Class 
 
 Rnnk .Is.y f.? 
 
 Copyright N"__/^4.^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
PLAYS OF PROTEST 
 By Upton Sinclair 
 
BT UPTON SINCLAIR 
 
 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 THE FASTING CURE 
 
 KING MIDAS 
 
 PRINCE HAGEN 
 
 THE JOURNAL OF ARTHUR STIRLING 
 
 MANASSAS 
 
 THE OVERMAN 
 
 THE JUNGLE 
 
 THE INDUSTRIAL REPUBLIC 
 
 THE METROPOLIS 
 
 THE MONEYCHANGERS 
 
 SAMUEL THE SEEKER 
 
 at all bookshops 
 
PLAYS OF PROTEST 
 
 The Naturewoman 
 The Machine 
 The Second-Story Man 
 Prince Hagen 
 
 BY 
 
 UPTON SINCLAIR 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MITCHELL KENNERLEY 
 
 MCMXII 
 
Copyright igii by 
 Mitchell Kennerley 
 
 '.V^*' 
 
 .^ 
 
 ^CI.A30564I 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Naturewoman 3 
 
 The Machine 73 
 
 The Second-Story Man 141 
 
 Prince Hagen 157 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Of the plays here offered, the first in order of writing 
 was "Prince Hagen" : a dramatization of a novel published 
 nearly ten years ago. The author had always been dis- 
 satisfied with this novel, and he found that a new version 
 of the theme was taking shape in his mind. The play 
 which resulted was tried out under the author's direction 
 at the Valencia Theatre, San Francisco, in January, 1909. 
 In the light of the experience thus gained the play was 
 entirely rewritten, and the new version of it is here 
 presented. 
 
 The second of the plays in point of time was "The 
 Second-story Man." This little sketch, with two others, 
 was given by a dramatic company, organized by the writer, 
 in a dozen or so cities of California in 1909. The playlet 
 is perhaps the most dramatic thing the author has written ; 
 concerning the opening performance the San Francisco 
 Bulletin declared that "the applause was the most 
 tumultuous ever witnessed in any theatre in this city"; 
 and in two other cities the audience compelled the repeti- 
 tion of the piece. As an illustration of the difficulties 
 encountered by a writer who seeks to use the stage in 
 America as a medium for the setting forth of radical 
 ideas, it may be mentioned that the production was 
 offered to the head of the vaudeville "syndicate" in San 
 Francisco, who declared his unqualified approval of it; 
 but upon an account of the play being telegraphed to New 
 
ii PREFACE 
 
 York, word came in reply that nothing so radical could 
 be accepted. "The Second-story Man" has been since 
 presented in vaudeville on several occasions, but always 
 with the same result — enthusiastic acceptance by the audi- 
 ence, and inability to obtain regular bookings from those 
 "higher up." The playlet has been published, and also 
 presented under Socialistic auspices, in England and Aus- 
 tralia, in Germany, France and Italy. 
 
 The third play to be written was "The Machine," con- 
 cerning which the following explanation should be made. 
 Four or five years ago the writer set to work upon what 
 he intended to be a trilogy of novels portraying the life 
 of the city of New York. The first of these novels, "The 
 Metropolis," dealt with what calls itself "society"; the 
 second, "The Moneychangers," with "high finance"; the 
 third, which was to be called "The Machine," was to carry 
 its hero through a political career, presenting a study of 
 "Tammany Hall" and the slums. This work was under- 
 taken at a time when the writer was in wretched health 
 and under great nervous strain. He was unable to make 
 either of the two published volumes what he had intended ; 
 and the third volume he was unable to write at all — the 
 most superficial study of the material brought him into 
 contact with so much misery and oppression that he found 
 the attempt was literally wrecking him. 
 
 The theme, however, kept haunting him, and conditions 
 which he had discovered cried out for publicity. He 
 found that the work was taking, in his mind, the shape of 
 a play, and so finally it came to be written. He is aware 
 of the fact that two inadequate novels and a play consti- 
 tute a somewhat dubious literary form. However, "The 
 Machine" is to be read by itself — he makes the explana- 
 tion here merely in order that readers of "The Metropo- 
 lis" and "The Moneychangers" may understand why they 
 find the same characters in the play, and may know what 
 
PREFACE iii 
 
 was the story to which the two novels were intended to 
 lead up. 
 
 When this play was finished I took it to a manager- 
 friend. He said, "It is as good as any political play 
 that I ever saw, but the public won't stand for that kind 
 of political play." I then took it to another friend, one 
 of the most successful playwrights in America, a man 
 who has made a large fortune out of plays which portray 
 modern conditions. I told him that I had written a drama 
 dealing with politics and high finance in New York. 
 
 He said, "I will read it, but I know in advance that it 
 will be impossible." 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 "You have treated it realistically, have you not?" 
 
 I hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Yes." 
 
 "Of course," he said, "and the public won't stand for 
 realistic treatment of such a theme. H you want to deal 
 with politics and high finance, you must treat it senti- 
 mentally, you must 'fake' it, as I did in ' .' " He 
 
 named one of the most successful of his plays. 
 
 After which I took the play to a third friend, an actor- 
 manager who ranks at the top of his profession. He said, 
 "I read it with interest, but I couldn't put on a play like 
 that. Tammany Hall would close me up in a week." 
 
 I narrate these anecdotes by way of illustrating what 
 a man encounters who attempts to found a revolutionary 
 drama in America. I can only assure my readers that I 
 intend to stand by my guns. I do not intend to deal with 
 American capitalism "sentimentally," I do not intend to 
 "fake" my portrayal of it. I spent ten years of my life 
 fighting for the privilege of writing my novels as I wished 
 them. I am willing to spend another ten years fighting 
 for the privilege of writing plays. I believe that in "The 
 Machine" I have produced an acting play, which the peo- 
 ple of New York will some day see on the stage. They 
 
iv PREFACE 
 
 will see it, if for no other reason than because they need to 
 know the facts which it sets forth. 
 
 The youngest of my dramatic children is "The Nature- 
 woman"; and she is too young to have had much of a past. 
 Those to whom I showed her were unanimous in the 
 opinion that I would have to put some more clothes upon 
 her before she could be admitted upon the New York 
 stage. A friend sent her to that "specialist in immoral 
 and heretical plays," Mr. George Bernard Shaw, who 
 made the comment: "Of course, plenty of dramatic and 
 literary faculty has gone to the making of it, but Sinclair 
 is a traitor to civilization, and his main thesis, which is 
 that a woman with the habits and ideas of a porpoise is 
 superior to a woman with the habits and ideas of Madame 
 Roland, will not wash." My reply to this is, that "The 
 Naturewoman" represents a definite reaction in my atti- 
 tude to life. For the first fifteen years of my independent 
 intellectual existence, I was a disciple of the ideal of 
 "spirituality"; I sought the things of the mind and "soul" 
 exclusively — until suddenly I awakened to a realization 
 of the fact that I had lost the power of digesting food. 
 Now I have come to the conviction that it is better to 
 have "the habits and ideas of a porpoise" — with a por- 
 poise's digestion — than it is to have "the habits and ideas 
 of Madame Roland" — plus the headaches and backaches 
 which most of the Madame Rolands of my knowledge are 
 obliged to contend with. 
 
 In conclusion, I desire to put on record the fact con- 
 cerning "Prince Hagen" and "The Machine," that they 
 were offered to the New Theatre, and declined. Referring 
 to the former play, the representative of the institution 
 remarked to my play-agent that it was "a powerful work, 
 but contrary to the principles of the founders." This 
 phrase has stayed in my mind ; I am tempted to take it up 
 and immortalize it. It would be by no means an uninstruc- 
 
PREFACE V 
 
 tive performance to take the list of the twenty founders 
 of the New Theatre, as printed upon all its programs, 
 and study their careers, both public and private, and 
 inquire as to the ''principles" which have actuated them. 
 The New Theatre was founded to improve dramatic taste 
 in this country, to lead the way to a new dramatic awak- 
 ening. So far, in the judgment of many critics, it has 
 failed; and it is surely worth while that some one who is 
 free to speak plainly should point out the reason for the 
 failure. 
 
 It is the obvious fact that the next task before the 
 American people is to take their political and industrial 
 affairs out of the hands of gentlemen of the type of the 
 founders of the New Theatre; and that the rousing of the 
 American people to this task is the duty now before the 
 country's writers and thinkers. In every nation of Europe 
 to-day there is a school of dramatists who are enlisted 
 more or less consciously and definitely in such an under- 
 taking. Hauptmann, Halbe, Gorki, Andreiev, Heijermans, 
 Van Eeden, Maeterlinck, Brieux, Hervieux, Bernard Shaw, 
 Granville Barker, John Galsworthy — these men are the 
 creators of worth-while and vital drama ; and that we can 
 name no such men in America means simply that in 
 America the drama has not yet come to face the realities 
 of modern life. It will not be long, I think, before we 
 shall witness a change in this regard. The point I am 
 making here is, that the New Theatre can have nothing 
 to do with any such awakening — at least not so long as its 
 "founders" have any control whatever over its destinies. 
 
 Of what service these present plays may prove in the 
 work of establishing a revolutionary drama in this coun- 
 try, the writer will make no attempt to predict. Only this 
 much he will say — that they are the work of a man who 
 has faced the realities of modern life; who is a passionate 
 lover of the theatre, and intends to devote the greater 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 part of his time from now on to the attempt to write for it. 
 It is his plan to print his plays in book-form, and leave it 
 for those to whom they may appeal to find some way of 
 getting them before the public. 
 
THE NATUREWOMAN 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Oceana: the Naturewoman. 
 
 Mrs. Sophronia Masterson: of Beacon Street, Boston. 
 
 QuiNCY Masterson, M.D. : her husband. 
 
 Freddy Masterson : her son. 
 
 Ethel Masterson : her younger daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Letitia Selden: her elder daughter. 
 
 Henry Selden : Letitia's husband. 
 
 Remson : a butler. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Drawing-room of the Masterson home; afternoon in 
 winter. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 The same; the next afternoon. 
 
 ACT III 
 A portion of the parlor, as a stage; the same evening. 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Henry Selden's camp in the White Mountains; after- 
 noon, a week later. 
 
THE NATUREWOMAN 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene shows a luxuriously furnished drawing-room. 
 
 Double doors, centre, opening to hall and stairway. 
 
 Grand piano at right, fireplace next to it, with large 
 
 easy -chair in front. Centre table; windows left, 
 
 and chairs. 
 At rise: ethel standing by table; a beautiful but rather 
 
 frail girl of sixteen; opening a package containing 
 
 photograph in frame. 
 
 ETHEL. Oceana ! Oceana ! {She gazes at it in rapture."] 
 Oh, I wonder if she'll be as good as she is beautiful! 
 She must be! Oceana! [To remson, an old, zvhite- 
 haired family servant, who enters with flowers in vase.'] 
 No message from my brother yet? 
 
 REMSON. Nothing, Miss Ethel. 
 
 ETHEL. Look at this, Remson. 
 
 REMSON. [Takes photograph.] Is that your cousin, 
 Miss Ethel? 
 
 ETHEL. That^s she. Isn't she lovely? 
 
 REMSON. Yes, miss. Is that the way they dress in 
 those parts? 
 
 ETHEL. The natives don't even wear that much, 
 Remson. 
 
 REMSON. It must be right warm there, I fancy. 
 
 ETHEL. Oh, yes . . . they never know what cold 
 weather is. 
 
4 THE NATUREWOMAN [act r 
 
 REMSON. What is the name of it, Miss Ethel? 
 
 ETHEL. Maukuri — it's in the South Seas. 
 
 REMSON. It seems like Fve heard of cannibals in those 
 parts, somewhere. 
 
 ETHEL. Yes, in some of the groups. But this is just 
 one little island by itself . . . nothing else for a hundred 
 miles and more. 
 
 REMSON. And she's lived there all this time, Miss 
 Ethel? 
 
 ETHEL. Fifteen years, Remson. 
 
 REMSON. And no folks at all there? 
 
 ETHEL. Not since her father died. 
 
 REMSON. [Shakes his head.] Humph ! She'd ought 
 to be glad to get home, Miss Ethel. 
 
 ETHEL. She didn't seem to feel that way. \_Takes book 
 and seats herself by fireplace.'] But we'll try to make her 
 change her mind. Just think of it . . . she's been forty- 
 six days on the steamer ! 
 
 REMSON. Can it be possible, miss ? 
 
 ETHEL. Wasn't that the street door just now, Remson? 
 
 REMSON. I thought so, Miss Ethel. [Moves to door.] 
 Oh! Mrs. Masterson. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Ift doovway ; a Boston Brahman, 
 aged fifty, wearing street costume, black.] Any news yet, 
 Remson? 
 
 REMSON. None, madam. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Master Frederick is at the dock? 
 
 REMSON. Yes, madam. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. [Enters; slightly younger than his 
 wife, a dapper little man, bald and henpecked.] No news 
 from the steamer, my dear? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. None. 
 
 REMSON. Anything furtlier, madam? 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Nothing. 
 
 Exit REMSON. 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 5 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. It'll be too bad if Oceana has to spend 
 this evening on the steamer. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Have you taken to calling her by that 
 ridiculous name also? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Surcly shc has a right to select her 
 name ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I was present when she was chris- 
 tened; and so were you, Quincy. For me she will remain 
 Anna Talbot until the day she dies. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Anna or Oceana . . . there's not much 
 difference, it seems. [Takes paper and sits by window; 
 they do not see ethel.] Weren't Letitia and Henry to 
 be here? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Letitia was . . . but she's never on time. 
 There's the bell now. [Looks at photograph.'] Humph! 
 So Ethel's had it framed! I declare . . . people ought 
 not to be shown a photograph like that . . . it's not 
 decent. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear ! It's the South Sea Islands ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Severely.'] This is Back Bay. Oh ! 
 Letitia ! 
 
 LETITIA. [Enters; aged about twenty-eight, prim and 
 decorous, patterned after her mother; black street cos- 
 tume, with furs.] No news from the steamer, it seems ! 
 Dear me, such weather ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. You didn't walk, I hope? 
 
 LETITIA. No, but even getting into the stores ! I'm 
 exhausted. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. [Looking from paper.] Henry 
 coming? 
 
 LETITIA. He said he might drop in. He's curious to 
 see the lady. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Humph ! No doubt ! 
 
 LETITIA. Mother, I wish you'd try to do something 
 
6 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 with Henry. He's so restless and discontented . . . he*s 
 getting to be simply impossible. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I'm going to talk to him to-day, my 
 dear. 
 
 LETiTiA. Fancy my going out and burying myself in 
 the country ! And he means it . . . he's at me all the time 
 about it! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Well, don't go, my dear ! 
 
 LETITIA. Don't worry yourself . . . I've not the least in- 
 tention of going. Such things as we modern women have 
 to endure ! Only fancy, he's got an idea he wants to be 
 where he can work with his hands ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Henry ought to have discovered these 
 yearnings before he married one of the Mastersons. As 
 my daughter, you have certain social obligations to fill 
 . . . your friends have a claim upon you, quite as much as 
 your husband. 
 
 LETITIA. He says he wants to take the bungalow and 
 make it over . . . wants to plan it and work at it himself. 
 And with me and the children sitting out on the moun- 
 tain-top in the snow until he finishes, I suppose ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Quiucy, do you know anything about 
 this whim of Henry's for a day-laborer's life? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear, Henry's a big, active man, 
 and he wants something to do. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. But hasn't he his business ? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I dare say there are things more thrill- 
 ing to a man than commercial law-cases. And Henry's 
 been thinking for himself ... he says the law's a cheat. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ycs, I know . . . I'vc heard all that. 
 And here we are, just at this critical moment, when the 
 girl is coming, and when he ought to be advising us about 
 that will. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. It sccms to me, my dear, you've man- 
 aged to choose your course without his aid. ^A pause.'] 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 7 
 
 I hope we shan't have to get into any quarrel with 
 Oceana. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. We shall not if / can help it, Quincy. 
 
 LETiTiA. We simply intend to be firm, father. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. We intend to make it clear that we 
 are going to stand by our legal rights. With no hard 
 feelings for her personally . . . 
 
 ETHEL. [Rising from chair.'] Mother ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ethel ! 
 
 ETHEL. Mother, this has gone just as far as it can go ! 
 I've felt all along that something like this was preparing. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. My dear . . . 
 
 ETHEL. Mother, this concerns me as much as it con- 
 cerns any one of you. And I tell you, you have simply 
 got to let me know about that will. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. My dear . . . 
 
 ETHEL. Do I understand that it is your intention to 
 threaten to go to law, unless Oceana gives us a part of 
 grandfather's property ? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ethel, I rcfusc . . . 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. You might as well tell the child, So- 
 phronia. It's perfectly certain, Ethel, that your grand- 
 father was not of sound mind when he made the will. 
 
 ETHEL. It's perfectly certain that he hated you and 
 mother and Aunt Letitia and me and Freddy . . . every 
 one of us; and that he had hated us for years and years; 
 and that he left his money to Oceana to spite us all. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. That's precisely it, Ethel . . . 
 
 ETHEL. And I, for one, knowing that he hated me, 
 don't want his money. And what is more, I refuse to 
 touch his money. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Not being of age, my dear, you 
 can't . . . 
 
 ETHEL. I am near enough of age to possess my self- 
 respect. And I shall refuse to touch one penny. 
 
8 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My child, there are a good many pen- 
 nies in a half million dollars. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. And when you are of age, Ethel, 
 you'll appreciate . . . 
 
 ETHEL. I shall be of age two years from now, and 
 then I shall return to Oceana every penny of grand- 
 father's money that may have been gotten for mc. 
 
 LETiTiA. Ethel ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. It sccms to mc this is a strange way 
 for a young girl to be speaking to her parents ! 
 
 ETHEL. I can't help it, mother. I am meek and patient 
 ... I try to let you have your way with me in every- 
 thing. But this is a matter of principle, and I can't let 
 myself be sat on. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Sat on ! Is that your view of your 
 mother's attitude towards you? 
 
 ETHEL. You know, perfectly well, mother, that it's im- 
 possible for anybody to preserve any individuality in con- 
 tact with you . . . that as a matter of fact, neither father 
 nor Letitia nor Freddy nor myself have preserved a shred 
 of it. Grandfather said that to you himself, the last time 
 you ever saw him ... I know it, for I've heard father 
 say it a hundred times. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Well ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. It sccms to me there's more than a 
 trace of individuality in this present outburst, Ethel. 
 
 ETHEL. Yes, but it's the first time, mother. 
 
 LETITIA. Some one is coming. [Turns to door.'] Oh ! 
 Henry ! 
 
 HENRY. [Enters; a handsome, powerfully-built man; 
 smooth shaven, immaculate, reserved in manner.] Well, 
 has the sea-witch arrived? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Not yet. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Ffcddy's goHc to mcct her with the 
 limousine. 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 9 
 
 HENRY. I see. And the steamer? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. It was to have docked two hours ago. 
 
 HENRY. Well, that means that I won't see her till to- 
 morrow evening. I've got to run down to Providence 
 to-night. 
 
 LETiTTA. What's the matter? 
 
 HENRY. Nothing important . . . just a business matter 
 that requires my presence. Make my apologies ; and good- 
 bye, my dear. 
 
 Kisses LETITIA. 
 
 LETITTA. Henry, I wish you'd wait a moment. 
 
 HENRY. What for, my dear? 
 
 LETITIA. Mother has something to say . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I Want to talk to you about this idea 
 of going to the country in the winter-time. 
 
 HENRY. Oh ! There's no use talking about that, Mrs. 
 Masterson. I see I can't have my way, so there's no more 
 to be said. I'm not the sort of man to sulk. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. But such an idea, Henry! For a 
 delicate woman like Letitia . . . 
 
 HENRY. I know ... I know. I'd have taken care of 
 her . . . but that doesn't interest her. And, of course, 
 I can't take the children away from her, and there's not 
 much fun in the country alone. So what's the use? I 
 give up . . . as I give up everything. Good-bye, all. 
 Exit. 
 
 LETITIA. I declare— such a trial! A husband who's 
 lost his interest in life ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. It's that ncw cook of yours, Letitia. 
 
 LETITIA. Every cook is worse. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. What he needs is some liver-pills. 
 Quincy, you should attend to it ! [Rises.'] Well, I'm going 
 upstairs. You'll stay to dinner, Letitia? 
 
 LETITIA. Yes, I want to lie down for a while. 
 
10 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. And I'll beat myself a game of bil- 
 liards. 
 
 Exit with LETiTiA and mrs. masterson. 
 
 ETHEL. IDrops her hook to floor, springs up and 
 paces the room.'] Oh ! If only I might change places 
 with Oceana ! If I could get away to some South Sea 
 island, and be my own mistress and live my own life. 
 [Takes photograph.] Oceana ! I'm wild to see you ! I 
 want to see you dancing. Your Sunrise Dance . . . and to 
 your own music ! [Begins to hum the Sunrise Dance.] 
 Oceana ! Oceana ! 
 
 A step in the hall, she turns. 
 
 FREDDY. [Enters briskly; a college hoy, ahout twenty- 
 one, overgrown, narrow-chested, good-natured and 
 slangy.] Ethel ! 
 
 ETHEL. [Starts.] Freddy! Where's Oceana? 
 
 FREDDY. She won't get here till morning. 
 
 ETHEL. Oh, Freddy ! 
 
 FREDDY. They can't dock the steamer to-night . . . 
 there's some tangle at the pier. 
 
 ETHEL. Did you go and see? 
 
 FREDDY. I telephoned about it. I didn't want to wait 
 in this bHzzard. 
 
 ETHEL. I'm so sorry ! 
 
 FREDDY. Me, too. But thcrc's no help for it. 
 
 ETHEL. So long as she doesn't miss to-morrow night! 
 Did I read you what she said about that, Freddy? [Takes 
 letter from pocket.] "I'll pray for fair weather, so that 
 I may get there to see the beautiful dancing. There is 
 nothing in all the world that I love more ... my whole 
 being seems to flow into the dance. I send you the music of 
 my Sunrise Dance, that father composed for me. You can 
 learn it, and I'll do it for you. I don't know, of course; 
 but father used to think that I was wonderful in it . . . 
 and he had known all the great dancers in Europe. It was 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 11 
 
 the last thing I heard him play, before he went out in 
 the boat, and I saw him perish before my eyes." Don't 
 you think that she writes beautifully, Freddy? 
 
 FREDDY. Yes; it's surprising. 
 
 ETHEL. Oh, yes. Her father was an extraordinary 
 man, Henry says ... a musician and a poet. They had 
 books and everything, apparently. You'd think she's been 
 living in Europe. 
 
 FREDDY. I see. 
 
 ETHEL. Listen to this : [Reads.'] "About my name . . . 
 I forgot to explain. You see, Anna sounds like England 
 ... or New England . . . and I am not the least like 
 those places. Father used to see me, as a little tot, diving 
 through the breakers, and floating out in the sea, with 
 the snow-white frigate-birds flashing by overhead; and he 
 said I was the very spirit of the island and the wild, lonely 
 ocean. So he called me Oceana, and that's the name I've 
 always borne." 
 
 FREDDY. It just fits my idea of her. 
 
 ETPJEL. She goes on : "You mustn't be surprised at 
 what I am. You may think it's dreadful . . . even wicked. 
 But at least don't expect anything like you've ever known 
 before. Fifteen years with only cocoa-palms and naked 
 savages . . . the Boston varnish rubs off one. But I'm 
 going to try to behave. I expect to feel quite at home 
 ... I have pictures of all of you, and a picture of the 
 house ... I even have father's keys, to let myself in 
 with !" 
 
 FREDDY. Can you play her music, Ethel? 
 
 ETHEL. Play it? I could play it in my sleep. [Opens 
 piano.'] The Sunrise Dance ! [She sits and plays.] 
 Listen ! 
 
 She plunges into the ecstatic part of the music. 
 FREDDY leans by the piano, watching her; she plays, 
 more and more enthralled. The door opens softly. 
 
12 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 OCEANA enters; a girl of twenty-two, superbly 
 formed, dark-skinned, a picture of glowing health. 
 She is clad in a short skirt and a rough sailor's 
 reefer with cap to match; underneath this a knitted 
 garment, tight-fitting and soft — no corsets. She 
 carries two extremely heavy suitcases, and with no 
 apparent effort. She sets these down and stands 
 listening to the music, completely absorbed in it. 
 There is the faintest suggestion of the Sunrise 
 Dance in her attitude. 
 
 OCEANA is trusting, and yet with power of re- 
 serve. Throughout the action, however vehe- 
 mently she speaks, she seldom really grows angry; 
 she does not take the game seriously enough. On the 
 other hand her enjoyment, however keen, never 
 becomes boisterous. Her actions proceed from a 
 continual overflow of animal health. She is like a 
 little child, in that she cannot remain physically 
 still for very long at a time; she moves about the 
 room like an animal in a cage. Her speech pro- 
 ceeds from an overwhelming interest in the truth, 
 regardless of all personality. She never conceals 
 anything, and she never represses anything. 
 
 ETHEL. [^Finishes the music, then turns, and leaps w/>.] 
 Oceana ! 
 
 FREDDY. [Turns.'] Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. Ethel ! [Embraces her,] Oh, my dear ! 
 How glad I am to see you ! 
 
 ETHEL. Oceana ! But how did you get here ? 
 
 OCEANA. I came on the steamer. 
 
 FREDDY. But it isn't docked ! 
 
 OCEANA. They took us to another dock. 
 
 ETHEL. [Holds her at arm's length.] Oh, how fine you 
 are! 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 13 
 
 OCEANA. And you — you can play my father's music ! 
 I'm so glad ! 
 
 ETHEL. You liked the way I played it? 
 
 OCEANA. I liked it ! And so I know I shall like you ! 
 And I'm so happy about it — I wanted to like you ! 
 
 ETHEL. But how big you are ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Laughing.'] Oh, that's the clothes. I got 
 them in Rio. They're queer, I guess, but I only had a 
 couple of hours. And this is Freddy ! [They shake 
 hands.] It's so good to be here ! 
 
 FREDDY. How did you get from the dock? 
 
 OCEANA. I walked. 
 
 ETHEL. Walked all the way? 
 
 OCEANA. Of course ... I enjoyed it. 
 
 ETHEL. But in the storm ! 
 
 OCEANA. I didn't mind that. It's all new to me, you 
 see. My dear, think of it . . . I've never seen snow 
 before. I was fairly crazy. 
 
 She pulls off the coat and throws it on one of the 
 suitcases. 
 
 ETHEL. I must tell mother. And Letitia ! [Opens door 
 and calls.] Mother ! Letitia ! Oceana's here ! 
 
 FREDDY. [Stoops to pick Up the suitcases.] Why . . . 
 
 OCEANA. What is it? 
 
 FREDDY. [He moves them against the wall with a 
 great effort.] You don't mean you carried those ! 
 
 OCEANA. Why, yes. 
 
 FREDDY. From the docks? 
 
 OCEANA. [Laughs.] Oh, dear me ! I didn't mind that. 
 
 FREDDY. Well . . . I'll be blowed ! 
 
 He Jias fallen head over heels in love with her, and 
 whenever he is in her presence he follows her about 
 with his eyes, like one bewitched. 
 
 OCEANA. You aren't strong as you ought to be ! You 
 stay too much in the house ! 
 
14 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 ETHEL. Here's mother ! 
 
 OCEANA. Aunt Sophronia ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Euters.'] My dear Anna! [Kisses 
 her upon the cheek.'] I am delighted to see you safe. 
 
 ETHEL. And Letitia ! 
 
 OCEANA. Cousin Letitia ! 
 
 LETITIA. [Enters.'] My dear cousin ! So glad you 
 are here ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Looking from one to the other, as they eye 
 her critically.] Oh, are you really glad to see me? You 
 must be, you know . . . for I've come so far. And you've 
 no idea how homesick I've been. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Homcsick, my dear? For that wild 
 place you left? 
 
 OCEANA. But Aunt Sophronia, that's my home ! And 
 it's God's own dream of beauty ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Yes, my dear ... I dare say . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Ah, you've never been there, or you wouldn't 
 feel that way ! Picture it as it is at this moment . . . the 
 broad white beach . . . the sun setting and the clouds 
 aflame . . . the great green breakers rolling in . . . the 
 frigate-birds calling . . . the palm trees rustling in the 
 wind ! And you don't have to wrap yourself up in clothes 
 . . . you don't have to shut yourself up in houses ! You 
 plunge through the surf, you dance upon the beach . . . 
 naked . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Aghast.] My dear girl! 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, oh ! That's so ! I beg your pardon ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Coldly.] It will take you a little 
 while to get used to civilized ways . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, no, no, no ! I know about that ... I 
 know how it is. Father told me about Boston. 
 MRS. MASTERSON. My dear . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Don't worry about me. I'm really going to 
 try to behave myself ... in every way. I want to get the 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 15 
 
 right sort of clothes, you know. I couldn't get them on 
 my trip . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. It's just as well, my dear. You'd 
 best have us attend to that. You will need mourning for 
 quite a while, you understand. 
 
 OCEANA. Mourning ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ycs . . . for your grandfather. 
 
 OCEANA. But, my dear Aunt Sophronia, I couldn't pos- 
 sibly wear mourning ! No, no ! I couldn't do that ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. lAstouished.'] Why not? 
 
 OCEANA. In the first place, I never mourn. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. But your own grandfather, my dear ! 
 
 OCEANA. But I never knew him. Aunt Sophronia . . . 
 1 never saw him in my life ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Evcn SO, my dear ! Hasn't he left 
 you all his fortune? 
 
 OCEANA. But am I supposed to mourn over that? 
 Why, I'd naturally be happy about that ! 
 
 LETiTiA. Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. But surely . . . wouldn't you be happy 
 about it? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. My child, one is not supposed to 
 set so much store by mere money . , . 
 
 OCEANA. But Aunt Sophronia, money is power ! And 
 isn't anybody glad to have power? What else did I come 
 here for? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I had hoped you had come home for 
 some other things ... to see your relatives, for instance. 
 
 ETHEL. Here's father ! 
 
 OCEANA. Uncle Quincy ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. [Enters.'] My dear girl ! You have 
 come ! [Embraces her.] Why, what a picture you are ! 
 A very storm from the tropics ! My dear Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. I'm so glad to get here. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Ycs, indeed ! I can believe it ! And 
 
16 THE NATURE WOMAN [act i 
 
 a strange experience it must have been . . . your first 
 plunge into civilization ! 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, Uncle Quincy ! It's been horrible ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Horrible, my dear? In what way? 
 
 OCEANA. It's been almost too much for me. Really 
 ... I could understand how it might feel to be sick ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Why, what did you see ? 
 
 OCEANA. Everything ! It rushed over me, all at once ! 
 The people . . . their dreadful faces ! And such noises 
 and odors and sights ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I hadn't realized . . . 
 
 OCEANA. And then the saloons ! Rows and rows of 
 them ! It is ghastly ! 
 
 LETiTiA. My dear cousin, mother and I contribute 
 regularly to a temperance society. 
 
 OCEANA. But that hasn't helped, has it? I'm almost 
 wild about such things — they were the real reason I came 
 home, you know. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. How do you mean? 
 
 OCEANA. They had got to my island ! They are turning 
 it into a hell! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. In what way? 
 
 OCEANA. Why, it's a long story. I didn't write . . . 
 it would have taken too long. Two years ago there was 
 a ship laid up . . . and the crew found, quite by accident, 
 that our island rock is all phosphate ; something very valu- 
 able . . . for fertilizer, it seems. So they bought land 
 from the natives, and now there's a company, and a trad- 
 ing-post, and all that. And oh, my people are going all 
 to pieces ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. The nativcs, you mean? 
 
 OCEANA. Yes . . . the people I have loved all my life. 
 And I've tried so hard . . . I've pleaded with them, I've 
 wept and prayed with them ! But they're lost ! 
 
 LETITIA. You mean rum? 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 17 
 
 OCEANA. I mean everything. Rum, and cocaine, and 
 sugar, and canned food, and clothes, and missionaries 
 ... all civilization ! And worse yet, Aunt Sophronia 
 . . . ah, I can't bear to think of it ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. What? 
 
 OCEANA. You wouldn't let me tell you what. [In a low 
 voice.] Imagine my people, my beautiful people, with 
 the soft, brown skins and the big black eyes, and hair like 
 the curtains of night. They are not savages, you under- 
 stand . . . they are gentle and kindly. They ride the rush- 
 ing breakers in their frail canoes, they fish and gather 
 fruits in the forests, they dream in the soft, warm sunshine 
 . . . they are happy, they are care-free^ their whole life is 
 a song. And they are trusting, hospitable . . . the wonder- 
 ful white strangers come, and they take them into their 
 homes, and open their hearts to them. And the strangers 
 go away and leave them a ghastly disease, that rages like 
 a fire in their palm-thatched cabins, that sweeps through 
 their villages like a tornado. And the women's hair falls 
 out . . . they wither up . . . they're old hags in a year 
 or two. And the babies . . . I've helped bring them into 
 the world . . . and they had no lips . . . their noses were 
 gone ! They were idiots . . . blind . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. ^Wildly.'] Anna Talbot! I must 
 beg you to have a little discretion ! 
 
 LETiTiA. Why should we hear about these things, 
 Oceana? 
 
 OCEANA. My dear, it comes from America. The ships 
 came from here ! There was one of them I saw . . . 
 "The Mary Jane, of Boston, Mass." 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. No doubt, amoug such low men . .«. 
 men of vile life . . . sailors . . . 
 
 OCEANA. No, Aunt Sophronia . . . you're mistaken ! 
 It's ever)rwhere. Isn't it. Uncle Quincy? You're a doc- 
 tor .. . you must know ! 
 
18 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Why, to tell the truth . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Tell the truth! Am I not right? 
 
 FREDDY. Of course you're right! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Freddy ! 
 
 OCEANA. Ah ! You know ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. This is outrageous ! 
 
 OCEANA. You mean you don't teach your children about 
 it? Why . . . 
 
 She stares at them, perplexed. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. You dou't Understand our ways, 
 Anna ... 
 
 OCEANA. No, no ... I don't. I don't think I ever can. 
 You'd let some man come and make love to Ethel . . . 
 and you'd never warn her? 
 
 ETHEL. They warned me to turn my toes out when I 
 walked, and not to eat fish with a knife. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. If this conversation is to go on, I 
 insist that the children shall leave the room. 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, I'm awfully sorry, Aunt Sophronia ! 
 Why, I didn't mean any harm. It's all so real to me. 
 [She gases from one to the other, hoping for some sign 
 of a thaw.'] Just think . . . these were the people that I'd 
 loved . . . that I'd grown up with all my life. I'd fished in 
 their canoes, I'd hunted with them and basked on the 
 beach with them. I'd watched the young men and girls 
 dancing their love-dances in the moonlit glades . . . ^She 
 pauses again.] Oughtn't I to talk about thatf 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear girl . . . 
 
 OCEANA. [Stares at them; a sudden idea occurs to 
 her.] Perhaps I ought to explain to you . . . you're no 
 doubt wondering. I'm a virgin myself, you know. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Starting up.] Oh! 
 
 LETiTiA. Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. But weren't you thinking of that? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Why, of course not ! 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 19 
 
 OCEANA. But Aunt Sophronia ! You know you were ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. ISpiitters.'] Oh ! Oh ! 
 
 OCEANA. You were thinking to yourself, this girl's been 
 playing around on the beaches with savages . . . and 
 what's been happening to her? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear niece, I'm afraid you'll have 
 to take some account of our civilized prejudices. We 
 simply don't say everything that we think. 
 
 OCEANA. [Spritiging up.'] Oh, dear me ! Fm so sorry ! 
 I didn't mean to make you unhappy ! I was going to be 
 so good. I was going to try to conform to everything. 
 Why, just think of it, Aunt Sophronia ... in Rio I 
 actually bought a pair of corsets. And I tried to wear 
 them. I . , . Oceana ! Around my waist ! Think of it ! 
 [She looks for sympathy.'} I couldn't stand them . . . 
 I climbed to the topmast and threw them to the sharks. 
 But now it seems that you all wear corsets on your 
 minds and souls. [A pause.} Never mind . . . let's talk 
 about something else. I'm getting restless. You see . . . 
 Fm not used to being in a room ... it seems like a box 
 to me ... I can hardly breathe. The air in here is 
 dreadful . . . hadn't any of you noticed? [Silence. Ap- 
 parently nobody had.} Would you mind if I opened a 
 window ? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. It is storming outside, Anna. 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, but one can exercise and keep warm. 
 Just a minute . . . please. [She flings up a window; a 
 gale blows in.} Ah, feel that ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON^ LETITIA and DR. MASTERSON draW 
 
 away from the window. 
 MRS. MASTERSON. This is simply outrageous ! 
 LETITIA. It is beyond all words ! 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear, consider . . . 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I won't havc that creature in my 
 house a minute longer. 
 
20 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dcaf, be reasonable ! 
 
 LETiTiA. Reasonable f 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Consider what is at stake! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. But what hope have we to get any- 
 thing out of such a woman? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. We havc some hope, I'm sure. If 
 we . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Didn't you hear her say she*d come 
 home for nothing but the money? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Ycs . . . but at least she's honest 
 enough to say it, Sophronia. And she's here as our guest 
 . . . she wants to be friendly . . . don't let it come to an 
 open break with her ! 
 
 LETITIA. But how can we help it, father? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. It's just a matter of letting her talk. 
 And what harm will that do us? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. But we cau't lock her up in the 
 house. And can we introduce her to our friends? To- 
 morrow night, for instance ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. We must manage it somehow. When 
 we've once had an understanding with her, it won't take 
 long to get the papers signed, and after that we won't 
 care. Control yourself, Sophronia, I implore you ! Don't 
 let your prejudices ruin us ! 
 
 ETHEL. [Steals to them, in agitation.'] Mother, can*t 
 you be good to her? You don't understand her at all. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. IColdly,'] Thank you, Ethel . . . 
 
 ETHEL. [To FREDDY, who joins them.] Can't you say 
 something to them, Freddy? They treat her so badly. 
 
 FREDDY. They hate her, Ethel ! They couldn't under- 
 stand her. 
 
 OCEANA takes deep breaths, expelling them in short, 
 sharp puffs. 
 
 LETITIA. What in the world are you doing? 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 21 
 
 OCEANA. That's one of the Yogi exercises. Haven't 
 any of you studied the Vedantas? 
 
 LETiTiA. We are all Episcopalians here, Oceana. 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, I see ! 
 
 She takes a deep breath and then pounds her chest 
 like a gorilla. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. And pray, what is that? 
 
 OCEANA. I'm just getting some of the civilization out 
 of my lungs. 
 
 A furious gale blows. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Really, my dear, we shall have to 
 leave the room. We'll all catch our death of cold. 
 
 OCEANA, My dear Aunt Sophronia, nobody ever caught 
 a cold from winter air. Colds come from over-eating and 
 bad ventilation. \^She closes the ivindow.'] However, 
 there you are ! \^Eagerly.'] Now, let's have something 
 beautiful — so that I can forget my blunders. Let's have 
 some music. Will you play for me, Cousin Letitia? 
 
 LETITIA. I don't play, my dear. 
 
 OCEANA. What? Why, father told me you played all 
 the time ! 
 
