthful wanderings . . . (softly) this Ju- 
 dith! 
 
 Janet. Oh, you remember enough of them, 
 dear. Come back to earth now. He looks much 
 better and stronger since his return. And he's 
 so convincing in his manner — I could almost 
 believe him. . . . Do you know, Sara, dear (put- 
 ting arms about her), there are times when I 
 think you are almost sane! 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Janet, you're going to say some- 
 thing that you ought n't to. 
 
 Janet. I'm going to say that you are in love 
 with Alexander, and — 
 
 Mrs. Blake (unconvincingly) . Why, Janet, 
 how absurd. 
 
 Janet. And you are not to deny it — to me, 
 dear, because I know. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Why, I'm almost as old as his 
 mother would have been! 
 
 Janet. And you would like to remember your- 
 self as his mythical " Judith " — and you would 
 
THE SECOND ACT 47 
 
 have done so long ago if you were not so dis- 
 tressingly honest with yourself. 
 
 Mrs. Bi.AK^. You're imagining things, dear. 
 
 Janet. No, Fm a sign reader — that's all. 
 
 Mrs. Blake:. Isn't he fine? 
 
 Janet. If I were silly like some people I think 
 I could fall in love with him myself. And if I 
 did, do you know what I'd do? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. No; tell me. 
 
 Janet. I'd just go and get him. He's help- 
 less. Every man is. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Don't say any more, dear. Let 
 me dream a bit. 
 
 Janet. I wonder why Julia was not here this 
 afternoon. She is far too sensible to take all this 
 kind of talk seriously. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. What kind of talk, Janet? 
 
 Janet. Oh, all this talk about leaving one's 
 body instead of just calmly dying in the good 
 old-fashioned way. 
 
 Bnter Julia Liston. She stops at threshold 
 to throw aside wrappings . . . stares as one 
 dazed. Tries to speak and cannot. 
 
48 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Oh, there you are. You are al- 
 most late, Julia. 
 
 JuuA. O — I — (faints: is carried to lounge 
 at left Recovers quickly, but talks wanderingly). 
 I thought you dead, Alessandro. . . . leave 
 me. ... I am wedded to the flame. O! . . . 
 this is still the dream — Alessandro ! (mild hys- 
 terics for a moment — then calms and completely 
 responds to the ministration of the two ladies,) 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Whatever is the matter, dear? 
 
 Julia. Just a sudden dizziness, I think. 
 
 Janet. No such thing. It's that old Altar and 
 these queer trappings here. They're enough to 
 give anyone the willies. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Janet! 
 
 Janet. Oh, they are. And you are not the 
 first to see them and then go into — 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Now, Janet, be still! 
 
 Julia. I am tired — may I go and lie down a 
 bit? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Indeed you must, dear. Dinner 
 won't be ready for an hour yet. Janet, please, 
 you take her upstairs (to Janet aside), and not 
 
THE SECOND ACT 49 
 
 a word of this afternoon. Keep her mind off the 
 subject. 
 
 Janet. You dear thing; come along now. It's 
 just a rest you want before dinner. {Throws her 
 shawl over Julia.) 
 
 Julia {quite weak, hut smiling). I feel as if 
 I could never want to eat again. You know I 
 walked so much today. I am quite weak {evi- 
 dently unwilling to admit the real cause of her 
 faintness.) Both exit. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. What does this all mean? I seem 
 to be on the verge of a precipice down which my 
 entire household is to topple . . . Julia thus af- 
 fected by these relics! What can it mean? Oh, 
 I am the most unfortunate of women to be the 
 innocent cause of so much distress . . . Can it 
 be? . . . She and Alexander! . . . No, no — 
 that is romance , . . possibility, not realization 
 in our prosaic lives. Because a thing might hap- 
 pen — because I know that loves and friendships 
 do outlast this Longer Sleep we call death . . . 
 Is she? . . . they two! . . . then — is my — 
 dream over? {Enter Janet) Her strange words 
 
50 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 — " I am wed to the Light — " 
 
 Janet. It's a Red Light that she is wed to, 
 rU be bound. 
 
 Mrs. B1.AKE. What do you mean, Janet? 
 
 Janet. Just about what I said, Sara. A shin- 
 ing light in the Red Light district — if the half 
 they say of him be only half true. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE. Oh, you mustn't say such things, 
 Janet. 
 
 Janet. Of course I don't, only to you, Sara. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. It is not for you or me to judge. 
 
 Janet. Oh, I don't know — don't know. If 
 it is for her to bear, it is for me to speak my 
 mind about it. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. But not too loud — the serv- 
 ants — 
 
 Janet. Shucks! There isn't a servant on the 
 avenue that doesn't know all about it. Why 
 doesn't she get a divorce? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. The publicity — the newspapers 
 
 — the scandal of it all! And only a few years 
 ago it was a love match. He was so devoted; a 
 little wild — but, oh, what the years do bring! 
 
THE SECOND ACT 51 
 
 Janet. They were soul affinities — I guess 
 not. She'd better brave the scandal and pubHcity 
 and have done with it all. I'd shov/ him if I were 
 ^ in her shoes. 
 
 Mrs. Bi<AKE. But Julia is a woman, dear — 
 just a woman, a woman clear through. You and 
 I are part men, I sometimes think. At any rate 
 we have the masculine attitude of mind. We can 
 go out and fight our way in the world. Julia is 
 different. She would rather relinquish it. 
 
 Janet. And she runs a good chance of doing 
 it, at this rate. Whatever can be the matter with 
 her ? She's completely upset by this room and its 
 outlandish trappings. 
 
 Mrs. B1.AKE. Could it be that this scene awak- 
 ens ancient memories in her, too? Janet, dear, 
 life has some order and meaning, even to you, 
 hasn't it? It isn't all but a jumble of coinci- 
 dences — is it? 
 
 Janet. Oh, I'm almost ready to admit any- 
 thing, Sara — even a personal God. I wish there 
 was one. I'd ask him to be good to Julia Liston. 
 She's the mustard, now, isn't she? 
 
52 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Mrs. Blak^. Where do you get your strange 
 slang, Janet? . . . But we must see about the 
 dinner. Come . . . Oh, at dinner they will meet 1 
 
 Both exit 
 
 Enter Julia (shawl about shoulders). I could 
 not rest ... I must see this place again, it has 
 a strange fascination for me ... it draws my life 
 back, back — to what I know not . . . This al- 
 tar, its blue flame ! Oh, what vague but real pic- 
 tures do I see! ... I feel as though I were 
 thousands of years old ... as though I were 
 not encumbered with this body and its coarse de- 
 mands . . . Oh, I love this room — this altar-— 
 these surroundings (is walking slowly about Al- 
 tar — looks toward lounge — stops) Ah! (con^ 
 fused, amazed, delighted with whole scene — 
 finds words incapable of expressing her feelings. 
 Involuntarily she puts the shawl over head and 
 stands near the Altar as in Act I.) 
 
 Enter Alexander. I must see this room alone. 
 What strange emotions it awakens in me! Are 
 they only emotions? Have I reached no further 
 into life than to be swayed and torn by emotions ? 
 
THE SECOND ACT 53 
 
 . . , One might tell himself the truth, perhaps — 
 and the truth is I have stood at this altar before. 
 Its blue flame has registered my calmness . . . 
 Yes — yes — I recall — and the flame wavered 
 and turned to rose! . . . Did it sputter out, I 
 wonder? And the White Flame . . . Ah! 'twas 
 only yesterday ... I have been asleep — I have 
 dreamed . . . Time, thou art a cheat. And Ju- 
 dith, Judith . . . O, my Teacher, I can not en- 
 ter the White Flame alone! Judith! I have 
 searched the world for you ! — the White Flame 
 beckons us. . . . O, this strange confusion of the 
 dream! Here we met by this altar (turns to 
 couch) Judith ! — here we left the White Flame 
 and went back to the walks of men ! Judith, you 
 went from me to find the Grail! . . . But we 
 shall find it together ! . . . You are near me . . . 
 Judith! (turns) 
 
 Julia. I am Judith — who calls? (unveils) 
 Alessandro ! 
 
 Alexander. Judith! (They are face to face, 
 as in Act. I. Silence for a moment.) This is not 
 dreaming — this is reality! Judith, did we sin? 
 
54 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 I cannot think so — but we have wandered far. 
 
 JuiviA. Alessandro, my life! I am waking 
 from a nightmare. This is the real. 
 
 Both seem dazed — they are living in the past, 
 oblivious to the interval of time. 
 