 LETITIA. That was before my marriage. 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, I see ! {^Laughs.'] The music has ac- 
 complished its purpose ! [^Stops, alarmed.'] Oh ! I've 
 done it again ! [Goes to letitia.] My dear cousin, be- 
 lieve me, I meant no offense. I'm never personal. I was 
 simply formulating a principle of sociology ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. You have strange ways, my dear 
 niece. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Are you always so direct, so ruthless? 
 
 OCEANA. That's the word, isn't it? That's what father 
 taught me. Never to think about personalities . . . to go 
 after the truth ! He used to quote that saying of 
 Nietzsche's: "To hunger after knowledge as the lion for 
 his food!" 
 
22 THE NATUREWOMAN [act i 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Oh, you Tcad Nietzsche, do you? 
 How could you get such books? 
 
 OCEANA. We had a government steamer from New 
 Zealand three times a year, you know. That brought our 
 mail. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. And your father permitted you to 
 read these improper things? 
 
 OCEANA. My father taught me to face the facts of my 
 being. My father was a fighter, you know. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Grimly.'] Yes, I knew that. 
 
 OCEANA. Life had hurt him. Some day you must tell 
 me about it . . . what it was that happened to him here in 
 Boston. He never would talk about it, but I've often 
 wondered. It must have been my mother. What did she 
 do to him before she died? [She pauses, expecting an 
 answer.'] Was it that she was just conventional like 
 you? [She pauses again.] It must have been something 
 dreadful ... he felt so keenly about it. He burned it into 
 my very soul ... his fear of civilization. And here I am 
 . . . right in the midst of it . . . I'm letting it get its 
 claws into me ! I'm wearing its clothes . . . [She tears at 
 them.] I'm breathing its air ! I don't believe I can stand 
 it ! [She paces the room restlessly.] My soul is suffocat- 
 ing, as well as my body. I must have something to remind 
 me of the sky, and the open sea, and the great spaces. I 
 must go back again to my home, to my island ! [Stretches 
 out her arms to them appealingly.] Ah, can't some of 
 you understand about it? Can't some of you take pity on 
 me? It's so strange to me ... so different from every- 
 thing I've been used to ! Aunt Sophronia ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Takcs a stcp reluctantly.] My dear ! 
 
 ETHEL. [Springing forward.] No ! No ! They don't 
 understand ! They don't really care. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ethel ! 
 
 OCEANA, But you ! Ethel ! 
 
ACT i] THE NATUREWOMAN 23 
 
 ETHEL. [Rushes and flings herself at oceana's feet, 
 clutching her dress.'] Take me with you ! Take me away 
 to your island ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Turning to freddy.] And you . . . won't 
 you be my friend? 
 
 FREDDY. [Goes to her.] I will ! [She holds out her 
 hand to him; he hesitates, gazing at her awe-stricken.] 
 May I . . . may I take your hand? 
 
 OCEANA. Why certainly ! 
 
 FREDDY. [With fervor.] Oceana! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
24. THE NATUREWOMAN [act ii 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene: Same as Act I. 
 At rise: dr. masterson in easy-chair near the window; 
 opens newspaper, sighs, zvipes glasses, prepares to 
 read. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Enters with letitia.] Well ! 
 DR. MASTERSON. Home, are you? 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ycs ! And such a day ! 
 LETITIA. Shopping with Oceana! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Humph ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Imagine buying clothes for a woman 
 who won't squeeze her waist, and won't let her skirts 
 touch the ground! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Why didn't you take her to the men's 
 department? 
 
 LETITIA. Don't make a joke of it, father. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. How did you make out? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Well, we'vc got her so the police 
 won't molest her. 
 
 LETITIA. We told Madame Clarice her trunks had been 
 misplaced in the steamer hold. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. lugCUioUS ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ycs ! Only she spoiled it all by tell- 
 ing the truth ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Where is she now? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. She's walking . . . she says she must 
 have exercise. 
 
 LETITIA. The air in the limousine is close, it seems* 
 
ACT ii] THE NATUREWOMAN 25 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. You got something she could wear 
 to-night ? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Oh, ycs, that part's all right. If I 
 could only have selected the things she's going to say 
 to-night ! 
 
 A pause, 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Well, and what are the signs ? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I don't know. I can't read her at all. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. You haven't broached the subject yet? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Not definitely. I've hinted at it. I 
 said we were worried about the future of Freddy and 
 Ethel. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. And what did she say to that? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. She said that she'd take care of them, 
 if I'd let her. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Why . . . that's promising. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. So I thought . . . till I fouud she 
 meant taking them off to the South Seas ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Oh ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I thought I'd Wait till to-night . . . 
 after the dancing. You see, she'll have met some com- 
 pany, and I thought she might be feeling more . . . more 
 genial. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I Understand. A good idea. 
 
 LETITIA. Miss Pilkington ought to put her in a good 
 mood. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. She's passionately fond of fancy 
 dancing, it seems. And Ethel's been writing her about 
 to-night, so she's quite excited about it. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I SCC. 
 
 LETITIA. People are wildly jealous of us because we 
 got Miss Pilkington to come here. Everybody's talking 
 about it. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. You haven't heard any criticisms, I 
 hope? 
 
26 THE NATUREWOMAN [act ii 
 
 LETiTiA. Nothing that amounts to anything-. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I wish I could feel comfortable about 
 it. It seems so very daring. It's been only seven months 
 since the funeral. To be sure . . . father and I hadn't 
 spoken for ten years. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. And everybody knows the entertain- 
 ment is for charity. 
 
 LETITIA. And we've only asked the very best people. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. And the date was arranged over a 
 year ago. 
 
 LETITIA. And it isn't as if we were going to dance 
 ourselves, mother. And then they are "Biblical Dances," 
 too. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I know — I know. But then, the 
 world is so quick to gossip. They might say we were 
 doing it because he left his fortune to a girl in the 
 Cannibal Islands ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Perhaps it's just as well the girl's to 
 be here. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ycs, If wc can keep her within 
 bounds. I shall be on pins and needles till it's over. 
 
 LETITIA. Such a white elephant in one's home ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. And then the way Freddy and Ethel 
 are behaving! 
 
 LETITIA. Freddy wanted to stay from college and Ethel 
 from her music lesson — both of them to go and sit around 
 in the stores while Oceana bought clothes ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Well, of all thiugs ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I hardly know Ethel any more ! 
 
 LETITIA. And Freddy sits around and stares at her 
 like a man out of his wits ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. That'll be the next thing, I suppose 
 . . . she'll run off and marry him ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Well, mightn't that be a good way to 
 solve the problem ? To keep the money in the family ? 
 
ACT ii] THE NATUREWOMAN 27 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Quincy ! 
 
 LETiTiA. Besides — she mightn't marry him. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Lctltia ! 
 
 LETITIA. Why not, mother? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I'm sure, my child, you have no rea- 
 son for saying anything Hke that. 
 
 LETITIA. I don't trust the minx ! 
 A pause. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Has Henry got home? 
 
 LETITIA. He's probably there now. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Is he coming here to dinner? 
 
 LETITIA. I'm not sure. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. You'd better take my advice and not 
 let him. 
 
 LETITIA. Why not? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Becausc, the first thing you know, 
 we'll have Henry in love with her, too. 
 
 LETITIA. [Horrified.'] Mother! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I mean it, my dear — quite seriously. 
 What's the meaning of all this discontent of Henry's? I 
 know him well enough . . . he's just the man to be taken 
 in by the tricks of such a woman ! She'd give him plenty 
 of outdoor exercise ! She'd go live in the country with 
 him! 
 
 LETITIA. [Springing tip.] Mother ! How horrible ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Forewamcd is forearmed, Letitia. 
 You listen to me, and let Henry see just as little of Anna 
 Talbot as you can. And when he's with her, you be there, 
 too. 
 
 LETITIA. [In great agitation.'] I'll go home right now 
 and see to him ! 
 Exit. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. [Sighs.] Oh, dear ! And I was wait- 
 ing for Henry to play billiards with! 
 
m THE NATUREWOMAN [act it 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. You might get Anna to play billiards 
 with you. No doubt she's an expert. 
 Ejirit right. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON sighs, shokcs kis head, and resumes 
 reading. 
 
 OCEANA. [^Enters, radiant, clad in an ermine cloak.'] 
 Well, Uncle Quincy ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Oceana ! Bless me ! How gorgeous ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Takes it off and throivs it on the chair. ] It's 
 really too warm for walking. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I should havc thought, coming from 
 , a tropical climate . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Ah, but my blood circulates, you see. [Sits 
 opposite him."] Uncle Quincy, I want to have a talk with 
 you. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Ycs, my dear? 
 
 OCEANA. Uncle Quincy, why do you let Aunt Sophronia 
 and Letitia frighten you the way they do? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear girl ! 
 
 OCEANA. Take yesterday afternoon, for instance — what 
 I said about syphilis. You know I was right, and yet you 
 didn't dare say so. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Really, Oceana . . . 
 
 OCEANA. You are an educated man — a man of science. 
 You know what modern ideas are. And yet you consent 
 to be walked all over ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Here are these women . . . they have leisure 
 and opportunity . . . they ought to be doing some good in 
 the world. And yet they haven't an idea except to act as 
 other people think they ought to act ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Dear me ! Dear me ! 
 Rises and begins to pace the room. 
 
 OCEANA. Don't run away from me. 
 
ACT ii] THE NATUREWOMAN 29 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I'm not running away. But you are 
 so disconcerting, Oceana . . . 
 
 OCEANA. I know; but that's only because you know 
 that what I say is true, and you don't like to feel that 
 anybody else knows it. 
 
 FREDDY. [Off.'] Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. Freddy ! 
 
 FREDDY. [Enters.l Oh ! Father's here ! 
 
 OCEANA. Yes; we were having a chat. 
 
 FREDDY. [Hesitates.'] Father, will you excuse me, 
 please ... I have something very important to say to 
 Oceana. I've been waiting for her. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Why . . . what . . . 
 
 FREDDY. Don't ask me, please. I must have a talk with 
 her right away. Please come, Oceana. 
 
 OCEANA. All right. 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I was going to the billiard-room, any- 
 way. Pray excuse me. 
 Exit centre. 
 
 OCEANA. [Smiles.'] See him run ! Well, Freddy, what 
 is it? 
 
 FREDDY. [Intensely.] Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. What's the matter? 
 
 FREDDY. You mustn't stay here ! 
 
 OCEANA. Why not? 
 
 FREDDY. They'll ruin you, Oceana ! They'll crush you, 
 they'll spoil you forever ! You must go away ! 
 
 OCEANA. Why, my dear boy, how can they hurt me? 
 
 FREDDY. They will, they will ! I've been thinking about 
 it all day ! I didn't go to college ... I spent the whole 
 day pacing the streets. 
 
 OCEANA. Why, Freddy ! 
 
 FREDDY. And I want you to come away ! Come away 
 with me! I want you . . . [Wildly.] ... I want you 
 to marry me ! 
 
30 THE NATUREWOMAN [act ii 
 
 OCEANA. [Aghast.] Why, Freddy ! 
 
 FREDDY. Oh, I know it's a fool way ... to blurt it out 
 at you like that. I thought up a hundred ways to say it to 
 you. I had a fine speech all by heart, but I can't remember 
 a word of it. When I see you I can't even think straight. 
 Fm simply beside myself ... I can't rest, I can't sleep, I 
 can't do anything. I used to laugh at such ideas, but now 
 I'm frightened at myself. Can't you understand me, 
 Oceana ? Oceana ... I love you ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Whispers.'] My poor boy ! 
 
 FREDDY. I don't ask you to say yes ... I just ask you 
 to give me a chance ... a hope. If I thought I might 
 win you, I'd do anything . . . anything ! I'd wait for 
 you ... I'd work for you ... I'd worship you ! 
 Oceana ! [He stops.] May I . . . May I take your 
 hand? [She does not give it.] Ah, no! I have no 
 right ! Oceana, listen to me ! I have thought that I 
 was in love before . . . but it was just childish, it was 
 nothing like this. This has been a revelation to me . . . 
 it makes all the world seem different to me. And just 
 see how suddenly it's come . . . why, yesterday I was a 
 boy ! Yesterday I thought some things were interesting 
 . . . and to-day I wonder how I could have cared about 
 them. Nothing seems the same to me. And it all hap- 
 pened at once, it was like an explosion . . . the first 
 instant I laid eyes on you I knew that you were the one 
 woman I could ever love. And I said to myself, she will 
 laugh at you. 
 
 He hesitates. 
 
 OCEANA. No, I won't laugh at you. 
 
 FREDDY. I tried to keep it to myself, but I couldn't . . . 
 not if I were to be hanged for it. I'm just . . . just torn 
 out of myself. I'm trembling with dehght, and then I'm 
 plunged into despair, and then I stop to think and I'm ter- 
 rified. For I don't know what I can do. Everything in 
 
ACT n] THE NATUREWOMAN 31 
 
 my life is gone — I won't know how to live if you send me 
 away. 
 
 OCEANA. IGraz^ely,'] Freddy, come sit down here. Be 
 rational now. 
 
 FREDDY. Yes. 
 
 He sits watching her, in a kind of daze. 
 OCEANA. In the first place, Freddy . . . you must under- 
 stand, it isn't the first time this has happened to me. 
 
 FREDDY. No, I suppose UOt. 
 
 OCEANA. The officers of the ships always used to fall 
 in love with me. There were three on this last steamer. 
 
 FREDDY. Yes. 
 
 OCEANA. You say to marry you. But it's difficult for 
 me to imagine myself marrying any man, no matter how 
 much I loved him. One has to make so many promises, 
 you know. 
 
 FREDDY. How do you mean? 
 
 OCEANA. You have to "love, honor and obey.'* 
 
 FREDDY. But, Oceana ! That's a mere form. 
 
 OCEANA. No, no. It's written in the laws. All kinds 
 of things . . . people don't realize it. 
 
 FREDDY. But surely ... if you love a man ... a 
 decent man . . . 
 
 OCEANA. No decent man ought to ask a woman to sign 
 away her self-respect. 
 
 FREDDY. \Bewildered.'] But then . . . then . . . what 
 would you do ? 
 
 OCEANA. [Watches him, then laughs to herself. 1 Bos- 
 ton is such a funny place ! 
 
 FREDDY. Hey ? 
 
 OCEANA. Let us leave marriage out now ... let us talk 
 of love. Realize how much more serious it is to a woman 
 than it is to a man. A man meets a woman and he finds 
 her beautiful, and his blood begins to boil, and he says: 
 "I adore you." And so she gives herself to him; and 
 
32 THE NATUREWOMAN [act it 
 
 then, the next morning, he goes off and forgets all 
 about it. 
 
 FREDDY. No, no ! 
 
 OCEANA. I don't say you, Freddy. But it's happened 
 that way. The woman, though . . . she doesn't forget. 
 She carries a reminder. And it's not only that she has the 
 burden of the child . . . the anguish of the birth . . . the 
 task of suckling and rearing it. It's that she has a minia- 
 ture of the man with her all the rest of her days. She has 
 his soul there . . . blended with the thing she loves most 
 of all in the world. And so, don't you see how careful she 
 has to be, how desperately important the thing is to her? 
 IShe sits lost in thought.'] I have never been in love, 
 Freddy, not the least little bit. I have never felt that call 
 in my blood. But some day I shall feel it; and when T 
 do, I shall take that man as if before a court of judg- 
 ment. I shall take him away with me. I shall ask myself 
 not merely, "Is he beautiful and strong of body?" but, 
 "Is he beautiful and strong in soul?" I would not ask 
 that he be learned ... he might not chance to be a cul- 
 tured man. But he would be a man of power, he would be 
 a man who could rule himself, he would be a soul without 
 base alloy. And when I had satisfied myself as to that, 
 I would have found my mate. I would say to him, "I 
 wish you to be the father of my child." [She sits again, 
 broodifig.'] I would not exact pledges of him. I would say 
 to him, "I do not ask you to take care of me; I do not ask 
 you to take care of my child. You may go away when 
 you wish . . . that rests with you; but / wish the child." 
 [She pauses.] Do you see? 
 
 FREDDY. Yes, I see. [He gases at her, frightened.'] 
 And you . . . you do not feel that way about me ? 
 
 OCEANA. Not the least little bit, Freddy. 
 
 FREDDY. And if I waited ever so long? 
 
 OCEANA. I do not believe that I should ever feel itt 
 
ACT ii] THE NATUREWOMAN 33 
 
 [She puts her hand upon his arm.'] My dear, dear boy ! 
 Learn to look at it as I do. Face it like a man. It is one of 
 those things that we cannot help . . . that we do not even 
 understand. It is the chemistry of sex; it is Nature's 
 voice speaking to us. It means no disgrace to you that I 
 do not love you ... it means no inferiority, no defeat. It 
 is the signal that Nature gives us, that we wait for, and 
 dare not disregard. You dare not ask me to disre- 
 gard it ! [He is gazing into her eyes like one entranced.] 
 You must let me teach you . . . you must let me help you. 
 You must not let this mean misery and despair. Take 
 hold of yourself. Perhaps you and Ethel can go back 
 with me to my island . . . for I think that I am going. 
 [He continues to gaze at her, speechless with admiration. 
 She presses his arm.] Now promise me. 
 
 FREDDY. What ? 
 
 OCEANA. That you will be a man. 
 They gaze into each other's eyes, 
 
 ETHEL. [Off.] Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. Here is your sister. Let us not trouble her. 
 [Aloud.] Ethel ! 
 
 ETHEL. [Enters in street costume.] Oh, here you are! 
 And your new clothes ! 
 
 OCEANA. Do you like me? 
 
 ETHEL. No, they don't belong to you! 
 
 OCEANA. [Laughs.] Well, I shan't wear them long. 
 
 ETHEL. What are you going to do? 
 
 OCEANA. I'm going to design some for myself. 
 
 ETHEL. What kind? 
 
 OCEANA. I don't know yet. But it'll be something that 
 will leave my legs outside. 
 
 ETHEL. And did you get something beautiful for to- 
 night ? 
 
 OCEANA. I got something that will do. 
 
 ETHEL. Oceana, when am I to see the dance? 
 
34 THE NATUREWOMAN [act ii 
 
 OCEANA. I told you, when I have my costume. 
 
 ETHEL. But when will that be? 
 
 OCEANA. When my trunks have come. 
 
 FREDDY. They came this afternoon. 
 
 OCEANA. Oh ! Then we'll have it to-morrow morning ! 
 And ril show you my beautiful bridal-robe. 
 
 FREDDY. Bridal-robe ? 
 
 OCEANA. Yes. Didn't I tell you? It was made for me 
 by one of our King's sons. His name was Paukopi . . . 
 that means, in our language, "Child of the Sea Foam." 
 And he was in love with me. 
 
 ETHEL. Oh ! 
 
 OCEANA. He was very sad and went away by himself. 
 But he was a man ... he did not go to pieces. ^She looks 
 at FREDDY.] He went into the forest and spent his time 
 hunting wild birds; and he gathered their feathers and 
 made them into this gorgeous robe . . . purple and gold 
 and green and scarlet. He brought it and laid it at my 
 feet, and said that it was my bridal-robe, that I must wear 
 it at my feast. 
 
 ETHEL. Oh, how lovely ! 
 
 FREDDY. [Rises mid tunis azvay in despair. ^^ Oh ! 
 
 ETHEL. Tell me a little about the Sunrise Dance. 
 
 OCEANA. It represents the worship of Nature. It por- 
 trays an awakening from slumber . . . you know the soft 
 part of the music at the beginning . . . 
 
 ETHEL. Yes. 
 
 OCEANA. Then gradually I rise to my feet and gaze to- 
 wards the light. There is the sun shining upon the waves 
 of the sea, and upon the palm branches. All life is awak- 
 ening and singing for joy . . . and so the music rises to 
 an ecstasy. 
 
 ETHEL. And do you dance other things? 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, yes — lots of things. 
 
 ETHEL, Oh, Oceana ! I'm just v^ild to see you ! 
 
ACT ii] THE NATUREWOMAN 35 
 
 OCEANA. And I'm wild to dance. I must have some 
 vent pretty soon. You see, at home I was out of doors all 
 the time. I hunted and fished, I swam and dived, I danced 
 on the beach. And here . . . why, I walk down the street, 
 and I daren't even so much as sing out loud. I have to 
 remember that I'm a young lady, and have an ermine 
 cloak on ! Truly, I don't see how you ever stand it ! 
 
 ETHEL. We were brought up that way. 
 
 OCEANA. Yes; and that's why you're undeveloped and 
 frail. But tell me, don't you ever have an impulse to 
 play? That beautiful snow out there — don't you want to 
 tumble round in it and pelt each other with snowballs? 
 
 FREDDY. We did that when we were children. 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, that's the way. But I, you see . . . I'm a 
 child still; and I expect to be always. 
 
 ETHEL. And are you always happy, Oceana? 
 
 OCEANA. Always. 
 
 ETHEL. You never . . . you never even start to feel 
 sad? 
 
 OCEANA. Why yes, now and then. But I don't per- 
 mit such moods. You see, I have the conviction that 
 there is nothing beautiful or right about sorrow — never, 
 under any circumstances. 
 
 ETHEL. You mean you would not mourn, even if some 
 one you loved were to die? 
 
 OCEANA. I mean that I did not. [She pauses.'] Yes, 
 exactly . . . my father. He had been my life's companion, 
 and they brought him home drowned; and yet I did not 
 mourn. 
 
 ETHEL. Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. I had trained myself . . . for just that. We 
 had made ourselves what you might call soul-exercises ; 
 little ceremonies to remind ourselves of things we wished 
 to hold by. The Sunrise Dance was one of those. And 
 then, on the last day of each month, at sunset, we would 
 
36 THE NATUREWOMAN [act ii 
 
 sit and watch the shadows fade, and contemplate death. 
 [She pauses, gravely.'] We would say to ourselves that 
 we, too, were shadows . . . rainbows in the sea-mist; that 
 we held our life as a gift ... we carried it in our hands, 
 ready to give it up when we heard the call. 
 A pause. 
 
 HENRY. [Opens door centre and enters. Sees oceana 
 and halts.'] Oh ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Turns and sees him.] Why ! Here's a 
 man! [They gaze at each other, transfixed.] Ethel! 
 Who is he? 
 
 ETHEL. Why, this is Henry. Letitia's husband. 
 
 OCEANA. Oh! Letitia's husband! [With a sudden, 
 frank gesture, putting out her hand.] Henry ! 
 
 HENRY. Oceana ! 
 
 As their hands meet, they stand looking into each 
 other's faces. 
 
 OCEANA. [Gripping his hand tightly.] You are strong! 
 [Looks at his hand.] And you do not smoke, either ! Let 
 me see your eyes. 
 
 HENRY. [Perplexed.] My eyes? 
 
 OCEANA. Your eyes. [Turns him toward the light; 
 studies his eyes.] They dosed you with quinine ! Ma- 
 laria, I suppose? 
 
 HENRY. Why . . . yes. But how can you tell? 
 
 OCEANA. I can tell many things. Let me see your 
 tongue. 
 
 HENRY. [Bewildered.] My tongue? 
 
 OCEANA. Your tongue. 
 
 HENRY. But what for? 
 
 OCEANA. I can tell more about a man by looking at his 
 tongue for a minute than by listening to it for a week. 
 
 HENRY. But, Oceana — 
 
 OCEANA. I am in earnest. 
 
 HENRY. [Laughs.] Why , . . really . . . 
 
ACT ii] THE NATUREWOMAN 37 
 
 OCEANA. Are you afraid? 
 
 HENRY. Good heavens, no ! 
 
 OCEANA. Put it out. {He puts his tongue out and she 
 examines it.l So ! A man with a red tongue ! And in 
 a civilized city ! 
 
 HENRY. Oughtn't it to be red? 
 
 OCEANA. And he doesn't know what it ought to be ! 
 How delicious ! [She steps back from him.'] And so 
 you are Letitia's husband. Tell me, are you happy with 
 her? 
 
 HENRY. [Startled; stares at her intently.'] No, no . . . 
 you ought not to ask me that. 
 
 OCEANA. Why not? 
 
 HENRY. [In a low voice.] Because you know. 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, that's true. [A pause; she changes the 
 subject.] I have heard my father speak of you often. 
 
 HENRY. He remembered me, did he? I was only 
 twenty when he went away. 
 
 OCEANA. He said that he taught you to play single- 
 stick. 
 
 HENRY. Ah yes, to be sure! 
 
 OCEANA. He taught me also. 
 
 HENRY. You ? 
 
 OCEANA. It was our favorite game. 
 
 HENRY. It's a rather rough game for a woman. 
 
 OCEANA. I love it. We'll have a bout. 
 
 HENRY. I'm afraid ... I don't think I could. 
 
 OCEANA. Why not? 
 
 HENRY. [Laughs.] I should find it a psychical impossi- 
 bility to hit a woman. 
 
 OCEANA. You might find it a physical impossibility in 
 this case. [With sudden excitement.] Why, my trunks 
 have come ! We could have a go before dinner. Couldn't 
 we, Freddy? 
 
 FREDDY. I suppose SO. 
 
38 THE NATUREWOMAN [act ii 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, it's just what I'm pining for! To get 
 my blood stirring again ! And you, too . . . surely you 
 must be chafing, out of patience ! [She stops abruptly.'] 
 Oh! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Enters left.'] Henry ! 
 
 HENRY. Yes ? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. When did you get here? 
 
 HENRY. Just a minute ago. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. YouVe met Anna, I see. 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, Aunt Sophronia . . . we're getting along 
 famously. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Lctitia's lookiug for you, Henry. 
 
 HENRY. Where is she? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. She wcnt home to find you. 
 
 HENRY. Humph ! I came here for her. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. She wauts you at once. 
 
 HENRY. All right. Good-bye, Oceana. 
 
 OCEANA. Until later. 
 
 HENRY exit centre with mrs. masterson. 
 
 OCEANA. So that is Henry ! Tell me, Ethel, have they 
 any children? 
 
 ETHEL. Yes . . . two. 
 
 OCEANA. How long have they been married? 
 
 ETHEL. Six years. 
 
 OCEANA. Six years I And is he really happy? 
 
 ETHEL. Why . . . you know Letitia. 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, but I don't know Henry. 
 
 ETHEL. [Laughs.] I guess he's so-so. Like most 
 of us. 
 
 OCEANA. [Half to herself.] I'll find out for myself. 
 ['Phone rings; freddy rises.] What's that? It's the 
 'phone. [Rises.] I hadn't noticed it before ! How in- 
 teresting ! 
 
 ETHEL. That's so ! You never saw one ? 
 
 FREDDY. [At 'phone.] Hello ! Yes, this is Mrs. Mas- 
 
ACT n] THE NATUREWOMAN 39 
 
 terson's. This is her son. Can't I take the message? 
 Oh, from Miss Pilkington. Oh! Why, that's too bad! 
 Why no, of course not. Tell Miss Pilkington we're as 
 sorry as can be ! No, I'll attend to it. Good-bye. 
 I Turns.'] Miss Pilkington can't come! 
 
 ETHEL. What? 
 
 FREDDY. She's slipped in the snow and hurt her ankle. 
 
 ETHEL, Oh, Freddy ! 
 
 OCEANA. What a shame ! 
 
 They stare at one another. 
 
 ETHEL. Was that she at the 'phone? 
 
 FREDDY. No, her maid. She's laid up. 
 
 ETHEL. What in the world will we do? 
 
 FREDDY. It's too late to notify people. 
 
 ETHEL. How perfectly beastly ! 
 
 FREDDY. I'll go tell mother. 
 
 OCEANA. No, wait ! 
 
 FREDDY. What is it? 
 
 OCEANA. I've an idea. 
 
 FREDDY. What ? 
 
 OCEANA. Why not let me take her place? 
 ETHEL. How do you mean? 
 OCEANA. Let me dance ! 
 
 ETHEL. Oh ! 
 
 OCEANA. Why not? I'd love to do it. 
 
 ETHEL. Oceana! You'd do the Sunrise Dance? 
 
 OCEANA. Yes; and then if they liked it, I could do 
 some others. 
 
 ETHEL. Oh, Oceana ! How perfectly lovely ! But . . . 
 but I wonder if it would be all right. I mean ... it 
 wouldn't shock them? 
 
 OCEANA. Why should it, my dear? 
 
 ETHEL. Is it what they'd call proper? 
 
 OCEANA. Why, of course, Ethel. How ridiculous! It 
 isn't a sex-dance. It's religious. 
 
40 THE NATUREWOMAN \act it 
 
 FREDDY. And the costume? 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, the costume is beautiful. 
 
 ETHEL. Then I'll ask mother. 
 Starts to go. 
 
 OCEANA. Wait. Will Henry be there? 
 
 ETHEL. Of course. 
 
 OCEANA. Are you sure? 
 
 ETHEL. Of course. 
 
 OCEANA. [Eagerly. '\ Why ask your mother at all? 
 Why not just go ahead and do it? 
 
 ETHEL. Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. Why not? She'd only worry meantime. So 
 let's just wait, and I'll go ahead. 
 
 ETHEL. Oh, would you dare? 
 
 OCEANA. Why, of course ! She needn't know until al- 
 most time. Is this Miss Pilkington known here? 
 
 ETHEL. No, she's never been in Boston before. 
 
 FREDDY. Mother met her in London. She promised 
 she'd do her famous Biblical Dances for mother's pet 
 foundling asylum. 
 
 OCEANA. Well, don't you see? Most of the people 
 v/ouldn't know till it was all over ! And oh, Ethel, it 
 would be such a lark ! [ethel and freddy gase at each 
 other dubionsly.'\ Who was going to play for Miss 
 Pilkington? 
 
 ETHEL. I was. 
 
 OCEANA. Well, then, you can play for me ! You see, 
 Ethel, I'm afraid to tell your mother . . . she mightn't be 
 willing. She wants to suppress me, and oh, I just can't 
 be suppressed ! I must have something to do or I'll jump 
 out of my skin, Ethel. Truly, my dear, if this goes on 
 much longer, I'll go out and climb the telegraph pole in 
 front of the house ! And if I can only make an impres- 
 sion with my dancing, then I may choose that for my 
 career. I've been thinking of it seriously . . . it's one wajr 
 
ACT ii] THE NATUREWOMAN 41 
 
 that people might let me preach joy and health to them. 
 If I can't do that, I'll go off and turn into a suffragette, 
 or join the Anarchists, or something worse ! 
 
 ETHEL. Freddy, what do you say? 
 
 FREDDY. I'll stand my share of the racket. 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, come on I Fm just wild for some kind 
 of mischief ! I could dance like the grandmother of all 
 the witches ! Come, let's practice some. Play for me, 
 Ethel ! Play ! ^Pushes her toward the piano; raises her 
 hands in triumph; whispers.^ Henry ! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
42 THE NATUREWOMAN [act ni 
 
 l^cT III 
 
 Front part of stage shows an ante-room, with folding 
 doors opening to rear part, which represents a por- 
 tion of the Masterson parlor, curtained off to form 
 a stage for the dance. Entrances down stage right 
 and left. Up stage, at the left, are the curtains, 
 which part in the middle; they are held by a cord 
 which is fastened by the wall, oceana's trunk 
 stands near entrance, right. Also a couple of 
 chairs. 
 
 At rise: freddy stands left, holding curtain cord, 
 OCEANA lies up centre, covered with the "Bridal- 
 robe," asleep. Music of Sunrise Dance begins 
 softly. FREDDY drows back curtains, revealing part 
 of audience, left. He steals off. oceana gradually 
 awakens, raises her head, lifts herself to her knees, 
 stretches out her hands in worship to the Sun-god. 
 Then slowly she rises, rapt in wonder'. The robe 
 falls back, revealing a filmy costume, primitive, 
 elemental, naive. She begins to sway, and gradu- 
 ally glides into an ecstatic dance, which portrays 
 the joyful awakening of morning. 
 
 MRS. masterson. \Enters, left, in great agitation, stares 
 at OCEANA, wrings her hands, paces about, signals to her 
 frantically.'] Oh ! Oh ! 
 
 Rushes left and releases curtains, which fall. 
 
 OCEANA. [Turns in consternation.'] Why ! What . . . 
 [Sees MRS. MASTERSON.] Aunt Sophronia ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. How dare you ! How dare you ! 
 
ACT III] THE NATUREWOMAN 43 
 
 OCEANA. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. You ask me? Oh, oh! 
 
 OCEANA. Aunt Sophronia, you stopped my dance ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Hussy ! Shameless wanton ! You 
 have disgraced me before all the world ! 
 
 OCEANA. \_Stares at her, slowly comprehending.'] Oh ! 
 I see ! [Goes to her with signs of distress.'] Oh, Aunt 
 Sophronia, Fm so sorry ! I didn't mean to displease you ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Such a humiliation ! 
 
 OCEANA. Aunt Sophronia, you must believe me . . . 
 I had a reason ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. A whotf 
 
 OCEANA. A reason for doing it ! I couldn't help it . . . 
 believe me, believe me ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. But what . . . what reason? What 
 do you mean ? 
 
 OCEANA. I can't tell you, Aunt Sophronia. But truly 
 ... if you knew, you would understand. I simply had to 
 do it. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Bewildered.] Is the girl mad? 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, I believe that is it! I am mad! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. [Opeus door and enters left.] 
 Oceana ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Hurries to him.] Quincy ! Don't 
 come in here ! It's not decent ! [Pushes him towards 
 door; to oceana.] Put something on you, girl ! 
 
 OCEANA. Of course. [Puts on robe.] 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I Can't Comprehend you ! Have you 
 no sense of shame whatever? 
 
 OCEANA. I had a sense of shame. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Naked ! Almost naked ! And in my 
 home ! 
 
 ETHEL. [Enters left.] Mother, what's the matter? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON, Ethel ! You knew of this outrageous 
 plot . . . 
 
44 THE NATUREWOMAN [act m 
 
 OCEANA. One moment, Aunt Sophronia. The blame 
 for this rests upon me alone. I told Ethel that the dance 
 was all right. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ethel, Icavc the room. This is no 
 place for you. 
 
 ETHEL. Mother ! The people are waiting . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Go at OnCC ! [To DR. MASTERSON.] 
 
 Quincy, go out and make some apology to our guests. 
 Explain to them that we had no idea ... we were im- 
 posed upon . . . 
 
 Applause heard off left, 
 
 OCEANA. Perhaps if your guests were consulted . . . 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. My dear Sophronia . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Pushes him off.] Go ! Quickly ! 
 [Turns to ocean a.] And as for you, Anna Talbot, there 
 is no more to be said. You have overwhelmed me with 
 shame. 
 
 OCEANA. Perhaps, Aunt Sophronia, you would prefer 
 I should leave your house? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Stiffly.'] I would make no objection. 
 
 OCEANA. I will go as soon as I dress. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Very well. [Starts towards the 
 door.] I will do what I can to atone for your wantonness. 
 
 OCEANA. One moment, Aunt Sophronia. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Well? 
 
 OCEANA. Ethel tells me that you had something to say 
 to me about grandfather's will. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Oh ! Ethel told you, did she ? 
 
 OCEANA. Yes . . . she wished you to know that she had 
 told me. Of course, feeling towards me as you do, you 
 would hardly expect me to give up any rights that I may 
 have. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Wc will be coutcnt with what rights 
 the law allows us. 
 
ACT III] THE NATUREWOMAN 45 
 
 OCEANA. What I wished to say was that I would be 
 willing to give Ethel part of my inheritance. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Oh ! 
 
 OCEANA. I would not give it to Freddy, for he is a 
 man, and I should be breaking the mainspring of his life. 
 But I will give half my money to Ethel, provided that you 
 will consent to let her go with me. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Oh ! So that is your idea ! You 
 have already weaned the child from me . . . you have 
 made her a traitor to me; and now you wish to buy her 
 altogether. 
 
 OCEANA. Aunt Sophronia ! 
 
 MR.S. MASTERSON. Your offcr is declined. I have no 
 more to say to you. 
 
 She sweeps out. 
 
 OCEANA. [^Stands lost in thought; a smile grows upon 
 her face.'] Poor Aunt Sophronia ! 
 
 Begins to hum, and to sway as in the Sunrise 
 Dance. She completes the dance from where she 
 was interrupted, from an impulse of inner delight. 
 
 FREDDY. [^Steals in right; watches her, enraptured, as 
 she stands with arms outstretched in ecstasy. He rushes 
 towards her and Uings himself at her feet, clasping her 
 hand.] Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. Freddy ! 
 
 FREDDY. [Sohhing incoherently.] Oceana ! I can't 
 stand it! 
 
 OCEANA. Why . . . what's the matter? 
 
 FREDDY. I love you ! I love you ! I can't live without 
 you ! I can't give you up . . . Oceana, have mercy on 
 me! 
 
 OCEANA. [^Gravely.] Freddy ! This won't do ! No 
 ... let go of me, please ! You must control yourself. 
 
 FREDDY. Don't send me awav! How can you be so 
 cruel to me? 
 
46 THE NATUREWOMAN [act hi 
 
 OCEANA. But, Freddy, I have told you that I don't love 
 you. IShe stands, thinking.'\ Give me my robe. Now, 
 come sit down here, and listen to me. I am going away, 
 Freddy, and you won't see me any more. And that is for 
 the best . . . for you must get me out of your mind. I 
 don't love you, Freddy. 
 
 FREDDY. And you never would love me? 
 
 OCEANA. Never. 
 
 FREDDY. But why not . . . why not? 
 
 OCEANA. I can't tell you that. 
 
 FREDDY. Oh, you are pitiless to me ! 
 
 OCEANA. One does not give love out of pity. That 
 is a cowardly thing to ask. [She pauses.l I must be 
 frank with you, Freddy. You have got to face the facts. 
 When I give my love, it will be to a man; and you are 
 not a man. 
 
 FREDDY. But I am growing up ! 
 
 OCEANA. No; you don't understand me. You should 
 have grown up years ago. You have been stunted. ^She 
 takes his hand.'] Look ! See the stains ! 
 
 FREDDY. Why . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Cigarettes ! And you want to be a man ! 
 
 FREDDY. Is that so unf orgivable ? 
 
 OCEANA. It is only one thing of many, my dear cousin. 
 
 FREDDY. Oceana, you don't know what men are ! 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, don't I ! My dear boy, there is nothing 
 about men that I don't know. I have read Krafft-Ebing 
 and Havelock Ellis ... I know it all. I know it as a 
 physician knows it. I can read a man's diseases in his 
 complexion ... I can read his vices in his eyes. Don't 
 you see ? 
 
 FREDDY. [Drops Ms cyesJl I see ! 
 
 OCEANA. Don't think that I am despising you, dear 
 boy. I know the world you have lived in. 
 
 FREDDY. But what can I do? 
 
ACT III] THE NATUREWOMAN 47 
 
 OCEANA. You can go away, and make a man of your- 
 self. Go West, get out into the open. Learn to ride and 
 hunt . . . harden your muscles and expand your chest. 
 Until then you're not fit to be the father of any woman's 
 child ! 
 
 FREDDY. Drop college, you mean? 
 
 OCEANA. Be your own college ! The idea of trying to 
 build a brain in a body that's decaying! How could you 
 stand it? Don't you ever feel that you are boiling over 
 . . . that you must have something upon which you can 
 wreak yourself? Don't you feel that you'd like to tame 
 a horse, or to sail a boat in a storm? Don't you ever 
 read about adventures? 
 
 FREDDY. Yes, I read about them. 
 
 OCEANA. And don't you ever feel that you must ex- 
 perience them? That you must face some kind of dan- 
 ger ... do something that you can look back on with 
 pride? Why, see . . . six years ago there came to our 
 island three war-canoes full of savages . . . cannibals 
 they were. If father and I hadn't been there, they'd have 
 wiped our people out. And do you think I'd give up the 
 memory of that struggle? 
 
 FREDDY. What happened? 
 
 OCEANA. Fortunately they came in the daytime, so we 
 soon drove them back to their boats. See . . . I'll show 
 you. [She goes to trunk.'] Here's one of them. 
 She lifts up a human skull, 
 
 FREDDY. Good Lord ! 
 
 OCEANA. Notice that crack. That was done with a 
 spear ... by my prince, the one who made me this robe, 
 you know. He cleaned the skull out for me. 
 
 FREDDY. Rather a ghastly sort of souvenir. 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, I don't mind that. Father and I found 
 it useful ... a sort of memento morL 
 
48 THE NATUREWOMAN [act in 
 
 FREDDY. [Looking into trunk.'] And what are those 
 things ? 
 
 OCEANA. They are some of my arrows. And these 
 are what we used for bowls . . . turtle-shells, you see. 
 
 FREDDY. \Pointing.'] But those? 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, my single-sticks. [Lifts them.'] That's 
 the game Henry and I were talking about. You ought 
 to get him to teach it to you. 
 
 FREDDY. What's it like? 
 
 OCEANA, ril show you. [She takes from the trunk two 
 leather helmets and gloves.] Here you are ! It's an old 
 English game . . . didn't you ever read "Robin Hood"? 
 
 FREDDY. Oh, it's that? Why, they used to crack each 
 other's heads ! 
 
 OCEANA. The object was to draw first blood. But we 
 used to wear these helmets. You see how we've dented 
 them up? And these old cudgels . . . how they remind 
 me of father ! 
 
 FREDDY. Humph ! They're heavy. 
 
 OCEANA. You take the stick this way; it's a kind of 
 fencing. [She gives him a stick and illustrates the play.] 
 No, so! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Enters.] What's this? Is this the 
 way you get ready to leave? 
 
 OCEANA. [Imploring.] Oh, Aunt Sophronia, I beg your 
 pardon ! I got so interested . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Is there no limit to your indiscretion ? 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. [Enters hurriedly.] Sophronia, I beg 
 of you . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I will hear no more of this ! I have 
 spoken, once for all . . . 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. But, my dear . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. No more ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. But, Sophronia, the people don't un- 
 derstand why . . . 
 
ACT III] THE NATUREWOMAN 49 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. It was outrageous ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. I know. But sincc it was begun . . . 
 it's so difficult to explain . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. No more of this ! I won't hear it ! 
 
 HENRY. [^Enters; stares ahout.'\ Mrs. Masterson, what 
 have you done here? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. There is no reason why you should 
 concern yourself with it. 
 
 HENRY. But I wish to know. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. What do you wish to know? 
 
 HENRY. Did you stop Oceana's dance? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I did. 
 
 HENRY. And why? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Becausc I saw fit to. 
 
 HENRY. But your guests . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. I will attend to my guests. 
 
 HENRY. But what is Oceana going to do? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. She is goiug to leave our house. 
 
 HENRY. This is a shame. Most of the people enjoyed 
 the dance. They would like to see more . . . 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Henry, you will permit me to decide 
 about what goes on in my home. 
 
 HENRY. You may decide for yourself. But if Oceana 
 leaves to-night, I will leave also . . . and I will never 
 return. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Very well, sir; as you please. 
 
 OCEANA. Henry, let me have a say. I am obliged to 
 you, but I don't want to stay. It's absurd for me to be here 
 ... I don't belong here. I've lived all my life under the 
 open sky; I've been free. I've swum several miles every 
 day and run several more; I've hunted and fished and 
 danced and played; and here they dress me up in long 
 skirts and sit me in a corner and tell me I'm a lady ! I 
 can stand it just so long . . . I've stood it twenty-four 
 hours, and I feel like a wild animal in a cage. If I don't 
 
50 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iii 
 
 find something to do . . . something real . . . something 
 that is thrilling . . . truly, I'll murder some one. \_She 
 paces the room; dr. and mrs. masterson shrink away 
 from her.'] Yes, I mean it! [With increasing vehe- 
 mence.'] Picture me at home. When I was hungry, I 
 went out for game; and unless I got the game, I stayed 
 hungry. Or I went fishing, and I had to get my canoe 
 through the surf. I had the zest of danger ... I had 
 real struggle. But here I have nothing. They bring me 
 my food on silver platters; they get up and give me their 
 seats, they even push the doors open in front of me ! 
 And so Tm panting for something to do . . . 
 for some opposition, some competition, some con- 
 flict. I'm spoiling for a fight! You, Henry, don't you 
 know what I mean? A fight! [With a sharp, swift ges- 
 ture.] I want to meet some wild animal again ! Is there 
 a wild animal in you? [They stare at each other; sud- 
 denly she springs and takes the other singlestick from 
 FREDDY.] Here ! You know this game ! My father 
 taught you ! [She holds out one to him.] Come on ! 
 
 HENRY. [Bewildered.] Oceana ! This is not the place. 
 
 OCEANA. It's the place for me ! Take it ! [She forces 
 it on him.] Now ! Forget that I'm a woman ! Ready ! 
 
 HENRY. Oceana ! No ! 
 
 OCEANA. Are you afraid of your mother-in-law? 
 
 HENRY. Good heavens! 
 
 OCEANA. If you're not, you're the only man in the 
 family that isn't. [She drops her robe.] Now! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. This is disgraceful! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Occaua, I beg of you . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Defend yourself ! [She makes a feint at 
 
 henry's head, causing him to raise his stick.] Lay on ! 
 
 She attacks him briskly. He defends himself. 
 
 There is a swift rattle of the sticks and a vivid 
 
 conflict. 
 
ACT III] THE NATUREWOMAN 51 
 
 HENRY. [Laughing.~\ Oceana, for God's sake, stop ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON, Oh, stop them ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Are you mad? 
 
 FREDDY. Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Wild zvifh the excitement of the struggle.'] 
 Lay on ! Ha, ha ! Well played ! Guard ! Once again ! Ah, 
 this is what I like ! This is what I've been looking for ! 
 
 They leap here and there; the others dodge out of 
 the way, protesting ; the conflict grows more and 
 more strenuous. 
 
 LETiTiA. [Enters left; screams in terror.] Henry ! 
 {They stop; a long pause.] Henry! What does this 
 mean? 
 
 HENRY. My dear . . . 
 
 Stops for lack of breath. 
 
 OCEANA. Freddy, my robe. 
 
 Wraps herself and sits in chair, smiling. 
 
 LETITIA. What does this mean? 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Of all the shameless and insane pro- 
 cedures ! 
 
 LETITIA. Are you mad, Henry? 
 
 OCEANA. No, no, Letitia. We know just what we're 
 about. You see, your husband and I are considering 
 whether or not we shall fall in love with each other. 
 
 LETITIA. [Wildly.] Oh! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. MoUStrOUS ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Oceana ! 
 
 LETITIA. How dare you? 
 
 OCEANA. He's interested, you know. Fve got hold of 
 him. 
 
 LETITIA. [Furiously.] Henry, you stand there and per- 
 mit her to insult me . . . 
 
 HENRY. My dear, believe me . . . 
 
 OCEANA. [Sharply.] Stop, Henry ! [A pause.] Look 
 at me ! 
 
52 THE NATUREWOMAN [act m 
 
 HENRY. Well? 
 
 OCEANA. Don't tell her a lie. A He is the thing I never 
 pardon. 
 
 HENRY. Why . . . why . . . 
 Falls silent. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Henry ! 
 
 FREDDY. Gee whiz ! 
 . LETiTiA. Henry, I demand that you come home with 
 me instantly. 
 
 OCEANA. Don't go. 
 
 LETITIA. [Almost speechless.'] If you stay here, you 
 stay alone ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Rises, casts aside her robe, stretches wide 
 her arms.'] Letitia ! Look at me ! Am I the sort of 
 woman that you can safely leave your husband alone 
 with? 
 
 LETITIA. [Stares at her terriUed, then hursts into tears 
 and flings herself into henry's arms.] Henry ! 
 
 OCEANA. Ah, yes ! That is safer ! 
 
 henry. [Supports letitia.] My dear ! My dear ! 
 
 LETITIA. Come home with me ! 
 
 OCEANA. God, man, how I pity you ! Bound in chains 
 to a woman like that ! And with all the world conspiring 
 to hold you fast ! How can you bear it ? Do you ex- 
 pect to bear it forever? What will become of your soul? 
 Oh, I pity you ! I pity you ! 
 
 LETITIA. [Hysterically.] Henry, take me home ! Take 
 me home at once ! 
 
 henry. Yes, my dear, yes ! 
 
 OCEANA. What is the spell they Ve laid upon you? You 
 make me think of Gulliver ... a giant stretched out upon 
 the ground, impotent, bound fast with a million tiny 
 threads ! Wake up, man . . . wake up ! YouVe only one 
 life to live. You act as if you had a thousand. 
 
 LETITIA. Mother ! 
 
ACT III] THE NATUREWOMAN 53 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. How loTig IS this to continuc ? 
 
 LETiTiA. Henry, zvon't you stop listening to her ? 
 
 OCEANA. He's not listening to me, Letitia. He's lis- 
 tening to the voice of the universe, calling to him. The 
 voice of unborn generations, clamoring, agonizing ! What 
 do you suppose it means, man . . . this storm that has 
 shaken us ? It is Nature's trumpet-call . . . it is the shout 
 of discovery of the powers within us ! For ages upon 
 ages life has been preparing it . . . and now suddenly we 
 meet . , . the barriers are shattered and flung down, the 
 tides of being sweep us together ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Oh ! This is outrageous ! 
 
 DR. MASTERSON. Oceana, Henry is married! 
 
 OCEANA. Married ! Married ! That is the sorcery with 
 which you bind him ! No longer a man at all, but some 
 aborted thing ... a relic ! an eunuch ! They mumble their 
 incantations over you . . . the spell is done, and you sink 
 back, cowed and whimpering ! You are a machine, a do- 
 mestic utensil ! Never again are you to love and to dare 
 and to create ! No, there are other things in life for you 
 . . . bread and butter, cooks and dinner parties, bil- 
 liards and bridge-whist . . . that is your portion ! A 
 married man ! 
 
 LETITIA. [Terrified.'] Henry! For God's sake ! 
 
 He no longer returns her embraces, hut stares at 
 OCEANA, fascinated. 
 
 OCEANA. Don't you see, man? It's a dream! A night- 
 mare! Rouse yourself, lift your head . . . and it's gone! 
 Life is calHng ! Come away ! 
 
 LETITIA. [Frantically. ] Mother ! Mother ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Quiucy, if you can't stop this out- 
 rage, I will ! Call the servants. 
 She starts toward oceana. 
 
 OCEANA. Call the police ! Call your guests ! Anything 
 
54! THE NATUREWOMAN [act tti 
 
 . . . bring the world down on him. Terrify him with 
 conventions, beat him into subjection again ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Wanton ! 
 
 OCEANA. Wanton ! Oh, how well you understand me ! 
 I, with my hunger for righteousness ... I, who have dis- 
 ciplined myself as an anchorite, who have served as a 
 priestess of life! And you, with your formulas and your 
 superstitions . . . you pass judgment upon me! [With 
 terrific energy.'] See ! This man and I, we are the gate- 
 way to the future ! And you seek to bar it ! By what right 
 do you stand in the path of posterity . . . you tormentors 
 of the ideal, you assassins of human hope ! 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. [Almost Striking her.] Oh! Oh! 
 And my children have to listen to this ! [She whirls 
 about.] Ethel ! Freddy ! Go out of the room I 
 
 ETHEL. I am going with Oceana. 
 
 MRS. MASTERSON. What? 
 
 ETHEL. Some day ... if not now. She's perfectly 
 right. Letitia has no business to keep him. She never 
 would have got him if she hadn't played a part. 
 MRS. MASTERSON. Ethel MastcrsoH ! 
 LETITIA. Little vixen ! 
 
 FREDDY. [Rushes to OCEANA and seises her hand.] 
 Oceana ! Let me go with you, too ! 
 DR. MASTERSON. What uextf 
 
 OCEANA. No, Freddy . . . no ! [She withdraws her 
 hand and holds it out to henry.] Henry ! Come ! 
 
 A tense pause; all stare at henry. He never takes 
 his eyes from oceana. Slowly, like one hypnotised, 
 he draws away from his wife's embrace, and moves 
 towards oceana. He seises her hand. All stand 
 transfixed. Silence. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUREWOMAN 55 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 The scene shows the living-room of a bungalow. Large 
 stone fireplace centre; windows and window seats 
 on each side; French zvindows leading to piazza 
 right; piano between them; door left to another 
 room; large mirror beside it. Centre table, rustic 
 chairs, deer -he ads and skins, Indian blankets, etc. 
 
 At rise: The stage is empty. 
 
 OCEANA. [Laughs off.'\ Oh, say, but that was an ad- 
 venture ! 
 
 Enters; glowing and exultant from a long moun- 
 tain walk. She wears a "Rosalind" costume, brown, 
 with soft boots, gauntlet gloves and light fur about 
 the neck; carries a pair of snow-shoes, which she 
 has taken off, and from which she knocks the snow, 
 HENRY. [Follows.'] You Hke the mountains ! 
 OCEANA. Oh, my dear ! They are marvellous ! Fve 
 never imagined anything like it . . . to be able to see so 
 much of the world at once. It's the way you think of 
 heaven. 
 
 HENRY. You don't mind the cold? 
 OCEANA. I find I prefer it. I think I shall stay here 
 forever. It tunes you up so ! It makes you quite drunk ! 
 [Looks at herself in the mirror.'] I look cute in this, 
 don't I? 
 
 HENRY. You look like a fairy-story ! 
 OCEANA. I ought to have had sense enough to think 
 of a theatrical costumer in the beginning. [Stretches her 
 arms.'] Oh, I feel so wonderful! Ha, ha, ha! I don't 
 
56 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 know whether it's the mountain air . . . or whether it's 
 because Fm in love ! 
 
 HENRY. {Seises her hand.'] Sweetheart ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Stares at him.'] How wonderful it is ! Be- 
 yond all believing ! I'm stunned by it . . . afraid of it. 
 Tell me, Hal, were you ever drunk? 
 
 HENRY. [Laughs.'] Once or twice. 
 
 OCEANA. [Seriously.] I never was. But I've watched 
 my people sometimes and tried to understand it. And 
 it's just that. Nature has made us drunk ! 
 
 HENRY. And that is what frightens you? 
 
 OCEANA. She has her purposes, Hal; and I don't want 
 to be her blind victim. But then, I look at you again, and 
 wonder leaps up in me . . . love, such as I never con- 
 ceived of before ; power . . . vision without end. I seem 
 to be a hundred times myself! It is as if barriers were 
 broken down within me ... I see into new vistas of life. 
 I understand ... I exult ! Oh, Hal, I shall never be the 
 same again ! 
 
 HENRY. Nor I ; I look back at myself as I was a week 
 ago, and I can't believe it ! 
 
 OCEANA. With me it is like a great fountain inside. 
 It surges up, and I cannot be still ! I want to laugh . . . 
 to sing ! I have to dance it out of me ! Do you know 
 Anitra's Dance, Hal? 
 
 HENRY. Yes, of course. 
 
 OCEANA. [Begins to sing the music to herself and play- 
 fully to dance. The enthusiasm of it takes hold of her, 
 and she dances more quickly.] Play it, Hal ! Play ! 
 [henry sits at piano and plays Anitra's Dance ; she dances 
 tumultuously, ending in a zuhirlwind of excitement.] Oh ! 
 As HENRY rises, she flies to him and he clasps her 
 passionately. 
 
 HENRY. Sweetheart ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Panting.] Oh, Hal, I'm so happy ! so happy ! 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUREWOMAN 57 
 
 [She sobs upon his shoulder, then looks at him through 
 her tears.'] Oh, if I only dared let myself go ! 
 
 HENRY. Why not, dearest? 
 
 OCEANA. It sweeps me off my feet ! And I have to 
 hold myself in. 
 
 HENRY. Why? Don't I love you? 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, I know. But I'm terrified at myself; Fm 
 losing my self-control. And I promised father. 
 
 HENRY. What? 
 
 OCEANA. That I would never do it. "Never feel an 
 emotion," he would say, "that you could not stop feehng 
 if you wished to." 
 
 HENRY. But, sweetheart . . . why so much distrust? 
 Why should we wait, when everything in us cries out 
 against it? 
 
 OCEANA. Don't say that to me now, Hal! 
 
 HENRY. But why not? 
 
 OCEANA. This is not the time for such a thought. You 
 know it ! 
 
 HENRY. Dearest . . . 
 
 OCEANA. IPassionately.'] Ah, don't put it all on me! 
 Don't make it too hard for me! 
 
 HENRY. But if I only knew . . . 
 
 OCEANA. You will know before long. Ah, Hal, see 
 how I'm situated. I've broken all the laws. I've no prec- 
 edent to help me ... I have to work it all out for myself. 
 I shall have to bear the scorn of the world; and oh, think 
 if I had to bear the scorn of my own conscience! Don't 
 you see? 
 
 HENRY. Yes, I see. But . . . 
 
 OCEANA. I have chosen a certain course. I have forced 
 myself to be calm, to think it out in the cold light of rea- 
 son, to decide what is right for me to do. And now I 
 must keep to my resolution. You would not want our 
 love to lead me into shame ! 
 
58 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 HENRY. No ! 
 
 OCEANA. Do you read Nietzsche, Henry? 
 
 HENRY. He is a mere name to me. 
 
 OCEANA. I will give you some lines of Nietzsche's. 
 "Canst thou give thyself thy good and thine evil, and hang 
 thy will above thee as thy law ? Canst thou be thine own 
 judge, and avenger of thy law? Fearful is it to be alone 
 with the judge and the avenger of thy law. So is a stone 
 flung out into empty space and into the icy breath of 
 isolation." 
 
 HENRY. That's all right . . . but if you expect Letitia 
 to face this problem in any such way, you will be sadly 
 disappointed. 
 
 OCEANA. That's none of my affair. All I have to do 
 is to give her a chance. H she cannot face the facts, she 
 has passed sentence upon herself. 
 
 HENRY. [Laughs.'] All right, my deaf. It will cer- 
 tainly be a scene to watch ! 
 
 OCEANA. You think she will come? 
 
 HENRY. Oh, she'll certainly come. 
 
 OCEANA. And she won't bring her mother ? 
 
 HENRY. I can't tell about that. 
 
 OCEANA. H she does, we'll simply have to send her 
 down to the village ... I won't talk in Aunt Sophronia's 
 presence. 
 
 HENRY. I was perfectly explicit on that point. [Takes 
 paper from table.'] Here's the telegram: "Come to the 
 bungalow immediately, upon a matter of extreme 
 urgency. Do not bring your mother." 
 
 OCEANA. Certainly that is clear enough. 
 
 HENRY. And bewildering enough. But I suppose they 
 are prepared for anything by now. 
 
 OCEANA. It's past the time. [Looking from window.] 
 We should be able to see a sleigh. 
 
 HENRY. No, the road turns behind that hillock there. 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUREWOMAN 59 
 
 OCEANA. But look ! 
 
 HENRY. What? 
 
 OCEANA. There's some one coming afoot. 
 
 HENRY. Where? 
 
 OCEANA. Round that side! By the path! Why, ifs 
 Ethel ! 
 
 HENRY. Good Lord I Ethel ! 
 
 OCEANA. She's come up from the village afoot. 
 
 HENRY. Well, of all the apparitions ! 
 
 OCEANA. Run help her, Henry. She's running. 
 lOpens windoiv and callsj] Ethel ! [henry exit hur- 
 riedly.'] Why, the poor, dear child ! I wonder if she came 
 in Letitia's stead ! But then . . . why wouldn't she get a 
 sleigh? [Calls.'] Ethel! What's the matter? 
 
 henry. \_Ojf.] She says Letitia is coming! 
 
 OCEANA. Oh ! 
 
 henry. She's just behind! 
 
 OCEANA. But, Ethel, what are you doing here? 
 
 ETHEL. \Pff, breathless.] Wait! 
 
 OCEANA. Why, you poor child, you're exhausted. What 
 in the world . . . 
 
 ETHEL. Wait. 
 
 Enters, breathless, half carried by henry. 
 
 OCEANA. [Pounces upon her.] Ethel ! Of all the sur- 
 prises ! You dear thing ! [Embraces her, shakes snow 
 from her.] What in the world has happened? 
 
 ETHEL. Oceana, I ran away ! 
 
 OCEANA. You ran away? 
 
 ETHEL. To you! I couldn't stand it! I must be with 
 you, Oceana — no matter how wicked it is, I must be with 
 you! 
 
 OCEANA. [Breathlessly.] Ethel ! 
 
 ETHEL. Yes, Fm desperate . . . I'll die if I have to 
 stay at home. 
 
 OCEANA. My dear, dear girl ! [Clasps her.'\ 
 
60 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 ETHEL. You won't scnd me back? 
 
 OCEANA. Never ! 
 
 ETHEL. [Wildly.] But, Oceana, Letitia is coming! 
 
 OCEANA. Yes ? 
 
 ETHEL. I took a train from Boston. And when I saw 
 her come aboard, imagine how I felt ! I hid . . . she 
 didn't see me. And I got off the train first and dodged out 
 of sight. I ran all the way. I suppose she stopped to get 
 a sleigh. 
 
 HENRY. It's all right, Ethel ... we knew she was 
 coming. 
 
 ETHEL. You knew it? 
 
 OCEANA. Yes, Henry sent for her. You see, Letitia 
 and I have to talk things out. 
 
 ETHEL. Well, of all the . . . 
 Stops, dazed. 
 
 OCEANA. [Laughs.] That's all right, dear. We know 
 what we're doing. But it was good of you to try to 
 save us ! 
 
 HENRY. Listen ! 
 
 OCEANA. Ah ! 
 
 HENRY. The sleigh-bells ! 
 
 OCEANA. She's here ! 
 
 ETHEL. [Clasping her.] Oceana! 
 
 OCEANA. What is it, dear? 
 
 ETHEL. Don't let her take me back home? 
 
 OCEANA. But how can she take you, dear, if you 
 won't go? 
 
 ETHEL. She might persuade you. 
 
 OCEANA. Never fear, Ethel . . . we'll stand by you, 
 won't we, Hal? 
 
 HENRY. Yes. 
 
 ETHEL. She'll threaten to make me go. 
 
 OCEANA. Her mind will be taken up with other things, 
 Ethel. 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUTtEWOMAN 61 
 
 ETHEL. But mother will come ! And she'll command 
 me to return. I'm not of age, you know. 
 
 OCEANA. But then, if you won't obey? Will she send 
 for the police? 
 
 ETHEL. No . . . hardly that. 
 
 OCEANA. All right, then, dear. I'll save you . . . trust 
 me. I mean to give you a chance for life. 
 
 ETHEL. And, oh, Oceana . . . what do you think? 
 Freddy's run away, too ! 
 
 OCEANA. What? 
 
 HENRY. Where to? 
 
 ETHEL. He's gone out West! 
 
 OCEANA. You don't mean it ! 
 
 HENRY. What for? 
 
 ETHEL. He says he's going to be a cowboy. He's going 
 to make a man of himself. He left a letter to father. 
 
 OCEANA. Why, the dear boy ! 
 
 ETHEL. {^Mysteriously.'] Oceana, do you know what 
 was the matter? 
 
 OCEANA. No . . . what? 
 
 ETHEL. I think I know. He was in love with you ! 
 
 OCEANA. I shouldn't wonder, my dear. {Laughs.'] But 
 don't tell Henry . . . he'll be jealous! 
 Sound of sleigh-hells louder. 
 
 ETHEL. Here she is ! 
 
 OCEANA. You go into the next room now. It wouldn't 
 be considered proper for you to hear what we're going 
 to say. 
 
 ETHEL. Of all the adventures ! ^ 
 
 Exit. 
 
 OCEANA. {Smiles at Henry.] Now then ! 
 
 HENRY. You wanted it, my dear ! 
 
 They turn, gazing right. The sleigh-hells have 
 come nearer, then stopped. Some one is heard to 
 
6S THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 step upon the piazza and stamp the snow from the 
 feet, 
 
 LETiTTA. [Enters right, stares at oceana and screams.'] 
 Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. Letitia . . . 
 
 LETiTiA. [Gasps for breath.'] Henry ! How dared you 
 bring me here to meet that woman? 
 
 OCEANA. Letitia . . . 
 
 LETITIA. Don't speak to me ! Don't you dare to speak 
 to me ! [She sinks dozvn by table and bursts into tears.] 
 Oh, how horrible ! How horrible ! As if I had not hu- 
 miliations enough already ! 
 
 HENRY. [Taking step toward her.] Letitia . . . 
 
 OCEANA. [With a swiff gesture.] Wait! 
 
 LETITIA. Oh, who would have thought it possible ! To 
 bring me 'way up here . . . 
 
 OCEANA. You might as well understand at the outset 
 , . . the thing cannot be done that way. 
 
 LETITIA. [With concentrated hatred.] You dare! 
 
 OCEANA. We have sent for you . . . 
 
 LETITIA. We have sent for you! 
 
 OCEANA. Because we wished to talk things out with 
 you in a sensible way. And you'll have to make up your 
 mind to control yourself. 
 
 LETITIA. [Sobbing.] Henry, you permit this shameful 
 humiliation ! 
 
 OCEANA. Henry has nothing to do with this affair, 
 Letitia. It is I who have to talk to you. 
 
 j^TiTiA. [Bursts into hysterical weeping again.] Oh, 
 that I should have lived to see this ! 
 
 OCEANA. You will find out before you get through 
 that I mean to deal with you fairly. But you cannot ac- 
 complish anything by hysterics. 
 
 LETITIA. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUREWOMAN 63 
 
 OCEANA. And you had best believe me; you injure your 
 case by refusing to act rationally. 
 
 LETiTiA. ILooks up, frightened.'] What do you want 
 with me? 
 
 OCEANA. [Quietly.'] In the first place, Letitia, I want 
 to convey to you the information that your husband's re- 
 lationship and mine has so far been what you would call 
 innocent. 
 
 LETITIA. What? 
 
 OCEANA. I was a virgin when I came to Boston, and 
 I am a virgin still. 
 
 LETITIA. And you expect me to believe that? 
 
 OCEANA. My dear, I don't care in the least whether you 
 believe it or not. 
 
 LETITIA. [Faintly.] But . . . 
 
 OCEANA. What reason would I have to fear you? He 
 is mine, if I want him. 
 
 LETITIA. [Dazed.] Then what . . . why are you here ? 
 Why . . . 
 
 OCEANA. I came here because I wished to get ac- 
 quainted with him. And what chance have a man and 
 woman to get acquainted with each other in the conven- 
 tional world? 
 
 LETITIA. [Stares at her; then, faintly.] But what . . . 
 
 OCEANA. I wished to try him out ... in body, mind 
 and soul. I wished to know if he was the man for me. 
 
 LETITIA. [Rushes to HENRY.] Oh ! Have you no de- 
 cency left ? Have you no mercy on me ? What has come 
 over you? 
 
 HENRY. Letitia . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Let me attend to this, Hal. 
 
 LETITIA. Hal ! 
 
 OCEANA. That a woman could be married to a man 
 for six years and continue to call him Henry, speaks vol- 
 umes for the romance of their relationship ! 
 
64 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 LETiTiA. [To HENRY.] Wherc's your sense of shame? 
 
 OCEANA. You are taking the wrong line, Letitia. No 
 such consideration has a moment's weight with us. 
 
 LETITIA. [Catches her hreathJ] Since it seems that I 
 am here at your mercy, I ask to know your pleasure? 
 
 OCEANA. The reason that we have sent for you is that 
 I might assure myself upon two points . . . first, as to 
 whether your husband still loves you, and second, as to 
 whether you still love him. 
 
 LETITIA. You doubt that I love him? 
 
 OCEANA. So far, Letitia, your actions have proceeded, 
 not from love of him, but from hatred of me. 
 
 LETITIA. Oh ! And if I fail to measure up to your 
 tests of love . . . 
 
 OCEANA. [Triumphantly.'] Then he is mine ! 
 
 LETITIA. And the fact that he is my husband . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Is nothing ! 
 
 LETITIA. The fact that he vowed to keep faith with 
 me . . . 
 
 OCEANA. Is nothing ! 
 
 LETITIA. That I am dependent upon him for 
 support . . . 
 
 OCEANA. You have money of your own, Letitia. 
 
 LETITIA. Do you suppose I am thinking about money f 
 I mean his protection. 
 
 OCEANA. A person who confesses to the need of pro- 
 tection has written himself down an inferior. [A pause.] 
 You see, Letitia, times have changed; our ideas of mar- 
 riage have changed. In the beginning a woman was a 
 man's economic dependent; now that the man has become 
 ashamed of that, he is made the woman's spiritual de- 
 pendent. You play upon his sense of chivalry, his sym- 
 pathy, his pity; and you prey upon him, you devour him 
 alive. But the time has come when that must cease, 
 Letitia ... man will not always be a domestic appendage ! 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUREWOMAN 65 
 
 And you will simply have to face this new situation. Do 
 you still possess your husband's love? Do you really love 
 himf Nothing else will count . . . none of your "rights" 
 . . . we are not afraid of man or devil. 
 
 LETiTiA. [Gasps.] Oh ! \_Turns to henry.] Henry, 
 will you tell me what all this means? Can it be that you 
 assent to these outrageous ideas? 
 
 HENRY. I assent to them, Letitia. It may be that you 
 still love me, but you have given me few signs of it. 
 You have been . . . you are ... a selfish woman. 
 
 LETITIA. Henry ! 
 
 HENRY. How often do you give a thought to me ... to 
 the needs of my nature? You think of your whims and 
 your prejudices; you think of your social position ... of 
 your "world" and its conventions. You think of what 
 your mother approves, of what your father approves, of 
 what this person will say and what that person will say. 
 And I follow you about ... I play my part in the hollow 
 show that you call life; but all the time my heart is cry- 
 ing out in me ... I am starving . . . starving ! 
 
 LETITIA. [Startled.} Henry ! 
 
 OCEANA. Ah ! She is beginning to see it ! 
 
 LETITIA. [Stretches out her arms and totters towards 
 hint, weeping.'] Henry ! I love you ! [Wildly.] Believe 
 me ! Believe me ! I love you ! Don't you remember 
 when you were ill three years ago . . . how I nursed you 
 and watched over you? You knew that I loved you then. 
 Why, you said I'd worn myself to a shadow ! You kissed 
 me, and told me I'd saved your life ! And when I was ill 
 myself, and you thought I was dying . . . didn't you real- 
 ize that you loved wr.^ And the children? Have you never 
 given a thought to them? Are ^/ie'3/ nothing to you ? And 
 you to them ? You know that you love them, Henry . . . 
 you dare not deny it. Are they to be without a father 
 all their lives ? [Falls into his arms.] My husband ! 
 
66 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 HENRY. [Catches her, deeply moved.'] Letitia ! 
 
 OCEANA. [Has been zvatching them intently; now, 
 startled and pained.] Ah ! I thought so ! [She turns 
 aivay; supports herself by the table; whispers.] That 
 settles it ! 
 
 LETITIA. Henry, if I have been selfish, I am sorry ! 
 I humble myself before you ... I beg you for forgive- 
 ness ! Henry, I do love you ! Don't you believe me ? 
 
 HENRY. [Faintly.] I believe you. 
 
 OCEANA. [Clenches her hands and turns resolutely.] 
 You see, Hal, I knew it ! [He bows his head.] You can't 
 get away from her. [She pauses.] You understand it all 
 now . . . what my instinct told me. You still love her, you 
 still belong to her. You would have gone away with me, 
 and you would still have been thinking about her — worry- 
 ing about her. It would have been tearing your soul in 
 half. [She waits; he does not look at her; she goes on, 
 half to convince herself.] She is not big enough to give 
 you up. She could not say, "Oceana is young and needs 
 you; you love Oceana, and she will make you happy. Go 
 with her." No, she would think of the world and its con- 
 ventions . . . she would be jealous and bitter. She would 
 eat her heart out . . . she would tear herself to pieces ! 
 And that would tear you to pieces . . . you could never 
 forget it. And there are the children, Hal. It's true that 
 you love them; you think about them all the time ... I 
 know, for you speak of them. And she could take them 
 away from you, legally . . . how much chance would they 
 ever have in life, if she and her mother had the bringing 
 up of them? Don't you see, Hal? What can we do? 
 
 LETITIA. [Clinging to henry's bosom.] Henry, I love 
 you ! 
 
 OCEANA. I want to play the game generously, Letitia; 
 but it is all I can do not to despise you . . . because he 
 loves you, and it has meant so little to you, you have done 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUREWOMAN 67 
 
 so little in return. That is the curse of this thing you call 
 marriage. You say to yourself that you've got him 
 . , . the law and the conventions will keep him for you 
 . . . and so you can treat him as you please. You'll take 
 him off with you now, and you'll set to work to get right 
 back where you were before . . . yes, she will, Hal. She'll 
 try to wheedle you into backing down from this position. 
 She will weep and she will scold. But you stand firm 
 . . . stand firm ! What we did was right ... it was 
 noble and true, and if more married people did such 
 things, it would be better for them. 
 
 LETiTiA. [Clinging to henry.] Henry, come home 
 with me ! 
 
 HENRY. All right, I'll come. 
 
 He does not lift his head. 
 OCEANA. Look at me. It's all right, Hal . . . it's all 
 right. 
 
 She speaks imth intensity; they gaze into each 
 other's eyes. 
 HENRY. [Stretches out his hand to her.l Oceana . . . 
 I'm sorry . . . 
 
 OCEANA. [With sudden emotion.'] No, Hal! Go . . . 
 go quickly ! Please ! 
 
 He goes out, right, zvith letitia; oceana stands 
 gazing straight ahead. Sound of sleigh-hells heard. 
 Suddenly she sinks into a chair, hows her head upon 
 the table, and bursts into tears. 
 ETHEL. [Opens door, left, and stands gazing at oceana 
 in alarm, then runs to her and sinks upon her knees he- 
 fore her.] Oceana ! 
 
 oceana. [Sobbing.] He's gone ! Gone ! 
 ETHEL. He left you? 
 
 oceana. I gave him up ! I sent him away. Oh, Ethel, 
 Ethel . . . what am I going to do? 
 ETHEL. Oceana ! 
 
68 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, how I loved him ! I didn't realize how 
 I loved him I The whole face of the world was changed 
 . . . and now, now . . . how shall I bear it ? [She stares 
 ahead of her.'\ Oh, Ethel, tell me I did right to give 
 him up. 
 
 ETHEL. Why did you do it? 
 
 OCEANA. I saw he loved her, and I had to give him up. 
 It would have been to tear his soul in half ! But now that 
 he's gone, I don't see how I can bear it ! [^ pause; she 
 is lost in thought; she whispers with great intensity.'] 
 There is a vision ... it haunts me ... it cries out in 
 me in a voice of agony ! 
 
 ETHEL. What ? 
 
 OCEANA. A little child! You have no idea . . . how 
 real it was to me ! It fell out of the skies upon me ! The 
 thought never left me. I heard its voice ... its laughter; 
 I saw its smile. It called to me all day, and it played with 
 me in my dreams; I felt its little hands upon me ... its 
 lips upon my breast. And it's gone ! 
 
 ETHEL. Your child ! 
 
 OCEANA. And his ! And think . . . think of the awful- 
 ness of it . . .it was hovering at the gates of life ! It 
 wanted to be ! And I trembled ... I suffered ; at any 
 moment I might have said the word, and it would have 
 come. But I did not say the word . . . and it is gone. 
 And now it will never come ! Never , . . never ! I have 
 murdered the child ! My child ! 
 
 ETHEL. No, no, Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. God ! I can't understand it ! What does it 
 mean? Did it exist when I thought of it? Does it exist 
 now? Who can tell me? 
 
 ETHEL. I don't know, Oceana. 
 
 OCEANA. The strangeness of it ! Sometimes my whole 
 being rises up in revolt ... I could tear the skies apart, 
 to wrest the secret from them ! You see, we don't know 
 
ACT iv] THE NATUREWOMAN 69 
 
 anything. We don't know what's right, we don't know 
 what's wrong. We're in a trap ! [She rises suddenly.'] 
 No, no, I mustn't talk that way. I've lost my self-control. 
 I let myself go, and I had no right to. Now, what shall 
 I do? Wait, dear ... let me think, let me think calmly. 
 [Stares about her.] I want to remember what father said 
 to me ; what I promised to do. See, Ethel . . . the sun is 
 setting. Look at the sky ! And it's the last day of the 
 month, isn't it? 
 
 ETHEL. Yes. 
 
 OCEANA. If father had been here we should have sat 
 us down to one of our services ! Look here. [She goes 
 to trunk, and takes out a human skulL] Ah, old friend! 
 
 ETHEL. [Shocked.] Oceana ! 
 
 OCEANA. He came from the Marquesas, I think. And 
 here's where he was hit with the spear. You see? Sit 
 down. [She places the skull before her.] See, Ethel — 
 he used to smile. And now and then he had the toothache 
 . . . see that? He took himself very seriously; he was all 
 wrapped up in the things that went on in this little cracked 
 skull. But he lacked imagination. He never foresaw that 
 somebody would carry him off to the New Hampshire 
 mountains, and make him the text for a Hamlet soliloquy, 
 Alas, poor Yorick ! He did not know that he was im- 
 mortal, you see; that life proceeded from him . . . unroll- 
 ing itself for generation after generation without end; 
 that all that he did would be perpetuated . . . that where 
 he sinned we would suffer, and where he fought we would 
 be strong. He did not know that he was the creator, the 
 mystic fountain of an unt.xplored stream . . . the maker 
 of an endless future . . . [She stops; a spasm of pain 
 crosses her face.] Oh, Ethel ! [Clasps her hand.] It is 
 terrible to die young, is it not? 
 
 ETHEL. Yes. 
 
 OCEANA. Then how much worse is it to die before you 
 
70 THE NATUREWOMAN [act iv 
 
 are born ! To be strangled in the idea . . . to be stifled 
 by a cowardly thought ! 
 
 ETHEL. What do you mean ? 
 
 OCEANA. Oh, Ethel, stay by me, will you? Promise me 
 you will stay by me. 
 
 ETHEL. I will ! 
 
 OCEANA. I'm frightened, Ethel . . . frightened at my- 
 self. IVe done wrong . . . Fve committed a crime! I 
 ought not to have let him go ! I ought not to have let 
 him go ! 
 
 ETHEL. Henry? 
 
 OCEANA. No, we mustn't speak of him again. I can't 
 bear to hear his name. I have failed ... I have failed. 
 I've been crushed by civilization ! [Starts upJ] But there's 
 my island ! There's the white beach, shining in the moon- 
 light, and the great breakers rolling in, and the palm trees 
 rustling in the wind. Let us go together . . . to my 
 island! Let us go back and get healed, before we try to 
 face this world again ! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
THE MACHINE 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 (In order of appearance) 
 
 X 
 Julia Patterson : a magazine writer. 
 