 A1.EXANDER. Have we been apart? . . . Ju- 
 dith, I have waited for you — how long I don't 
 know — is it centuries or only moments? . . . 
 These intervening dreams were interminable. 
 {Takes her by the hand and leads her to couch.) 
 I dreamed of Persia — and you were there. Oh, 
 the dreams come back! In later Egypt we 
 walked hand in hand — in Athens we wooed and 
 wed each other. . . . What dreams, what dreams 
 come tumbling now from caverns of the past! 
 What dreams — to mystify — no, to explain this 
 moment And our bond — is it less ? 
 
 JuuA. It could not be more, Alessandro. It 
 is the same. We both seek the White Flame — 
 let us go. {They rise as if to go to door over 
 which is the White Light.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Bi^ake {in doorway of White 
 Flame.) Judith — your husband is here. 
 
THE SECOND ACT 55 
 
 Julia (with great struggle coming back to the 
 present). My husband! Oh, which is the dream 
 and which the waking? 
 
 Alexander (dismayed). Judith, did I hear 
 aright? Your — 
 
 Julia. Yes, dear . . . but don't speak it. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (holding door open for Alexan- 
 der and motioning him toward her) . I could not 
 stop him, JuHa. He is tipsy — he is coming here. 
 
 Julia. No, no ; don't let him come in this 
 room. I will go. 
 
 Alexander (about to pass out through door 
 of White Light, halts) No; it is but an empty 
 symbol now — in this part of our dream (look- 
 ing intently at Light), but I will not enter it 
 alone. (Retraces steps and goes out through 
 door with Julia, who is going to left. They 
 pause in doorway. He raises her hand to his 
 lips.) They exit in opposite directions. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (with bowed head at Altar). 
 Life's tragedy! 
 
 end of second act 
 
The Third oAct 
 
ACT THREE 
 
 ADJUSTMEJNT 
 
 Time — A few hours later than preceding Act — to- 
 ward early morning. 
 
 Scene — The same. As the Curtain rises the room 
 is in darkness save for dim light from a street lamp 
 whose rays cross the hallway in the rear and pen- 
 etrate faintly the Egyptian room through partly drawn 
 curtains of left upper entrance. 
 
 Mrs. BivAke and Jui.ia enter, both in dressing gown 
 and slippers, with hair loosely arranged as for the 
 night. Mrs. Bi,ak^ carries a taper with which she 
 ignites the Blue Flame on the Altar. 
 
 Jui,iA*s loosely flowing robes very closely resemble 
 those worn by her in the First Act. 
 
 Both women carry a bed covering with which Mrs. 
 BtAKE proceeds to improvise a bed for Juua on the 
 couch. 
 
6o THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Mrs. Bi^AKE (giving -final touches to impro- 
 vised bed) — There, my dear, )^ou will sleep as 
 soundly, and dream as fantastically, as in your 
 own room. 
 
 Julia has been standing silently at the Altar. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE^ comes and leads her to couch. 
 
 Julia (sitting on couch). Am I very silly, 
 dear, to want to sleep in this room — just this 
 once? In the morning my dreams will be over 
 and I shall go back to the old life that now seems 
 so unreal — or else — 
 
 Mrs. Blak^. Or else — What is the alterna- 
 tive, my dear? 
 
 Julia. The prince of my dreams will come 
 and carry me away. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Alexander? 
 
 Julia. So runs my dream. 
 
 Mrs. Blaki^. May all your dreams come true, 
 Julia (stroking her hair). Now I am going to 
 leave you. Shall I lock the door? 
 
THE THIRD ACT 6i 
 
 JuuA. Why? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. He might come here. 
 
 Julia. And you would lock him out — and 
 spoil my dream! 
 
 Mrs. Blake. But think, dear, this is impossi- 
 ble—you are scarcely acquainted, 
 
 Julia. You are wrong, Sara; I have known 
 him all my life, and in many lives before. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Yes, in other lives; it seems 
 true : but now — in this life . . . ? 
 
 Julia. He came to me out of the ideal world 
 — where there is no time, Sara. Though but an 
 hour ago we knew each other's touch for the 
 first time in this life, always have we known each 
 other in the real world — always! 
 
 Mrs. Blake. This is a wonderful tale, Julia, 
 wonderful and beautiful, as your own sweet self 
 has always been to me. . . . And you are the 
 woman of his dreams ... 
 Julia. His dreams? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. I knew his mother: she told me 
 much . . . 
 
62 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Julia. Oh, he has dreamed ... as I have 
 dreamed ... it must be so, for we have been 
 together ... 
 
 Mrs. BIvAkE. Do you remember him vividly 
 from the past, from a time that is really remote, 
 Julia? 
 
 Julia. From a past so remote I cannot calcu- 
 late it — yet a past that seems more close and 
 real than yesterday. In many times and nations 
 we have been together in the Daylight of life, 
 and always in those intervals of Night that men 
 call death. I have borne him sons and daughters. 
 We have lived and died together — and suffered 
 and enjoyed, as men and women do — but these 
 were incidents. The great fact of my life is the 
 bond between us that nothing has severed, or 
 can sever — not even time — nor the scorn and 
 coarseness of the world that lives by weight and 
 measure. 
 
 Mrs. Blake^ (aside). Is this the truth of my 
 own philosophy — or a mad woman's ravings ? 
 
 Julia. I know what you are thinking, Sara. 
 The outer world of sensation bears heavily even 
 
THE THIRD ACT 63 
 
 on you who have kept your reason enthroned 
 without bowing to the idols of wood and stone. 
 But I am baring my inner life to you — and only 
 telling you what you have often said were pos- 
 sible and reasonable. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE^. You gave us no hint of such 
 depth and wealth of memories in your life, dear. 
 I thought you clever and deep and strong, but 
 practical 
 
 Jui^iA. Since I have known you I have been 
 dazed, and more asleep in my waking hours than 
 at night. I have cared to talk of nothing real. 
 Society taught me to chatter of dress and the 
 weather. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE. Tell me more of this strange, 
 strange thing. 
 
 JuWA. It is not strange, only as the heart of 
 life is always strange to the outer crust. Every- 
 one has a hidden life that is more real than the 
 life of the senses. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Tell me of your first meeting, 
 dear — if I don't weary you. 
 
 Julia. I can't remember so far back as that. 
 
64 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Always, always I knew him. Once we were al- 
 ways together. Then we seemed to separate, 
 wider and wider — the bodies in which we dwelt 
 in the external world walked apart — O, for 
 weary ages, it seemed. And then we met — here, 
 in this very room — in Egypt — only yesterday. 
 That chapter in my life is the most vivid of all. 
 Listen, Sara, I was the guardian of that light — 
 I was the virgin of the temple — and we met, 
 and blended, as two rays unite. And there was a 
 long, long rest — together. ... It was night to the 
 world, but the brightest Day to life — and when 
 and how it closed, this saddle of the flesh bears 
 too heavily for me to recall. But the Ray split 
 again, and we came back to live with men and 
 search the world over for each other. Perhaps 
 we sinned before this altar — perhaps it was but 
 the v/ay of Things. I am no philosopher, Sara. 
 Mrs. BiwAKE. In the real world there is no sin. 
 So much my reason tells me. We act thus and 
 so because our lives demand it — and the goal is 
 the same. You have grown faster than the rest 
 of us, JuHa — 
 
THE THIRD ACT 65 
 
 Julia. Not faster, but differently. Must every 
 soul be drawn along the same trail ? It is enough, 
 I think, that we all suffer. If I have learned a 
 different lesson in the ages, Sara, it is because I 
 have lived much in a perfect light — the light of 
 union. . . . But, O, the darkness that has fallen, 
 and the numbness of my soul in those intervals 
 when I have wandered alone ! To know, to real- 
 ize the ideal — and then to lose ! — to grope -— 
 (turns away, in silence). 
 
 Mrs. Bi^AKi: (after a pause, softly). There 
 were other lives between this period in Egypt 
 and today? 
 
 Julia. Many of them, I think, but only in the 
 deepest silence of the night can I recall their in- 
 cidents. In many lands we have lived — 
 
 Mrs. Blak^. And always together? 
 
 Julia. Not always. And those times — those 
 years, those lives, or centuries perhaps, when we 
 were separated — those I do not know ; of them 
 I have no memory because they were not real. I 
 am not complete without him. I am but half the 
 Ray. All my real existence has been in him. 
 
66 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Mrs. Bi,AK:e. That is self-effacement and 
 sounds like the Mussulman's faith, Julia, which 
 says that a woman can only gain heaven by cling- 
 ing to her husband's robe. 
 