 ,JjACK BuLLEN : a parlor Socialist. 
 
 1L.AURA Hegan : Hegan's daughter. 
 'Nlllan Montague: a lawyer. 
 
 JIM Hegan : the traction king. 
 
 2\nnie Roberts: a girl of the slums. 
 '^^OBERT Grimes : the boss. 
 >Andrews: Hegan's secretary. 
 'M'arker: a clerk. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Julia Patterson's apartments in a model tenement on 
 the lower East Side. 
 
 ACT n 
 
 Library at "The Towers," Hegan's country place on 
 Long Island, two weeks later. 
 
 ACT HI 
 
 Hegan's private office in Wall street, the next morn- 
 ing. 
 
THE MACHINE 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Julia Patterson's apartments in a model tenement on 
 the lozuer East Side. The scene shows the living- 
 room, furnished very plainly, but in the newest taste; 
 *'arts and crafts" furniture, portraits of Morris 
 and Riiskin on the walls; a centre table, a couple 
 of easy-chairs, a divan and many book-shelves. 
 The entrance from the outer hall is at centre; en- 
 trance to the other rooms right and left. 
 At rise: julia has pushed back the lamp from the table 
 and is having a light supper, with a cup of tea; 
 and at the same time trying to read a magazine, 
 which obstinately refuses to remain open at the 
 right place. She is an attractive and intelligent 
 woman of thirty. The doorbell rings. 
 
 JULIA. Ah, Jack ! 
 
 Presses button, then goes to the door. 
 
 JACK. [Enters, having come upstairs at a run. He is a 
 college graduate and volunteer revolutionist, one of the 
 organizers of the ''Society of the Friends of Russian 
 Freedom" ; handsome and ardent, eager in manner, and 
 a great talker.'] Hello, Julia. All alone? 
 
 JULIA, Yes. I expected a friend, but she can't come 
 until later. 
 
 JACK. Just eating? 
 
 JULIA. I've been on the go all day. Have something. 
 
 73 
 
74 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 JACK. No ; I had dinner. [As she starts to clear things 
 away.'] Don't stop on m)^ account. 
 
 JULIA. I was just finishing up. lAs he begins to help.] 
 No; sit down. 
 
 JACK. Nonsense. Let the men be of some use in the 
 world. 
 
 JULIA. What have you been up to to-day? 
 
 JACK. We're organizing a demonstration for the 
 Swedish strikers. 
 
 JULIA. It's marvelous how those Swedes hold on, 
 isn't it? 
 
 JACK. The people are getting their eyes open. And 
 when they're once open, they stay open. 
 
 JULIA. Yes. Did you see my article? 
 
 JACK. I should think I did ! Julia, that was a dandy ! 
 
 JULIA. Do you think so? 
 
 JACK. I do, indeed. You've made a hit. I heard a 
 dozen people talking about it. 
 
 JULIA. Indeed ? 
 
 JACK. You've come to be the champion female muck- 
 raker of the country, I think. 
 JULIA laughs. 
 
 JACK. Why did you want to see me so specially to- 
 night ? 
 
 JULIA. I've a friend I want you to meet. Somebody 
 I'm engaged in educating. 
 
 JACK. You seem to have chosen me for your favorite 
 proselytizer. 
 
 JULIA. You've seen things with your own eyes, Jack. 
 
 JACK. Yes; I suppose so. 
 
 JULIA. And you know how to tell about them. And 
 you've such an engaging way about you . . . nobody 
 could help but take to you. 
 
 JACK. Cut out the taffy. Who's your friend? 
 
 JULIA. Her name's Hegan. 
 
ACT i] THE MACHINE 75 
 
 JACK. A woman? 
 
 JULIA. A girl, yes. And she's coming right along, 
 Jack. You must take a little trouble with her, for if we 
 can only bring her through, she can do a lot for us. 
 She's got no end of money. 
 
 JACK. No relative of Jim Hegan, I hope? 
 
 JULIA. She's his daughter. 
 
 JACK. IWith a hound. "] What! 
 
 JULIA. His only daughter. 
 
 JACK. Good God, JuHa! 
 
 JULIA. What's the matter? 
 
 JACK. You know I don't want to meet people like that. 
 
 JULIA. Why not ? 
 
 JACK. I don't care to mix with them. I've nothing to 
 say to them. 
 
 JULIA. My dear Jack, the girl can't help her father. 
 
 JACK. I know that, and I'm sorry for her. But, mean- 
 time, I've got my work to do . . . 
 
 JULIA. You couldn't be doing any better work than 
 this. If we can make a Socialist of Laura Hegan . . . 
 
 JACK. Oh, stuff, Julia ! I've given up chasing after 
 will-o'-the-wisps like that. 
 
 JULIA. But think what she could do ! 
 
 JACK. Yes. I used to think what a whole lot of peo- 
 ple could do. You might as well ask me to think what 
 her father could do . . . if he only wanted to do it, in- 
 stead of poisoning the life-blood of the city, and piling 
 up his dirty millions. Go about this town and see the 
 misery and horror . . . and think that it's Jim Hegan 
 who sits at the top and reaps the profit of it all ! It's Jim 
 Hegan who is back of the organization . . . he's the real 
 power behind Boss Grimes. It's he who puts up the 
 money and makes possible this whole regime of vice and 
 graft . . . 
 
 JULIA. My dear boy, don't be silly. 
 
76 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 JACK. How do you mean? Isn't it true? 
 
 JULIA. Of course it's true . . . but why declaim to 
 me about it? You forget you are talking to the cham- 
 pion female muckraker of the country. 
 
 JACK. Yes, that's right. But I don't want to meet 
 these people socially. They mean well, a lot of them, 
 I suppose; but they've been accustomed all their lives to 
 being people of importance ... to have everybody stand 
 in awe of them, because of their stolen money, and all 
 the wonderful things they might do with it if they only 
 would. 
 
 JULIA. My dear Jack, did you ever observe anything 
 of the tuft-hunter in me? 
 
 JACK. No, I don't know that I have. But it's never 
 too late. 
 
 JULIA. [Laughing.] Well, until you do, have a little 
 faith in me! Meet Laura Hegan, and judge for your- 
 self. 
 
 JACK. [Grumbling.'] All right, I'll meet her. But let 
 me tell you, I don't propose to spare her feelings. She'll 
 get things straight from me. 
 
 JULIA. That's all right, my boy. Give her the class 
 war and the Revolution with a capital R ! Tell her 
 you're the only original representative of the disinher- 
 ited proletariat, and that some day, before long, you 
 intend to plant the red flag over her daddy's palace, 
 [Seriously.] Of course, what you'll actually do is meet 
 her like a gentleman, and tell her of some of your adven- 
 tures in Russia, and give her some idea of what's going 
 on outside of her little Fifth avenue set. 
 
 JACK. Where did you run on to her? 
 
 JULIA. I met her at the settlement. 
 
 JACK. Good Lord ! Jim Hegan's daughter ! [Laughs.] 
 They were toadying to her there, I'll wager. 
 
 JULIA. Well, you know what settlement people are. 
 
^^ 
 
 ACT i] THE MACHINE 77 
 
 She's been coming there for quite a while, and seems to 
 be interested. She's given them quite a lot of money. 
 
 JACK. No doubt. 
 
 JULIA. I had a little talk with her one afternoon. She's 
 a quiet, self-contained girl, but she gave me a peculiar 
 impression. She seemed to be unhappy ; there was a kind 
 of troubled note in what she said. I had felt uncomfort- 
 able about meeting her . . . you can imagine, after my 
 study of "Tammany and the Traction Trust." 
 
 JACK. Did she mention that? 
 
 JULIA. No, she never has. But I've several times had 
 the feeling that she was trying to get up the courage to 
 do it. I've thought, somehow, that she must be suffering 
 about her father. 
 
 JACK. My God! Wouldn't it be a joke if Nemesis 
 were to get at Jim Hegan through his daughter? 
 
 JULIA. Yes; wouldn't it! 
 
 JACK. How do you suppose he takes her reform 
 activities ? 
 
 JULIA. I don't know, but I fancy they must have had 
 it out. She's not the sort of person to let herself be 
 turned back when her mind's made up. 
 
 JACK. A sort of chip of the old block. [After a pause.} 
 If I'd known what was up, I wouldn't have suggested ask- 
 ing anybody else to come . . . 
 
 JULIA. Oh, that's all right; it won't make any differ- 
 ence. 
 
 JACK. This chap, Montague, that I 'phoned to you 
 about . . . he's a sort of a convert of my own. 
 
 JULIA. I see. We'll reciprocate. 
 
 JACK. I think I've got Montague pretty well landed. 
 You'll be interested in him . . . it's quite a story. It 
 was last election day. . . 
 The bell rings. 
 
78 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 JULIA. Ah, there's somebody. {She goes to the door; 
 calls.'] Is that you, Miss Hegan? 
 
 LAURA. 10 ff.] Yes, it's I. 
 
 JULIA. You found your way, did you? 
 
 LAURA. Oh, no trouble at all. [Enters, a tall, stately 
 girl, about twenty-three; simply but elegantly clad.] How 
 do you do? 
 
 JULIA. I am so glad to see you. Jack, this is Miss 
 Hegan. Mr. Bullen. 
 
 LAURA. How do you do, Mr. Bullen? 
 
 JACK. I am very glad to meet you. Miss Hegan. 
 
 JULIA. Let me take your things. 
 
 LAURA. {Looking about.] Oh, what a cozy place! I 
 think these model tenements are delightful. 
 
 JULIA. They're indispensable to us agitators ... an 
 oasis in a desert. 
 
 JACK. Built for the proletariat, and inhabited by 
 cranks. 
 
 LAURA. Is that the truth? 
 
 JULIA. It's certainly the truth about this one. Below 
 me are two painters and a settlement worker, and next 
 door is a blind Anarchist and a Yiddish poet, 
 
 LAURA. What's the reason for it? 
 
 JULIA. IGoing to room off left with laura's things.] 
 The places are clean and cheap; and whenever the poor 
 can't pay their rent, we take their homes. 
 
 JACK. The elimination of the unfit. 
 
 LAURA. It sounds like a tragic explanation; but I 
 guess it's true. [Looking at Jack.] And so this is Mr. 
 Bullen. For such a famous revolutionist, I expected to 
 find some one more dangerous-looking. 
 
 JULIA. [Returning.] Don't make up your mind too 
 soon about Jack. He's liable to startle you. 
 
 LAURA. I'm not easily startled any more. I'm getting 
 quite used to meeting revolutionists. 
 
ACT i] THE MACHINE 79 
 
 JACK. You don't call them revolutionists that you meet 
 at the settlement, I hope? 
 
 LAURA. No ; but all sorts of people come there. 
 
 JULIA. By the way, Jack 'phoned me this afternoon, 
 and said he'd invited a friend here. I hope you don't 
 mind. 
 
 LAURA. Why, no ; not at all. Is it one of your Russian 
 friends? 
 
 JACK. Oh, no; he's an American. His name is Mon- 
 tague. I was just starting to tell Julia about him when 
 you came in. 
 
 LAURA. Go ahead. 
 
 JACK. It was quite an adventure. I don't know that 
 I've ever had one that was more exciting. And I've had 
 quite some, you know. 
 
 LAURA. Yes; I've been told so. 
 
 JACK. It was last election day, in a polling place on 
 the Bowery. I was a watcher for the Socialists, and this 
 Montague was one of the watchers for the reform crowd. 
 The other one was drunk, and so he had the work all to 
 himself. It was in the heart of Leary's district, and the 
 crowd there was a tough one, I can tell you. It was a 
 close election. 
 
 LAURA. Yes; I know. 
 
 JACK. There'd been all kinds of monkey-work going 
 on, and the box was full of marked and defective bal- 
 lots, and Montague set to work to make them throw 
 them out. I didn't pay much attention at first. I was 
 only there to see that our own ballots were counted; 
 but pretty soon I began to take interest. He had every 
 one in the place against him. There was a Tammany 
 inspector of elections and four tally clerks ... all in 
 with Tammany, of course. There were three or four 
 Tammany policemen, and, outside of the railing, the 
 worst crowd of toughs that ever you laid eyes on. To 
 
80 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 make matters worse, there were several men inside who 
 had no business to be there . . . one of them a Judge 
 of the City Court, and another a State's attorney . . . 
 and all of them storming at Montague. 
 
 JULIA. What did he do? 
 
 JACK. He just made them throw out the marked bal- 
 lots. They were willing enough to put them to one side, 
 but wanted to count them in on the tally sheets. And, 
 of course, Montague knew perfectly well that if they 
 ever counted them in they'd close up at the end, and that 
 would be all there was to it. He had the law with him, 
 of course. He's a lawyer himself, and he seemed to know 
 it all by heart; and he'd quote it to them, paragraph by 
 paragraph, and they'd look it up and find that he was 
 right, and, of course, that only made them madder. The 
 old Judge would start up in his seat. "Officer !" he'd 
 shout (he was a red-faced, ignorant fellow ... a 
 typical barroom politician, *T demand that you put 
 that man out of here." And the cop actually laid his 
 hand on Montague's shoulder; if he'd ever been landed 
 on the other side of that railing the crowd would have 
 torn him to pieces. But the man stayed as cool as a 
 cucumber. "Officer," he said, "you are aware that I am 
 an election official, here under the protection of the law; 
 and if you refuse me that protection you are liable to a 
 sentence in State's prison." Then he'd quote another 
 paragraph. 
 
 JULIA. It's a wonder he ever held them. 
 
 JACK. He did it; he made them throw out forty-seven 
 ballots . . . and thirty-eight of them were Tammany 
 ballots, too. There was one time when I thought the 
 gang was going to break loose, and I sneaked out and 
 telephoned for help. Then I came back and spoke up 
 for him. I wanted them to know there'd be one witness. 
 
ACT i] THE IMACHINE 81 
 
 You should have seen the grateful look that Montague 
 gave me. 
 
 . LAURA. I can imagine it. 
 
 JULIA. And how did it end? 
 
 JACK. Why, you see, we kept them there till eleven 
 o'clock at night, and by that time everybody knew that 
 Tammany had won, and the ballots were not needed. So 
 the old Judge patted us on the back and told us we were 
 heroes, and invited us out to get drunk with him. Mon- 
 tague and I walked home together through the election 
 din, and got acquainted. I don't know that I ever met 
 a man I took to more quickly. 
 
 LAURA. You are making a Socialist out of him, of 
 course ? 
 
 JACK. Oh, he's coming on. But he is not the sort of 
 man to take his ideas from any one else ... he wants 
 to see for himself. He hasn't been in New York long, 
 you know ... he comes from the South . . . from 
 Mississippi. 
 
 LAURA. [Startled.J From Mississippi! What's his 
 first name? 
 
 JACK. Allan. 
 
 LAURA. [Betraying emotion.'] Allan Montague! 
 
 JACK. Do you know him? 
 
 LAURA. Yes; I know him very well, indeed. Oh . . . 
 I didn't . . . that is ... I have not seen him for a long 
 time. [Recovering her poise.] Is he surely coming? 
 
 JACK. He generally keeps his engagements. 
 
 JULIA. How did you come to know him? 
 
 LAURA. He's Ollie Montague's brother. 
 
 JACK. Who's Ollie Montague? 
 
 LAURA. He's one of those pretty boys that everybody 
 knows in society; he brought his brother up from the 
 South to introduce him. He was in some business deal 
 or other with my father. Then he seemed to drop out of 
 
8^ THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 everything, and nobody sees him any more. I don't know 
 why. 
 
 JACK. I think he was disgusted with his experiences. 
 
 LAURA. Oh ! 
 
 JACK. [Realising that he had said something awk- 
 ward.'] I think I was the first SociaHst he'd ever met. 
 He had just gotten to the stage of despair. He'd started 
 out with a long program of reforms . . . and he was 
 going to educate the people to them . . . one by one, 
 until he'd made them all effective. I said to him: "By 
 the time you've got the attention of the public on reform 
 number thirty . . . what do you suppose the politicians 
 will have been doing with reform number one?" 
 
 JULIA. We all have to go through that stage. I can 
 remember just as well . . . [A ring upon the hell.'] Ah, 
 there he is. 
 
 JACK. {Rises and goes to the door.] But I think he's 
 most through butting his head against the stone wall! 
 [Calls.] Are you there, old man? 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Off^,] I'm here ! 
 
 JACK. How are you? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Fine ! 
 
 JACK. Come right in. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Enters; a tall, handsome man of thirty; 
 self-contained and slow of speech; the dark type of a 
 Southerner.] Vm a trifle late. [Sees laura; starts.] 
 Miss Hegan ! You ! [Recovers himself.] Why . . . 
 an unexpected pleasure ! 
 
 LAURA. Unexpected on both sides, Mr. Montague. 
 
 MONTAGUE. I'm delighted to meet you, really ! 
 They shake hands. 
 
 JACK. Julia, my friend, Mr. Montague. Mise Patter- 
 son. 
 
 MONTAGUE. I'm vcry glad to meet you, Miss Patterson. 
 
ACT i] THE MACHINE 83 
 
 JULIA. We had no idea we were bringing old friends 
 together. 
 
 MONTAGUE. No ; it was certainly a coincidence. 
 
 LAURA. It's been ... let me see ... a year since 
 weVe met. 
 
 MONTAGUE. It must be fully that. 
 
 LAURA. Where do you keep yourself these days? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Oh, Fm studying, in a quiet way. 
 
 LAURA. And none of your old friends ever see you? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I don't get about much. 
 
 LAURA. [Earnestly.^ And friendship means so little 
 to you as that? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I ... it would be hard to explain. I 
 have been busy with politics . . . 
 A pause of embarrassment. 
 
 JULIA. Mr. Bullen has just been telling us about your 
 heroism. 
 
 MONTAGUE. My heroism? Where? 
 
 JULIA. At the polling place. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Oh, that ! It was nothing. 
 
 LAURA. It seemed like a good deal to us. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Make him tell you about some of his own 
 adventures. 
 
 JULIA. Would you ever think, to look at his innocent 
 countenance, that he had helped to hold a building for 
 six hours against Russian artillery? 
 
 LAURA. Good heavens ! Where was this ? 
 
 JULIA. During the St. Petersburg uprising. 
 
 LAURA. And weren't you frightened to death? 
 
 JACK. [Laughing.'] No; we were too busy taking pot- 
 shots at the Cossacks. It was like the hunting season 
 in the Adirondacks. 
 
 LAURA. And how did it turn out? 
 
 JACK. Oh, they were too much for us in the end. I 
 got away, across the ice of the Neva ... I had the heel 
 
84 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 of one shoe shot off. And yet people tell us romance is 
 dead ! Anybody who is looking for romance, and knows 
 what it is, can find all he wants in Russia. 
 Pause. 
 
 LAURA. \To MONTAGUE.] Have you seen my father 
 lately ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. No ,* not for some time. 
 
 LAURA. You may see him this evening. He promised 
 to call for me. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Indeed ! 
 
 JACK. Oh, by the way, Julia, I forgot! How's Annie? 
 
 LAURA. Oh, yes; how is she? 
 
 JULIA. She's doing well, I think. Better every day. 
 
 LAURA. Is she still violent? 
 
 JULIA. Not so much. I can always handle her now. 
 
 LAURA. Is she in the next room? 
 Looking to the right. 
 
 JULIA. Yes. She's been asleep since afternoon. 
 
 LAURA. And you still won't let me send her to a hos- 
 pital? 
 
 JULIA. Oh, no. Truly, it would kill the poor girl. 
 
 LAURA. But you . . . with all your work, and your 
 engagements ? 
 
 JULIA. She's very quiet. And the neighbors come in 
 and help when I'm out. They all sympathize. 
 
 LAURA. Talking about heroism ... it seems to me 
 that you are entitled to mention. 
 
 JULIA. Why, nonsense ! . . . the girl was simply 
 thrown into my arms. 
 
 LAURA. Most people would have managed to step out 
 of the way, just the same. You've heard the story, have 
 you, Mr. Montague? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Bullcn has told it to me. You haven't 
 been able to get any justice? 
 
 JACK. From the police ? Hardly ! But we're keeping 
 
ACT i] THE MACHINE 85 
 
 at it, to make the story complete. I went to see Captain 
 Quinn to-day. "What's this?'' says he. "Annie Rogers 
 again? Didn't your lady frien' get her pitcher in the 
 papers over that case? An' what more does she want?" 
 
 JULIA. I went this afternoon to see the Tammany 
 leader of our district . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. Leary? 
 
 JULIA. The same. I went straight into his saloon. 
 "Lady," says he, "the goil's nutty ! You got a bughouse 
 patient on your hands ! This here talk about the white- 
 slave traffic, ma'am . . . it's all the work o' these maga- 
 zine muckrakers !" "Meaning myself, Mr. Leary?" said 
 I, and he looked kind of puzzled. I don't think he knew 
 who I was. 
 
 MONTAGUE. All the work of the muckrakers! I see 
 Boss Grimes is out to that effect also. 
 
 JACK. And I see that half a dozen clergymen sat down 
 to a public banquet with him the other day. That's what 
 we've come to in New York ! Bob Grimes, with his 
 hands on every string of the whole infamous system 
 . . . with his paws in every filthy graft-pot in the city ! 
 Bob Grimes, the type and symbol of it all ! Every time I 
 see a picture of that bulldog face, it seems to me as if 
 I were confronting all the horrors that I've ever fought 
 in my life ! 
 
 JULIA. It's curious to note how much less denuncia- 
 tion of Tammany one hears now than in the old days. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Tammany's getting respectable. 
 
 JACK. The big interests have found out how to use it. 
 The traction gang, especially . . . 
 
 He stops abruptly; a tense pause. 
 
 LAURA. [Leaning toward him, with great earnestness.'] 
 Mr. Bullen, is that really true? 
 
 JACK. That is true. Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. Mr. Bullen, you will understand what it means 
 
86 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 to me to hear that statement made. I hear it made con- 
 tinually, and I ask if it is true, and I am told that it is 
 a slander. How am I to know? lA pause.'] Would you 
 be able to tell me that you know it of your own personal 
 knowledge ? 
 
 JACK. [Weighing the words.'] No; I could not say 
 that. 
 
 LAURA. Would you say that you could prove it to a 
 jury? 
 
 JACK. I would say, that if I had to prove it, I could 
 get the evidence. 
 
 LAURA. What would you say, Mr. Montague? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I would rather not say, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. Please ! Please ! I want you to answer me. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [After a pause.] I would say that I shall 
 be able to prove it very shortly. 
 
 LAURA. How do you mean ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I havc been giving most of my time to 
 a study of just that question, and I think that I shall 
 have the evidence. 
 
 LAURA. I see. 
 
 She sinks back, very white; a pause; the bell rings. 
 
 JULIA. Who can that be? 
 
 JACK. [Springing tip.] Let me answer it. [Presses 
 button; then, to montague.] I had no idea you were 
 going in for that, old man. 
 
 MONTAGUE. This is the first time I have ever men- 
 tioned it to any one. 
 
 JULIA. [Rising, hoping to relieve an embarrassing 
 situation.] I hope this isn't any more company. 
 
 JACK. [To MONTAGUE, aside.] You must let me tell 
 you a few things that I know. Fve been running down 
 a little story about Grimes and the traction crowd. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Indeed! What is it? 
 
 JACK. I can't tell it to you now ... it would take 
 
ACT i] THE MACHINE 87 
 
 too long. But, gee ! If I can get the evidence, it'll make 
 your hair stand on end ! It has to do with the Grand 
 Avenue Railroad suit. 
 
 MONTAGUE. The one that's pending in the Court of 
 Appeals ? 
 
 JACK. Yes. You see, Jim Hegan stands to lose a for- 
 tune by it, and I've reason to believe that there's some 
 monkey-work being done with the Court. It happens 
 that one of the judges has a nephew ... a dissipated 
 chap, who hates him. He's an old college friend of mine, 
 and he's trying to get some evidence for me. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Good Lord ! 
 
 JACK. And think, it concerns Jim Hegan personally. 
 A knock at the door. 
 
 JULIA. I'll go. 
 
 Opens the door. 
 
 HEGAN. [Without J] Good evening. Is Miss Hegan 
 here? 
 
 LAURA. [Standing tip.'] Father ! 
 
 JULIA. Won't you come in? 
 
 HEGAN. Thank you. [Enters; a tall, powerfully built 
 man, with a square jaw, wide, over-arching eyebrows, and 
 keen eyes that peer at one; a prominent nose, the 
 aspect of the predatory eagle; a man accustomed to let 
 other people talk and to read their thoughts.'] Why, Mr. 
 Montague, you here? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Mr. Hegan! Why, how do you do? 
 
 LAURA. We stumbled on each other by chance. Father, 
 this is Miss Patterson. 
 
 HEGAN. I am very pleased to meet you. Miss Patter- 
 son. 
 
 JULIA. How do you do, Mr. Hegan? 
 They shake hands. 
 
 LAURA. And Mr. Bullen. 
 
88 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 BULLEN. [Remaining where he is; stiffly.'] Good eve- 
 ning, Mr. Hegan. 
 
 HEGAN. Good evening, sir. [Turns to laura.] My 
 dear, I finished up downtown sooner than I expected, 
 and I have another conference at the house. I stopped 
 off to see if you cared to come now, or if I should send 
 back the car for you. 
 
 LAURA. I think you'd best send it back. 
 
 JULIA. Why, yes . . . she only just got here. 
 
 HEGAN. Very well. 
 
 JULIA. Won't you stop a minute? 
 
 HEGAN. No. I really can't. Mr. Grimes is waiting 
 for me downstairs. 
 
 LAURA. [Involuntarily.'] Mr. Grimes ! 
 
 HEGAN. Yes. 
 
 LAURA. Robert Grimes? 
 
 HEGAN. [Surprised.] Yes. Why? 
 
 LAURA. Nothing; only we happened to be just talking 
 about him. 
 
 HEGAN. I see. 
 
 JACK. [Aggressively.] We happen to have one of 
 his victims in the next room. 
 
 HEGAN. [Perplexed.] One of his victims? 
 
 JULIA. [Protesting.] Jack ! 
 
 JACK. A daughter of the slums. One of the helpless 
 girls who have to pay the tribute that he . . . 
 
 A piercing and terrifying scream is heard off right, 
 
 JULIA. Annie ! 
 Runs off. 
 
 HEGAN. What's that? 
 
 The screams continue. 
 
 JULIA. [Off.] Help! Help! 
 
 Jack, who is nearest, leaps toward the door; but, 
 before he can reach it, it is flung violently open. 
 
 ANNIE. [Enters, delirious, her bare arms and throat 
 
ACT i] THE MACHINE 89 
 
 covered with bruises, her hair loose, and her aspect wild; 
 an Irish peasant girl, aged twenty.'] No! No! Let 
 me go ! 
 
 Rushes into the opposite corner, and cowers in 
 terror. 
 
 JULIA. {^Following her.] Annie! Annie! 
 
 ANNIE. [Flings her off, and stretches out her arms.'] 
 What do you want with me ? Help ! Help ! I won't do 
 it I I won't stay ! Let me alone ! 
 Wild and frantic sobbing. 
 
 JULIA. Annie, dear ! Annie ! Look at me ! Don't 
 you know me ? I'm Julia ! Your own Julia ! No one 
 shall hurt you ... no one ! 
 
 ANNIE. {^Stares at her wildly.] He's after me still I 
 He'll follow me here ! He won't let me get away from 
 him ! Oh, save me ! 
 
 JULIA. [^Embracing her.] Listen to me, dear. Don't 
 think of things like that. You are in my home . . . 
 nothing can hurt vou. Don't let these evil dreams take 
 hold of you. 
 
 ANNIE. {^Stares, as if coming out of a trance.] Why 
 didn't you help me before? 
 
 JULIA. Come, dear . . . come. 
 
 ANNIE. It's too late . . . too late ! Oh ... I can't 
 forget about it ! 
 
 JULIA. Yes, dear. I know . . . 
 
 ANNIE. [^Seeing the others.] Who? . . . 
 
 JULIA. They are all friends ; they will help you. Come, 
 dear ... lie down again. 
 
 ANNIE. Oh, what shall I do? 
 Is led off, sobbing. 
 
 JULIA. It will be all right, dear. 
 Exit; a pause. 
 
 HEGAN. What does this mean? 
 
90 THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 JACK. [Promptly and ruihlessly.'\ It means that you 
 have been seeing the white-slave traffic in action. 
 HEGAN. I don't understand. 
 
 JACK. [Quietly, but with suppressed passion.'] Tens 
 of thousands of girl slaves are needed for the markets 
 of our great cities . . . for the lumber camps of the 
 North, the mining camps of the West, the ditches of 
 Panama. And every four or five years the supply must 
 be renewed, and so the business of gathering these girl- 
 slaves from our slums is one of the great industries of 
 the city. This girl, Annie Rogers, a decent girl from 
 the North of Ireland, was lured into a dance hall and 
 drugged, and then taken to a brothel and locked in a 
 third-story room. They took her clothing away from 
 her, but she broke down her door at night and fled to 
 the street in her wrapper and flung herself into Miss 
 Patterson's arms. Two men were pursuing her . . . 
 they tried to carry her off. Miss Patterson called a 
 poHceman . . . but he said the girl was insane. Only 
 by making a disturbance and drawing a crowd was my 
 friend able to save her. And now, we have been the 
 rounds . . . from the sergeant at the station, and the 
 police captain, to the Chief of Police and the Mayor him- 
 self; we have been to the Tammany leader of the dis- 
 trict . . . the real boss of the neighborhood . . . and 
 there is no justice to be had anywhere for Annie Rogers ! 
 HEGAN. Impossible ! 
 
 JACK. You have my w^ord for it, sir. And the reason 
 for it is that this hideous traffic is one of the main cogs 
 in our political machine. The pimps and the panders, 
 the cadets and maquereaiix . . . they vote the ticket 
 of the organization; they contribute to the campaign 
 funds; they serve as colonizers and repeaters at the polls. 
 The tribute that they pay amounts to millions; and it is 
 shared from the lowest to the highest in the organiza- 
 
ACT i] THE MACHINE 91 
 
 tion . . . from the ward man on the street and the police 
 captain, up to the inner circle of the chiefs of Tammany- 
 Hall . . . yes, even to your friend, Mr. Robert Grimes, 
 himself! A thousand times, sir, has th'e truth about this 
 monstrous infamy been put before the people of your 
 city; and that they have not long ago risen in their 
 wrath and driven its agents from their midst is due to 
 but one single fact . . . that this infamous organization 
 of crime and graft is backed at each election time by 
 the millions of the great public service corporations. It 
 is they . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Interfering.'] Bullen ! 
 
 JACK. Let me go on ! It is they, sir, who finance the 
 thugs and repeaters who desecrate our polls. It is they 
 who suborn our press and blind the eyes of our people. 
 It is they who are responsible for this traffic in the flesh 
 of our women. It is they who have to answer for the 
 tottering reason of that poor peasant girl in the next 
 room ! 
 
 LAURA. [Has been listening to this speech, white with 
 horror; as the indictment proceeds, she covers her face 
 zvith her hands; at this point she breaks into uncon- 
 trollable weeping.] Oh ! I can't stand it ! 
 
 HEGAN. [Springing to her side.] My dear ! 
 
 LAURA. [Clasping him.] Father ! Father ! 
 
 HEGAN. My child! I have begged you not to come 
 to these places ! Why should you see such things ? 
 
 LAURA. [Wildly.] Why should I not see them, so 
 long as they exist? 
 
 HEGAN. [Angrily.] I won't have it. This is the end 
 of it ! I mean what I say ! Come home with me ! . . . 
 Come home at once ! 
 
 LAURA. With Grimes ? I won't meet that man ! 
 
 HEGAN. Very well, then. You need not meet him. I'l! 
 call a cab, and take you myself. Where are your things ? 
 
9^ THE MACHINE [act i 
 
 LAURA. [Looking to the left.'} In that room. 
 
 HEGAN. Come, then. 
 Takes her off. 
 
 JACK. [Turns to montague, and to julia, who ap- 
 pears in doorway at right.} We gave it to them straight 
 that time, all right! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 93 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Library of "The Towers," hegan^s Long Island country 
 place. A spacious room, furnished luxuriously , hut 
 with good taste. A large table, with lamp and hooks 
 in the centre, and easy-chairs beside it. Up stage 
 are French windows leading to a veranda, with 
 drive below; a writing desk between the windows. 
 Entrance right and left. A telephone stand left, 
 and a clock on wall right. 
 
 At rise: Andrews^ standing by the table, opening some 
 letters. 
 
 LAURA. [Enters from veranda.]^ Good afternoon, Mr. 
 Andrews. 
 
 ANDREWS. Good aftemoon, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. Has father come yet? 
 
 ANDREWS. No; he said he'd be back about five. 
 
 LAURA. Is he surely coming? 
 
 ANDREWS. Oh, yes. He has an important engagement 
 here. 
 
 LAURA. He's working very hard these days. 
 
 ANDREWS. He has a good deal on his mind just now. 
 
 LAURA. It's this Grand Avenue Railroad business. 
 
 ANDREWS. Yes. If it should go against him, it would 
 confuse his plans very much. 
 
 LAURA. Is the matter never going to be decided? 
 
 ANDREWS. We're expecting the decision any day now. 
 That's why he's so much concerned. He has to hold the 
 market, you see . . . 
 
94 THE MACHINE [act n 
 
 LAURA. The decision's liable to affect the market? 
 
 ANDREWS. Oh, yes . . . very much, indeed. 
 
 LAURA. I see. And then . . . 
 'Phone rings. 
 
 ANDREWS. Excuse me. Hello ! Yes, this is Mr. Hegan's 
 place. Mr. Montague? Why, yes; I beheve he's to be 
 here this afternoon. Yes . . . wait a moment . . . [To 
 LAURA.] It's some one asking for Mr. Montague. 
 
 LAURA. Who is it? 
 
 ANDREWS. Hello! Who is this, please? [To laura.] 
 It's Mr. Bullen. 
 
 LAURA. Mr. Bullen? I'll speak to him. [Takes 
 'phone.'] Hello, Mr. Bullen! This is Miss Hegan. I'm 
 glad to hear from you. How are you? Why, yes, Mr. 
 Montague is coming out ... I expect him here any 
 time. He was to take the three-five . . . just a moment. 
 [Looks at clock.'] If the train's on time, he's due here 
 now. We sent to meet him. Call up again in about five 
 minutes. Oh, you have to see him? As soon as that? 
 Nothing wrong, I hope. Well, he couldn't get back to 
 the city until after six. Oh, then you're right near us. 
 Why don't you come over? . . . That's the quickest way. 
 No; take the trolley and come right across. I'll be de- 
 lighted to see you. What's that? Why, Mr. Bullen! 
 How perfectly preposterous ! My father doesn't blame 
 you for what happened. Don't think of it. Come right 
 along. I'll take it ill of you if you don't . . . truly I 
 will. Yes; please do. You'll just have time to get the 
 next trolley. Get off at the Merrick road, and I'll see 
 there's an auto there to meet you. Very well. Good-bye. 
 [To ANDREWS.] Mr. Andrews, will you see there's a car 
 sent down to the trolley to meet Mr. Bullen? 
 ANDREWS. All right. 
 
 Exit. 
 LAURA. [Stands by table, in deep thought, takes a 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 95 
 
 note from table and studies it; shakes her head.] He 
 didn't want to come. He doesn't want to talk to me. But 
 he must ! Ah, there he is. [Sound of a motor heard. 
 She waits, then goes to the window.'] Ah, Mr. Mon- 
 tague ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Enters centre.] Good afternoon. Miss 
 Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. You managed to catch the train, I see. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Ycs. I just did. 
 
 LAURA. It is so good of you to come. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Not at all. I am glad to be here. 
 
 LAURA. I just had a telephone call from Mr. Bullen. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Starting.] From Bullen? 
 
 LAURA. Yes. He said he had to see you about some- 
 thing. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Eagerly.] Where was he? 
 
 LAURA. He was at his brother's place. I told him to 
 come here. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Oh! Ishccoming? 
 
 LAURA. Yes; he'll be here soon. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Thank you very much. 
 
 LAURA. He said it was something quite urgent. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Yes. He has some important papers for 
 me. 
 
 LAURA. I see he made a speech last night that stirred 
 up the press. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Smiling.] Yes. 
 
 LAURA. He is surely a tireless fighter. 
 
 MONTAGUE. It's such men as Bullen who keep the 
 world moving. 
 
 LAURA. And do you agree with him, Mr. Montague? 
 
 MONTAGUE. In what way? 
 
 LAURA. That the end of it all is to be a revolution. 
 
 MONTAGUE. I don't kuow, Miss Hegan. I find I am 
 moving that way. I used to think we could control capi- 
 
96 THE MACHINE [act ii 
 
 tal. Now I am beginning to suspect that it is in the nature 
 of capital to have its way, and that if the people wish to 
 rule they must own the capital. 
 
 LAURA. [After a pause.] Mr. Montague, I had to ask 
 you to come out and see me, because I'd promised my 
 father I would not go into the city again for a while. 
 I've not been altogether well since that evening at Julia's. 
 
 MONTAGUE. I am sorry to hear that. Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. It's nothing, but it worries my father, you 
 know. [A pause.1 I thought we should be alone this 
 afternoon, but I find that my father is coming out . . . 
 and Mr. Bullen is coming also. So I mayn't have time 
 to say all I wished to say to you. But I must thank you 
 for coming. 
 
 MONTAGUE. I was Very glad to come. Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. I can appreciate your embarrassment at being 
 asked to . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. No ! 
 
 LAURA. We must deal frankly with each other. I 
 know that you did not want to come. I know that you 
 have tried to put an end to our friendship. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Hesitates.'] Miss Hegan, let me explain 
 my position. 
 
 LAURA. I think I understand it already. You have 
 found evil conditions which you wish to oppose, and you 
 were afraid that our friendship might stand in the way. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [In a low voice.'] Miss Hegan, I came to 
 New York an entire stranger two years ago, and my 
 brother introduced me to his rich friends. By one of 
 them I was asked to take charge of a law case. It was 
 a case of very great importance, which served to give 
 me an opening into the inner life of the city. I discov- 
 ered that, in their blind struggle for power, our great 
 capitalists had lost all sense of the difference between 
 honesty and crime. I found that trust funds were being 
 
ACT ii] THE MACHINE 97 
 
 abused . . . that courts and legislatures were being cor- 
 rupted . . . the very financial stability of the country 
 was being wrecked. The thing shocked me to the bot- 
 tom of my soul, and I set to work to give the public some 
 light on the situation. Then, what happened, Miss Hegan ? 
 My newly made rich friends cut me dead; they began to 
 circulate vile slanders about me . . . they insulted me 
 openly, on more than one occasion. So, don't you see? 
 
 LAURA. Yes, I see. But could you not have trusted a 
 friendship such as ours? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I did not dare. 
 
 LAURA. You saw that you had to fight my father, and 
 you thought that I would blindly take his side. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Hesitating. 1 I ... I couldn't sup- 
 pose . . . 
 
 LAURA. Listen. You have told me your situation; 
 now, imagine mine. Imagine a girl brought up in lux- 
 ury, with a father whom she loves very dearly, and who 
 loves her more than any one else in the world. Every- 
 thing is done to make her happy ... to keep her con- 
 tented and peaceful. But as she grows up, she reads and 
 listens . . . and, little by little, it dawns upon her that 
 her father is one of the leaders in this terrible struggle 
 that you have spoken of. She hears about wrongdoing; 
 she is told that her father's enemies have slandered him. 
 At first, perhaps, she believes that. But time goes on 
 . . . she sees suffering and oppression . . . she begins 
 to realize a little of cause and effect. She wants to help, 
 she wants to do right, but there is no way for her to 
 know. She goes to one person after another, and no 
 one will deal frankly with her. No one will tell her the 
 truth . . . absolutely no one ! [Leaning forward with in- 
 tensity. '] No one ! No one ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. I SCC. 
 
 LAURA. So it was with you . . . and with our friend- 
 
98 THE MACHINE [act ii 
 
 ship. I knew that you had broken it off for such reasons. 
 I knew that there was nothing personal ... it was noth- 
 ing that I had done . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. No ! Surely not ! 
 
 LAURA. IGases about nervously.'] And then . . . 
 the other night . . . you told me you were investigating 
 the traction companies of New York . . . their connec- 
 tion with politics, and so on. Ever since then I have felt 
 that you were the one person I must talk with. Don't 
 you see? 
 
 MONTAGUE. YcS ; I SCC. 
 
 LAURA. I have sought for some one who will tell me 
 the truth. Will you ? 
 
 MONTAGUE, [/w a low voice.'] You must realize what 
 you are asking of me. Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. I have not brought you here without realizing 
 that. You must help me ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. Very well. I will do what I can. 
 
 LAURA. [Leaning forward.] I wish to know about 
 my father. I wish to know to what extent he is involved 
 in these evils that you speak of. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Your father is in the game, and he has 
 played it the way the game is played. 
 
 LAURA. Has he been better than the others, or worse? 
 
 MONTAGUE. About the same. Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. He has been more successful than they. 
 
 MONTAGUE. He has been very successful. 
 
 LAURA. You were concerned in some important deal 
 with my father, were you not ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I waS. 
 
 LAURA. Then you withdrew. Was that because there 
 was something wrong in it? 
 
 MONTAGUE. It was, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. There were corrupt things done? 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 99 
 
 MONTAGUE. There were many kinds of corrupt things 
 done. 
 
 LAURA. And was my father responsible for them? 
 
 MONTAGUE. YeS. 
 
 LAURA. Directly ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Ycs ; dircctly. 
 
 LAURA. Then my father is a bad man ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. [After a pause.'] Your father finds him- 
 self in the midst of an evil system. He is the victim of 
 conditions which he did not create. 
 
 LAURA. Ah, now you are trying to spare me ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. No. I should say that to any one. I am 
 at war with the system . . . not with individuals. It is 
 the old story of hating the sin and loving the sinner. 
 Your father's rivals are just as reckless as he . . . 
 take Murdock, for instance, the man who is behind this 
 Grand Avenue Railroad matter. It is hard for a woman 
 to understand that situation. 
 
 LAURA. I can understand some things very clearly. I 
 go down into the slums and I see all that welter of misery. 
 I see the forces of evil that exist there, defiant and hate- 
 ful .. . the saloons and the gambling-houses, and that 
 ghastly white-slave traffic, of which Annie Rogers is the 
 victim. And there is the political organization, taking 
 its toll from all these, and using it to keep itself in power. 
 And there is Boss Grimes, who is at the head of all . . . 
 and he is one of my father's intimate associates. I ask 
 about it, and I am told that it is a matter of "business." 
 But why should my father do business with a man 
 v/liose chief source of income is vice? 
 
 MONTAGUE. That is not quite the case, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. Doesn't the vice tribute go to him? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Part of it does, I have no doubt. But it 
 would be a very small part of his income. 
 
 LAURA. What then? 
 
100 THE MACHINE [act n 
 
 MONTAGUE. The vicc graft serves for the police and 
 the district leaders and the little men; what really pays 
 nowadays is what has come to be called "honest graft." 
 
 LAURA. What is that? 
 
 MONTAGUE. The busincss deals that are made with the 
 public service corporations. 
 
 LAURA. Ah ! That is what I wish to know about ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. For instance, I am running a street rail- 
 way . . . 
 
 LAURA. [Quickly.'] My father is running them all ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. Very well. Your father is in alliance with 
 the organization; he is given franchises and public privi- 
 leges for practically nothing; and in return he gives the 
 contracts for constructing the subways and street-car 
 lines to companies organized by the politicians. These 
 companies are simply paper companies . . . they farm 
 out the contracts to the real builders, skimming off a 
 profit of twenty or thirty per cent. One of these com- 
 panies received contracts last year to the value of thirty 
 million dollars. 
 
 LAURA. And so that is how Grimes gets his money? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Grimes' brother is the president of the 
 company I have reference to. 
 
 LAURA. I see; it is a regular system. 
 
 MONTAGUE. It is a business, and there is no way to 
 punish it ... it does not violate any law . . . 
 
 LAURA. And yet it is quite as bad ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. It is far worse, because of its vast scope. 
 It carries every form of corruption in its train. It means 
 the prostitution of our whole system of government . . . 
 the subsidizing of our newspapers, and of the great politi- 
 cal parties. It means that judges are chosen who will 
 decide in favor of the corporations; that legislators are 
 nominated who will protect them against attack. It means 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 101 
 
 everywhere the enthronement of ignorance and incom- 
 petence, of injustice and fraud. 
 
 LAURA. And in the end the pubHc pays for it? 
 MONTAGUE. In the end the public pays for everything. 
 The stolen franchises are unloaded on the market for ten 
 times what they cost, and the people pay their nickels 
 for a wretched, broken-down service. They pay for it 
 in the form of rent and taxes for a dishonest administra- 
 tion. Every struggling unfortunate in the city pays for 
 it, when he comes into contact with the system . 
 when he seeks for help, or even for justice. It was that 
 side of it that shocked me most of all ... I being a 
 lawyer, you see. The corrupting of our courts . . 
 
 LAURA. The judges are bought, Mr. Montague? 
 
 MONTAGUE. The judges are selected, Miss Regan. 
 
 LAURA. Selected! I see. 
 
 MONTAGUE. And that system prevails from the Su- 
 preme Court of the State down to the petty Police Mag- 
 istrates, before whom the poor come to plead. 
 
 LAURA. And that is why the white-slave traffic goes 
 unpunished ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. That is why. 
 
 LAURA. And why no one would move a hand for Annie 
 Rogers ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. That is why. 
 
 LAURA. And my father is responsible for it! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Grovely.-] Yes; I think he is, Miss 
 Hegan. 
 
 A pause. 
 
 LAURA. Have you seen Julia Patterson lately? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I saw her last night. 
 
 LAURA. And how is Annie? 
 
 MONTAGUE. She . . . [Hesitates.^ She is dead. 
 
 LAURA. IStarting.l Oh ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. She died the night before last. 
 
102 THE MACHINE [act n 
 
 LAURA. [^Stares at him, then gives a wild start, and 
 cries'] She . . . she . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. She killed herself. 
 LAURA. Oh ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. She cut her throat. 
 
 LAURA. [Hides her face and sinks against the table, 
 shuddering and overcome.'] Oh, the poor girl ! The 
 poor, poor girl ! [Suddenly she springs up.] Can't you 
 see? Can't you see? It is things like that that are driv- 
 ing me to distraction ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Starting toward her.] Miss Hegan . . . 
 
 LAURA. [Covering her face again.] Oh ! oh ! It is 
 horrible ! I can't stand it ! I . . . 
 Sound of motor heard; they listen. 
 
 LAURA. That is my father's car . . . Mr. Montague, 
 will you excuse me? I must have a talk with my 
 father . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. Certainly. Let me go away . . . 
 
 LAURA. No; please wait. Just take a little stroll. 
 I . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. Certainly, I understand. 
 Exit right. 
 
 LAURA. [Seeks to compose herself; then goes to win- 
 dow.] Father ! 
 
 HEGAN. [Off.] Yes, dear. 
 
 LAURA. Come here. 
 
 HEGAN. [Enters.] What is it? 
 
 LAURA. Father, I have just had dreadful news . . 
 
 HEGAN. What? 
 
 LAURA. Annie Rogers . . . that poor girl, you 
 know . . . 
 
 HEGAN. Yes. 
 
 LAURA. She has killed herself. 
 
 HEGAN. No ! 
 
 LAURA. She cut her own throat. 
 
ACT n] 
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 103 
 
 HEGAN. 
 
 sorry . . 
 
 LAURA. 
 
 talk to me 
 
 HEGAN. 
 LAURA. 
 
 you! 
 
 HEGAN. 
 LAURA. 
 
 of myself. 
 
 Oh, my dear ! [Starts toward her.'] I am so 
 
 {Quickly.'] No, father ! Listen ! You must 
 
 . . . you must talk to me this time ! 
 
 My child . . . 
 
 You cannot put me off. You cannot, I tell 
 
 Laura, dear, you are upset . . . 
 No ! That is not so ! I have perfect control 
 There is no use crying . . . the girl is dead. 
 That can't be helped. But I mean to understand about 
 it. I mean to know who is responsible for her death. 
 HEGAN. My dear, these evils are hard to know of . . . 
 LAURA. That house to which that girl was taken . . . 
 there is a law against such places, is there not? 
 HEGAN. Yes, my dear. 
 
 And why is not the law enforced? 
 
 It has not been found possible to enforce such 
 
 LAURA. 
 HEGAN. 
 
 laws. 
 
 LAURA. 
 
 But why not? 
 
 HEGAN. Why, my dear, this evil . . . 
 
 LAURA. These people pay money to the police, do they 
 not? 
 
 HEGAN. Why, yes ; I imagine . . . 
 
 LAURA. Don't tell me what you imagine . . . tell me 
 what you know ! They pay money to the police, don't 
 they ? 
 
 HEGAN. Yes. 
 
 LAURA. Then why should the police not be punished? 
 Do those who control the police get some of the money? 
 
 HEGAN. Some of them, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. That is, the leaders of Tammany. 
 
 HEGAN. Possibly . . . yes. 
 
 LAURA. And Mr. Grimes ... he gets some of it? 
 
 HEGAN. Why, my dear . . ,. 
 
104 THE MACHINE [act ii 
 
 LAURA. Tell me! 
 
 HEGAN. But really, Laura, I never asked him what he 
 gets. 
 
 LAURA. [With intensity.'] Father, you must under- 
 stand me ! I will not be trifled with . . . I am in des- 
 perate earnest! I am determined to get to the bottom 
 of this thing ! I am no longer a child, and you must not 
 try to deceive me ! Mr. Grimes must get some of that 
 money ! 
 
 HEGAN. I think it possible, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. And do you get any ? 
 
 HEGAN. Good God, Laura ! 
 
 LAURA. Then what is the nature of your relationship 
 with Grimes? 
 
 HEGAN. Really, my child, this is not fair of you. I 
 have business connections which you cannot possibly 
 understand . . . 
 
 LAURA. I can understand everything that you are will- 
 ing for me to understand ! I want to know why you must 
 have business connections with a man like Boss Grimes. 
 
 HEGAN. My dear, I think you might take your father's 
 word in such a case. It has nothing to do with vice, 
 I can assure you. Grimes is a business ally of mine. He 
 is a rich man, a great power in New York . . . 
 
 LAURA. Do you help to keep him a power in New 
 York? 
 
 HEGAN. Why, I don't know . . . 
 
 LAURA. Do you contribute to his campaign funds? 
 
 HEGAN. Why, Laura ! I am a Democrat. Surely I 
 have a right to support my party ! 
 
 LAURA. [Quickly.} Have you ever contributed to the 
 Republican campaign funds? 
 
 HEGAN. [Disconcerted; laughs.] Why . . . really . . . 
 
 LAURA. Please answer me. 
 
 HEGAN. I am a Gold Democrat, my dear. 
 
ACT ii] THE MACHINE 105 
 
 LAURA. I see. [She pauses.'] You put Mr. Grimes in 
 the way of making a great deal of money, do you not? 
 
 HEGAN. I do that. 
 
 LAURA. He is interested in companies that you give 
 contracts to? 
 
 HEGAN. Really ! You seem to be informed about mv 
 affairs ! 
 
 LAURA. I have taken some trouble to inform myself. 
 Father, don't you realize what it means to corrupt the 
 government of the city in this way ? 
 
 HEGAN. Corrupt the government, my dear? 
 
 LAURA. Does not Grimes have the nominating of 
 judges and legislators? 
 
 HEGAN. Why, yes ... in a way . . . 
 
 LAURA. And does he not consult with you? 
 
 HEGAN. Why, my dear . . . 
 
 LAURA. Please tell me. 
 
 HEGAN. [Realising that he cannot make any more ad- 
 missions.'] No, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. Never ? 
 
 HEGAN. Absolutely never. 
 
 LAURA. He has never made any attempt to influence 
 the courts in your favor? 
 
 HEGAN. Never. 
 
 LAURA. Not in any way, father? 
 
 HEGAN. Not in any way. 
 
 LAURA. Nor in favor of your companies? 
 
 HEGAN. No, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. You mean, you can give me your word of 
 honor that that is the truth? 
 
 HEGAN. I can, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. And that none of your lawyers do it? Do you 
 mean that the courts escape your influence . . . 
 
 HEGAN. [Laughing disconcertedly.] Really, my dear, 
 
lOG THE MACHINE [act ii 
 
 this is as bad as a Government investigation ! I shall 
 have to take refuge in a lapse of memory. 
 
 LAURA. [Intensely.'] Father ! Is it nothing to you 
 that I have the blood of that poor girl on my conscience? 
 
 HEGAN. My child! 
 
 LAURA. Yes; just that! She v^as caught in the grip 
 of this ruthless system; it held her fast and crushed her 
 life out. And we maintain this system ! I profit by it 
 ... all this luxury and power that I enjoy comes from 
 it directly ! Can't you see what I mean ? 
 
 HEGAN. I see, my dear, that you are frightfully over- 
 wrought, and that you are making yourself ill. Can't 
 you imagine what it means to me to have you acting in 
 this way? Here I am at one of the gravest crises of 
 my life; I am working day and night, under frightful 
 strain ... I have hardly slept six hours in the past 
 three days. And here, when I get a chance for a mo- 
 ment's rest, you come and put me through such an ordeal ! 
 You never think of that ! 
 
 LAURA. It's just what I do think of ! Why must you 
 torture yourself so? Why . . . 
 
 HEGAN. My dear, I, too, am in the grip of the system 
 you speak of. 
 
 LAURA. But why? Why stay in it? Haven't we money 
 enough yet? 
 
 HEGAN. I have duties by which I am bound . . . in- 
 terests that I must protect. How can I ... [A knock.} 
 Come in ! 
 
 ANDREWS. [Enters.'] Here are the papers, Mr. Hegan. 
 They must be signed now if they're to catch this mail. 
 
 HEGAN. All right. 
 
 Sits at desk up stage and zvrites. 
 
 LAURA. [Stands by table, staring before her; picks up 
 book carelessly from table.] "Ivanhoe" . . . [Fingers 
 it idly and a slip of paper falls to floor. She picks it 
 
ACT ii] THE MACHINE 107 
 
 up, glances at it, then starts.'] Oh ! . . . [Reads.l 
 **Memo to G., two hundred thousand on Court deal. — 
 Grimes/' Two hundred thousand on Court deal ! 
 \^Glances hack at her father; then replaces slip and lays 
 book on table.'] Father, have you read "Ivanhoe"? 
 
 HEGAN. [Without looking up.] I'm reading it now. 
 Why? Do you want it? 
 
 LAURA. No; I just happened to notice it here. 
 
 HEGAN. [Looks up sharply, watches her, then finishes 
 writing.] There ! [Rises; the sound of a motor heard.] 
 What's that? 
 
 ANDREWS. [Near window.] It's Mr. Grimes. 
 
 LAURA. [Starting.] Grimes ! 
 
 HEGAN. [To ANDREWS.] Bring him in. 
 
 ANDREWS exit. 
 
 LAURA. Father! Why do you bring that man here? 
 
 HEGAN. I'll not do it again, dear. I didn't realize. 
 He happened to be in the neighborhood . . . 
 
 LAURA. I won't meet him ! 
 
 HEGAN. [Putting his arm about her.] Very well, 
 dear; come away. Try to stop worrying yourself now, 
 for the love of me . . . 
 Leads her off left. 
 
 ANDREWS. [At window.] This way, Mr. Grimes. 
 [grimes enters; a powerfully built, broad-shouldered man 
 of about fifty, with a massive jaw, covered with a scrubby 
 heard; the face of a bulldog ; a grim, masterful man, who 
 never speaks except when he has to. He enters and seats 
 himself in a chair by the table.] Will you have a cigar? 
 [Grimes takes a cigar, without comment, and chews on 
 it; sits, staring in front of him.] Mr. Hegan will be here 
 directly, sir. 
 
 He nods, and Andrews exit, grimes continues to 
 chew and stare in front of him. He is not under 
 the necessity of making superfluous motions. 
 
108 
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 [act II 
 
 HEGAN. 
 GRIMES. 
 HEGAN. 
 GRIMES. 
 HEGAN. 
 GRIMES. 
 HEGAN. 
 
 age it? 
 
 GRIMES. 
 HEGAN. 
 
 [Enters left.] Hello, Grimes ! 
 
 Hello! 
 
 [Betraying anxiety. '\ Well? 
 
 It's done. 
 
 What? 
 
 It's done. 
 
 Good ! [Grimes nods.] How did you man- 
 
 [Grimly.'] I put my hand on 'em ! 
 Which one? Porter? [grimes nods.] Oh, 
 the old hypocrite ! What did you offer him ? Cash ? 
 [grimes shakes his head slowly.] What? 
 GRIMES. Discipline ! 
 
 HEGAN. [Perplexed.] But ... a judge ! 
 GRIMES. When a man's once mine, he stays mine . . . 
 no matter if it's a life job I give him.. 
 HEGAN. But are you sure it's safe? 
 
 The decision comes to-morrow. 
 [Starting.] What? 
 To-morrow noon. 
 
 But how can they write the decision? 
 They'll adopt the minority opinion. 
 Oh ! I see ! 
 Chuckles. 
 GRIMES. You be ready. 
 HEGAN. Trust me ! I'll have to go in now. 
 GRIMES. It'll be a great killing. Old Murdock has 
 plunged up to his neck ! 
 
 HEGAN. I know ! We'll lay them flat. I'll get ready. 
 [Rises.] Old Porter! Think of it! When did you sec 
 him? 
 
 GRIMES. Last night. 
 
 HEGAN. I see. I'll be with you. 
 
 GRIMES. Just a moment. I'll take the money. 
 
 GRIMES. 
 HEGAN. 
 GRIMES. 
 HEGAN. 
 GRIMES. 
 HEGAN. 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 109 
 
 HEGAN. Oh, yes. Why don't you let me hold it and 
 buy for you? 
 
 GRIMES. I'll buy for myself. 
 
 HEGAN. Very well. 
 Sits at desk. 
 
 GRIMES. It's two hundred thousand. 
 
 iiEGAN. That's right. [Writes a check, rises and gives 
 it to Grimes.'] There. 
 
 GRIMES. [Studies the check, nods, and puts it away 
 carefully.'] When's the next train? 
 
 HEGAN. In about ten minutes. [Rings hell,] An- 
 drews ! 
 
 ANDREWS. [Enters left.] Yes, sir. 
 
 HEGAN. I'm going into town at once. Telephone or- 
 ders to the house. 
 
 ANDREWS. Yes, sir. And shall I come in this eve- 
 ning? 
 
 HEGAN. Yes; you'd better. And telephone Mr. Isaac- 
 son and Mr. Henry Sterns to meet me at eight o'clock 
 for an important conference at . . . let me see, where? 
 
 GRIMES. At my rooms. 
 
 HEGAN. Very good. And they're not to fail on any 
 account. It's urgent. 
 
 ANDREWS. Yes, sir. 
 
 HEGAN and GRIMES go off centre, Andrews remains 
 sorting papers. A knock, right. 
 
 ANDREWS. Come in! 
 MONTAGUE enters. 
 
 ANDREWS. Oh, good aftcmoon. I was looking for you, 
 Mr. Montague. Mr. Bullen has come. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Oh ! Where is he ? 
 
 ANDREWS. He's waiting. I'll tell him you're here. 
 Exit right. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Stands at window and sees motor depart- 
 ing.] Grimes! I wonder what that means? [Turns 
 
110 THE MACHINE [act n 
 
 away-l And what a coincidence, that I should be here! 
 Humph ! Well, it's not my doings. Ah ! BuUen ! 
 
 JACK. [^Enters, right, in great excitement.'] Mon- 
 tague ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. YcS. 
 
 JACK. I've got *em ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. What? 
 
 JACK. I've got 'em ! 
 MONTAGUE. You don't mean it! 
 
 JACK. Got 'em dead ! Got everything ! There's never 
 been a case like it ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Gaziug about.] Ssh ! Where was it? 
 JACK. At Judge Porter's house. 
 
 MONTAGUE. What ? 
 
 JACK. Yes. . . . Grimes came there. 
 
 MONTAGUE. When? 
 
 JACK. Last night. My friend was in the next room 
 ... he heard everything ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. And what are they going to do? 
 
 JACK. Porter is to switch over, and sign the minority 
 opinion, and that's to come out as the decision of the 
 Court. 
 
 MONTAGUE, Good God ! When? 
 
 JACK. To-morrow. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Impossible ! 
 
 JACK. There's to be a meeting of the judges this after- 
 noon. See . . . here's the decision ! [Takes paper from 
 pocket.] The one they mean to kill ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Looks at paper.] Merciful heavens ! 
 
 JACK. And look here! [Unfolds a paper, which has 
 pasted on it bits of a torn and charred note.] He threw 
 this in the fireplace, and it didn't burn. 
 
 MONTAGUE. BulleU ! 
 
 JACK. In Grimes' own handwriting: "My Dear Por- 
 
ACT ii] THE MACHINE 111 
 
 ter — I will call" . . . you can see what that word was 
 . . . "at eight-thirty. Very urgent." How's that? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Man, it's ghastly! [A pause.] How did 
 you manage to get these? 
 
 JACK. It's a long story. 
 
 MONTAGUE. How did Grimes work it? Money? 
 
 JACK. Not a dollar. 
 
 MONTAGUE. What then? 
 
 JACK. Just bluffed him. Party loyalty ! What was he 
 named for? 
 
 MONTAGUE. But in a suit like this ! 
 
 JACK. Never v/as a better test ! If Hegan lost this 
 case, he'd be wiped off the slate, and the organization 
 might go down at the next election. And what were you 
 put in for, Judge Porter ? Don't you see ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I See ! It takes my breath away ! 
 
 JACK. [Looking about.'] And what a place for us to 
 meet in! Did you see Grimes? 
 
 MONTAGUE. YcS. 
 
 JACK. I'll wager he came to tell Hegan about it. 
 
 MONTAGUE. No doubt of it. 
 
 JACK. God ! I'd give one hand to have heard them ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. Dou't wish that ! It's embarrassing enough 
 as it is ! 
 
 JACK. [Staring at him.] You'll see it through? You 
 won't back out? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Oh, I'll scc it through . . . trust me for 
 that. But it's devilish awkward ! 
 
 JACK. Why did you come here? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I tried not to. But Miss Hegan insisted. 
 
 JACK. [Laughing.] The same here ! I was fair 
 caught ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. And uow she'll think we learned it here. 
 I'll have to explain to her . . . 
 
 JACK. What ? 
 
lia THE MACHINE [act ii 
 
 MONTAGUE. I mUSt ! 
 
 JACK. No ! [LAURA appears at windows, centre, and 
 hears the rest, which is in excited tones.l It is not to be 
 thought of! 
 
 MONTAGUE. But I Can't help it, man ! Miss Hegan will 
 think I've been eavesdropping! 
 
 JACK. Do you realize what you're proposing, man? 
 You'll ruin everything! We've got Grimes dead . . . we 
 can land him in jail! But if Hegan heard any whisper 
 of it, they'd balk everything ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. But how ? 
 
 JACK. They'd hold up the decision of the Court . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. Nonscnsc ! With all that they'd stand to 
 lose . . . 
 
 LAURA. [Coming forward.'] I beg pardon, Mr. Bullen. 
 
 JACK. Oh ! 
 
 LAURA. I didn't wish to hear what you were saying. 
 But I couldn't help it. I was caught unawares. [The 
 three stare at each other.] It is something that involves 
 my father. [Looking at the papers in bullen's hands.] 
 Mr, Bullen has brought you some evidence. Is that so, 
 Mr. Montague? 
 
 MONTAGUE. [In o low voicc.] Yes, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. And you wished to take me into your confi- 
 dence? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I wishcd to make it impossible for you to 
 think we had obtained this evidence in your home. 
 
 LAURA. I see. 
 
 MONTAGUE. You will do US the justice to recognize 
 that we did not seek admission here. 
 
 LAURA. Yes; I do that. [A pause.] All that I can 
 say is, that if you think it best to take me into your con- 
 fidence, you may trust me to the bitter end. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Miss Hcgau, Mr. Bullen has brought me 
 evidence which proves that the decision of the Court, 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 113 
 
 which is to be made known to-morrow, has been . . . 
 improperly affected. 
 
 LAURA. [Quickly.'] By whom? 
 
 MONTAGUE. By Robert Grimes. 
 
 LAURA. [Starts wildly.'] And the evidence involves 
 my father? 
 
 MONTAGUE. Your father vWll be the chief one to profit 
 from the change. 
 
 LAURA. [Sinks back against the table; stares away 
 from them, whispering.] To Grimes . . . two hundred 
 thousand on Court deal ! I see ! I see ! [Faces them, 
 weakly.] And what . . . what do you mean to do ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I intend to wait until the decision has 
 been announced, which will be to-morrow, and then to 
 call a public meeting and present the evidence. 
 
 LAURA. [Starts to implore him; then controls herself.] 
 Yes, yes . . . that is just. But then ... see ! It hasn't 
 been done yet ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. How do you mean? 
 
 LAURA. The decision hasn't come out. It could be 
 stopped ! 
 
 JACK. Why stop it? 
 
 LAURA. That would prevent the wrong ! I would . . . 
 oh, I see! You want to expose Grimes! You'd rather 
 it happened ! 
 
 JACK. The crime has already been committed. 
 
 LAURA. And you, Mr. Montague . . . you prefer 
 it so? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I had never thought of any other possi- 
 bility. 
 
 LAURA. Listen ! I don't understand the matter very 
 clearly. The Grand Avenue Railroad case . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. It is an effort to annul a franchise which 
 was obtained by proven bribery. 
 
114 THE MACHINE [act ii 
 
 LAURA. Then, if the public could win, it would be 
 worth while, would it not? 
 
 MONTAGUE. It would establish a precedent of vast im- 
 portance. But how could that be done? 
 
 LAURA. We have a hold upon these men . . . we 
 could compel them to give way ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. They would never do it, Miss Hegan . . . 
 they have too much at stake. 
 
 LAURA. But . . . the evidence you have ! Mr. Bullen 
 said you could send Grimes to jail. 
 
 MONTAGUE. That was just wild talk. Grimes has the 
 district attorney and the courts. He could never be 
 punished for anything. 
 
 LAURA. But the exposure ! 
 
 JACK. He's been exposed a hundred times. What does 
 that matter to him? 
 
 LAURA. But then . . . my father is involved. 
 
 JACK. Quite true, Miss Hegan . . . 
 
 LAURA. And I can make him see how wrong it is. 
 
 JACK. You can make him see it ! But you can't make 
 him do anything ! 
 
 LAURA. Ah, but you don't know my father . . . truly, 
 you don't. He does these evil things, but at heart he's a 
 kind and loyal man ! And he loves me ... I am his 
 only daughter . . . and I can help him to see what is 
 right. We have always understood each other; he will 
 listen to me as he would not to any one else in the world. 
 
 JACK. But what can you say to him? We can't put 
 our evidence in your hands . . . 
 
 LAURA. I don't need your evidence. I must tell you 
 that I, too, have found out something about this case. I 
 know that my father paid Mr. Grimes to influence the 
 decision of that Court. And I know how much he paid 
 him. 
 
 MONTAGUE. Miss Hegan! 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 115 
 
 JACK. Good God! 
 
 LAURA. You see, I am not afraid to trust you. . . . 
 [A pause.'] What is the nature of your evidence against 
 Grimes ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. It comes from an eye-witness of his inter- 
 view with the Judge. 
 
 LAURA. And it is some one you can trust? 
 
 MONTAGUE. It's for BuUcn to tell you. 
 
 JACK. The Judge has a nephew, a dissipated chap, 
 whose inheritance he is holding back . . . and who hates 
 him in consequence. The nephew happens to be a college 
 chum of mine. He witnessed the interview and he 
 brought me the evidence. 
 
 LAURA. I see. Then, certainly, I have a case. And 
 don't you see what a hold that gives me upon my father ? 
 
 JACK. Miss Hegan, you are a brave woman, and I 
 would like to give way to you. But you could accomplish 
 nothing. This suit, which is nominally in the public 
 interest, is really backed by Murdock and his crowd, 
 who are fighting your father; you must realize his posi- 
 tion . . . the thousand ties that bind him ... all the 
 habits of a lifetime ! Think of the friends he has to 
 protect ; you don't know . . . 
 
 LAURA. I know it all. And, on the other hand, I know 
 some things that you do not know. I know that my father 
 is not a happy man. There is a canker eating at his 
 heart . . . the fruit of life has turned to ashes on his 
 lips. And he has one person in all this world that he 
 loves . . . myself. He has toiled and fought for me 
 ... all these years he has told himself that he was 
 making his money for me. And now he finds that it brings 
 me only misery and grief . . . it is as useless to me as 
 it is to him ! And now, suppose I should go to him and 
 say: "Father, you have committed a crime. And I can- 
 not stand it another hour. You must choose here and 
 
116 THE MACHINE [act n 
 
 now . . . you must give up this fight against the people 
 . . . you must give up this career, and come with me and 
 help me to do good in the world. Or else" . . . [her 
 voice breaking.'] ... "I shall have to leave you ! I shall 
 refuse to touch a dollar of your money; I shall refuse 
 in any way to share your guilt!" Don't you see? He 
 will know that I am speaking the truth . . . and that I 
 mean every word of it. Oh, gentlemen, believe me . . . 
 my father would be as strong to atone for his injustices as 
 he has been to commit them ! Surely, you can't refuse me 
 this chance to save him ? 
 
 JACK. Miss Hegan . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. For God's sake. Jack . . . 
 
 JACK. Excuse me, Montague. How long would you 
 expect us to wait. Miss Hegan? 
 
 LAURA. You need not wait at all. You could go right 
 ahead with your own plans. Meantime, I can go to my 
 father ... I will have to-night to plead with him, and 
 to-morrow morning you will know if I have succeeded. 
 
 JACK. Very well ... I will consent to that. 
 
 LAURA. Let Mr, Montague come to my father's office 
 to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. I shall not give him 
 up . . . even if I have to follow him there ! And now 
 . . . good-bye . . . [Starts toward the door, breaks 
 down and cries.'] Thank you ! Thank you ! 
 Stretches out her hands to them. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Springing toward her.] Miss Hegan ! 
 
 LAURA. Give me a little courage ! Tell me you think 
 I shall succeed ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Seizing her hand.] I believe you will, 
 Miss Hegan ! 
 
 LAURA. Ah ! Thank you ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Kisses her hand; tries to speak; over- 
 come.] Good-bye ! 
 
 LAURA. [Exit.] Ah, God! 
 
ACT n] THE MACHINE 117 
 
 JACK. I understand, old man ! If only she weren't so 
 rich! 
 
 MONTAGUE. If only she weren't . . . 
 
 JACK. Yes, yes, dear boy; I know how it is. You're 
 troubled with a conscience, and yours must be strictly a 
 cottage affair ! But forget it just now, old fellow . . . 
 we've got work before us. Play ball ! 
 
 Takes him by the shoulder; they go off. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
118 THE MACHINE [act m 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Hegan's office in Wall street. A large room, furnished 
 with severe simplicity. At the left a large table, 
 with half a dozen chairs about it, and a "ticker" 
 near the wall; at the right, a flat-topped desk and 
 a telephone. Entrance centre. 
 
 At rise: Andrews stands by desk; takes some papers, 
 looks ihem over, makes note and replaces them. 
 
 PARKER. {Enters^ Say, Andrews, what's the reply to 
 these letters of the Fourth National? 
 
 ANDREWS. Give them here; I'll see to them. 
 
 PARKER. Any orders for the brokers this morning? 
 
 ANDREWS. I'm writing them myself. 
 
 PARKER. Something special, eh? All right. \Looks 
 at ticker^ Hello ! Listen to this : "There is* a rumor, 
 widely current, that the decision of the Court of Appeals 
 in the matter of the Public vs. the Grand Avenue Rail- 
 road Company will be handed down to-day !'* Gee whiz, 
 I wonder if that's so? 
 
 ANDREWS. I have heard the rumor. 
 
 PARKER. There was a reporter here yesterday, trying 
 to pump me. I'll bet they're watching the boss. 
 
 ANDREWS. Yes; no doubt of that. 
 
 PARKER. Cracky ! I'd like to know which way it'll 
 go! 
 
 ANDREWS. A good many others would like to know, I've 
 no doubt. 
 
 PARKER. I'll bet my hat the boss knows ! 
 
 ANDREWS. It may be. 
 
 A pause; parker continues to read ticker. 
 
ACT III] THE MACHINE 119 
 
 PARKER. I don't suppose you've heard anything, have 
 you? 
 
 ANDREWS. I never hear, Parker. 
 
 PARKER. Oh, say . . . come oft. Why don't you drop 
 a fellow a hint now and then? 
 
 ANDREWS. I can't afford to. 
 
 PARKER. It would never go beyond me. [A pause.] 
 Say, Andrews. 
 
 ANDREWS. Well ? 
 
 PARKER. Would you like to invest a bit for me now 
 and then? 
 
 ANDREWS. I'm not hankering to, especially. 
 
 PARKER. I'll go halves with you on the profits. 
 
 ANDREWS. And how about the losses? 
 
 PARKER. There wouldn't be any losses. 
 
 ANDREWS. Cut it out, Parker ... we don't want that 
 kind of a thing in the office. [Handing him paper.'\ 
 Here ... I want three copies of this. And take my 
 advice and live on your salary. 
 
 PARKER. Thanks. I wish the salary increased as fast 
 as the bills do ! [Starts to door; sees laura.] Oh ! 
 Good morning. Miss Hegan ! 
 
 LAURA. [Enters hurriedly.'] Good morning. 
 
 ANDREWS. Good momiug. Miss Hegan. 
 PARKER exit. 
 
 LAURA. Mr. Andrews, where was my father last night? 
 
 ANDREWS. He had an important conference . . . 
 
 LAURA. He did not come to the house. 
 
 ANDREWS. No, Miss Hcgau ; it was too late. He 
 stayed downtown . . . 
 
 LAURA. And you were not home, either. 
 
 ANDREWS. I was with him. 
 
 LAURA. It is too bad ! I have been trying all night to 
 find either of you. 
 
120 THE MACHINE [act iti 
 
 ANDREWS. Why . . . your father had no idea when he- 
 left . . . 
 
 LAURA. I know. Something has turned up . . . 
 
 ANDREWS. Nothing wrong, I hope. 
 
 LAURA. I must see my father as soon as possible. He 
 will be here this morning? 
 
 ANDREWS. Any minute, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. He will surely come? 
 
 ANDREWS. Not the slightest doubt of it. Nothing 
 could keep him away. 
 
 LAURA. I wish to see him the moment he comes. And 
 if he should call up or send word . . . 
 
 ANDREWS. I will see that he is informed, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. Thank you. [A pause.'] The Court decision 
 is expected to-day, is it not, Mr. Andrews? 
 
 ANDREWS. [Hesitates.'] There has been a rumor, Miss 
 Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. And so there will be considerable disturbance 
 of the market? 
 
 ANDREWS. Presumably. 
 
 LAURA. And my father has made preparations? 
 
 ANDREWS. Yes. 
 
 LAURA. That is what the conference was about? 
 
 ANDREWS. I presume so, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. By the way, Mr. Andrews, I expect Mr. Mon- 
 tague here at ten o'clock. Please let me know when he 
 comes. 
 
 ANDREWS. Yes, Miss Hegan. [Goes to the door, then 
 turns.] Here is Mr. Hegan now. 
 
 LAURA. [Starting up.] Ah ! 
 
 ANDREWS. [Holding open door.] Good morning, Mr. 
 Hegan. 
 
 HEGAN. [Enters.] Good morning. 
 
 LAURA. Father ! 
 
ACT m] THE MACHINE 121 
 
 HEGAN. Why, Laura ! [ Andrews exit.^ What are you 
 doing here? 
 
 LAURA. I've come to have a talk with you. 
 
 HEGAN. To have a talk with me? 
 
 LAURA. Come in, please, father. Shut the door. 
 
 HEGAN. Yes, my dear; but . . . 
 
 LAURA. I came into the city on the next train after 
 you. I have been hunting for you ever since ... I 
 have been up all night. I have something of the utmost 
 urgency to talk with you about. 
 
 HEGAN. What is it? 
 
 LAURA. Come and sit down, please. 
 
 HEGAN. Yes, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. Listen, father. Yesterday afternoon, when we 
 were talking, you told me that you had never done any- 
 think to influence the courts in their decisions. 
 
 HEGAN. Yes, Laura. 
 
 LAURA. And you told me that nobody else ever did it, 
 either for you or for your companies. 
 
 HEGAN. Yes, but . . . 
 
 LAURA. And, father, you told me a falsehood. 
 
 HEGAN. Laura ! 
 
 LAURA. I am very sorry, but I have to say it. It was 
 a falsehood; and it is but one of many falsehoods that 
 you have told me. I understand just why you did it 
 . . . you think I ought not to ask about these things, 
 because it will make me unhappy; and so, for my own 
 good, you do not hesitate to tell me things that are not 
 true. 
 
 HEGAN. My child, it is your father that you are talk- 
 ing to ! 
 
 LAURA. It is my father, and a father who knows that 
 I love him very dearly, and who will realize it hurts me 
 to say these things, fully as much as it hurts him to hear 
 them. But they must be said . . . and said now. 
 
122 THE MACHINE [act m 
 
 HEGAN. Why now? Just at this moment . . . 
 
 LAURA. I knov/ what you are going to say. At this 
 moment you are very busy . . . 
 
 HEGAN. My dear, the Exchange will open in an hour. 
 And I am in the midst of a big campaign. I have impor- 
 tant orders for my brokers, and a hundred other matters to 
 attend to. And I expect Grimes here any minute . . . 
 
 LAURA. Grimes ? 
 
 HEGAN. Yes, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. You are not through with him yet, then? 
 
 HEGAN. No, Laura . . . 
 
 LAURA. Well, even so ! Mr. Grimes must wait until I 
 have said what I have to say to you. 
 
 HEGAN. What is it, Laura? 
 
 LAURA. You are expecting the decision of the Court 
 of Appeals on the Grand Avenue Railroad case at noon 
 to-day. 
 
 HEGAN. Why, yes . . . 
 
 LAURA. The decision will be in your favor. And you 
 and Grimes are planning to gamble on it, and to make a 
 great deal of money. 
 