 JuwA. There could be no heaven apart from 
 him — nor any real life. And what is the end of 
 all living but self-effacement, a forgetting of the 
 ever-changing personal aims in the larger and 
 more lasting aims of the impersonal? Oh, why 
 must every v/oman walk and talk and think as 
 every other woman? Do I not know my own 
 soul at least better than another may know it? 
 The needs, the cravings of my own nature, 
 should I not know them better than another ? . . . 
 All my younger years I spent apart from my 
 surroundings, living far away — with him. 
 
 Mrs. Bi,akE. In the past. It were surely 
 wrong to live in the past. 
 
 Jui^iA. Not in the past, Sara. Only since our 
 meeting now has the past come before me so viv- 
 idly. . . . And yet — was it in the future ? I 
 can't tell. ... It was apart, in a different realm 
 — a brighter, fairer world than this. Day and 
 
THE THIRD ACT 67 
 
 night my son! mingled with his in this other 
 realm. 
 
 Mrs. BiyAKE:. Another realm — here, in this 
 Da3i:ime of our life ? You have reached it, Julia ? 
 
 JuwA. Oh, the world is very big, very big, 
 Sara — far beyond the city streets, and the hills, 
 and the sea! It has realms of depth and height 
 and brightness. There are other and keener fac- 
 ulties than the senses — you know there are ; ev- 
 ery woman knows there are. . . . We walked 
 the clouds of this ideal world, hand-in-hand — 
 until the pressure of my home life became too 
 great. As I grew to womanhood I began to leave 
 the cloudlands, and slowly, reluctantly — and O, 
 how bitter was the descent ! — I came to busy 
 myself with the tangible and trivial things of life. 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE^. You had your part to play in 
 life, like all of us. 
 
 JuuA. Yes; that is what they all say: my — 
 part — in — life ! And everyone knew better what 
 that part was than did I. Well, well, I have 
 played it — or played at it. The world ought to 
 be satisfied now and let me alone. 
 
68 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Forgive me, Julia, I do not mean 
 to add my counsel to that of the world. You had 
 a right to be yourself. 
 
 Jui,iA. And the world denied that right at ev- 
 ery step of my life. I was molten, and the world 
 an earthen mold into which my surroundings 
 forced me. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. The hardest thing in life to learn 
 is to let others alone. It is the last thing that 
 even radicals learn, when they do learn it, that 
 everyone's viewpoint is right — for him or her. 
 
 JuuA. Because the world doesn't see that the 
 motive of life is a secret known only to each 
 soul. I am told that I must be useful to the 
 world, but how can I be of use to anyone when 
 my life is bent and tortured? Oh, I am tired, 
 tired of it all, and if the prince does not come 
 for me — . But he will come, now that we have 
 found each other in the external world again. 
 He will find me here, waiting — 
 
 Mrs. Blake. But — here — why, it isn't prop- 
 er, dear! 
 
 Julia. Not proper that Alexander and I should 
 
THE THIRD ACT 69 
 
 be together? Why, then, it's not proper that the 
 sun should warm the earth. I do not love this 
 man, dear. It is much more than that. I am just 
 a natural part of him. He is incomplete without 
 me, and I, apart — I am but waiting. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. But you married? 
 
 JuuA (bitterly). I did. That was your pro- 
 priety, your convention. I was weak — and alone. 
 I had to share the sins and griefs of this age, I 
 suppose. I forgot my real life. I was overborne 
 by the set purpose of other people to shape my 
 life for me. I yielded — married. See what it 
 has come to, Sara. I am tired of the mean and 
 petty purposes of life. I wish I could never wake 
 again — or else — 
 
 Mrs. Blake. That the prince may carry you 
 away? But there are no princes in real life, 
 dearie — and then, I can't let Alexander come in 
 here and find you like this — can I? Think how 
 contrary it is to our ideas of things. 
 
 Julia. But you don't say it would be wrong, 
 Sara — you can't say that. And why should I 
 care for social usages that have done nothing but 
 
70 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 drag me down from the ideals of my girlhood — 
 {Half rising — fearfully) Sara, dear, Sara — 
 O, you will not keep the prince away from me? 
 He will come — I know he will. You won't, you 
 won't lock the door? 
 
 Mrs. Bi,AKE. I — won't — lock — the door. 
 Sleep if you can, dear. Dream as you will. Per- 
 haps you are right. Would that I had strength 
 to guide my own heart. Good-night, dear; I am 
 going. {As she goes softly toward exit she meets 
 Ai^ExandEr in the doorway. He is surprised to 
 -find her there and is about to turn back. She mo- 
 tions to him to remain and points toward couch, 
 then goes out.) 
 
 AivEXANDER {goes to couch) I knew I should 
 find you here, Judith. 
 
 JuuA. I knew you would come. 
 
 Ai^EXANDER. My queen of the ages! . . . and 
 now . . . ? 
 
 JuuA. We must not part again. You will take 
 me away from this life, Alessandro? 
 
 Alexander. I must go back to India. 
 
 JuwA. Ah, there is poetry in the name for me. 
 
THE THIRD ACT 71 
 
 We have lived there — long ago — Alessandro? 
 
 Ai^^XANDER. Long ago, as you say; but now 
 that I hold your hand in mine and once more 
 find my better self in the depths of your eyes, 
 there seems to be no long ago, no past — it is all 
 now — a long vista of the present. 
 
 JUI.IA. Yes ; I see it that way — eternity stretch- 
 ing out in a vast circle of brightness . . . broken, 
 spotted with dark blotches. 
 
 Ai^iexANDER. Those spots of darkness — they 
 are the days, or the years, when we were apart. 
 
 JuuA. Look steadily at the circle of our lives 
 — see, the dark spots are not so numerous. 
 
 AlExandeJr. No — we have been much to- 
 gether, even when separated bodily. 
 
 JuijA. And the time will come — the time will 
 come — 
 
 AlExande:r. When all the black spots shall 
 vanish. 
 
 Julia. Do you see that long black gash so 
 close to us ? 
 
 Alexander. The gulf that we have just 
 crossed ? 
 
y2 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Julia. It seems bigger and blacker than all 
 the others. 
 
 Alexander. Because it is closer, dear. 
 
 Julia. I was groping in the dark. I must have 
 forgotten you. 
 
 Alexander. No, no ; it was I who forgot you. 
 I spent a wild year in Europe — and lost you — 
 
 Julia. You could not lose me. It was I that 
 was untrue to my ideal. You were the dream 
 lover of my early days, but — 
 
 Alexander. You lived in a world that pil- 
 lories the dreamer. I know. 
 
 Julia. And all about me were practical peo- 
 ple. I was scolded, derided. I must lead the 
 strenuous life. I must marry and fill a woman's 
 sphere. I must think of my duty to parents, to 
 society, to posterity — to everything and to ev- 
 erybody except to myself. Myself — I was noth- 
 ing. My inner, true self — O, it had no exist- 
 ence for those whose fancied duty it was to 
 shape me. 
 
 Alexander. I know, Judith, I know. And the 
 world bent your will, as it bent mine for a time. 
 
THE THIRD ACT 73 
 
 I yielded — it was that year you married. 
 
 JuuA. Yes; and I let myself sink into a life 
 of emotion and sensation. Should I have strug- 
 gled more — ? 
 
 AivSxANDER. No, Life led you true. To strug- 
 gle, to breast the cosmic tide — that is the real 
 madness, the lure of the petty advantage, from 
 the greater and more enduring harmony. You 
 took on the burden of your time and people, dear 
 woman. It was inevitable. There is no other 
 door that opens to the White Flame — and we 
 still seek it — Judith? 
 
 Julia. Long ago, and often, I besought you 
 to leave me, to seek the Master in the White 
 Flame. But you are gloriously stubborn, Ales- 
 sandro. 
 
 Alexander. You mean gloriously true, Ju- 
 dith. But it isn't so. I am only self-seeking. You 
 are the higher part of me. The years have taught 
 me something. Once I essayed to enter alone — 
 I did not know. And Life was kind to me and 
 closed the Door. Now we go together. 
 
 JuuA. Be it so . . . as one! 
 
74 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Alexander. As one. 
 
 There is a pause in the dialogue. 
 
 JuuA. Tomorrow — Alessandro? 
 
 AivEXANDER (struggling). I must return to 
 my work in India. 
 
 JuuA. Alone? 
 
 Alexander (rises — paces the room. He is 
 uncertain — finally, with vehemence). Who is 
 there to deny us — to say that we should not go 
 together ? 
 
 JUI.IA. None. 
 
 Alexander. Your husband? 
 
 Julia. There was never a real bond between 
 us, and he has been out of my life for years. 
 
 Alexander. Then there is only the social 
 mandate. It cannot count in real life. (Medita- 
 tively) When men shall frame their customs on 
 natural rules, then shall they bind. (To Julia.) 
 Judith, we go together. We shall find the Way 
 to the White Flame in India. 
 
 There is a pause. 
 
 Julia (slowly — abstractedly). I knew the 
 prince would come . . . and bear me away . . . 
 
THE THIRD ACT 75 
 
 (The first faint ray of daylight steals into the 
 room and falls aslant the couch. She turns tozvard 
 the light.) I see far into the light, Alessandro, 
 and what I see . . . oh, (slowly) I see that we 
 shall not find the White Flame in India . . . 
 
 Alexander. Not find it? How — 
 
 Julia. Not in India. 
 
 Alexander (goes to her, takes her hand, and 
 tries to see in the faint beam of light the picture 
 that she is evidently struggling to translate.) 
 Another dark spot — ? 
 
 Julia. I cannot tell. My inner eyes are weak 
 . . , O, I see the White Flame — it does not 
 fuse the flesh. We seek the impossible. Only the 
 souls of men may enter it. . . . (Turning to 
 him) O, must you go to India, Alessandro — 
 must you go? 
 
 Alexander. My life work is there. I must. . . . 
 I could not hope to gain you by shirking it. 
 
 Julia (looking back to the light). The prince 
 leaves me — another gulf yawns. ... O, for a 
 brighter light, or a keener vision to see beyond it ! 
 
 Alexander. It shall not be, Judith. We will 
 
76 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 take life in our own hands. It shall not be \ 
 
 JuuA (sinking back on couch). What I saw 
 was blurred — and dim. Must it be that we part 
 again ? 
 
 Alexander. No, no, no! Your eyes say No 
 to me, Judith — your heart beats No ! {stroking 
 her hair) The scent of your hair quickens my 
 will. You are the Cosmic Woman to me — spirit, 
 soul, and body. Judith, the soul of you lures me 
 as it always did. In the depths of your eyes is 
 the White Flame! 
 
 JuuA. Alessandro! 
 
 Alexander. What is it we want in life? in 
 eternity ? 
 
 Julia. Each other. 
 
 Alexander. We have found each other — let 
 us cleave, and bid defiance to fate. We shall go 
 together. . . . See, the light grows stronger. 
 Soon it will be a broad White Flame. Let it find 
 us together! 
 
 Julia (turns to light again). Alessandro! 
 (reaches hand to him) ... I see that the White 
 Flame consumes the flesh ... it — cannot -—be — 
 
THE THIRD ACT ^^ 
 
 Alexander. It must be, and it is, Judith. To- 
 gether — together ... we go together! 
 
 JuuA (suddenly calm). It is the flesh that 
 separates us, Alessandro — only the flesh. We 
 shall be together — always — always — in the 
 real world. Our souls shall mingle while our 
 bodies walk apart — for it is the flesh that sep- 
 arates. . . . And, O, how we cling to it — how 
 we cling to it ! 
 
 Ai^EXANDER. But why shun it? It is not evil. 
 
 JuuA. Not evil, but ever-changing — ever 
 growing old and decaying. It is never for a mo- 
 ment the same. Ties that rest upon it must share 
 its nature; loves that find their expression in it 
 are fleeting. Have not all these ages of bodily 
 death shown us a better joy than the flesh has 
 power to give? 
 
 Alexander. They have taught you and me 
 to welcome the Longer Night, for it means our 
 union. . . . But yet . . . we must have our 
 bodies — must dwell in them. 
 
 Julia. No; we choose them. They lure us, 
 and we surfeit in their ever-changing and never- 
 
78 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 satisfying affections and emotions — over and 
 over again, we choose the earth lure. 
 
 Ai^exANDEjR. You speak the thought of my 
 heart, Judith . . . And yet — there is much to 
 do on the surface of life — many wrongs to re- 
 dress — burdens to lighten. . . . Some must hold 
 aloft the ideal. 
 
 JUI.IA. And a billion earth-bound souls to do 
 it all — and save the last, none can do for an- 
 other. We cling to the flesh and its impulses on 
 every pretext — knowing in our hearts its empti- 
 ness, even for those we would serve . . . 
 
 There is a pause. He is seated on a low stool 
 beside the couch, his head buried in his hands. 
 
 Alejxander (rousing himself — speaking soft- 
 ly). Judith, Judith. 
 
 JuuA (as though waking from a dream). Who 
 calls? I am Judith. I am here. 
 
 A1.EXANDER (slowly) . You — will — ^ go — to 
 India — with — me — Judith ? 
 
 JuuA. Gladly, loved one, gladly. How could 
 you ask me in so uncertain tone? 
 
 Ale:xander. Judith, you have been away^ — 
 you have been dreaming. 
 
THE THIRD ACT 79 
 
 Julia {half rising). No, I have been awake 
 — oh, so awake! Now I am dreaming; dream- 
 ing of my prince who is to carry me off. Go 
 away, dear prince — go away now, and I will 
 sleep and dream of tomorrow and India. (Sinks 
 back sleepily.) 
 
 Alexander (rising to go — strokes her hair 
 and kisses her hand). Tomorrow, then, and In- 
 dia. Good-night, my life. (Going. As he ap- 
 proaches the door Mrs. Blake and Dr. Plodin- 
 GER enter hastily. ) Sh — sh ! She is sleeping. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Shall we waken her. Doctor? 
 
 Doctor. There is no alternative; the case is 
 serious. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (to Alexander). Her husband 
 has been stricken. He may not live. 
 
 Doctor. I do not say that. He may live for 
 years, but he is helpless. It is paralysis. He lies 
 there calling for her, unable to move. We have 
 sent for a nurse. But she will want to go to him, 
 I think. 
 
 Mrs. Blake rouses Julia — whispers to her 
 as she leads her toward door. Though at iirst 
 
8o THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 dazed, Julia quickly comprehends the situation 
 and hurries oif, followed by the Doctor. 
 
 Alexander {to himself). So this was the dark 
 spot which the light revealed to her! {In tor- 
 ture) To find — and then to lose ere grasped! 
 . . . Life, your dice are loaded ! in your bland- 
 est smile there lurks disaster — you cheat! . . . 
 But ril resist — and stake eternity to rout you! 
 
 Mrs. Blake {apart). Must the grief of an- 
 other be my only joy? . . . She will remain to 
 nurse her husband while he lives. Alexander 
 cannot delay his departure. He has promised . . . 
 we shall go to Adyar together — and alone! 
 {Turning) It is almost daylight, Alexander. 
 
 Alexander {abstractedly). Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. There are only a few hours left 
 before our departure, dear. You must have some 
 sleep. 
 
 Alexander. I shall not sail now. I have 
 changed my plans. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. But that is impossible, Alexan- 
 der. They expect you. What could I tell them? 
 ... I shall not dare brave their disappointment. 
 
THE THIRD ACT 8i 
 
 The work depends upon you . , . Oh, you will 
 go, friend — surely? 
 
 Alexander (hesitates — struggling). Oh, I 
 can't, can't go. Later, perhaps — but not now. 
 (Vehemently) No, I can't — I can't. I won't go 
 now. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Alexander — 
 
 Alexander. See, I am calm — quite calm; 
 but I yield to the stronger tie. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Does the flesh bind you so? 
 
 Alexander. As it does you — as it does all 
 of us. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (aside). Oh! . . . (to Alexan^ 
 der) And the White Flame you seek in India? 
 
 Alexander. It is not there ... it is not 
 apart from Her! 
 
 Enter Dr. Plodinger. He is resting quietly 
 now. I think we can retire and finish this broken 
 night in slumber. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Is he asleep? 
 
 Doctor. Yes; he will probably sleep during 
 the entire day. It is a bad case. I would rather 
 see him dead. But come, now, I want no more 
 
82 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 patients on my hands. There's Mrs. Liston — 
 she is just about collapsed. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Julia, poor girl, I must go to her 
 at once. 
 
 Doctor. She is coming here. 
 
 Enter Julia, very pale and weak. She goes to 
 Alexander. 
 
 Julia. You must go to India without me. 
 
 Alexander. No — no — ^ ! 
 
 Julia. Why should we fret and struggle so, 
 when there is all eternity before us! Oh, heart 
 of me! I know that you are my rest, my great 
 peace . . . and that is why we must part now. 
 You will go — ? 
 
 Alexander. You ask too much. 
 
 Julia. No more than I am giving. Who gain 
 are those who give. I shall gain. . . . The grief 
 is in the struggle, my heart. 
 