 HEGAN. Yes, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. And you paid Grimes two hundred thousand 
 dollars to fix the decision of the Court. 
 
 HEGAN. ^Starting violently.'] Laura ! 
 
 LAURA. Grimes went to Judge Porter's house the night 
 before last and induced him to change his vote on the 
 case. 
 
 HEGAN. Laura ! 
 
 LAURA. And so, what was to have been the minority 
 opinion of the Court is to be given out to-day as the 
 Court's decision. 
 
 HEGAN. My God ! 
 
 LAURA. You do not deny that this is the truth? 
 
 HEGAN. You overheard us at the house ! 
 
ACT in] 
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 123 
 
 LAURA. Not one word, father. 
 
 HEGAN. But you must have ! 
 
 LAURA. Father, throughout this conversation, you may 
 honor me by assuming that I am telHng you the absolute 
 truth. And I will be glad when you will give me the 
 same privilege. 
 
 HEGAN. Then, how did you learn it? 
 
 That, unfortunately, I am not at liberty to tell 
 
 LAURA. 
 
 you. 
 
 HEGAN. 
 LAURA. 
 HEGAN. 
 
 Then other people know it? 
 They do. 
 
 Good God! [Stares at her, dumbfounded. 1 
 Who are these people? 
 LAURA. I cannot tell you that. 
 HEGAN. But, Laura . . . you must ! 
 LAURA. It is impossible. 
 HEGAN. But . . . how can that be? 
 LAURA. I cannot discuss the matter. 
 HEGAN. But think . . . my dear ! I am your father, 
 and you must trust me . . . you must help me . . . 
 
 LAURA. Please do not ask me. I have given my word. 
 
 HEGAN. Your word ! \^Gazes about, distracted.'] You 
 
 take the part of others against your own flesh and blood ! 
 
 LAURA. Listen, father ! Think of me for a minute, 
 
 and how it seems to me. Do not be so ignoble as to think 
 
 only of the exposure . . . 
 
 HEGAN. But, my child, realize what it will mean if 
 this comes out ! Are these people among my enemies ? 
 LAURA. That depends upon circumstances. 
 I don't understand you. 
 I will try to explain, if you will be patient 
 
 HEGAN. 
 LAURA. 
 
 with me. 
 
 HEGAN. 
 LAURA. 
 
 Go on ! Go on ! 
 
 Father, you know what has been happening to 
 me during the past few months. You know how unhappy 
 
124 THE MACHINE [act hi 
 
 I have been. And now you have committed a crime 
 ... a dreadful, dreadful crime ! 
 
 HEGAN. My dear ! 
 
 LAURA. I wish to make it clear to you ... I am in 
 desperate earnest. I have taken all night to think it over, 
 and I am not making any mistake. I have made up my 
 mind that, come what will, and cost what it may, I must 
 clear myself of the responsibility for these evils. 
 
 HEGAN. In what way are you responsible? 
 
 LAURA. In every way imaginable. My whole life is 
 based upon them . . . everything that I have and enjoy 
 is stained with the guilt of them . . . the house in which 
 I live, the clothing that I wear, the food that I eat. And 
 I shall never again know what it is to be happy, while 
 I have that fact upon my conscience. Don't you see? 
 
 HEGAN. I see. 
 
 LAURA. I tried all night to find you. I wanted to have 
 a chance to talk with you, quietly. And, now, instead, I 
 have to do it here, amid all the rush and strain of this 
 dreadful Wall Street. But so it is . . .1 must say it here. 
 Father, I have come to plead with you, to plead with you 
 upon my knees. Listen to me . . . don't turn me away ! 
 
 HEGAN. What do you wish me to do? 
 
 LAURA. First of all, I wish you to give up this illegal 
 advantage that you have gained. I wish you to stop this 
 decision, and give the people the victory to which they 
 are entitled. 
 
 HEGAN. But, my dear, that is madness! How can 
 I . . . 
 
 LAURA. You compelled Grimes to do this thing , . . 
 you can compel him to undo it ! 
 
 HEGAN. But, my dear, it would ruin me ! 
 
 LAURA. If you do what I ask you to do, ruin will not 
 matter. 
 
 HEGAN. What do you ask me? 
 
ACT III] THE MACHINE 125 
 
 LAURA. I wish you to stop this mad career ... to 
 give up this money game ... to drop it utterly ! To 
 stop selling stocks and manipulating markets; to stop 
 buying politicians and franchises ... to sell out every- 
 thing ... to withdraw. I want you to do it now . . . 
 to-day . . . this very hour ! 
 
 HEGAN. But, my dear . . . 
 
 LAURA. I want you to come with me, and help me to 
 find happiness again, by doing some good in the world. I 
 want you to use your power and your talents to help peo- 
 ple, instead of to destroy them. 
 
 HEGAN. My child ! That is something very easy to 
 talk about, but not so easy to do! 
 
 LAURA. We will work together, and find ways to do it. 
 
 HEGAN. It seems possible, from your point of view 
 . . . with your noble ideals, and your sheltered life . . . 
 
 LAURA. My sheltered life ! That is just what I can 
 no longer endure ! That I should have ease and com- 
 fort, while others suffer . . . that my father should take 
 part in this mad struggle for money and power, in order 
 to give me a sheltered life ! I must make it impossible 
 for that to continue ! I must make you understand that 
 all your money is powerless to bring me happiness . . . 
 that it is poisoning my life as well as your own ! 
 
 HEGAN. [Gravely.'] Laura, I have tried to protect 
 you . . . that is the natural instinct of a father ... to 
 keep evil things from his daughter's knowledge. If I 
 have told you untruths, as you say, that has been the 
 one reason. But since you will not have it so . . . since 
 you must face the facts of the world . . . 
 
 LAURA. I must ! 
 
 HEGAN. Very well, then . . . you shall face them. 
 You tell me to give up this case ... to change back the 
 Court's decision, so that the public may reap the advan- 
 tage. Do you realize that the public has nothing to do 
 
126 THE MACHINE [act hi 
 
 with this suit? . . . That it is a covert attack upon me by 
 an unscrupulous enemy? 
 
 LAURA. You mean Murdock? 
 
 HEGAN. Murdock. You know something of his career, 
 perhaps . . . something of his private Hfe, too. And 
 if I should turn back, as you ask, the public would gain 
 nothing ... he would be the only one to profit. He 
 would raid my securities; he would throw my companies 
 into bankruptcy ; he would draw my associates away from 
 me ... in the end, he would take my place in the trac- 
 tion field. Is that what you wish to bring about? 
 
 LAURA. It is not that that I am thinking of. It is the 
 corrupting of the Court . . . 
 
 HEGAN. The Court ! Do you know why Grimes and 
 I had to do what we did? 
 
 LAURA. No. 
 
 HEGAN. And yet you have judged me ! What would 
 you say if I told you that we had information that one 
 of the judges had received a thousand shares of Grand 
 Avenue stock from Murdock? And that another had 
 been promised a seat in the United States Supreme Court 
 by that eminent Republican? 
 
 LAURA. Oh ! Horrible ! 
 
 HEGAN. You see what the game is? 
 
 LAURA. But, father ! The buying and selling of the 
 powers of the Government . . . 
 
 HEGAN. The "Government" consisting of politicians 
 who have gotten themselves elected for the purpose of 
 selHng out to the highest bidder. For ten years now I 
 have been in charge of these properties ... I have had 
 the interests of thousands of investors in my keeping 
 . . . and all the while I have been like a man surrounded 
 by a pack of wolves. I defended myself as I could . . . 
 in the end, I found that the best way to defend was by 
 attacking. In other words, I had to go into politics, to 
 
ACT III] THE MACHINE 127 
 
 make the control of the "Government" a part of my busi- 
 ness. Don't you see? 
 
 LAURA. Yes, I see. But why play such a game? 
 
 HEGAN. Why? Because it is the only game I have 
 ever known . . . the only game there is to play. That 
 is the way I have lived my Hfe . . . the way I have risen 
 to power and command. I played it for myself, and for 
 my friends, and for those I loved. 
 
 LAURA. You played it for me! And, oh! father! 
 father! . . . Can't you see what that means to me? To 
 realize that all my life has been based upon such things ! 
 Don't you see how I can't let it go on . . . how, if you 
 refuse to do what I ask you to, it will be impossible for 
 me to touch a dollar of your money? 
 
 HEGAN. Laura ! 
 
 LAURA. Just that, father! I should never again be 
 able to face my conscience ! 
 
 HEGAN. [After a pause.'] Listen to me, dear. You 
 know that I have always meant to withdraw . . . 
 
 LAURA. I know that. And that has been a confession ! 
 You know that you are wrecking your life — wrecking 
 everything! And if you mean to stop, why not stop? 
 
 HEGAN. But, my dear, at this moment ... in the 
 midst of the battle . . . 
 
 LAURA. At this moment you are on the point of doing 
 something that will put a brand upon your conscience 
 for the balance of your career. And at this moment you 
 are confronted with the realization that you are ruining 
 your daughter's life. You see her before you, desperate 
 . . . frantic with shame and grief. And you have to 
 make up your mind, either to drive her from you, heart- 
 broken ... or else to turn your face from these evils, 
 and to take up a new way of life. 
 
 HEGAN. [Broken and crushed, sits staring at her.] 
 Laura ! 
 
128 
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 [act III 
 
 LAURA. [Stretching out her arms to him.'] Father ! 
 A knock at the door; they start. 
 
 GRIMES. {Enters.'] Oh ! Beg pardon ! 
 
 HEGAN. Come in, 
 
 LAURA. [Starting up.] No ! 
 
 HEGAN. Come in ! You must know it ! 
 
 GRIMES. What is it? 
 
 HEGAN. Shut the door ! Grimes, the game is up ! 
 
 GRIMES. How d'ye mean? 
 
 HEGAN. We've been betrayed. Somebody knows all 
 about the Court decision . . . about what passed between 
 you and Porter, and between you and me ! 
 
 GRIMES. The hell you say ! 
 
 HEGAN. We're threatened with exposure! 
 
 GRIMES.' Who is it? 
 
 HEGAN. I don't know. 
 
 GRIMES. But, then . . . 
 
 HEGAN. My daughter tells me. But she is not at lib- 
 erty to give the names. 
 
 GRIMES. Well, I'll be damned ! [He stares from hegan 
 to LAURA ; then comes and sits, very deliberately, where 
 he can gase at them. A long pause; then, nodding toward 
 LAURA.] What's her game? 
 
 HEGAN. [Weakly.] She will tell you. 
 
 GRIMES. [Looking at her.] Well? 
 
 LAURA. I am here to plead with my father to turn 
 back from this wickedness. 
 
 GRIMES. [Stares.] And do what, ma'am? 
 
 LAURA. Quit Wall Street, and devote himself to some 
 useful work. 
 
 GRIMES. [After a pause.] And if he won't? 
 
 LAURA. I have told him he must choose between his 
 present career and his daughter's love. 
 
 GRIMES. [Gases at laura, then in front of him; slowly 
 shakes his head.] I can't make out our young people. 
 
ACT III] THE MACHINE l^gt 
 
 When I was a boy, young women looked up to their 
 parents. What's your father done to you, that you should 
 turn against him? 
 
 LAURA. I have not turned against him, Mr, Grimes. 
 
 GRIMES. [Indicating hegan, who sits in an attitude of 
 despair.'] Look at him ! 
 A pause. 
 
 LAURA. I am pleading with him for his own good . . . 
 to give up this cruel struggle . . . 
 
 GRIMES. To turn tail and run from his enemies? 
 
 LAURA. It is of my duty to the public that I am think- 
 ing, Mr. Grimes. 
 
 GRIMES. You owe no duty to this world higher than 
 your duty to your father. 
 
 LAURA. You think that? 
 
 GRIMES. I think it. 
 
 LAURA. [Hesitates a moment, then turns.'] Father! 
 What do you say ? Is that true ? 
 
 HEGAN. [Crushed.] I don't know, my dear. 
 
 GRIMES. God Almighty ! And this is Jim Hegan ! [To 
 LAURA.] Where'd you get onto these ideas, ma'am? 
 
 LAURA. [In a low voice.] I think, Mr. Grimes, it 
 might be best if you did not ask me to discuss this ques- 
 tion. Our points of view are too different. 
 
 GRIMES. [Shrugs his shoulders.] As you please, ma'am. 
 But you needn't mind me ... I ain't easy to offend. 
 And I'm only trying to understand you. 
 
 LAURA. [After a silence.] Mr. Grimes, I had the good 
 fortune to be brought up in a beautiful and luxurious 
 home; but not long ago I began to go down into the 
 slums and see the homes of the people. I saw sights 
 that made me sick with horror. 
 
 GRIMES. No doubt, ma'am. 
 
 LAURA. I found the people in the grip of a predatory 
 
130 THE MACHINE [act iii 
 
 organization that had bound them hand and foot, and was 
 devouring them aHve. 
 
 GRIMES. You've been Hstening to tales, ma'am. We do 
 a lot for the people. 
 
 LAURA. You treat them to free coal and free picnics 
 and free beer, and so you get their votes; and then you 
 sell them out to capitalists like my father. 
 
 GRIMES. Humph ! 
 
 LAURA. You sell them out to any one, high or low, 
 who will pay for the privilege of exploiting them. You 
 sell them to the rum-dealer and the dive-keeper and the 
 gambler. You sell them to the white-slave trader. 
 
 GRIMES. There's no such person, Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. You offer an insult to my intelligence, Mr. 
 Grimes. I have met with him and his work. There was 
 a girl of the slums . . . her name was Annie Rogers. 
 She was a decent girl; and she was lured into a dive and 
 drugged and shut up in a brothel, a prisoner. She es- 
 caped to the street, pursued, and a friend of mine saved 
 her. And, high and low, among the authorities of this 
 city, we sought for justice for that girl, and there was no 
 justice to be had. Yesterday afternoon I learned that she 
 cut her own throat. 
 
 GRIMES. I see. 
 
 LAURA. And that happened, Mr. Grimes ! It happened 
 in the City of New York ! I saw it with my own eyes ! 
 
 GRIMES. Such things have been, ma'am. 
 
 LAURA. And you permit them. 
 
 GRIMES. I ? 
 
 LAURA. You permit them ! 
 
 GRIMES. I can't attempt to discuss prostitution with a 
 lady. Such things existed long before I was born. 
 
 LAURA. You could usc your power to drive the traffic 
 from the city. 
 
 GRIMES. Yes, ma'am; I suppose I could. But if I'd 
 
ACT m] THE MACHINE 131 
 
 been that sort of a man, do you think I'd ever had the 
 power ? 
 
 LAURA. How neatly parried ! What sort of a man are 
 you, anyway? 
 
 GRIMES. [Looks at her fixedly.] I'll tell you the sort 
 of man I am, ma'am. [A pause.'] I wasn't brought up 
 in a beautiful, luxurious home. I was brought up with 
 five brothers, in two rooms on the top floor of a rear 
 tenement on Avenue B; I was a little street "mick," and 
 then I was a prize "scrapper," and the leader of a gang. 
 When a policeman chased me upstairs, my mother stood 
 at the head and fought him off with a rolling-pin. That 
 was the way we stood by our children, ma'am; and we 
 looked to them to stand by us. Once, when I was older, 
 my enemies tried to do me . . . they charged me with a 
 murder that I never done, ma'am. But d'ye think my old 
 father ever stopped to ask if I done it or not, ma'am? 
 Not much. "Don't mention that. Bob, my boy," says he 
 . . . "it's all part of the fight, an' we're wid yer." [A 
 pause.] I looked about me at the world, ma'am, and I 
 found it was full of all sorts of pleasant things, that I'd 
 never had, and never stood a chance of havin'. They 
 were for the rich . . . the people on top. And they 
 looked on with scorn ... I was poor and I was low, 
 and I wasn't fit for anything. And so I set to cHmb, 
 ma'am. I shouldered my way up. I met men that fought 
 me; I fought them back, and I won out. That's the sort 
 of man I am. 
 
 LAURA. I see. A selfish man, bent upon power at any 
 price ! A brutal man, profiting by the weakness of others ! 
 An unscrupulous man, trading upon fear and greed ! A 
 man who has stopped at no evil to gain his purpose ! 
 
 GRIMES. I am what the game has made me. 
 
 LAURA. Not so ! Not so ! Many another man has 
 been born to a fate like yours, and has fought his way 
 
132 THE MACHINE [act ni 
 
 up from the pit . . . to be a tower of strength for good- 
 ness and service, an honor to his people and himself. 
 
 GRIMES. I've not met any such, ma'am. 
 
 LAURA. No; you've not sought for them. You did not 
 need them in your business. The men you needed were the 
 thugs and the criminals, who could stuff ballot-boxes for 
 you . . . the dive-keepers and the vice-sellers, who would 
 contribute to your campaign funds ! And you have dealt 
 with them . . . you have built up the power they gave 
 you into a mighty engine of corruption and wrong ! And 
 you are master of it . . . you use it to wring tribute 
 from high and low ! Selling immunity to dive-keepers 
 and betraying helpless young girls ! Naming legislators 
 and judges, and receiving bribes to corrupt the highest 
 Court in the State. 
 
 HEGAN. Laura . . . 
 
 LAURA. Father, I did not seek this discussion! He 
 challenged me . . . and he shall hear the truth ! For 
 all these months the thing that has been driving me to 
 desperation has been the knowledge that my father was 
 the business associate and ally of a master of infamy like 
 Robert Grimes ! 
 
 GRIMES. Thanks, ma'am ! And so now he's to break 
 with me ! 
 
 A knock at the door. 
 
 ANDREWS. {^Enters, centre.'] Mr. Hegan, these orders 
 for your brokers must be signed. 
 
 HEGAN. I won't sign them ! 
 
 ANDREWS. Sir? 
 
 HEGAN. Never mind them. 
 
 GRIMES. [Springing to his feet.'] Jim Hegan, you're 
 mad! [To Andrews.] Go out, will you? [Andrews 
 exit.] Hegan, man . . . surely you don't mean this? 
 
 HEGAN. Yes . . . I'm sick of it ! 
 
ACT III] THE MACHINE 133 
 
 GRIMES. But, man, think of the rest of us ! . . . What 
 are we to do? 
 
 HEGAN. You can buy just the same. 
 
 GRIMES. But without you? Why, we won't be able to 
 corner Murdock! And if he gets out of this hole, it'll 
 be worse than ever ! There'll be hell to pay ! 
 
 HEGAN. I don't care. 
 
 GRIMES. But, man, you've pledged yourself ! Look at 
 what Harris has done ! . . . What excuse will you be able 
 to make to him? And what will you tell Henry Stevens? 
 
 HEGAN. I'll tell them I've quit. 
 
 GRIMES. But you told them last night you were going 
 in with every dollar you could raise ! You told Isaacson 
 he could break with Murdock ! And now you'll tell them 
 you've turned tail and run ! Why, Hegan, it's treason ! 
 
 HEGAN. Listen to me . . . 
 
 GRIMES. I don't want to listen to you ! Half an hour 
 from now you'll be ashamed of yourself . . . wishing 
 that nobody had heard you ! You'll be begging me not 
 to mention it ! You . . . Jim Hegan . . . the traction 
 king ! To lose your nerve over a little thing like this ! 
 What's come over you, anyhow . . . after all the things 
 we've been through together? Why, man . . . 
 The 'phone rings. 
 
 HEGAN. Hello! Who is it? Oh, Isaacson. Yes; 
 I'll speak with him. Hello, Isaacson ! Yes. No ; I've 
 not forgotten. I'll do whatever I said I'd do. Er . . . yes; 
 that's all right. I've been delayed. Yes. I'll get the 
 money to you. Right away. Oh, certainly, that's all 
 right. [Hangs up receiver.'] Ah, God ! 
 
 GRIMES. Hegan, listen here. You're in the midst of a 
 battle. And you're the general. Everything depends on 
 you this morning. And you've a right to be afraid . . . 
 but you've no right to let others see it. You've no right 
 ... do you understand me? And, by God, I won't let 
 
134 THE MACHINE [act m 
 
 you ! . . . I'll be a man for two of you ! Shake yourself 
 together now ! [Seises him.'] Come, man ! Shake your- 
 self together ! 
 
 HEGAN. But think of the exposure ! 
 
 GRIMES. The exposure ! And this is Jim Hegan talk- 
 ing! How many times have you been exposed already? 
 And how many times have I been? 
 
 HEGAN. But this is different. 
 
 GRIMES. How different? We've got the police, and 
 we've got the district attorney, and we've got the courts. 
 What more do we want? What can they do but talk in 
 the newspapers? And is there anything they haven't 
 said about us already? [Takes hegan hy the arm, and 
 laughs.'] Come, old man ! As my friend Leary says : 
 "Dis is a nine-day town. If yez kin stand de gaff for 
 nine days, ye're all right !" We'll stand the gaff ! 
 
 HEGAN. I'm tired of standing it. 
 
 GRIMES. Yes, we all get tired now and then. But this 
 afternoon it'll be Murdock that's tired. Think of him, 
 Hegan . . . try to realize him a bit ! You've got 
 him where you want him at last ! Remember what he 
 did to you in the Brooklyn Ferry case ! Remember how 
 he lied to you in the Third Avenue case ! And he told 
 Isaacson, only last week, that he'd never let up on you 
 till he'd driven you out of the traction field ! 
 
 HEGAN. Did he say that? 
 
 GRIMES. He did that! And only yesterday he said he 
 was getting ready to finish you ! He's as sure of this 
 Court decision as I am of the sunrise ! I'm told he's 
 short already over a quarter of a million shares ! 
 
 HEGAN. But his judges'll get word to him . . . he'll 
 buy! 
 
 GRIMES. Of course ! But that's just why you ought 
 to be busy ! Buy first, and make him pay . . . damn 
 his soul ! 
 
ACT III] THE MACHINE 135 
 
 ANDREWS. [Knocks and enters.'] Mr. Stevens is here, 
 Mr. Hegan. 
 
 GRIMES. Henry Stevens? We'll see him. [Andrews 
 exit.'] Come on, man ! We'll go over to your brokers 
 and take the orders. It'll give you a smell of the powder 
 smoke. 
 
 LAURA. [As HEGAN starts to follow.] Father, you are 
 going with him ? 
 
 HEGAN. My dear child, what can I do ? 
 
 LAURA. But think of the disgrace . . . the shame of 
 it! You will carry it with you all your life! 
 
 HEGAN. I can't help it. I am bound hand and foot. 
 I . . . 
 
 LAURA. Father ! {^She rushes to him, and flings her 
 arms about him.] Do you realize what you are doing? 
 You are driving me away from you ! . . . You are cast- 
 ing me off ! And all for a few more dollars ! 
 
 HEGAN. My dear, it is not that. My word is 
 pledged. 
 
 LAURA. You are trampling me in the dust. You are 
 spurning all that is best in your life ! 
 
 GRIMES. Come, come, man ! The game is called ! 
 
 HEGAN. Let me go, my dear. 
 
 LAURA. Father ! 
 
 HEGAN. No ! No ! [^He gently, hut firmly, puts her 
 arms from him.] Good-bye, dear. 
 
 LAURA. Father ! [hegan and grimes go out centre; 
 she sinks by the table, and buries her face in her arms, 
 sobbing; after a considerable^ interval, a knock on the 
 door, centre.] Come in ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Enters.] Well? 
 
 LAURA. I have failed. [Rises and stretches out her 
 arms.] Failed I He has gone with Grimes ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. I saw him go. Miss Hegan. 
 
 LAURA. [Swiftly.] And yet ... I have not failed 
 
136 THE MACHINE [act hi 
 
 utterly. I have failed to turn back the decision ... to 
 save him from this disgrace. But that is not all. 
 
 MONTAGUE. How do you mean? 
 
 LAURA. I shall not give him up . . . and, in the end, 
 I shall have my way; I can see that quite clearly. Ah, 
 how I hurt him ! I almost broke his heart ! And just 
 now he is in the midst of the battle . . . the rage of it 
 is on him. But, afterwards, he will recollect ... he 
 will be overwhelmed with grief ! And then he will see ! 
 He will do what I have begged him to ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. Yes . . . perhaps that is so. 
 
 LAURA. I know what my love means to him ! I know 
 what he is at heart ! And when he sees that I mean to 
 carry out my threat, to go by myself and to refuse to 
 touch his money . . . that will be more than he can bear, 
 Mr. Montague! 
 
 MONTAGUE. You mean to do that? 
 
 LAURA. I mean to do it ! I mean to do it to-day ; and 
 I will never yield to him . . . never until he has atoned 
 for this wrong he has done ! And don't you see that I 
 will win in the end? 
 
 MONTAGUE. YcS ; I SCC. 
 
 LAURA. [Quickly.'] Understand, that has nothing to 
 do with your course. I am not asking you to spare him. 
 You must go ahead and do your duty . . . you must do 
 just what you would have done if I had never stood in 
 the way. 
 
 MONTAGUE. It is a terrible thing to me, Miss Hegan. I 
 cannot turn back . , . 
 
 LAURA. You must not ! You must not think of it ! 
 It will be a part of my father's punishment . . . and he 
 has deserved it. He has prepared that cup, and he must 
 drink it ... to the dregs ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. You can bear it ? 
 
 LAURA. It is not any question of what I can bear. It 
 
ACT III] THE MACHINE 137 
 
 is a question of the rights of the people. I saw that 
 quite clearly, as my father talked with me. Whether it 
 is he who wins, or whether it is Murdock, it is always 
 the people that lose. And, let it hurt whom it may, the 
 people must have the truth ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. And then . . . you will be able to forgive 
 me ! Ah, what a weight you lift from me ! I hardly 
 dared to face the thought of what I had to do ! IHesi- 
 tating.^ And then, the thought that you mean to re- 
 notmce your father's wealth . . . that you are going out 
 into the world . . . alone . . . 
 
 LAURA. It will not be hard for me. You cannot know 
 how I have hated my past life. To know that my father 
 has plundered the public . . . and then to give his money, 
 and call it charity. To be flattered and fawned upon 
 . . . to be celebrated and admired . . . and never for 
 anything that I am, but always for my money ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. I Understand what you feel ! And see what 
 your decision means to me ... it sets me free at last ! 
 
 LAURA. Free ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. Free to speak ! Miss Hegan, I came to 
 New York, and I met these rich people, and I saw how 
 their fortunes were poisoning their lives. I saw men who 
 could not have a real friend in the world, because of their 
 money. I saw young girls whose souls were utterly dead 
 in them because they had been brought up to think of 
 themselves as keepers of money-bags, and to guard 
 against men who sought to prey upon them. I hated 
 the thing ... I fled from it as I would from a plague. 
 In that world I had met a woman I might have loved 
 ... a woman who was noble and beautiful and true; 
 and yet I dared not speak to her ... I dared not even 
 permit myself to know her . . . because I was a poor 
 man, and she was rich. But now she is to be poor also ! 
 And so I may speak! 
 
138 THE MACHINE [act m 
 
 LAURA. IStarting.'] Oh ! 
 
 MONTAGUE. Miss Hegati, from the first time I met you 
 I felt that you were the woman I should love. But then, 
 as fate would have it, I found myself preparing to attack 
 your father; so I said that we must never meet again. 
 But now you see how it has happened. I have come to 
 know you as I never hoped to know you, and I know that 
 I love you. 
 
 LAURA. I had no idea . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. You say that you are going away alone. 
 Let us go together. We have the same purpose . . . 
 we have the same battle to fight. We can go out to the 
 people and help to teach them. 
 
 LAURA. You . . . you know that you love me ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. I love you ! I want nothing so much as 
 the chance to serve you and help you. The chance to 
 tell you so is more than I had ever ventured to hope for. 
 To find you free and alone . . . to be able to speak to 
 you, with no thought of wealth or position ! To tell you 
 that I love you . . . just you ! You ! 
 
 LAURA. I hardly dare to think of it . . . now . . . 
 here . . . 
 
 MONTAGUE. We can put all the past behind us . . . 
 we can take a new start and win our own way. If only 
 you love me ! 
 
 LAURA. Ah, to let myself be happy again. How can I ? 
 
 MONTAGUE. If you love me, then we have the key to 
 happiness . . . then everything is clear before us. We 
 can face the world together! Do you love me? 
 [Stretches out his arms to her:'] Laura ! 
 
 LAURA. [Sways toward him.] I love you. 
 
 MONTAGUE. [Embraces her.] My love! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
THE SECOND-STORY MAN 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Jim Faraday: the second-story man. 
 Harvey Austin : a lawyer. 
 Helen Austin: his wife. 
 
 Scene : Library of the Austin home. 
 Xlme; 2 a. M. 
 
THE SECOND-STORY MAN 
 
 The scene shows a luxuriously furnished room. In the 
 centre is a table with a lamp. To the right is the 
 entrance into the front hall, the front door of the 
 house being visible. In the corner is a cabinet of 
 curios. In the rear is a large window opening on 
 the street. Open fire-place. There are two en- 
 trances at the left. There are book-shelves, several 
 easy-chairs, etc., in the room. 
 
 At rise: The stage is empty, and the room is darkened 
 except for the fire in the grate. Sounds of break- 
 ing wood are heard at the window. 
 
 JIM. [^ roughly-dressed young fellow with a patch 
 over one eye, enters through window, stands gazing about 
 nervously, looks into the hall, etc., then flashes a dark lan- 
 tern.l This looks pretty good. 
 
 Goes to mantel, takes silver cup and puts it into 
 
 bag which he carries; then exit left. 
 
 AUSTIN. {^Enters at front door without much noise. 
 
 Hangs up coat and hat, and then stands in entrance. He 
 
 is a smooth-faced young man in evening dress.l All gone 
 
 to bed, hey? 
 
 Takes out cigarette case and is about to light one, 
 when a crash is heard off left, as of a vase falling. 
 He starts, then runs to table, opens drawer, takes 
 out revolver, and examines it, and steals off through 
 141 
 
142 THE SECOND-STORY MAN [act i 
 
 the other entrance at left, saying, "That noise 
 seemed to come from downstairs.'* 
 JIM. {^Enters panic-stricken.'] God ! What a thing to 
 do ! [^Gazes into hall and upstairs — long pause.] Don't 
 seem to have waked them. 
 
 Proceeds to examine room, stopping now and then 
 
 to listen. After placing several articles in bag, he 
 
 goes to cabinet and tries to open it. This takes 
 
 some time, and while he is crouching in the shadow, 
 
 with his back to the entrance right, mrs. Austin 
 
 appears. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [She is young and beautiful, and wears 
 
 a night-robe and dressing-gown. She stands looking about 
 
 anxiously, and then goes to centre of room, when she 
 
 hears a sound from jim, and starts wildly.] Oh ! 
 
 JIM. [Leaps to feet, lifting revolver.] Hold up your 
 hands ! [She starts back in terror.] Hold up your hands ! 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Half complyingly.] I'm not armed. 
 JIM. Never mind. [Long pause while they stare at 
 each other.] I don't want to hurt you, lady. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Calmly, after first shock.] No, I sup- 
 pose not. You only want to get away. 
 JIM. That's right! 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Very well, you may go. 
 JIM. And you yell for the police the moment I get out 
 of the door, hey? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. No, I dou't Want the poHce. I don't be- 
 lieve in sending men to jail. 
 JIM. Humph ! 
 
 Another pause. 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Why do you do this? 
 JIM. It's the way I live. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Isn't it a rather trying kind of work? 
 JIM. It ain't all play, ma'am. 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Smiling.] I should think it would be 
 
ACT i] THE SECOND-STORY MAN US 
 
 hard on the nerves. \_After another pause.] Is there no 
 honest way you can earn a living? 
 
 JIM. I don't know. Maybe so. I got tired of looking 
 for it. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. I might help you if you would let me. 
 
 JIM. I ain't asking any help. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. No, but I'm offering it. [After a pause.'] 
 Have you been doing this sort of thing very long? 
 
 JIM. No. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. How loug ? 
 
 JIM. [After hesitation.] This is my first job. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. What ! You don't mean that ? 
 
 JIM. It happens to be true, ma'am. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. What made you do it? 
 
 JIM. It's a long story. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Tell it to me. 
 
 JIM. It ain't just a good time for story telling. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. You are afraid of me? I have no quarrel 
 with you. I don't care anything for the things you have 
 in the bag; and, besides, I suppose you won't take them 
 now. I'm only sorry to see a man going wrong, and I'd 
 like to help if I could. I'll play fair, I give you my word 
 of honor. 
 
 JIM. There ain't much honor in this business. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. No, I suppose not. But you can trust me. 
 Put up that gun and talk to me. 
 
 JIM. [Surlily.] It can't do any good. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. It can't do any harm. Put up that re- 
 volver, and tell me what's the matter. 
 
 JIM. You'll let me go when I want to ? No tricks ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. I give you my word. 
 
 JIM. All right. I'm a fool, I guess, but I'll trust you. 
 [Puts revolver in pocket.] Sit down, ma'am. It must be 
 cold for you. This is a queer kind of layout for a burglar. 
 
144j the second-story MAN [act i 
 
 [Sits opposite her.] You heard that racket I made in the 
 other room? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Yes. What was it? 
 
 JIM. Some kind of a jar. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Oh, my Greek vase. Well, never mind 
 ... it was an imitation. What were you doing? 
 
 JIM. I was looking for something to eat. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Oh! 
 
 JIM. It would have been the first thing I've had since 
 the day before yesterday. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. What's the matter? 
 
 JIM. No work. \_A pause.'] I suppose you'll give me 
 the old gag . . . there's plenty of work for a man that's 
 willing. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. No, I happen to have studied, and I know 
 better than that. Else I should have fainted when I saw 
 you . . . instead of sitting here talking to you. . . . Do 
 you drink? 
 
 JIM. Yes, but I didn't use to. Any man would drink 
 . . . that went through what I did. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Are you married? 
 
 JIM. Yes ... I was married. My wife is dead. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Any children? 
 
 JIM. Two. Both dead. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Oh ! 
 
 JIM. It ain't a pretty story, ma'am. It's a poor man's 
 story. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Tell it to me. 
 
 JIM. All right. It'll Spoil your sleep for the rest of 
 the night, I guess, but you can have it. \^A pause.] A 
 year ago I was what they call an honest working man. I 
 had a home and a happy family ; and I didn't drink any too 
 much, and I did well . . . even if the work was hard. I 
 was in the steel works here in town. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. \_Startled.] The Empire Steel Company? 
 
ACT i] THE SECOND-STORY MAN 145 
 
 JIM. Yes. Why ? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Nothing . . . only I happen to know 
 some people there. Go on. 
 
 JIM. It's no child's work there, ma'am. There's an 
 awful lot of accidents . . . more than the world has any 
 idea of. I've seen a man sent to hell in the snapping of a 
 finger. And they don't treat them fair . . . they hush 
 things up. There are things you wouldn't believe if I told 
 them to you. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Tell them. 
 
 JIM. I've seen a man there get caught in one of the 
 cranes. They stopped the machinery, but they couldn't 
 get him out. They'd have had to take the crane apart, and 
 that would have cost several days, and it was rush time, 
 and the man was only a poor Hunkie, and there was no 
 one to know or care. So they started up the crane, and 
 cut his leg off. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Oh, horrible ! 
 
 JIM. It's the sort of thing you couldn't believe unless 
 you saw it. But I saw it. I didn't care, though. I was a 
 fool. And then my time came. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. How do you mean? 
 
 JIM. A blast furnace blew out, and a piece of slag hit 
 me here, where you see that patch. If it wasn't for the 
 patch you'd see something that would make you sick. It 
 was a pain you couldn't tell about ... it was a couple of 
 days before I knew where I was. And the first thing 
 when I came to my senses ... in the hospital, it was 
 . . . there was a lawyer chap with a paper waiting 
 for me. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [In agitation.'] A lawyer? 
 
 JIM. Yes, ma'am. Company representative, you know. 
 And I was to sign the paper ... it was a receipt for the 
 hospital expenses . . . the operation and all that . . . 
 you see they had to take out what was left of my eye. 
 
146 THE SECOND-STORY MAN [act i 
 
 And of course I couldn't see ... I had to sign where 
 he told me to. And when I got well, I found they had 
 trapped me into signing a release. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. A release? 
 
 JIM. I had accepted the hospital expenses as a release 
 for all the company owed me. And I couldn't get any 
 damages . . . and my eye was gone, and all the weeks 
 without any wages. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. My God! 
 
 JIM. And they turned me out so weak I could hardly 
 walk; and . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [^Greatly excited.'] Who was this man? 
 
 JIM. Which? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. This lawycr ? 
 
 JIM. I never heard his name. He was a young fellow 
 . . . handsome . . . smooth-faced . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Whispering.'] Oh! 
 
 JIM. Ah, they don't mind it . . . they're smooth. They 
 do that all the time. It's what they get their pay for. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Covering her face with her hands.] 
 Oh, stop ! 
 
 JIM. What's the matter? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Looking up with white face.] Nothing. 
 Go on. 
 
 JIM. It was two months before I could work at all. 
 And the rent came due, and they turned us out ... it was 
 winter-time, and my wife caught a cold, and it turned to 
 pneumonia, and she died. That's all of that. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Go On. 
 
 JIM. And then, you see, the panic came . . . and the 
 mills shut down . . . sudden as that. The lawyer told 
 me the company would see I always had a job, but that 
 was only to get me to sign. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Feverishly.] Did you try him? 
 
ACT i] THE SECOND-STORY MAN 147 
 
 JIM. I went to the office and tried; but they wouldn't 
 even let me see him. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. I see. And then? 
 
 JIM. Then I went out to look for work. I had the two 
 babies, you know . . . and God only knows how I loved 
 those babies. I said Fd fight and win out for their sakes. 
 But Amy . . . she was the little one . . . she never had 
 been very strong. When you're a poor man, you can't get 
 the best food, even if you know what it is. It ain't fit milk 
 they sell for the children in this city; and the baby died 
 ... I never knew what was the matter exactly. And 
 there was only one left . . . and me tramping the streets 
 all day looking for a job. How was I to take care of him, 
 lady ? How could I have helped it ? [His voice is break- 
 ing with emotion,] And oh, ma'am, he was the loveliest 
 little feHow . . . with hair like gold. And so well and 
 strong. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Whispering.'] What happened to him? 
 
 JIM. A street car killed him. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Oh ! 
 
 JIM. Run over his chest, ma'am. I came home at 
 night, and they told me, and I near went out of my mind. 
 Can you think what it was to see him . . . with his eyes 
 starting out of his head like, and his beautiful little body 
 all mashed flat . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Wildly.] Oh, spare me! 
 
 JIM. I told you it wouldn't be a pretty story. Do you 
 think maybe you wouldn't take to drink if you saw a sight 
 like that? [Sinking back.] Since then I've looked for 
 work, but I haven't cared much. Only sometimes I've 
 thought I'd like to meet that young lawyer . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Starting up.] Oh! 
 
 JIM. Yes, it all began with him. But I don't know . . . 
 they'd only jug me. Anyway, to-night I was sitting in a 
 saloon with two fellows that I had met. One of them was a 
 
148 THE SECOND-STORY MAN [act i 
 
 second-story man ... a fellow that climbs up porches and 
 fire-escapes. And I heard him telling about a haul he'd 
 made, and I said to myself: "There's a job for me . . . 
 I'll be a second-story man." And I tried it . . . but you 
 see I didn't do very well. I'm not good for much, I guess, 
 any more. 
 