 Alexander. You would darken our path 
 again — project another black spot — 
 
 Julia. The black spots are the shadows of our 
 bodies. Oh, we cannot cling to both the soul and 
 body I Let us yield the lesser. I must stay here 
 
THE THIRD ACT 83 
 
 now — but you will go, Alessandro? For our 
 happiness you will go? . . . And we shall stand 
 in the White Flame together — somewhere — 
 sometime . . . Have faith — and go! (sinks ex- 
 hausted on couch.) 
 
 Ai^XANDER. I — will — go! ... (to himself) 
 She is sinking — perhaps dying. She cannot stay 
 alone. How can I leave her now? (Crosses 
 quickly to Mrs. Bi,akk and speaks hurriedly and 
 low.) I go to India, but I cannot leave her alone. 
 She is dying, perhaps. You will stay and care 
 for her? 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE. I — I — Alexander! 
 
 Ai^EXANDKR. There is no one else in the world 
 to whom I can appeal — 
 
 Mrs. BivAKE. That — is — true. I will stay. 
 (Goes to JuuA, raises her.) Come, dear tired 
 girl — 
 
 There is a strong draught of wind through the 
 room, which slowly pushes open the great doors 
 of the White Portal, through which now streams 
 a broad beam of white morning sunlight, falling 
 not upon the Altar, but aslant to the left. 
 
84 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Julia has risen, her hair loose and her robe 
 falling below her naked shoulders. She and Mrs. 
 Blake are in the center of the beam. 
 
 Alexander steps from the right of the Portal 
 toward the two women. Soon he and Julia are 
 face to face in the white light. They pause, then 
 make as though to enter the Portal, but the doors 
 slowly swing to, shutting out the light as the 
 curtain descends. 
 
 END OF THIRD act 
 
The Fourtk nAct 
 
ACT FOUR 
 
 :^RUITI0N 
 
 Time — Early evening three years later. 
 
 Scene — In the Garden of Merton-Blake Park. It 
 is an old, old garden, upkept and weed-grown, not 
 entirely, but to a delightful degree, and very pictur- 
 esque in its wildness and almost perfect naturalness — 
 an acre's clearing and flower-planting, originally, in 
 the midst o£ perhaps a ten-acre forest. The little oasis 
 was once enclosed by a high iron fence, but the trees 
 and undergrowth have crowded the fence so that its 
 arrow-headed pickets are scarcely visible, except to 
 ths left in the background where a large double swing- 
 ing gate is never closed to the broad and well kept 
 path from the Garden to the mansion. 
 
 From the arch over the gate hangs a lantern, al- 
 ready lighted betimes, for the evening shadows are 
 approaching. Either there never was a fence at the 
 upper right hand corner of the Garden, or the trees 
 and bushes mastered it long ago, for even where the 
 narrow path leads into the thicket there is no sign 
 of gate post or fence. Here the bushes and weeds 
 grow up to meet the lower branches of the trees, 
 and one could fancy it the entrance of a primitive 
 
88 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 jungle. Everywhere in the Garden are flowers and 
 shrubbery, but the paths are uncalculated and one 
 walks with but scant reference to them. 
 
 A little to the right of center is an antique fountain 
 whose stream issues from the water that an old bronze 
 green Venus Anadyomene is wringing from her hair. 
 The coping of the lower basin is weed-choked and 
 moss-covered, but the birds drink and bathe here none 
 the less joyfully. The slender, graceful, simply yet dain- 
 tily dressed woman who stands by the fountain as the 
 curtain rises, resting a shapely, ringless hand against 
 an arm of the upper basin, seems to be a natural and 
 inevitable part of the dreamy picture. 
 
 To the left upper is a large rustic bench strewn 
 with old rose leaves, withered flowers, bits of greenery, 
 and dried leaves. There may be even spiders and 
 caterpillars on it! About the Garden are a couple of 
 tree stumps, an old chair, and a small boulder or two 
 — sample seating capacity, should the ground be damp. 
 
 It is a perfect autumn evening, early in October. 
 The ground is strewn with fallen leaves, and the forest 
 trees are donning their gorgeous autumn plumage. 
 
 It is nearly sunset as the curtain rises. A shaft of 
 golden light seeps low through the forest just to 
 mingle for the last time with the rival, though less 
 conspicuous radiance of the elegant fragile woman^ 
 more ethereal than material, who stands peering into 
 the waters of the fountain. 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 89 
 
 Julia (open letter in her hand). Oh, that is 
 the secret — " the omnipotent power of non-re- 
 sistance." Dear heart, how beautifully you have 
 put my thought into words. We must struggle 
 no more against the Life Current. ... I may 
 not go to you ; you may not come to me — while 
 the flesh lasts. . . . For it is the form that dark- 
 ens the path . . . (Reads letter) . . . yes, I know, 
 the way seems long. Often I, too, see but darkly, 
 yet I am calm at the center, Alessandro, and if 
 you call your own I will come — in the time and 
 place that was and is and will be set for the 
 blending. . . . 
 
 A Voice (faint, distant, almost imperceptible 
 at arst). Judith . . . Judith . . . 
 
 Julia (startles slightly, then remains motion- 
 less in rapt attention). Ah! . . . Ales . . . 
 
 The Voice. Judith . . . Judith . . . 
 
 Julia (very softly, smiling). Alessandro. 
 
 The Voice. Judith, I call my own ! 
 
 Julia. O gentle soul! the form still casts a 
 shadow . . . 
 
 The Voice. The shadow passeth! 
 
90 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Julia. The shadow passeth. O can it be — 
 can it be? 
 
 The Voiced. I call my own in the time and 
 place that is . , , that is ... 
 
 JuuA (exultantly). O hear! 
 
 The Voice. The shadow passeth . . . (fading 
 away) Judith . . . Judith . . . 
 
 Julia. I come . . . The time that is! (Joy- 
 fully) Can it be? ... At last . . . (The sun- 
 beam that enveloped her expires. Slowly she 
 folds letter and places it in her bosom.) The 
 light dazzles . . . the soul leaps. (Lightly but 
 very quietly she turns and walks away to the 
 woods. Once or twice she pauses as though to 
 catch her breath and rest from physical exertion, 
 showing plainly that her strength is exhausted — 
 a circumstance, however, of which she seems en- 
 tirely oblivious. As she finally disappears in the 
 woods she repeats softly) — The shadow pass- 
 eth . . . the shadow passeth . . . 
 
 Enter Mrs. Blake, Janet, and Dr. Plodin- 
 GER from the main path. They walk leisurely 
 down the garden and dispose themselves near 
 fountain. 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 91 
 
 Jan^T. Do you know, I can't entirely approve 
 of her. I could just love her to death — I do — 
 but I can't approve. 
 
 Doctor. Is there a woman's reason back of 
 that, Janet — or a man's ? 
 
 Janet. Umph! You were not so subtle when 
 you wrote the Physical Basis of Spirituality, 
 Doctor. 
 
 Doctor (in mock agony). My crimes! Will 
 they never down? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Janet's tongue is cleverer than 
 her heart, Doctor. 
 
 Doctor. That's the woman of her. Her dis- 
 approval of Mrs. Liston is the strength of the 
 masculine element coloring her views. 
 
 Janet. A woman in these days should be more 
 inflexible and determined. She ought to have 
 something to do and a life of her own to live. 
 Julia vacillates too much. She is uncertain. She 
 dreams and never executes. Her emotions sway 
 her — 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Not always — I am sure — ? 
 
 Janet. You didn't let me finish, Sara. Her 
 
92 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 emotions control her one day, she is all mind and. 
 intellect the next day, and on a third day she has 
 reached a height of — Oh, what shall I call it ? 
 
 Doctor. Call it spirituality, if you want to. 
 That means anything you want it to mean. 
 
 Jankt, Well, she is poised and strong on this 
 day and gains a depth and loftiness of percep- 
 tion that draws her to the angels and opens the 
 door of heaven to those about her. You couldn't 
 hold a thought of pettiness or meanness in the 
 same atmosphere with her on that day ... or 
 on any day, for that matter. But you know what 
 I mean. She is in the clouds on that day and you 
 just have to go with her. 
 
 Mrs. Blake:. Why, Janet, you're talking sheer 
 poetry. 
 
 Janet. Of course, Sara, and I can't help it. 
 A clod could not associate with that fragile bun- 
 dle of emotions, intellect, and spirituality, as I 
 have for the past two years, and not have some 
 poetry driven into his soul. 
 
 Doctor. Soul, eh? that sounds well from 
 Janet. 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 93 
 
 Janet. Soul is poetry when I speak it. And 
 Julia — she is just a soul poem, with a little flesh 
 and some clothes about her. 
 
 Doctor. Far too little of the former, I am 
 afraid. But tell us, is there a fourth day? 
 
 Janet. There is — a day of apathy — when 
 the spirit, will, emotions, and mind, all are gone, 
 and she is only a tired, irritable woman — nerves, 
 you know. I just long to love her on those days, 
 but she hides herself. 
 
 Doctor. Ah, that is her real saintship. 
 
 Janet. How so? 
 
 Doctor. That she hides herself on that fourth 
 day — the day most women choose to inflict 
 themselves on others, 
 
 Janet. Julia Liston couldn't inflict herself at 
 any time, on anybody. 
 
 Doctor. I don't believe she could — but Janet 
 doesn't approve of her entirely, remember, and 
 ril tell you why, Mrs. Blake. 
 
 Mrs. BlakE. Do, Doctor. I've been away so 
 long I hardly know my own household. 
 
 Doctor. Judged entirely from the feminine 
 
94 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 side, Mrs. Listen is an ideal, but she hasn't 
 enough of the masculine element in her to make 
 a good suffragette. (Janet is about to interpose) 
 Oh, I'm not objecting to a little — or even 
 much — masculinity in women. I take them as I 
 find them and try to explain them. Mrs, Liston 
 is a rara avis in these days — yes, wisely so I 
 have no doubt, for the period is a strenuous one, 
 and the energy of men is vamparized by a com- 
 mercialism that has run to graft, so that men are 
 no longer the thinkers of the world. 
 
 Janet. I applaud you (clapping her hands 
 softly) 
 
 Doctor. But Mrs. Liston is more nearly the 
 pure feminine type than I have ever met before. 
 Whatever of the masculine element she has is 
 subjective. Spiritually she is deep and strong, in- 
 tellectually keen and subtle, but externally she 
 is — well, observe her — she is sympathetic, gen- 
 erous, kindly, lovable — but weak. 
 
 Janet. That man is in love with her. 
 
 Doctor. Quite true, Janet. That is a cosmic 
 necessity. Did you ever see a man within her 
 scope who was not in love with her ? 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 95 
 
 Janet. He wouldn't be a man — just a ninny. 
 She is fine ! 
 
 Doctor. Fine is a good word there, Janet. 
 She is finely woven, and of a little finer material, 
 I often think, than the rest of us. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. I am sure of it, Doctor. {To 
 Janet) Did she think of going out to India when 
 her husband died? 
 
 Janet. Yes, and ever since — on those emo- 
 tional days. I don't want to lose her, and I don't 
 think she could stand the long journey — 
 
 Doctor. You are wrong there. She could 
 stand anything her heart and mind were set on. 
 
 Janet. But it always did puzzle me why she 
 didn't go when she was free. 
 
 Doctor. I suppose there was no necessity of 
 her going to India. She and Alexander have an- 
 nihilated distance in what is to them a very real 
 sense. They are much together, I fancy. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Does Alexander write often? 
 
 Janet. No. And usually she puts his letters 
 under her pillow unread. She knows what's in 
 them — she says. 
 
96 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Doctor. You almost forgot that qualifying 
 clause, Janet. 
 
 Janet. Oh, I make an exception of this case. 
 Julia Liston can set aside the laws of the uni- 
 verse, I am about convinced. 
 
 Mrs. Blake:. No need for that, Janet. 
 
 Doctor. Just grasp them and use them. 
 
 Janet (drily). Yes, as you say in the Phys- 
 ical Limits. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (guardedly). Does she know, I 
 wonder, that Alexander has been ill with the 
 fever ? 
 
 Janet. I have scarcely talked with her for a 
 week — she has been so much alone — off there 
 in the woods most of the time — and there has 
 been no letter for a fortnight. How long has he 
 been ill? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. There was a cable in town await- 
 ing me yesterday. It is two days now since he 
 was stricken. (Very slowly) It seems there is 
 not much hope of his recovery. 
 
 Janet. You never told us! 
 
 Doctor (reproachfully). Mrs. Blake — ! 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 97 
 
 Mrs. Blake; (looking around, speaking more 
 guardedly). I tried to forget it, to hide it as 
 deeply as I could, to put the bare thought of it 
 out of my mind until after I had seen Julia. I 
 should not have mentioned it now — 
 
 Doctor. But you will have to tell her ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. I think not. I saw Alexander at 
 Adyar about a month ago. I am satisfied their 
 understanding is very complete, and that any 
 news I should convey to her by word or thought 
 would be unnecessary and merely confuse her. 
 She will know in her — in their — own way. 
 
 Doctor. I believe it. And the least physical 
 or emotional disturbance of her would prove 
 fatal, I am sure. (Amusingly) Sometimes I think 
 they ought to have married. I believe I should 
 have written to Alexander insisting upon it, only 
 that Janet proved such a tender and competent 
 nurse. For two years now there has been no rea- 
 son why they should not have wed. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Every reason in the world — for 
 them — or at least the very best reason. They 
 fear a breach in their perfect spiritual union and 
 know that an emotional or physical expression of 
 
98 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 it would cause such a breach — however tempo- 
 rary. 
 
 Doctor. But that is repression, isn't it? I'm 
 only asking to strengthen my own views, you 
 know. Isn't it a repression and a pervasion of 
 their natures — as the world would say ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake^. That might be true of another 
 couple, but not of them. No, they are only obey- 
 ing the strongest urge of their natures. 
 
 Doctor. An urge, or desire, created by and 
 growing out of their recollection of many pre- 
 vious lives' experiences — 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Yes, and I think they are wise 
 to follow it. Rather would it be a perversion for 
 them to defeat or delay this greater desire of 
 their lives by yielding to the passing emotion . . . 
 But she is the stronger. She holds him to the 
 permanent, and he — 
 
 Doctor. Well, and he? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. It seems almost indelicate for us 
 to speak of these things, doesn't it? (JanET 
 shrugs her shoulders and the Doctor is silent.) 
 He, well he is madly, grandly proud of her for 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 99 
 
 the very thing in her which his more vigorous 
 personality sometimes tries to overcome. At first 
 he was in despair at her not coming out to India 
 when she was free. But now — oh, I think these 
 two have found the Way — their Way, let us say. 
 
 Doctor. And when you put it like that, " their 
 Way," you have disarmed all criticism. {Slyly) 
 Now even Janet — 
 
 Jan^t. Yes, "their Way" ends all discussion. 
 I used to think everybody's way should be the 
 same — but that was when I was reading the 
 Physical Limits of Spirituality. 
 
 Doctor. I groan. If you could only forget. 
 
 Janet. I have almost forgotten. Julia should 
 be here with us. It is nearly dark. I am going to 
 find her and bring her to hear the Doctor's wit. 
 
 Mrs. Blakk. Do, dear; bring her if you can. 
 
 Exit Janet. 
 
 Doctor. I didn't want to alarm Janet, but — 
 Mrs. Liston is — well, I hardly think that she 
 can be with us much longer. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Yes, I could see the change. Can 
 you do nothing for her, Doctor? 
 
100 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 Doctor. I hardly expected such a question 
 from you, Mrs. Blake. 
 
 Mrs. Bi^ake:. Thank you Doctor, for correct- 
 ing me. It was a slip of the tongue, an echo of 
 my external world life. Of course there is noth- 
 ing the matter with her. 
 
 Doctor. It is the spirit refining the flesh — 
 the soul escaping, forgetting, the earth lure. 
 
 Mrs. Blake^. Slowly and surely she is dy- 
 ing ... ? 
 
 Doctor. If we must use that word. Surely, 
 but not slowly. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. And I was right, wasn't I, in 
 withholding the news of Alexander's sudden ill- 
 ness? She will know. 
 
 Doctor. She does know, but in a different 
 way. Spiritually you could tell her nothing, and 
 the nerves and emotions must not be shocked. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. We must forget it entirely, while 
 she is here. 
 
 Doctor. By all means. She could feel it in our 
 thoughts, plainly. Did she inquire about him? 
 
 Mrs. Blake. No — but then I have scarcely 
 
THE FOURTH ACT loi 
 
 seen her alone yet. Ah, there they come. 
 
 Enter jANie:T (with J Vhi a. The latter is flushed 
 with the exertion of walking, hut is bright and 
 cheerful. Janet leads her to a seat) . There, dear ; 
 I walked you too fast. But I was afraid you 
 would miss some of the Doctor's wit. 
 