 AUSTIN. lEnters left, revolver in hand; stands watch- 
 ing, unobserved.'] Good heavens ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. You Can't tell. You may have better 
 success than you look for. 
 
 JIM. No . . . there's nothing can help me. I'm for 
 the scrap heap. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Eagerly.'] Wait and see. You are a 
 man . . . you can be helped yet . . . 
 
 AUSTIN. [Coming forward.] What does this mean? 
 
 JIM. [Starts wildly and reaches for revolver.] Ha! 
 
 AUSTIN. [Raising weapon.] Hold up your hands ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Rushing forward.] No. Stop ! 
 
 AUSTIN. What do you mean? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. I say stop ! I promised him his freedom ! 
 
 AUSTIN. My dear . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Give me the weapon. 
 
 AUSTIN. Why . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Give it to me. [Takes revolver.] Now 
 sit down. 
 
 JIM. [Has been staring wildly at austin.] My God, 
 it's the lawyer fellow ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Yes, it is he. 
 
 AUSTIN. What does all this mean? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Look at this man! 
 
 AUSTIN. [Staring.] Why? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Don't you know him? 
 
 AUSTIN. No. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Look carcfully. [Turns up light.] Have 
 you never seen him before? 
 
ACT i] THE SECOND-STORY MAN 149 
 
 AUSTIN. Never that I can recall. What is his name? 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. I don't know. \_To JIm.] What is it? 
 
 JIM, Humph ! [Hesitating. 1 He could find out, any- 
 way. Jim Faraday. 
 
 AUSTIN. Faraday ... it sounds familiar. 
 
 JIM. [Grimly.'] You've served the trick on a good 
 many, I guess. 
 
 AUSTIN. [To MRS. AUSTIN.] What docs he mean? 
 
 JIM. Don't you remember the Sisters' Hospital? The 
 fellow that had his eye burned out in the big explosion ? 
 
 AUSTIN. [Startled.'] Oh ! 
 
 JIM. [Sneeringly.] Ah, yes ! 
 
 AUSTIN. You are the man? 
 
 JIM. I'm the man. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Harvey, you took this man some paper 
 to sign. 
 
 AUSTIN. Yes ... I remember. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Did you tell him what was in it? 
 
 AUSTIN. [Hesitates.] Why . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Answer me, please. 
 
 AUSTIN. Why, my dear . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Did you tell him what was in it? 
 
 AUSTIN. But, my dear, it wasn't my business to tell 
 him. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Oh ! 
 
 AUSTIN. I was representing the company, 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. I see. 
 
 AUSTIN. It was his place to see what was in it. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Harvey ! This man with one eye burned 
 out, and not yet over the accident? 
 
 AUSTIN. My dear, you don't understand . . . 
 
 JIM. [Wildly.] You didn't leave me to find out for 
 myself. You lied to me ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. At least you permitted him to be misled. 
 
150 THE SECOND-STORY MAN [act i 
 
 You did not tell him the honest truth about the paper, 
 and what would be the effect if he signed it. 
 
 AUSTIN. My dear, you do not understand. I could not 
 have done that. I was the representative of the interests 
 of the company. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. And that is the sort of work you do for 
 them? 
 
 AUSTIN. That is the sort of work that has to be done. 
 I cannot help it, much as I would like to . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Wildly.'] You have done that sort of 
 thing before. And you will do it again ! 
 
 AUSTIN. My dear . . . 
 
 MRS. AVSTiN. And you take money for it ! You bring 
 that money home to me ! And you never told me how 
 you got it ! You make me sharer in your guilt ! 
 
 AUSTIN. Helen ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. This was how you earned your promo- 
 tion ! This was what you came to me and boasted about ! 
 This was what we married on. This money . . . blood 
 money . . . that you get for cheating this helpless laborer 
 out of his rights . . . out of everything he had in the 
 world ! 
 
 AUSTIN. My dear, you are out of your mind. You do 
 not understand business. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. I understand it all . . .a child could 
 understand ! It is only you . . . the rising young lawyer 
 . . . that doesn't understand ! Harvey, Harvey ! Do you 
 know what you have done to this man . . . what you and 
 I together have done to him? We have wrecked his life! 
 We have driven him to hell ! We have murdered his wife 
 and his two children. We have turned him into a tramp 
 and a criminal. We have climbed to success on top of 
 him . . . we have made our fortune out of his blood ! 
 This house . . . this furniture . . . these pictures . . . 
 ^11 this beauty and comfort ... all this we have coined 
 
ACT i] THE SECOND-STORY MAN 151 
 
 out of his tears and agony . . . out of the Hves of his 
 sick wife and his two little babies ! And you have done 
 this for me . . . you have made me the cause of it . . . 
 you have put the guilt of it upon my young life . . .a 
 thing that I must carry through the world with me until 
 I die ! 
 
 AUSTIN. [Starting toward her.'] Helen ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. No! Dou't touch me! Speak to him! 
 It is with him you have to do ! What have you to say to 
 him ? Don't think about me ! 
 
 AUSTIN. My dear, be reasonable ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. What have you to say to him? That is 
 what I want to know ! Harvey ! Don't you understand 
 it is your character that is up for judgment? 
 
 AUSTIN. It can't be as bad as you say. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Why can't it? Find out. 
 
 AUSTIN. [After a long pause, turns to JIm.] Faraday. 
 
 JIM. Well? 
 
 AUSTIN. Is what my wife says true? 
 
 JIM. It's true. 
 
 AUSTIN. ■ You got no damages from the company? 
 
 JIM. Didn't you fix it yourself? What do they pay 
 you for? 
 
 AUSTIN. And had you no money saved? 
 
 JIM. My family had to live on it. 
 
 AUSTIN. And didn't you get your job back? 
 
 JIM. Until the shut-down, I did. 
 
 AUSTIN. Oh, that's so. I forgot that. 
 
 JIM. Humph ! 
 
 AUSTIN. That's too bad. I will have to do something 
 for you. 
 
 JIM. Will that bring my wife and babies back to life? 
 
 AUSTIN. Oh, your family died! My God . . . that's 
 terrible ! [A pause.] Faraday, I can't help that. What 
 can I do ? Listen, man ... you see how unhappy my 
 
152 THE SECOND-STORY MAN [act i 
 
 wife is . . . you don't want to make the thing impossible 
 for me, do you ? 
 
 JIM. I ain't doing anything. 
 
 AUSTIN. Be reasonable, and let me atone for the mis- 
 take. We'll say nothing about this . . . about to-night. 
 We'll start over, and I'll see that you get a good job, and 
 a fair chance. 
 
 JIM. Humph ! 
 
 AUSTIN. Will you do that? I'm honestly sorry about 
 it. And perhaps if I can give you some money for a 
 start . . . 
 
 Takes out purse. 
 
 JIM. Put up your money. It ain't likely you've got as 
 much there as I'd have got from the company. 
 
 AUSTIN. Oh, is that it? Well, maybe that is fair. 
 I'll fix it up with you on that basis. 
 
 JIM. And what about the other fellows, hey? 
 
 AUSTIN. The other fellows? 
 
 JIM. That you've done out the same way you done me. 
 What about Dan Kearney, that lost his life the day after 
 . . . and you and the rest of the company sharks fixed it 
 up so that his widow couldn't prove how it was that he 
 got hurt ! 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Harvey ! 
 
 JIM. Yes, ma'am, they done that. And it ain't the 
 first time they done it, either . . . nor the last. And 
 they've bought juries . . . and judges, too, I reckon . . . 
 there ain't much work of a dirty sort that the Empire 
 Steel Company ain't tried in this city . . . and you can 
 bet their smart young lawyers know all the game ! I'm 
 sorry for you, lady . . . you're white, and I'd be glad 
 to help you. But I've seen too much of the company 
 and its ways, and I won't lie down and lick its hand . . . 
 not for any money ! I ain't so low I've got the value of 
 jny wife and two little babies figured out and ready tc> 
 
ACT ij THE SECOND-STORY MAN 153 
 
 hand. I reckon I'll stay on the outside of the fence and 
 take my chances. I'll wind up in jail, I suppose; but 
 there's many a better man than me done the same. So I 
 guess I'll go, and we'll call it off. 
 Starts away. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Harvey ! 
 
 AUSTIN. My dear . . . 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Is that all you can say to him ? You will 
 let him go? [To jim.] Listen to me. You are right. 
 We can never undo what we have done. We cannot re- 
 pay you. But at least we must do what we can. We can- 
 not let the evil go on. You yourself have no right to do it 
 . . . you have no right to give up your life. 
 
 JIM. I see what you mean, lady ; and I'm sorry for you. 
 I'd help you if I could. But it's too late ... I know that. 
 There can't anybody save me. I'm rotten . . . I'm a 
 boozer. I couldn't stop if I wanted to. And I ain't got 
 any reason to want to. I ain't in the running. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. [Stretching out her arms.'] But what 
 can I do? 
 
 JIM. You can look after them that ain't down. Look 
 after them that your husband and the rest of the com- 
 pany's sharks will do up to-morrow. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. No ! 
 
 JIM. Oh, they'll do it ! I know what you mean . . . 
 you'll make him stop ... but they'll have another man in 
 his place. It's a machine ... it goes right on. Yes, and 
 you won't do as much as you think you will, either . . . 
 you'll think it over, and you won't go as far as you mean 
 to now. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. No ! No ! 
 
 JIM. Ah, but you can't help it . . . you're in the mill, 
 too. It's the class you belong to. You can talk and 
 feel sorry ... but you ain't made to do things. You 
 have to have your houses and your fine dresses . . . and 
 
154* THE SECOND-STORY MAN [act i 
 
 you couldn't live without them, and there'd be no use 
 your trying. And that means you have to live ofif my 
 class . . . you have to ride on our backs. And it don't 
 much matter which part you ride on, as far as I can see. 
 You'll make your husband get a new job, maybe; but he'll 
 do the same thing in another way . . . only you won't 
 find it out. But any way he gets his money it'll come out 
 of me and my kind. D'ye see? I do the work . . . I'm 
 the man underneath. I make the good things, and you 
 get them. [A pause.'] Good luck to you. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. You are cruel. 
 
 JIM. Nothing of the kind. I've just told you the facts. 
 I feel sorry for you. I'd do anything I could for you. 
 [Stretching out his hands.'] See what I've done ! I've 
 given you your husband's life. 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN. Oh ! 
 
 JIM. Yes, just that. You've no idea how many times 
 I swore it . . . that I'd kill him on sight . . . that I'd 
 strangle the hfe out of him, if ever I laid eyes on him 
 again. I used to sit when I was half drunk, and brood 
 over it . . . my God, I even swore it by the body 
 of my little boy ! And I've got my gun, and you've taken 
 his away from him. And I don't shoot him. \_A pause.] 
 I leave him to you. [Grimly.] You punish him. 
 Exit right. 
 
 AUSTIN stretches out his arms to his wife. She 
 sinks upon the table, burying her head. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
PRINCE HAGEN 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 (In order of appearance) 
 
 Gerald Isman : a poet. 
 
 MiMi : a Nibelung. 
 
 Alberich : King of the Nibelungs. 
 
 Prince Hagen : his grandson. 
 
 Mrs. Isman. 
 
 Hicks : a butler. 
 
 Mrs. Bagley- Willis : mistress of Society. 
 
 John Isman : a railroad magnate. 
 
 EsTELLE Isman : his daughter. 
 
 Plimpton : the coal baron. 
 
 Rutherford: lord of steel. 
 
 DE WiGGLESTON RiGGs : cotillon leader. 
 
 Lord Alderdyce : seeing America. 
 
 Calkins: Prince Hagen's Secretary. 
 
 Nibelungs; members of Society. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene i. Gerald Isman's tent in Quebec. 
 Scene 2. The Hall of State in Nibelheim. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Library in the Isman home on Fifth Avenue : two years 
 later. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Conservatory of Prince Hagen's palace on Fifth Ave- 
 nue. The wind-up of the opening ball : four months later. 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Living room in the Isman camp in Quebec: three 
 months later. 
 
PRINCE HAGEN 
 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 Shows a primeval forest, with great trees, thickets in 
 background, and moss and ferns underfoot. A set 
 in the foreground. To the left is a tent, about ten 
 feet square, with a fly. The front and sides are 
 rolled up, showing a rubber blanket spread, with 
 bedding upon it; a rough stand, with books and 
 some canned goods, a rifle, a fishing-rod, etc. To- 
 ward centre is a trench with the remains of a fire 
 smoldering in it, and a frying pan and some soiled 
 dishes beside it. There is a log, used as a seat, and 
 near it are several books, a bound volume of music 
 lying open, and a violin case with violin. To the 
 right is a rocky wall, with a cleft suggesting a 
 grotto. 
 
 At rise: gerald pottering about his fire, which is burn- 
 ing badly, mainly because he is giving most of his 
 attention to a bound volume of music which he has 
 open. He is a young man of twenty-two, with 
 wavy auburn hair; wears old corduroy trousers 
 and a grey flannel shirt, open at the throat. He 
 stirs the fire, then takes violin and plays the Nibe- 
 lung theme with gusto. 
 
 GERALD. A plague on that fire ! I think I'll make my 
 supper on prunes and crackers to-nig^ht ! 
 Plays again. 
 
 157 
 
158 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 MI MI. [Enters left, disguised as a pack-peddler; a lit- 
 tle wizened up man, with long, unkempt grey hair and 
 heard, and a heavy bundle on his back.]^ Good evening, 
 sir ! 
 
 GERALD. IStarts.li Hello \ 
 
 MiMi. Good evening ! 
 
 GERALD. Why . . . who are you? 
 
 MiMi. Can you tell me how I find the road, sir? 
 
 GERALD. Where do you want to go? 
 
 MIMI. To the railroad. 
 
 GERALD. Oh, I see ! You got lost ? 
 
 MIMI. Yes, sir. 
 
 GERALD. [Points.li You should have turned to the right 
 down where the roads cross. 
 
 MIMI. Oh. That's it ! 
 
 Puts down burden and sighs. 
 
 GERALD. Are you expecting to get to the railroad 
 to-night? 
 
 MIMI. Yes, sir. 
 
 GERALD. Humph ! You'll find it hard going. Better 
 rest. \Looks him over, curiously.'] What are you — a 
 peddler ? 
 
 MIMI. I sell things. Nice things, sir. You buy? 
 Starts to open pack. 
 
 GERALD. No. I don't want anything. 
 
 MIMI. [Gazing about.'] You live here all alone ? 
 
 GERALD. Yes ... all alone. 
 
 MIMI. [Looking off left.] Who lives in the big house? 
 
 GERALD. That's my father's camp. 
 
 MIMI. ■ Humph ! Nobody in there? 
 
 GERALD. The family hasn't come up yet. 
 
 MIMI. Why don't you live there ? 
 
 GERALD. I'm camping out — I prefer the tent. 
 
 MIMI. Humph! Who's your father? 
 
 GERALD. John Isman's his name. 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 159 
 
 MiMi. Rich man, hey? 
 
 GERALD. Why . . . yes. Fairly so. 
 
 MIMI. I see people here last year. 
 
 GERALD. Oh! You've been here before? 
 
 MIMI. Yes, I been here. I see young lady. Very 
 beautiful ! 
 
 GERALD. That's my sister, I guess. 
 
 MIMI. Your sister. What you call her? 
 
 GERALD. Her name's Estelle. 
 
 MIMI. Estelle! And what's your name? 
 
 GERALD. I'm Gerald Isman. 
 
 MIMI. Humph ! [^Looking about, sees violin.^ You 
 play music, hey? 
 
 GERALD, Yes. 
 
 MIMI. You play so very bad? 
 
 GERALD. ILaughs.'] Why . . . what makes you think 
 that? 
 
 MIMI. You come 'way off by yourself! 
 
 GERALD. Oh ! I see ! No ... I like to be alone. 
 
 MIMI. I hear you playing , . . nice tune. 
 
 GERALD. Yes. You Hkc music? 
 
 MIMI. Sometimes. You play little quick tune ... so? 
 Hums. 
 
 GERALD. \_Plays Nibelung theme.l This? 
 
 MIMI. [Eagerly.'] Yes. Where you learn that ? 
 
 GERALD. That's the Nibelung music. 
 
 MIMI. Nibelung music! Where you hear it? 
 
 GERALD. Why . . . it's in an opera. 
 
 MIMI. An opera? 
 
 GERALD. It's by a composer named Wagner. 
 
 MIMI. Where he hear it? 
 
 GERALD. [Laughs.'] Why ... I guess he made it up. 
 
 MIMI. What's it about? Hey? 
 
 GERALD. It's about the Nibelungs. 
 
 MIMI. Nibelungs? 
 
160 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 GERALD. Queer little people who live down inside the 
 earth, and spend all their time digging for gold. 
 
 MiMi. Ha ! You believe in such people ? 
 
 GERALD. [Amused.'] Why ... I don't know . . . 
 
 MIMI. You ever see them? 
 
 GERALD. No . . . but the poets tell us they exist. 
 
 MIMI. The poets, hey? What they tell you about 
 them? 
 
 GERALD. Well, they have great rocky caverns, down in 
 the depths of the earth. And they have treasures of gold 
 . . . whole caves of it. And they're very cunning smiths 
 . . . they make all sorts of beautiful golden vessels and 
 trinkets. 
 
 MIMI. Trinkets, hey ! [Reaches into bundle.'] Like 
 this, hey? 
 
 Holds up a gold cup. 
 
 GERALD. [Surprised.] Oh ! 
 
 MIMI. Or this, hey? 
 
 GERALD. Why . . . where did you get such things? 
 
 MIMI. Ha, ha ! You don't know what I got ! 
 
 GERALD. Let me see them. 
 
 MIMI. You think the Nibelungs can beat that, hey? 
 [Reaches into bag.] Maybe I sell you this cap ! [Takes 
 out a little cap of woven gold chains.] A magic cap, hey ? 
 
 GERALD. [Astounded.] Why . . . what is it? 
 
 MIMI. [Puts if on his head.] You wear it . . . so. 
 And you play Nibelung music, and you vanish from sight 
 . . . nobody finds you. Or I sell you the magic ring . . . 
 you wear that . . . [Hands it to gerald.] Put it on your 
 finger ... so. Now you play, and the Nibelungs come 
 . . . they dance about in the woods . . . they bring you 
 gold treasures . . . ha, ha, ha ! [Amused at Gerald's per- 
 plexity.] What you think they look like, hey? . . . those 
 Nibelungs ! 
 
 GERALD. Why ... I don't know . . . 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 161 
 
 MiMi. What do your poets tell you? ha? 
 
 GERALD. Why . , . they're little men . . . with long 
 hair and funny clothes . . . and humpbacked. 
 
 MIMI. Look like me, hey? u _ 
 
 GERALD. [Embarrassed.} Why . . . yes . 
 
 MIMI. What are their names? 
 
 GERALD. Their names? 
 
 MIMI. Yes . . . what ones do you know about? 
 
 GERALD. Well, there was Alberich, the king. 
 
 MIMI. Alberich ! 
 
 GERALD. He was the one who found the Rheingold. 
 And then there was Hagen, his son. 
 
 MIMI. Hagen ! 
 
 GERALD. He killed the hero, Siegfried. 
 
 MIMI. Yes, yes ! 
 
 GERALD. And then there was Mimi. 
 
 MIMI. Ah ! Mimi ! 
 
 GERALD. He was a very famous smith. 
 
 MIMI. [Eagerly. } You know all about them! Some- 
 body has been there ! 
 
 GERALD. What do you mean ? 
 
 MIMI. Would you like to see those Nibelungs? 
 
 GERALD. [Laughing.^ Why ... I wouldn't mind. 
 
 MIMI. You would like to see them dancing in the moon- 
 light, and hear the clatter of their trinkets and shields? 
 You would like to meet old King Alberich, and Mimi the 
 smith ? You would like to see that cavern yawn open . . . 
 [points to right] and fire and steam break forth, and all 
 the Nibelungs come running out? Would you like that? 
 ha? 
 
 GERALD. Indeed I would! 
 
 MIMI. You wouldn't be afraid? 
 
 GERALD. No, I don't think so. 
 
 MIMI. But are you sure? 
 
 GERALD. Yes . . . sure ! 
 
162 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 MiMi. All right ! You wear my magic ring ! You 
 wait till night comes ! Then you play ! [Puts azvay trin- 
 kets.'] I must go now. 
 
 GERALD. {Perplexed.'] What do you want for your ring? 
 
 MIMI. It is not for sale. I give it. 
 
 GERALD. What ! 
 
 MIMI. Money could not buy it. [Takes up pack.] I 
 came to you because you play that music. 
 
 GERALD. But I can't . . . it . . . 
 
 MIMI. It is yours . . . you are a poet ! [Starts left.] 
 Is this the way? 
 
 GERALD. Yes. But I dou't like to . . . 
 
 MIMI. Keep it ! You will see ! Good-bye ! 
 
 GERALD. But wait! 
 
 MIMI. It is late. I must go. Good-night. 
 Exit left. 
 
 GERALD. Good-night. [Stands staring.] Well, I'll be 
 switched! If that wasn't a queer old customer! [Looks 
 at ring.] It feels like real gold ! [Peers after mimi.] 
 What in the world did he mean, anyhow? The magic 
 ring! I hope he doesn't get lost in those woods to-night. 
 [Turns to fire.] Confound that fire ! It's out for good 
 now ! Let it go. [Sits, and takes music score.] Nibe- 
 lungs ! They are realer than anybody guesses. People 
 who spend their lives in digging for gold, and know and 
 care about nothing else. How many of them I've met 
 at mother's dinner parties ! Well, I must get to my work 
 now. [Makes a few notes; theft looks up and stretches.] 
 Ah, me ! I don't know what makes me so lazy this eve- 
 ning. This strange heaviness ! There seems to be a spell 
 on me. [Gazes about.] How beautiful these woods are 
 at sunset! If I were a Nibelimg, I'd come here for cer- 
 tain ! [Settles himself, reclining ; shadows begin to fall; 
 music from orchestra.] I'm good for nothing but dream- 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 163 
 
 ing ... I wish Estelle were here to sing to me! How 
 magical the twiHght is ! Estelle ! Estelle ! 
 
 He lies motionless; music dies azvay, and there is 
 a long silence. The forest is dark, with gleams of 
 moonlight. Suddenly there is a faint note of music 
 . . . the Niheliing theme. After a silence it is 
 repeated; then again. Several instruments take it 
 up. It swells louder. Vague forms are seen flitting 
 here and there. Shadows move. 
 GERALD. [Starting up suddenly. 1 What's that? [Si- 
 lence; then the note is heard again, very faint. He starts. 
 It is heard again, and he springs to his feet.l What's 
 that? [Again and again. He runs to his violin, picks it 
 up, and stares at it. Still the notes are heard, and he 
 puts down the violin, and runs down stage, listening.'] 
 Why, what can it mean? [As the music grows louder his 
 perplexity and alarm increase. Suddenly he sees a figure 
 stealing through the shadoivs, and he springs back, 
 aghast.'] Why, it's a Nibelung ! [Another figure passes.] 
 Oh ! I must be dreaming ! [Several more appear.] Nibe- 
 lungs ! Why, it's absurd ! Wake up, man ! You're going 
 crazy ! [Music swells louder; figures appear, carrying 
 gold shields, chains, etc., zvith clatter.] My God! 
 
 He stands with hands clasped to his forehead, while 
 the uproar swells louder and louder, and the forms 
 become more numerous. He rushes down stage, 
 and the Nibelungs surround him, dancing about him 
 in wild career, laughing, screaming, jeering. They 
 begin to pinch his legs behind his back, and he leaps 
 here and there, crying out. Gradually they drive 
 him toward the grotto, zvhich opens before them, 
 revealing a black chasm, emitting clouds of steam. 
 They rush in and are enveloped in the mist. Sounds 
 of falling and crashing are heard. The steam 
 spreads, gradually veiling the front of the stage. 
 
164 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 Nets rise with the steam, giving the effect of a 
 descent. During this change the orchestra plays 
 the music between Scenes II and III in Das Rhein- 
 gold. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Nibelheim: a vast rocky cavern. Right centre is a large 
 gold throne, and to the right of that an entrance 
 through a great tunnel. Entrances from the sides 
 also. At the left is a large golden vase upon a 
 stand, and near it lie piles of golden utensils, shields, 
 etc. Left centre is a heavy iron door, opening into 
 a vaidt. Throughout this scene there is a sugges- 
 tion of music, rising into fidl orchestra at signifi- 
 cant moments. The voices of the Nibelungs are 
 accompanied by stopped trumpets and other weird 
 sounds. 
 
 At rise: The stage is dark. A faint light spreads. A 
 company of Nibelungs crosses from right to left, 
 carrying trinkets and treasures. Clatter of shields, 
 crack of whips, music, etc. Another company of 
 Nibelungs runs in left. 
 
 FIRST NIB. {Entering.^ The earth-man has come! 
 SECOND NIB. Where is he? 
 FIRST NIB. He is with Mimi ! 
 SECOND NIB. What is he Hke? 
 
 FIRST NIB. He is big! [With a gesture of fright.'] 
 Terrible ! 
 
 THIRD NIB. Ah ! 
 
 SECOND NIB. And the king? Does he know? 
 FIRST NIB. He has been told. 
 THIRD NIB. Where is the king? 
 FIRST NIB. He comes ! He comes ! 
 
 The orchestra plays the Fasolt and Fafnir music, 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 165 
 
 Rheingold, Scene II. Enter a company of Nibe- 
 lungs, armed with whips, and marching with a 
 stately tread. They post themselves about the apart- 
 ment. Enter another company supporting king 
 ALBERiCH. He is grcy-haircd and very feeble, but 
 ferocious-looking, and somewhat taller than the 
 others. His robe is lined with ermine, and he car- 
 ries a gold Nibelung zvhip—a short handle of gold, 
 with leather thongs. He seats himself upon the 
 throne, and all make obeisance. A solemn pause. 
 ALBERICH. The earth-man has come? 
 FIRST NIB. Yes, your majesty! 
 ALB. Where is Mimi? 
 ALL. Mimi ! Mimi ! 
 
 The call is repeated off. 
 MIMI. [^Enters left.'] Your majesty. 
 ALB. Where is the earth-man? 
 MIMI. He is safe, your majesty. 
 ALB. Did he resist? 
 
 MIMI. I have brought him, your majesty. 
 ALB. And Prince Hagen? Has he come? 
 MIMI. He is without, your majesty. 
 ALB. Let him be brought in. 
 
 All cry out in terror. 
 MIMI. Your majesty. He is wild! He fights with 
 everyone ! He . . . 
 ALB. Let him be brought in. 
 ALL. Prince Hagen ! Prince Hagen ! 
 MIMI. {^Calling.'] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 Some run out. The call is heard off. All stand 
 waiting in tense expectation. The music plays the 
 Hagen motives, zvith suggestions of the Siegfried 
 funeral march. Voices are heard in the distance, 
 and at the climax of the music prince hagen and 
 his keepers enter. He is small for a man, but larger 
 
166 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 than any of the Nibehmgs ; a grim, sinister figure, 
 with black hair, and a glowering look. His hands 
 are chained in front of him, and eight Nibelungs 
 march as a guard. He has bare arms and limbs, 
 and a rough black bearskin Hung over his shoulders. 
 He enters right, and stands glaring from one to 
 another. 
 ALB. Good evening, Hagen. 
 HAGEN. [_After a pause.'] Well? 
 
 ALB. [Hesitating.'] Hagen, you are still angry and 
 rebellious ? 
 
 HAGEN. I am! 
 
 ALB. [Pleading.] Hagen, you are my grandson. You 
 are my sole heir . . . the only representative of my line. 
 You are all that I have in the world! 
 HAGEN. Well ? 
 
 ALB. You place me in such a trying position ! Have 
 you no shame ... no conscience? Why, some day you 
 will be king . . . and one cannot keep a king in chains ! 
 HAGEN. I do not want to be in chains ! 
 ALB. But, Hagen, your conduct is such . . . what can 
 I do? You have robbed . . . you have threatened mur- 
 der ! And you . . . my grandson and my heir . . . 
 HAGEN. Have you sent for me to preach at me again? 
 ALB. Hagen, this stranger ... he has come to visit 
 us from the world above. These earth-men know more 
 than we . . . they have greater powers . . , 
 He hesitates. 
 HAGEN. What is all that to me? 
 
 ALB. You know that you yourself are three-quarters 
 an earth-man . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I know it. [With a passionate gesture.] But 
 I am in chains I 
 
 ALB. There may be a way of your having another 
 chance. Perhaps this stranger will teach you. If you will 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 167 
 
 promise to obey him, he will stay with you ... he will 
 be your tutor, and show you the ways of the earth- 
 men. 
 
 HAGEN. No ! 
 
 ALB. What? 
 
 HAGEN. I will not have it! 
 
 ALB. Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. I will not have it, I say ! Why did you not 
 consult me? 
 
 ALB. But what is your objection . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I will not obey an earth-man ! I will not obey 
 anyone ! 
 
 ALB. But he will teach you . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I do not want to be taught. I want to be let 
 alone ! Take off these chains ! 
 
 ALB. [Half rising.'] Hagen ! I insist . . . 
 
 HAGEN. Take them off, I say ! You cannot conquer 
 me . . . you cannot trick me ! 
 
 ALB. [Angrily.'] Take him away ! 
 
 The Nibehmgs seise hold of him to hustle him off. 
 
 HAGEN. I will not obey him ! Mark what I say ... I 
 will kill him. Yes ! I will kill him ! 
 He is dragged off protesting. 
 
 ALB. [Sits, his head bowed with grief, until the uproar 
 dies away; then, looking up.] Mimi ! 
 
 MiMi. Yes, your majesty. 
 
 ALB. Let the earth-man be brought. 
 
 MIMI. Yes, your majesty ! 
 
 ALL. The earth-man ! The earth-man ! 
 
 The call is heard as before, gerald is brought on; 
 the orchestra plays a beautiful melody, violins and 
 horns, mimi moves left to meet him. 
 
 GERALD. [Enters left with attendants; hesitating, 
 gazing about in wonder. He sees mimi, and stops; a 
 pause.] The pack peddler ! 
 
168 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 MiMi. The pack peddler ! 
 
 GER. And these are Nibelungs? 
 
 MIMI. You call us that. 
 
 GER. [Laughing nervously.'] You . . . er . . . it's a 
 little disconcerting, you know. I had no idea you existed. 
 May I ask your name? 
 
 MIMI. I am Mimi. 
 
 GER. Mimi ! Mimi, the smith ? And may I ask . . . 
 are you real, or is this a dream? 
 
 MIMI. Is not life a dream? 
 
 GER. Yes . . . but . . . 
 
 MIMI. It is a story. You have to pretend that it is 
 true. 
 
 GER. I see ! 
 
 MIMI. You pretend that it is true . . . and then you 
 see what happens ! It is very interesting ! 
 
 GER. Yes ... I have no doubt. [Peers at him.] And 
 just to help me straighten things out . . . would you mind 
 telling me . . . are you old or young? 
 
 MIMI. I am young. 
 
 GER. How young? 
 
 MIMI. Nine hundred years young. 
 
 GER. Oh! And why did you come for me? 
 
 MIMI. The king commanded it. 
 
 GER. The king? And who may this king be? 
 
 MIMI. King Alberich. 
 
 GER. Alberich. [Stares at the king.'] And is this he? 
 
 MIMI. It is he. 
 
 GER. And may I speak to him? 
 
 MIMI. You may. 
 
 ALB. Let the earth-man advance. Hail ! 
 
 GER. Good evening, Alberich. 
 
 MIMI. [At his elbow,] Your majesty! 
 
 GER. Good evening, your majesty. 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 169 
 
 ALB. [After a long gaseJ] You play our music. Where 
 did you learn it? 
 
 GER. Why . . . it's in Wagner's operas. He composed 
 it. 
 
 ALB. Humph . . . composed it ! 
 
 GER. [Aghast.'] You mean he came and copied it ! 
 
 ALB. Of course ! 
 
 GER. Why . . . why ... we all thought it was original ! 
 
 ALB. Original ! It is indeed wonderful originaHty ! To 
 listen in the Rhine-depths to the song of the maidens, to 
 dwell in the forest and steal its murmurs, to catch the 
 crackling of the fire and the flowing of the water, the 
 galloping of the wind and the death march of the thun- 
 der . . . and then write it all down for your own ! To 
 take our story and tell it just as it happened ... to take 
 the very words from our lips, and sign your name to them ! 
 Originality ! 
 
 GER. But, your majesty, one thing at least. Even his 
 enemies granted him that ! He invented the invisible 
 orchestra ! 
 
 ALB. [Laughing.'] Have you seen any orchestra here? 
 Siegfried motive sounds. 
 
 GER. I hadn't realized it ! Do you mean that everything 
 here happens to music? 
 
 ALB. If you only had the ears to hear, you would know 
 that the whole world happens to music. 
 
 GER. [Stands entranced.] Listen ! Listen ! 
 
 ALB. It is very monotonous, when one is digging out 
 the gold. It keeps up such a wheezing and pounding. 
 Stopped trumpets from orchestra. 
 
 GER. Ah, don't speak of such things ! [Gazes about; 
 sees cup.] What is this? 
 
 ALB. That is the coronation cup. 
 
 GER. The coronation cup? 
 
 ALB. One of the greatest of our treasures. It is worth 
 
170 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 over four hundred thousand dollars. It is the work of the 
 elder Mimi, a most wonderful smith. 
 
 GER. [Advancing.'] May I look at it? 
 
 ALB. You will observe the design of the Rhine maidens. 
 
 GER. I can't see it here. It's too dark. Let me have a 
 candle. 
 
 MIMI. A candle? 
 
 ALL. A candle ! 
 
 ALB. My dear sir ! Candles are so expensive ! And 
 why do you want to see it? We never look at our art 
 treasures. 
 
 GER. Never look at them ! 
 
 ALB. No. We know what they are worth, and every- 
 one else knows; and what difference does it make how 
 they look? 
 
 GER. Oh, I see ! 
 
 ALB. Perhaps you would like to see our vaults of gold? 
 \_Great excitement among the Nibelungs. The music 
 makes a furious uproar, alberich gives a great key to 
 MIMI, who opens the iron doors.] Approach, sir. 
 
 MIMI. Hear the echoes. [Shouts.] 
 
 GER. It must be a vast place ! 
 
 alb. This particular cavern runs for seventeen miles 
 under the earth. 
 
 GER. What! And you mean it is all full of gold? 
 
 alb. From floor to roof with solid masses of it. 
 
 GER. Incredible! Is it all of the Nibelung treasure? 
 
 alb. All? Mercy, no! This is simply my own, and 
 I am by no means a rich man. The extent of some of 
 our modern fortunes would simply exceed your belief. We 
 live in an age of enormous productivity. [After a pause.] 
 Will you see more of the vault? 
 
 GER. No, I thank you. [They close it.] It must be get- 
 ting late; and, by the way, your majesty, you know that 
 no one has told me yet why you had me brought here. 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 171 
 
 ALB. Ah, yes, sure enough. We have business to talk 
 about. Let us get to it! [To mimi.] Let the hall be 
 cleared, [mimi drives out the Nibehmgs and retires.'\ 
 Sit on this rock here beside me. IConfidentially.'] Now 
 we can talk things over. I trust you are willing to listen 
 to me. 
 
 GER. Most certainly. I am very much interested. 
 
 ALB. Thank you. You know, my dear sir, that I had 
 a son, Hagen, who was the slayer of the great hero, 
 Siegfried? 
 
 GER. Yes, your majesty. 
 
 ALB. A most lamentable affair. You did not know, 
 I presume, that Hagen, too, had a son, by one of the 
 daughters of earth? 
 
 GER. No. He is not mentioned in history. 
 
 ALB. That son. Prince Hagen, is now living; and, in 
 the course of events, he will fall heir to the throne I 
 occupy. 
 
 GER. I see. 
 
 ALB. The boy is seven or eight hundred years old, 
 which, in your measure, would make him about eighteen. 
 Now, I speak frankly. The boy is wild and unruly. He 
 needs guidance and occupation. And I have sent for 
 you because I understand that you earth-people think 
 more and see farther than we do. 
 
 GER. Yes? 
 
 ALB. I wish to ask you to help me ... to use your 
 strength of mind and body to direct this boy. 
 
 GER. But what can I do? 
 
 ALB. I wish you to stay here and be Prince Hagen's 
 tutor. 
 
 GER. What ? 
 
 ALB. [^Anxiously.l If you will do it, sir, you will carry 
 hence a treasure such as the world has never seen before. 
 And it is a noble work ... a great work, sir. He is 
 
17^ PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 the grandson of a king! Tell me . . . will you help 
 me? 
 
 Gases imploringly. 
 
 GER. Let me think. [A pause.'] Your majesty, I have 
 things of importance to do, and I have no time to stay 
 here . . . 
 
 ALB. But think of the treasures ! 
 
 GER. My father is a rich man, and I have no need of 
 treasures. And besides, I am a poet. I have work of my 
 own . . . 
 
 ALB. Oh ! don't refuse me, sir ! 
 
 GER. Listen ! There is, perhaps, something else we 
 can do. How would it do to take Prince Hagen up to 
 the world? 
 
 ALB. [^Starting.'] Oh ! 
 
 GER. This world is a small one. There he might have 
 a wide field for his energies. He might be sent to a good 
 school, and taught the ideals of our Christian civilization, 
 
 ALB. {^Pondering anxiously.'] You mean that you your- 
 self would see to it that proper care was given to him? 
 
 GER. If I took him with me it would mean that I was 
 interested in his future. 
 
 ALB. It is a startling proposition. What opportunity 
 can you offer him? 
 
 GER. I am only a student myself. But my father is a 
 man of importance in the world. 
 
 ALB. What does he do? 
 
 GER. He is John Isman. They call him the railroad king. 
 
 ALB. You have kings in your world, also ! 
 
 GER. \^Smiling.] After a fashion . . . yes. 
 
 ALB. I had not thought of this. I hardly know what 
 to reply. {He starts.] What is that? 
 
 An uproar is heard off left. Shouts and cries; music 
 rises to deafening climax. Nibelungs flee on in 
 terror. 
 
ACT i] PRINCE HAGEN 173 
 
 HAGEN. {Rushes on, struggling wildly, and dragging 
 several Nihelungs.'] Let me go, I say ! Take off these 
 chains ! 
 
 ALB. {Rising in seatJ] Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. I will not stand it, I tell you ! 
 
 ALB. Hagen ! Listen to me ! 
 
 HAGEN. No ! 
 
 ALB. I have something new to tell you. The earth- 
 man has suggested taking you up with him to the world. 
 
 HAGEN. {A sudden wild expression flashes across his 
 features.'] No ! [He gases from one to the other, half 
 beside himself. ] You can't mean it ! 
 
 ALB. It is true, Hagen. 
 
 HAGEN. What . . . why . . . 
 
 ALB. You would be sent to school and taught the ways 
 of the earth-men. Do you think that you would like to go? 
 
 HAGEN. [Wildly.'] By the gods! I would! 
 
 ALB. [Nervously,] You will promise to obey . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I'll promise anything ! I'll do anything ! 
 