 Jui^iA {lightly). Sara dear — and Doctor — 
 don't scold me, please, for my unkindness in 
 keeping away. I meant to come earlier, but the 
 moments fly so. 
 
 Doctor. Didn't your ears tingle? We were 
 talking of you. 
 
 Julia. What a doleful time you must have 
 had. I didn't miss so much, then, as I thought. 
 
 Jane:t. Oh, but it wasn't all about you. The 
 Doctor gave us a learned discourse on the Phys- 
 ical Limits, you know. 
 
 Doctor. She can not be truthful. Mrs. Listen, 
 as friend and physician I am bound to warn you 
 against too close association with such a thank- 
 less liar — 
 
 JuuA (rising and going to Janet). Yes, I 
 know, Doctor. She is awful (to Janet) sweet. 
 
I02 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 But I have a perverted love for her (laughs and 
 puts arm about Janet). 
 
 Doctor. Oh, very well/but I have warned you. 
 
 Mrs. B1.AKE. Couldn't we have tea out here, 
 Janet — and another light? 
 
 Jane^t. Just the thing. I'll go and ring (Goes 
 left to main path. At the gate she is met by a 
 Messenger, who refuses to be halted) What is 
 it — tell me? Don't disturb them. 
 
 Messenger. I have to deliver it directly to 
 Mrs. Merton-Blake in person (hurries on down 
 tozvard the little group who are conversing quiet- 
 ly, despite Janet's further efforts to stop him, 
 and calls out lustily) — Cablegram for Mrs. Mer- 
 ton-Blake. Cable from India! 
 
 Mrs. B1.AKE (turns in dismay and tries to head 
 off any further demonstration). Be still — 
 
 JuiviA (suddenly alert) . Ah! . . . the time that 
 is . . . 
 
 Messenger. It is marked Rush and Important 
 ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Blake. Oh, be still, be still! 
 
 Messenger. Yes ma'am. Charges all paid 
 ma'am. Sign here ma'am. 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 103 
 
 Julia is exhausted by the sudden shock. She 
 is alone for a moment. Dr. PlodingEr having 
 gone forth to thrash, tip, and expunge the noisy 
 intruder. Two of these he does with alacrity and 
 returns to find that Julia has silently fallen to 
 the ground. 
 
 Mrs. Blake {already beside her). Darling 
 girl! 
 
 Julia {faintly). I walked so much today. 
 
 Doctor {takes Julia in his arms and is about 
 to carry her indoors) . You'll be all right in a few 
 moments. 
 
 Julia. Please let me stay out of doors, Doctor. 
 
 Doctor. Quite right, Mrs. Liston {carries her 
 to the rustic bench. She is too weak to sit up.) 
 
 Janet. Shall I fetch some brandy or cordial, 
 Doctor ? 
 
 Doctor. I think not, Janet. 
 
 Julia {very laboredly, but with an effort at 
 sprightliness) . Thank you Doctor, — and you, 
 too, Janet. Oh, what dear good friends you have 
 been to me . . . 
 
 Janet sits on the end of the bench, and Dr. 
 
I04 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 PiyODiNGER and Mrs. Blake stand at opposite 
 sides of it. They are silent, seeming to realize the 
 futility of saying anything and the inappropriate- 
 ness of small talk. They have forgotten the car 
 blegram which remains unopened in Mrs. Blake's 
 hand. 
 
 Julia. Sweet life! I am coming! . . .The 
 shadow passeth . . . Sweetheart, now life begins 
 {raising her hands) the shadow passeth! 
 
 // has become quite dark, save for the lantern 
 over the gate, whose dull rays show plainly the 
 white raised hands of Julia. 
 
 Now a shaft of moonlight reaches through the 
 forest trees and falls aslant the fountain. This 
 broadens out and grows denser. It is hazy and 
 opaque, but white, like a low fog at sea when 
 the sun is trying to pierce it. 
 
 From the right a Voice is heard — - Judith ! 
 
 Julia {very faintly). I am Judith ... I am 
 coming, beloved. 
 
 The faint outlines of a figure is seen emerging 
 from the center of the moonbeam in the trees. It 
 is AlEssandro, garbed as in Act. I. It speaks — 
 Judith, the long night is over. 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 105 
 
 JuiviA (can be dimly seen in the lantern light 
 to half rise) Alessandro . . . And the White 
 Flame ! It shall fuse ! 
 
 Alessandro. There is no whiter flame than 
 thy pure soul ! 
 
 JuiviA (exultantly). And the Master — there! 
 (points to trees where nozv is seen the outlines 
 of the Teacher) Alessandro (tries to rise as 
 though to go to him) I come (falls back gently.) 
 
 The -figure of Alessandro vanishes. 
 
 The light grows more intense, but remains 
 opaque so that outlines in it are not sharp and 
 distinct. 
 
 For an instant all outlines are obliterated, then 
 slowly reappears the Teacher in the back- 
 ground, his hand outstretched, and presently, be- 
 fore him stand two nude -figures, male and fe- 
 male. It is all very dim and shadowy, and the 
 apparition lasts only a moment, but it is quite 
 clear that the figures are nude — and unashamed. 
 
 Teacher (in voice plain and clear). In the 
 White Flame I come. In its fusing rays shall ye 
 blend. I greet ye at the Portal, as all are greeted 
 
io6 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 when they willingly sever the last deceiving ties 
 of flesh. 
 
 The light hums still fiercer, and again all out- 
 lines are expunged. It clears again, becoming al- 
 most transparent, and first is seen, in heroic size 
 the Portal from the Temple chamber as in Act 
 I, over which hangs the White Light. The doors 
 of the Portal are open and the Te:acher emerges 
 a step or two to meet a single tvhite-robed Fig- 
 ure that now stands where stood the nude couple. 
 
 The Figure {advancing a step). I would en- 
 ter. ( The voice is not Alexander's, but another 
 entirely — a stronger, deeper, and more musical 
 voice. ) 
 
 Teacher. What seekest thou? 
 
 The Figure. The Higher Way. 
 
 Teacher. It lies not on the path of personal 
 advantage. 
 
 The Figure. I seek not that which all shall 
 not gain. 
 
 Teacher. Nor couldst thou achieve it. Across 
 this threshold lies not a paradise of ease, but the 
 choice of oblivious sleep till the Night of Earth's 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 107 
 
 Day ... or, again thou canst relinquish . . . 
 
 The Figure. Relinquish ... to what pur- 
 pose? 
 
 Teacher. To suffer still with men, and through 
 their suffering, in their griefs and pains, to offer 
 cooling cups to parched lips — and tear aside the 
 veils of matter that hide their vision from the 
 Perfect Light. . . . 'Tis for thee to choose. 
 
 The light has grown softer and more diffused, 
 until now the entire Garden is in moonlight, 
 showing dimly the little group by the rustic 
 bench. 
 
 A very powerful White Light issues from over 
 the Portal and casts a ray from the Teacher to 
 the Figure in front of him. 
 
 The Figure. I relinquish. 
 
 At once, commencing even before he speaks, 
 the Figure is surrounded by a delicate lilac- 
 tinted aura which quickly deepens to transparent 
 purple. 
 
 Teacher. Hail, to a Helper of men! 
 
 End o^ the play 
 
The Last Word 
 
The Last Word 
 
 <iThat The White Flame shall be appraised, if at all, as 
 an idealistic play intentionally unincumbered by sym- 
 bolism (or indigent of it, as you will) is my hope, and the 
 chief reason for this additamentum. With the engrossing 
 problems of the market-place, or of social and civic life : 
 with the passional and legal relations of the sexes, as with 
 the mystifying, when not equivocal trend of symbology, 
 this play has scant or no concern. Is there not already a 
 sufficiency of plays motived on these problems and con- 
 ditions? And if there be need of more, are not the masters, 
 Shaw and Maeterlinck, still producing ? Is it presump- 
 tuous for me to use these names on this page ? How 
 greater, then, would be the impertinence for me to 
 seek to enter their fields ? — ■ and certainly quite foreign 
 to my inclination and way of thought. 
 ^The ultimate good of life — or any satisfying and 
 lasting good — is not to be found on its surface. Only the 
 ideal is true and of power to confer comparatively per- 
 manent happiness or peace. The themes of this play reach 
 beyond the surface of life — where there is room for 
 ideals and for a rational optimism. Why are all the logical 
 plays, of life and of the stage, tragedies when not come- 
 dies? Because they deal only with the emotional nature, 
 which is but the froth on the real Cuo of Life. And why 
 may not art concern itself with something other than 
 emotions ? 
 
112 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 ^As to the ideals of this play. Dare they be considered as 
 possibilities — however distant ? Which inquiry leads to 
 this comment on its controlling theme : That Reincarna- 
 tion, viewed from the facet of the personal workaday 
 consciousness, is rather a beautiful possibility than a 
 present actuality. For if we do not consciously remember 
 at least the important outlines of our previous lives — 
 which now we do not — then to all intents and purposes 
 we have not Reincarnated. The moral of which is, of 
 course, as Dr. Plodinger hints to Janet Hards, that so 
 long as our attention is focussed upon those things which 
 in their very nature are temporary, so long we will not 
 remember the permanent. 
 
 ^Nothing within man's scope is entirely permanent, but 
 that Individual part of him which does Reincarnate thru 
 manv lives and ages, is relatively permanent, and in so 
 much as one's attention should be focussed upon it nor- 
 mally and rationally, to that extent would he remember 
 its experiences. And whether he remember them or not 
 they none the less make him what he is, as to inherent 
 qualities and tendencies. 
 
 ^ As to the final theme of the play, Renunciation, it is 
 presented here not as the horrible and torturing thing 
 that Judaism pictures it in nailing a living man to a cross, 
 but in the natural and harmonious manner of that far 
 more philosophical religion of Asia in which the idea of 
 Reincarnation is ever uppermost. If to " be good " must 
 lead to torture, then why be " good " ? Well, we are not 
 verv noticeably " good " — we Christians. To renounce 
 should be to gain a greater joy — else why renounce ? 
 Herbert Spencer's logic of Enlightened Self Interest is 
 
THE LAST WORD 113 
 
 more in accord with Brahamanism than with Judaism, 
 surely — or with Buddhism than with Christianity, let 
 us say. In the former the highest ideal of individual good 
 is never at variance with the greatest common good : to 
 renounce is but to grasp a Fairer Rose. In the latter 
 individual happiness and the general welfare are forever 
 at sword point : to renounce is to put on the Crown of 
 Thorns. It is the difference between the Oriental and the 
 Occidental, between the Philosopher and the Puritan. The 
 difference between tweedledee and tweedledum, do I 
 hear one say ? I think not, but rather an important and 
 fundamental difference of temperament that enables the 
 Oriental always to be philosophically optimistic and leads 
 the Occidental either to be inanely cheerful or thought- 
 fully morose. 
 
 ^The ethereal, or spiritual, blending of the sexes is an 
 idea that wormed itself into the play with no forethought 
 or planning of mine. It presented itself logically, however, 
 and seemed to appeal as an artistic solution of a problem 
 to which there is no physical answer. 
 
 ^ You have a man and a woman — if you are writing a 
 play — and you lead them through various, and as you 
 may think ingenious, vicissitudes and events, pitting your 
 poor wit against Life's loaded dice to invent a situation 
 unknown to actuality. In this you fail, of course, miserably 
 fail, as every reader or spectator who happens to be living 
 a play of his own knows full well. But readers and play- 
 goers are indulgent. Knowing a story of their own more 
 vivid, more peculiar, more unique, and with stronger and 
 more startling situations than any that you can invent, 
 they yet applaud — if the deneoument be but logical, flow- 
 
114 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 ing as a natural sequence of the lines and the situations. 
 It is in the finale that their interest lies, and to read it or 
 see it they endure with much patience all the acts and 
 scenes that precede it. For their own plays are unfinished, 
 and they are wondering about that last act. Whether it be 
 comedy or tragedy, in Life's plays and stories there is 
 always a survivor or two undisposed of — so long as 
 there are readers or playgoers. These smile at your 
 cunningest inventions (if they be twenty or over, say) 
 and breathe hard only on the final curtain. 
 
 ^Bearing this circumstance in mind, I threw invention 
 to the winds in building this play and worked for an 
 ending that should be logical and beautiful. Perhaps it is 
 neither. I am stating the aim merely, 
 
 ^ But this man and woman with whom you start out — 
 what are you going to do with them in the last act? Cut off 
 the story in the middle with marriage, legal or actual, if 
 you are writing a comedy. Kill them, or their lives' 
 happiness, if a tragedy. There is no other course on the 
 stage. Is there in life ? Not if the play is compounded of 
 emotions and the actors are strong men and women. 
 
 ^ Are there other possibilities in life or on the stage — 
 possibilities neither pathetic nor gloomy ? I have tried to 
 suggest, in The White Flame, that there might be. But 
 such possibility will not be found on the physical surface 
 of life. None of the real problems of life can be answered 
 from a physical basis — least of all this question of the 
 relation of the sexes — because it, and life, and all life's 
 problems are far deeper than the physical. 
 ^ It is a very old idea, this of the sexes finally blending 
 to produce the androgyne — the perfect human. It is 
 
THE LAST WORD 115 
 
 hidden in many an ancient and medieval symbol, buried 
 at the root of every known religion of savage or civilized 
 man, and was seriously considered by every speculative 
 philosophy up to several centuries after the Council of 
 Constantinople elided Reincarnation from the Christian 
 dogma. And it may be true. Who among us is so wise as 
 to know that it isn't ? 
 
 ^It will not stand the scientific test of Experience — 
 nor will Reincarnation, or anything else that cannot be 
 weighed and measured. But man cannot live on weight 
 and measure — nor by bread alone. Forever the human 
 heart soars beyond science, else v%rould science never 
 advance. Nor will even the mind of man stay chained to 
 sensation's physical evidence. However, it can be stated 
 in terms of the scientific dogma. Thus, we can say that 
 sexuality is a matter of polarization, and is expressed, in 
 one way or another, thruout the universe. The seeking 
 of the positive life current for its harmonious negative 
 current, and vice versa, is the world's unrest mainly, and 
 obtains on all planes of life in all unisexual creatures — 
 and in all the currents and forces of the world. It is the 
 secret of electricity, the motive of chemical attractions, 
 the meaning of life to adolescence, the unrest of maturity, 
 and the solace of age. In the human family at present it is 
 chiefly expressed on the physical and emotional planes — 
 but not always, nor entirely, nor at its best and highest 
 and keenest vibration, 
 
 ^" To mesh my soul within a woman's hair," wrote Oscar 
 W ilde m anguish — and to avoid so vulgar and common- 
 place a fate, alas ! he did worse, for that he and his time 
 could not see further into life. Might not the converse of 
 
ii6 THE WHITE FLAME 
 
 his anguish be possible — in fiction, if not in life ? Could a 
 man tangle his life in a woman's soul ? Is the thought too 
 remote for even a play ? Well, it is a beautiful thought, is 
 it not ? Could such a thing have happened to Wilde would 
 literature have been poorer? I cannot think so, for though 
 the tarnishment of his soul became as floating ambergris 
 on the sea of art, the stilling of his sex nature, the tran- 
 quillity of his emotions, might have left him free to 
 produce even a greater art and to express profounder 
 truths than he did. 
 
 ^ That man was originally androgynous there is every 
 reason to believe — every reason except the physical 
 evidence demanded by materialistic science. And whatever 
 was shall be again, not exactly, but analogously. In time 
 to come — oh, a very long time, of course — man will 
 again take on the complete human form. The Superman, 
 if you will, shall become androgynous, recombining both 
 the negative and positive life forces in one form. 
 
 ^That will not be a physical form, however, I do not 
 understand the ancient records to depict man as a physical 
 androgyne — that is a too literal rendering for me, and 
 not a logical supposition. But man was originally an 
 ethereal or " spiritual " being, at which time he was 
 androgynous — and propagated his kind by mental cre- 
 ation. There are tales of the " mind-born sons." As man*s 
 form grew less ethereal, as he was about to " descend into 
 matter," there came the division of the sexes, the negative 
 and the positive human forces separated and each clothed 
 itself in an individual form. 
 
 ^ Humanity is losing its grossness, the human form its 
 censeness. The long cycle of human evolution again 
 
THE LAST WORD 117 
 
 curves toward the etherealization of the human form. And 
 when the race as a whole shall put off its garb of physical 
 substance then shall man rebecome bisexual. Then shall 
 man be outwardly and consciously that God which in 
 essence and possibility he now is — and the evolutionary 
 ultimate for the race, is always a present possibility for 
 the individual who is intelligent enough to foresee it and 
 strong enough to grasp and fit himself into it. 
 
 ^ Briefly stated, that is the theory, fable, fact, philosophy, 
 or fancy upon which logically rests the hypothesis of 
 affinities. And upon this, and its corollary idea of Rein- 
 carnation, is woven the fabric of The White Flame. 
 
 LUKE NORTH 
 
mn 24 nm 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div, 
 
? 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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