 ALB. Hagen, this is a very grave decision for me. It 
 is such an unusual step ! You would have to submit your- 
 self to this gentleman, who is kind enough to take charge 
 of you . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I will ! I will ! Quick ! [Holding out his 
 chains.] Take them off! 
 
 ALB. [Doubtfully.] We can trust you? 
 
 HAGEN. You can trust me ! You'll have no trouble. 
 Take them off ! 
 
 ALB. Off with them ! 
 
 MiMi. [Advances and proceeds to work at chains with 
 a file.] Yes, your majesty. 
 
 HAGEN. [To GERALD.] Tell me! What am I to do? 
 
 GER. You are to have an education . . . 
 
 HAGEN. Yes? What's it like? Tell me more about 
 the earth-people. 
 
174 PRINCE HAGEN [act i 
 
 GER. It's too much to try to tell. You will be there 
 soon. 
 
 HAGEN. Ah! Be quick there! [Tears one hand free 
 and waves itJ] By the gods ! 
 
 ALB. [To GERALD.] You had bcst spend the night with 
 us and consult with me . . . 
 
 HAGEN. No, no ! No delay ! What's there to consult 
 about ? 
 
 ALB. We have so much to settle . . . your clothes . . . 
 your money ... 
 
 HAGEN. Give me some gold . . . that will be all. Let 
 us be off! 
 
 GER. I will attend to everything. There is no need 
 of delay. 
 
 HAGEN. Come on ! [Tears other hand free.'] Aha ! 
 [Roams about the stage, clenching his hands and gesticu- 
 lating, while the music rises to a tremendous climax.] 
 Free ! Free forever ! Aha ! Aha ! [Turning to gerald.] 
 Let us be off. 
 
 GER. All right. [To alberich.] Good-bye, your maj- 
 esty. 
 
 ALB. [Anxiously.] Good-bye. 
 
 HAGEN. Come on ! 
 
 ALB. [As Nibelungs gather about, waving farewell,] 
 Take care of yourself ! Come back to me ! 
 
 HAGEN. Free ! Free ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 MiMi. [With Nibelungs.] Good-bye! 
 
 ALB. Good-bye 1 
 
 GER. Good-bye ! 
 
 HAGEN. Free ! 
 
 Exit, with GERALD, amid chorus of farewells, and 
 wild uproar of music. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 175 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene shows the library in a Fifth Avenue mansion; spa- 
 cious and magnificent. There are folding doors 
 right centre. There is a centre table with a read- 
 ing lamp and books, and soft leather chairs. The 
 walls are covered with bookcases. An entrance 
 right to drawing-room. Also an entrance left. 
 
 At rise: gerald, in evening clothes, reading in front 
 of fire. 
 
 GER. [Stretching, and sighing.^ Ah, me! I wish I'd 
 stayed at the club. Bother their dinner parties ! 
 
 MRS. IS. [Enters right, a nervous, fussy little woman, 
 in evening costume.'] Well, Gerald . . . 
 
 GER. Yes, mother? 
 
 MRS. IS. You're not coming to dinner? 
 
 GER. You don't need me, mother. You've men enough, 
 you said. 
 
 MRS. IS. I like to see something of my son now and 
 then. 
 
 GER. I had my lunch very late, and I'm honestly not 
 hungry. I'd rather sit and read. 
 
 MRS. IS. I declare, Gerald, you run this reading busi- 
 ness into the ground. You cut yourself off from every- 
 one. 
 
 GER. They don't miss me, mother. 
 
 MRS. IS. To-night Renaud is going to give us some 
 crabflake a la Dewey ! I told Mrs. Bagley-Willis I'd show 
 her what crabflake could be. She is simply green with 
 envy of our chef. 
 
176 PRINCE HAGEN [act n 
 
 GER. I fancy that's the reason you invite her, isn't it? 
 
 MRS. IS. [Laughs.'] Perhaps. 
 
 Exit right. He settles himself to read. 
 
 HICKS. [Enters centre.] Mr. Gerald. 
 
 GER. Well ? 
 
 HICKS. There was a man here to see you some time 
 ago, sir. 
 
 GER. A man to see me? Why didn't you let me know? 
 
 HICKS. I started to, sir. But he disappeared, and I 
 can't find him, sir. 
 
 GER. Disappeared? What do you mean? 
 
 HICKS. He came to the side entrance, sir; and one of 
 the maids answered the bell. He was such a queer-looking 
 chap that she was frightened, and called me. And then I 
 went to ask if you were in, and he disappeared. I wasn't 
 sure if he went out, sir, or if he was still in the house. 
 
 GER. What did he look like? 
 
 HICKS. He was a little chap ... so high . . . with a 
 long beard and a humped back . . . 
 
 GER. [Startled.] Mimi ! 
 
 HICKS. He said you knew him, sir. 
 
 GER. Yes ! I would have seen him. 
 
 HICKS. I didn't know, sir . . . 
 
 GER. Watch out for him. He'll surely come back. 
 
 HICKS. Yes, sir. I'm very sorry, sir. 
 Exit centre. 
 
 GER. [To himself.] MimI ! What can that mean? 
 
 MIMI. [Opens door, left, and peeps in.] Ha ! 
 
 GER. [Starts.] Mimi ! 
 
 MIMI. Ssh ! 
 
 GER. What is it? 
 
 MIMI. Where is Prince Hagen? 
 
 GER. I don't know. 
 
 MIMI. You don't know? 
 
 GER. No. 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 177 
 
 MiMi. But I must see him ! 
 
 GER. I've no idea where he is. 
 
 MIMI. But . . . you promised to take care of him ! 
 
 GER. Yes . . . and I tried to. But he ran away . . . 
 
 MIMI. What? 
 
 GER. I've not heard of him for two years now. 
 
 MIMI. [Coming closer.'] Tell me about it. 
 
 GER. I took him to a boarding school ... a place 
 where he'd be taken care of and taught. And he re- 
 belled ... he would not obey anyone . . . [Takes some 
 faded telegrams from pocket book.] See! This is what 
 I got. 
 
 MIMI. What are they? 
 
 GER. Telegrams they sent me. [Reads.] Hagen under 
 physical restraint. Whole school disorganized. Come im- 
 mediately and take him away. 
 
 MIMI. Ha! 
 
 GER. That's one. And here's the other: Hagen has 
 escaped, threatening teachers with revolver. Took train 
 for New York. What shall we do? [Puts away papers.] 
 And that's all. 
 
 MIMI. All? 
 
 GER. That was over two years ago. And I've not heard 
 of him since. 
 
 MIMI. But he must be found! 
 
 GER. I have tried. I can't. 
 
 MIMI. [Vehemently.] But we cannot do without him! 
 
 GER. What's the matter? 
 
 MIMI. I cannot tell you. But we must have him ! The 
 people need him ! 
 
 GER. He has lost himself in this great city. What can 
 I do? 
 
 MIMI, He must be found. [Voices heard centre.] 
 What is that? 
 
 GER. It is some company. 
 
178 PRINCE HAGEN [act n 
 
 MiMi. [Darts left.'] We must find Prince Hagen ! He 
 must come back to Nibelheim ! 
 Exit left. 
 
 MRS. BAGLEY-wiLLis. [Off Centre.] It was crabflake 
 a la Dewey she promised me ! 
 Enters with isman. 
 
 GER. How do you do, Mrs. Bagley-Willis ? 
 
 MRS. B.-w. How do you do, Gerald? 
 
 GER. Hello, father! 
 
 ISMAN. Hello, Gerald! 
 
 MRS. B-w. Am I the first to arrive? 
 
 GER. I think so. 
 
 MRS. B.-w. And how is Estelle after her slumming ad- 
 venture ? 
 
 GER. She's all right. 
 
 ISMAN. That was a fine place for you to take my 
 daughter I 
 
 MRS. B.-w. It wasn't my fault. She would go. And 
 her mother consented. 
 
 GER. I wish I'd been there with you. 
 
 MRS. B.-w. Indeed, I wished for someone. I was never 
 more frightened in my life. 
 
 ISMAN. Did you see this morning's Record? 
 
 MRS. B.-w. No. What? 
 
 ISMAN. About that fellow, Steve O'Hagen? 
 
 MRS. B.-w. Good heavens ! 
 
 GER. Nothing about Estelle, I hope! 
 
 ISMAN. No . . . apparently nobody noticed that inci- 
 dent. But about his political speech, and the uproar he's 
 making on the Bowery. They say the streets were blocked 
 for an hour . . . the police couldn't clear them. 
 
 GER. He must be an extraordinary talker. 
 
 MRS. B.-w. You can't imagine it. The man is a perfect 
 demon ! 
 
 GER. Where does he come from? 
 
ACT n] PRINCE HAGEN 179 
 
 ISMAN. Apparently nobody knows. The papers say he 
 turned up a couple of years ago ... he won't talk about 
 his past. He joined Tammany Hall, and he's sweeping 
 everything before him. 
 
 GER. What do you suppose will come of it? 
 
 ISMAN. Oh, he'll get elected . . . what is it he's to be 
 ... an alderman ? . . . and then he'll sell out, like all the 
 rest. I was talking about it this afternoon, with Plimpton 
 and Rutherford. 
 
 MRS. B.-w. They're to be here to-night, I understand. 
 
 ISMAN. Yes. . . so they mentioned. Ah ! Here's 
 Estelle ! 
 
 ESTELLE. [Enters, centre, with an armful of roses.'^ 
 Ah ! Mrs. Bagley-Willis ! Good evening ! 
 
 MRS. B.-w. Good evening, Estelle. 
 
 EST. Good evening, father. Hello, Gerald. 
 
 GER. My, aren't we gorgeous to-night ! 
 
 EST. Just aren't we! 
 
 MRS. B.-w. The adventure doesn't seem to have hurt 
 you. Where is your mother? 
 
 GER. She went into the drawing-room. [mrs. b.-w. and 
 I'SMAN go off, right; estelle is about to folloiv.'] Estelle ! 
 
 EST. What is it? 
 
 GER. What's this I hear about your adventure last 
 night? 
 
 EST. [With sudden seriousness.'] Oh, Gerald! [Comes 
 closer.'] It was a frightful thing! I've hardly dared to 
 think about it ! 
 
 GER. Tell me. 
 
 EST. Gerald, that man was talking straight at me . . . 
 he meant every bit of it for me ! 
 
 GER. Tell me the story. 
 
 EST. Why, you know. Lord Alderdyce had heard about 
 this wild fellow, Steve O'Hagen, who's made such a sen- 
 sation this campaign. And he's interested in our elec- 
 
80 PRINCE HAGEN [act n 
 
 tions, and wanted to hear O'Hagen speak. He said he 
 had a friend who'd arrange for us to be introduced to 
 him ; and so we went down there. And there was a most 
 frightful crowd ... it was an outdoor meeting, you know. 
 We pushed our way into a saloon, where the mob 
 was shouting around this O'Hagen. And then he caught 
 sight of us . . . and Gerald, from the moment he saw me 
 he never took his eyes off me ! Never once ! 
 
 GER. [Smiling.^ Well, Estelle . . . you've been looked 
 at before. 
 
 EST. Ah, but never like that ! 
 
 GER. What sort of a man is he? 
 
 EST. He's small and dark and ugly ... he wore a 
 rough reefer and cap . . . but Gerald, he's no common 
 man ! There's something strange and terrible about him 
 . . . there's a fire blazing in him. The detective who was 
 with us introduced us to him . . . and he stood there and 
 stared at me ! I tried to say something or other . . . "I've 
 been so interested in your speech, Mr. O'Hagen." And he 
 laughed at me . . . "Yes, I've no doubt." And then sud- 
 denly ... it was as if he leaped at me ! He pointed his 
 finger straight into my face, and his eyes fairly shone. 
 "Wait for me ! I'll be with you ! I'm coming to the top !" 
 
 GER. Good God ! 
 
 EST. Imagine it ! I was simply paralyzed ! "Mark 
 what I tell you," he went on . . . "it'll be of interest to 
 you some day to remember it. You may wait for me ! I'm 
 coming ! You will not escape me !" 
 
 GER. Why . . . he's mad! 
 
 EST. He was like a wild beast. Everybody in the place 
 was staring at us as he rushed on. "You have joy and 
 power and freedom ... all the privileges of life ... all 
 things that are excellent and beautiful. You are born 
 to them . . . you claim them ! And you come down here 
 to stare at us as you might at some strange animals in a 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 181 
 
 cage. You chatter and laugh and go your way ... but 
 remember what I told you ... I shall be with you ! You 
 cannot keep me down ! I shall be master of you all !" 
 
 GER. Incredible ! 
 
 EST. And then in a moment it was all over. He made 
 a mocking bow to the party . . . *'It has given me the 
 greatest pleasure in the world to meet you !" And with 
 a wild laugh he went out of the door . . . and the crowd 
 in the street burst into a roar that was like a clap of thun- 
 der. [A pause.'] Gerald, what do you think he meant? 
 
 GER. My dear, youVe been up against the class-war. 
 It's rather the fashion now, you know. 
 
 EST. Oh, but it was horrible! I can't get it out of 
 my mind. We heard some of his speech afterwards 
 and it seemed as if every word of it was meant for me! 
 He lashed the crowd to a perfect fury ... I think they'd 
 have set fire to the city if he'd told them to. What do 
 you suppose he expects to do? 
 
 GER. I can't imagine, I'm sure. 
 
 EST. I should like to know more about him. He was 
 never raised in the slums, I feel certain. 
 
 GER. Steve O'Hagen. The name sounds Irish. 
 
 EST. I don't think he's Irish. He's dark and strange- 
 looking . . . almost uncanny. 
 
 GER. I shall go down there and hear him the first 
 chance I get. And now, I guess I'd best get out, if I want 
 to dodge old Plimpton. 
 
 EST. Yes ... and Rutherford, too. Isn't it a bore I 
 I think they are perfectly odious people. 
 
 GER. Why do you suppose m.other invited them? 
 
 EST. Oh, it's a business affair . . . they have forced 
 their way into some deal of father's, and so we have to 
 cultivate them. 
 
 GER. Plimpton, the coal baron I And Rutherford, the 
 steel king! I wonder how many hundred millions of dol- 
 
18S PRINCE HAGEN [act ii 
 
 lars we shall have to have before we can choose our 
 guests for something more interesting than their Wall 
 Street connections! 
 
 EST. I think I hear them. [Listens.'] Yes . . . the 
 voice. [Mocking plimpton^s manner and tone.'] Good 
 evening, Miss Isman. I guess I'll skip it ! 
 Exit right. 
 
 GER. And I, too ! 
 Exit left. 
 
 RUTHERFORD. [A stout and rather coarse-looking man, 
 enters, right, with plimpton.] It's certainly an outrageous 
 state of affairs, Plimpton ! 
 
 PLIMPTON. [A thin, clerical-looking person, with 
 square-cut beard.] Disgraceful ! Disgraceful ! 
 
 RUTH. The public seems to be quite hysterical ! 
 
 PLiMP. We have got to a state where simply to be 
 entrusted with great financial responsibility is enough to 
 constitute a man a criminal; to warrant a newspaper in 
 prying into the intimate details of his life, and in present- 
 ing him in hideous caricatures. 
 
 RUTH. I can sympathize with you, Plimpton . . . these 
 government investigations are certainly a trial. [Laugh- 
 ing.] I've had my turn at them ... I used to lie awake 
 nights trying to remember what my lawyers had told me 
 to forget ! 
 
 PLIMP. Ahem! Ahem! Yes . . . a rather cynical jest! 
 I can't say exactly . . . 
 
 MRS. IS. [In doorway, right.] Ah, Mr. PHmpton ! 
 How do you do? And Mr. Rutherford? 
 
 PLIMP. Good evening, Mrs. Isman. 
 
 RUTH. Good evening, Mrs. Isman. 
 
 MRS. IS. You managed to tear yourself away from 
 business cares, after all ! 
 
 PLIMP. It was not easy, I assure you. 
 
 MRS. IS. Won't you come in? 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 183 
 
 RUTH. With pleasure. 
 
 Exit, 7'ight, with mrs. ism an, followed by Plimpton. 
 
 GER. [Enters, left.'] That pious old fraud ! [Sits in 
 chair.'} Well, rm safe for a while ! 
 Sprawls at ease and reads. 
 
 HICKS. [Enters, centre.} A gentleman to see you, Mr. 
 Gerald. 
 
 GER. Hey? [Takes card, looks, then gives violent 
 start.} Prince Hagen ! [Stands aghast, staring ; whis- 
 pers, half dased.} Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HICKS. [After waiting.} What shall I tell him, sir ? 
 
 GER. What . . . what does he look like? 
 
 HICKS. Why ... he seems to be a gentleman, sir. 
 
 GER. How is he dressed? 
 
 HICKS. For dinner, sir. 
 
 GER. [Hesitates, gazes about nervously.} Bring him 
 here . . . quickly ! 
 
 HICKS. Yes, sir. 
 
 GER. And shut the door afterwards. 
 
 HICKS. Yes, sir. 
 Exit. 
 
 GER. [Stands staring.} Prince Hagen ! He's come at 
 last! 
 
 Takes the faded telegrams from his pocket; looks 
 at them; then goes to door, right, and closes it. 
 
 HICKS. [Enters, centre.} Prince Hagen. 
 
 HAGEN. [Enters; serene and smiling, immaculately 
 clad.} Ah, Gerald ! 
 
 GER. [Gazing.} Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. You are surprised to see me ! 
 
 GER. I confess that I am. 
 
 HAGEN. Did you think I was never coming back? 
 
 GER. I had given you up. 
 
 HAGEN. Well, here I am ... to report progress. 
 
184< PRINCE IIAGEN [act n 
 
 GER, [After a pai4se.'\ Where have you been these two 
 years? 
 
 HAGEN. Oh, I've been seeing life . . . 
 
 GER. You didn't like the boarding school ? 
 
 HAGEN. [With sudden vehemence.'] Did you think T 
 would like it? Did you think I'd come to this world to 
 have my head stuffed with Latin conjugations and saw- 
 dust? 
 
 GER. I had hoped that in a good Christian home . . . 
 
 HAGEN. [Laughing.] No, no, Gerald! I let you talk 
 that sort of thing to me in the beginning. It sounded 
 fishy even then, but I didn't say anything ... I wanted 
 to get my bearings. But I hadn't been twenty-four hours 
 in that good Christian home before I found out what a 
 kettleful of jealousies and hatreds it was. The head 
 master was an old sap-head ; and the boys ! . . . I was 
 strange and ugly, and they thought they could torment and 
 bully me ; but I fought 'em ... by the Lord, I fought 'em 
 day and night, I fought 'em all around the place! 
 And when I'd mastered 'em, you should have seen how 
 they cringed and toadied! They hated the slavery they 
 lived under, but not one of them dared raise his hand 
 against it. 
 
 GER. Well, you've seen the world in your own way. 
 Now are you ready to go back to Nibelheim? 
 
 HAGEN. Good God, no ! 
 
 GER. You know it's my duty to send you back. 
 
 HAGEN. Oh, say ! My dear fellow ! 
 
 GER. You know the solemn promise I made to King 
 Alberich. 
 
 HAGEN. Yes . . . but you can't carry it out. 
 
 GER. But I can ! 
 
 HAGEN. How? 
 
 GER. I could invoke the law, if need be. You know 
 you are a minor . . . 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 185 
 
 iiAGEN. My dear boy, I'm over seven hundred years 
 old! 
 
 GER. Ah, but that is a quibble. You know that in our 
 world that is only equal to about eighteen . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I have read up the law, but I haven't found 
 any provision for reducing Nibelung ages to your scale. 
 
 GER. But you can't deny . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I wouldn't need to deny. The story's absurd 
 on the face of it. You know perfectly well that there are 
 no such things as Nibelungs ! [gerald gasps.] And be- 
 sides, you're a poet, and everybody knows you're crazy. 
 Fancy what the newspaper reporters would do with such 
 a yarn ! [C he erf idly. 1 Come, old man, forget about it, 
 and let's be friends. You'll have a lot more fun watching 
 my career. And besides, what do you want? I've come 
 back, and I'm ready to follow your advice. 
 
 GER. How do you mean? 
 
 HAGEN. You told me to stay in school until I'd got my 
 bearings in the world. And then I was to have a career. 
 Well, I've got my education for myself . . . and now I'm 
 ready for the career. [After a pause.] Listen, Gerald. 
 I said I'd be a self-made man. I said I'd conquer the 
 world for myself. But of late I've come to realize how far 
 it is to the top, and I can't spare the time. 
 
 GER. I see. 
 
 HAGEN. And then . . . besides that . . . I've met a 
 woman. 
 
 GER. [Startled.'] Good heavens ! 
 
 HAGEN. Yes. I'm in love. 
 
 GER. But surely . . . you don't expect to marry ! 
 
 HAGEN. Why not? My mother was an earth-woman, 
 and her mother, also. 
 
 GER. To be sure. I'd not realized it. [A pause.] Who 
 is the woman? 
 
 HAGEN. I don't know. I only know she belongs in 
 
186 PRINCE HAGEN [act ii 
 
 this world of yours. And I've come to seek her out. I 
 shall get her, never fear ! 
 
 GER. What are your plans? 
 
 HAGEN. IVe looked this Christian civilization of yours 
 over . . . and I'm prepared to play the game. You can 
 take me up and put me into Society ... as you offered 
 to do before. You'll find that I'll do you credit. 
 
 GER. But such a career requires money. 
 
 HAGEN. Of course. Alberich will furnish it, if you tell 
 him it's needed. You must call Mimi. 
 
 GER. Mimi is here now. 
 
 HAGEN. [Starting.] What ! 
 
 GER. He is in the house. 
 
 HAGEN. For what? 
 
 GER. He came to look for you. 
 
 HAGEN. What is the matter? 
 
 GER. I don't know. He wants you to return to Nibel- 
 heim. 
 
 HAGEN. Find him. Let me see him ! 
 
 GER. All right. Wait here. 
 Exit left. 
 
 HAGEN. What can that mean? 
 
 EST. [Enters, right, sees prince hagen, starts wildly 
 and screams.'] Ah ! [She stands transfixed; a long pause.] 
 Steve O'Hagen! [A pause.] Steve O'Hagen ! What 
 does it mean? 
 
 HAGEN. Who are you? 
 
 EST. I live here. 
 
 HAGEN. Your name? 
 
 EST. Estelle Isman. 
 
 HAGEN. [In a transport of amazement.] Estelle Isman ! 
 You are Gerald's sister ! 
 EST. Yes. 
 
 HAGEN. By the gods ! 
 EST. [Terrified.] You know my brother ! 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 18T 
 
 HAGEN. YOS. 
 
 EST. You . , . Steve O'Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Gravely.'] I am Prince Hagen ! 
 
 EST. Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. A foreign nobleman. 
 
 EST. What . . . what do you mean ? You were on the 
 Bowery ! 
 
 HAGEN. I came to this country to study its institu- 
 tions. I wished to know them for myself . . . therefore 
 I went into politics. Don't you see? 
 
 est: [Based.] I see! 
 
 HAGEN. Now I am on the point of giving up the game 
 and telling the story of my experiences. 
 
 est. What are you doing here ... in this house ? 
 
 HAGEN. I came for you. 
 
 EST. [Stares at him.] How dare you? 
 
 HAGEN. I would dare anything for you ! [They gase 
 at each other.] Don't you understand? 
 
 EST. [Vehemently.] No! No! I am afraid of you! 
 You have no business to be here ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Taking a step towards her.] Listen . . . 
 
 EST. No ! I will not hear you ! You cannot come here ! 
 Stares at him, then abruptly exit, centre. 
 
 HAGEN. [Laughs.] Humph ! [Hearing voices.] Who 
 is this? 
 
 RUTH. [Off right.] I don't agree with you. 
 
 IS. Nor I, either, Plimpton. [Enters with Plimpton 
 and RUTHERFORD; sees hagen.] Oh ... I beg your par- 
 don. 
 
 HAGEN. I am waiting for your son, sir. 
 
 IS. I see. Won't you be seated? 
 
 HAGEN. I thank you. [Sits at ease in chair.] 
 
 PLIM. My point is, it's as Lord Alderdyce says ... we 
 have no hereditary aristocracy in this country, no tradi- 
 tions of authority . . . nothing to hold the mob in check. 
 
188 PRINCE HAGEN [^ct ii 
 
 IS. There is the constitution. 
 
 PLiM. They may over-ride it. 
 
 IS. There are the courts. 
 
 PLIM. They may defy the courts. 
 
 RUTH. Oh, PHmpton, that's absurd ! 
 
 PLIM. Nothing of the kind, Rutherford! Suppose they 
 were to elect to office some wild and reckless demagog 
 . . . take, for instance, that ruffian you were telling us 
 about . . . down there on the Bowery . . . [hagen starts, 
 and listens'] and he were to defy the law and the courts? 
 He is preaching just that to the mob . . . striving to rouse 
 the elemental wild beast in them ! And some day they 
 will pour out into this avenue . . . 
 
 RUTH. [Vehemently.'] Very well, Plimpton ! Let them 
 come! Have we not the militia and the regulars? We 
 could sweep the avenue with one machine gun . . . 
 
 PLIM. But suppose the troops would not fire? 
 
 RUTH. But that is impossible I 
 
 PLIM. Nothing of the kind, Rutherford ! No, no . . . 
 we must go back of all that ! It is in the hearts of the 
 people that we must erect our defenses. It is the spirit 
 of this godless and skeptical age that is undermining or7 
 der. We must teach the people the truths of religion. We 
 must inculcate lessons of sobriety and thrift, of rever- 
 ence for constituted authority. We must set our faces 
 against these new preachers of license and infideHty . . . 
 we must go back to the old-time faith ... to love, and 
 charity, and self-sacrifice . . . 
 
 HAGEN. [Interrupting.] That's it ! You've got it there ! 
 
 IS. [Amazed.] Why . . . 
 
 PLIM. Sir? 
 
 HAGEN. You've said it ! Set the parsons after them ! 
 Teach them heaven ! Set them to singing about harps 
 and golden crowns, and milk and honey flowing ! Then 
 you can shut them up in slums and starve them, and they 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 189 
 
 won^t know the difference. Teach them non-resistance 
 and self-renunciation ! You've got the phrases all pat . . . 
 handed out from heaven direct ! Take no thought saying 
 what ye shall eat ! Lay not up for yourselves treasures 
 on earth ! Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's ! 
 
 IS. Why . . . this is preposterous ! 
 
 PLIM. This is blasphemy ! 
 
 HAGEN. You're Plimpton . . . PHmpton, the coal baron, 
 I take it. I know you by your pictures. You shut up 
 little children by tens of thousands to toil for you in the 
 bowels of the earth. You crush your rivals, and form a 
 trust, and screw up prices to freeze the poor in winter ! 
 And you . . . [to Rutherford] you're Rutherford, the 
 steel king, I take it. You have slaves working twelve 
 hours a day and seven days a week in your mills. And 
 you mangle them in hideous accidents, and then cheat 
 their widows of their rights . . . and then you build 
 churches, and set your parsons to preach to them about 
 love and self-sacrifice ! To teach them charity, while you 
 crucify justice ! To trick them with visions of an imagi- 
 nary paradise, while you pick their pockets upon earth ! 
 To put arms in their hands, and send them to shoot their 
 brothers, in the name of the Prince of Peace ! 
 
 RUTH. This is outrageous ! 
 
 PLIM. [Clenching his fists.'] Infamous scoundrel ! 
 
 RUTH. [Advancing upon hagen.] How dare you ! 
 
 HAGEN. It stings, does it? Ha! Ha! 
 
 PLIM. [Sputtering.] You wretch ! 
 
 IS. This has gone too far. Stop, Rutherford ! Calm 
 yourself, Plimpton. Let us not forget ourselves! [To 
 PRINCE HAGEN, haughtily.] I do not know who you are, 
 sir, or by what right you are in my house. You say that 
 you are a friend of my son's . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I claim that honor, sir. 
 
 IS. The fact that you claim it prevents my ordering 
 
190 PRINCE HAGEN [act ii 
 
 you into the street. But I will see my son, sir, and find 
 out by what right you are here to insult my guests. 
 [Turning. 1 Come, Plimpton, Come, Rutherford . . . we 
 will bandy no words with him ! 
 They go off, centre. 
 
 HAGEN. [Alone.'] By God ! I touched them ! Ha, ha, 
 ha! [Grimly.] He will order me into the street ! [With 
 concentrated fury.] That is it ! They shut you out ! They 
 build a wall about themselves ! Aristocracy ! [Clenching 
 his fist.] Very well ! So be it ! You sit within your fort- 
 ress of privilege ! You are haughty and contemptuous, 
 flaunting your power ! But I'll breach your battlements, 
 r\\ lay them in the dust ! I'll bring you to your knees 
 before me ! 
 
 A silence. Suddenly there is heard, very faintly, 
 the Nihelung theme. It is repeated; hagen starts. 
 
 MiMi. [Enters, left.] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. Mimi ! 
 
 MIMI. At last ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Approaching.] What is it? 
 
 MIMI. [Beckons.] Come here. 
 
 HAGEN. [In excitement.] What do you want? 
 
 MIMI. You must come back ! 
 
 HAGEN. What do you mean? 
 
 MIMI. The people want you. 
 
 HAGEN. What for? 
 
 MIMI. They need you. You must be king. 
 
 HAGEN. [Wildly.] Ha? 
 
 MIMI. Alberich . . . 
 
 HAGEN. Alberich? 
 
 MIMI. He is dead ! 
 
 HAGEN. [With wild start.] Dead! 
 
 MIMI. Yes ... he died last night ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Turns pale and staggers; then leaps at mimi^ 
 clutching him by the arm.] No! Nof 
 
ACT ii] PRINCE HAGEN 191 
 
 MiMi. It is true. 
 
 HAGEN. My God ! [A look of wild, drunken rapture 
 crosses his face; he clenches his hands and raises his 
 arms.'] Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 MiMi. ^Shrinks in horror.] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. He is dead! He is dead! [Leaps at mimi.] 
 The gold? 
 
 MIMI. The gold is yours. 
 
 HAGEN. Ha, ha, ha ! It is mine ! It is mine ! [Begins 
 pacing the floor •wildly.] Victory! Victory! VICTORY! 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Ha, ha, ha ! [Spreads out his arms, with a 
 triumphant shout.] I have them ! By God ! Isman ! 
 Plimpton and Rutherford ! Estelle ! I have them all ! It 
 is triumph ! It is glory ! It is the world ! I am King ! 
 I am King! King! KING! [Seises mimi and starts 
 centre; the music rises to climax.] To Nibelheim ! To 
 Nibelheim ! [Stands stretching out his arms in exultation; 
 a wild burst of music] Make way for Hagen ! Make 
 way for Hagen! 
 
 CUKTAIN 
 
lOii PRINCE HAGEN [act m 
 
 ACT III 
 
 The conservatory is a study in green and gold, with 
 strange tropical plants having golden flowers. 
 There are entrances right and left. In the centre, 
 iip-stage, is a niche with a gold table and a couple 
 of gold chairs, and behind these a stand with the 
 "coronation cup" ; to the right the golden throne 
 from Nibelheim, and to the left a gold fountain 
 splashing gently. %. 
 
 At rise : The stage is empty. The strains of an orchestra 
 heard from ball-room, left, 
 
 MRS. BAGLEY-wiLLis. \Enters, right, with de wiggleston 
 RiGGs; she wears a very low-cut gown, a stomacher and 
 tiara of diamonds, and numerous ropes of pearls.J Well, 
 Wiggie, he has made a success of it ! 
 
 DE WIGGLESTON RIGGS. [Petit and exquisite.'] He was 
 certain to make a success when Mrs. Bagley-Willis took 
 him up ! 
 
 MRS. B.-w. But he wouldn't do a single thing I told 
 him. I never had such a protege in my life ! 
 
 DE w. R. Extraordinary ! 
 
 MRS. B.-w. I told him it would be frightfully crude, and 
 it is. And yet, Wiggie, it's impressive, in its way . . . no- 
 body can miss the feeling. Such barbaric splendor ! 
 
 DE w. R. The very words ! Barbaric splendor ! 
 
 MRS. B.-w. I never heard of anything like it . . . the 
 man simply poured out money. It's quite in a different 
 class from other affairs. 
 
 DE w. R. [Holding up his hands.] Stupefying ! 
 
ACT m] PRINCE HAGEN 193 
 
 MRS. B.-vv. And did you ever know the public to take 
 such interest in a social event? People haven't even 
 stopped to think about the panic in Wall Street. 
 
 DE w. R. I assure you, Mrs. Bagley-Willis, it begins a 
 new epoch in our social history. [To lord alderdyce, who 
 enters, left, with gerald.] How do you do, Lord Alder- 
 dyce? 
 
 MRS. B.-w. Good evening, Lord Alderdyce. Good eve- 
 ning, Gerald. 
 
 LORD A. Good evening, Mrs. Bagley-Willis. Good eve- 
 ning, Mr. Riggs. 
 
 GERALD. Good evening, Wiggie ! [de w. r. and mrs. 
 B.-w. move toward left.'] I suppose that old lady's taken 
 to herself all the credit for this evening's success ! 
 
 LORD A. Well, really, you know, wasn't it . . . ah . . . 
 quite a feat to make society swallow this adventurer? 
 
 GERALD. How can anybody stay away? When a man 
 spends several milHons on a single entertainment people 
 have to come out of pure curiosity. 
 
 LORD A. To be sure ! I did, anyway ! 
 
 GER. [^Gazing about.'] Think of buying all the old 
 Vandergrift palaces at one swoop ! 
 
 LORD A. Oh, really ! 
 
 GER. This palace was one of the landmarks of the city ; 
 all its decorations had been taken from old palaces in 
 Italy. And he tore everything off and gave it away to 
 a museum, and he made it over in three months ! 
 
 LORD A. Amazing. 
 
 Music and applause heard left. 
 
 MRS. B.-w. Mazzanini must be going to sing again. 
 
 DE w. R. Let us go ! 
 
 MRS. B.-w. Fancy opera stars to dance to ! A waltz 
 song at a thousand dollars a minute ! 
 
 DE w. R. Ah, but such a song ! 
 
194 PRINCE HAGEN [act hi 
 
 They go off, left; half a dozen guests enter, right, 
 and cross in groups. 
 
 RUTH. \^Enters, right, with Plimpton; looking about.] 
 An extraordinary get-up ! 
 
 PLiMP. Appalling extravagance, Rutherford! Appall- 
 ing! 
 
 RUTH. Practically everybody's here. 
 
 PLIMP. Everybody I ever heard of. 
 
 RUTH. One doesn't meet you at balls very often, Plimp- 
 ton. 
 
 PLiM. No. To tell the truth, I came from motives of 
 prudence. 
 
 RUTH. Humph ! To tell the truth, so did I ! 
 
 PLIM. The man is mad, you know . . . and one can't 
 tell what might offend him ! 
 
 RUTH. And with the market in such a state ! 
 
 PLIM. It's terrible ! Terrible ! . . . ah. Lord Alderdyce ! 
 
 LORD A. Good evening, Mr. Plimpton. How d'ye do, 
 Mr. Rutherford? 
 
 RUTH. As well as could be expected. Lord Alderdvce. 
 It's a trying time for men of affairs. 
 They pass on, and go off, left. 
 
 GER. They must be under quite a strain just now. 
 
 LORD A. Don't mention it. Don't mention it ! I've in- 
 vested all my funds in this country, and I tremble to pick 
 up the last edition of the paper ! 
 
 MRS. IS. [Enters, right, costumed en grande dame, much 
 excited.'] Oh, Gerald, Lord Alderdyce, what do you think 
 I've just heard? 
 
 LORD A. What? 
 
 MRS. IS. About Prince Hagen and Mrs. Bagley- Willis 
 . . . how she came to take him up! Percy Pennington 
 told me about it . . . he's her own first cousin, you know, 
 Lord Alderdyce . . . and he vows he saw the letter in 
 her desk ! 
 
ACT III] PRINCE HAGEN 195 
 
 LORD A. Oh, tell us ! 
 
 MRS. IS. Well, it was just after Prince Hagen made 
 his appearance, when the papers were printing pages 
 about him. And the news came that he'd bought these 
 palaces; and the next day Mrs. Bagley-Willis got a letter 
 marked personal. Percy quoted the words . . . Dear 
 Madam: I wish to enter Society. I have no time to go 
 through with the usual formalities. I am a nobleman, 
 with an extraordinary mind and unlimited money. I in- 
 tend to entertain New York Society as it has never 
 dreamed of being entertained before. I should be very 
 pleased if you would co-operate with me in making my 
 opening ball a success. If you are prepared to do this, 
 I am prepared to pay you the sum of one million dollars 
 cash as soon as I receive your acceptance. Needless to 
 say, of course, this proposition is entirely confidential ! 
 
 LORD. A. By jove ! 
 
 MRS. IS. Think of it ! 
 
 GER. But can it be true? 
 
 MRS. IS. What is more likely, my dear? You know 
 that Mrs. Bagley-Willis has been spending millions every 
 season to entertain at Newport; and their fortune will 
 never stand that ! Oh, I must give it to Van Tribber . . . 
 he'll see that the papers have it ! 
 
 LORD A. But hadn't you better make sure that it's 
 really . . . 
 
 MRS. IS. It doesn't make the slightest difference! 
 Everybody will know that it's true ! 
 
 GER. They are ready to believe anything about Prince 
 Hagen. 
 
 MRS. IS. Certainly, after a ghmpse of this palace. Did 
 you ever see such frantic money-spending in your life? 
 
 LORD A. Never! 
 
 MRS. IS. Gold! Gold! I am positively blinded with 
 
196 PRINCE HAGEN [act m 
 
 the sight of gold. Fd seen every kind of decoration and 
 furniture, I thought . . . but solid gold is new to me ! 
 
 LORD A. Just look at this cup, for instance ! [Points to 
 coronation cup.] And those fountains ... I believe that 
 even the basins are of gold. 
 
 MRS. IS. Perhaps we could stop the water and see. 
 
 LORD A. I must go ... I have a dance. I am sorry 
 not to see your daughter. 
 
 MRS. IS. Yes ... it was too bad she couldn't come. 
 Good-bye. 
 
 LORD ALDERDYCE Cxit. 
 
 MRS. IS. [Pointing to throne.] Look at that thing, 
 Gerald ! 
 
 GER, Yes ... no wonder the crowd came ! 
 
 MRS. IS. I imagine a good many came because they 
 didn't dare stay away. They certainly can't be enjoying 
 themselves after such a day down town. 
 
 GER. It was too bad the panic should come just on the 
 eve of the ball. 
 
 MRS. IS. My dear Gerald ! That's his sense of humor ! 
 He wanted to bring them here and set them to dancing 
 and grinning, while in their hearts they are frightened 
 to death. 
 
 GER. How did he do it, anyway? 
 
 MRS. IS. Why, he seems to have money without limit 
 . . . and he's been buying and buying . . . everything in 
 sight! You know how prices 'have been soaring the past 
 two months. And of course the public went wild, and 
 took to speculating. Then Prince Hagen sold; and the 
 bottom has simply dropped out of everything. 
 
 GER. I see. And do you suppose the slump has hit 
 father ? 
 
 MRS. IS. I don't know. He won't talk to me about it. 
 But it's easy to see how distressed he is. And then, to 
 
ACT m] PRINCE HAGEN 197 
 
 cap the climax, Estelle refuses to come here! Prince 
 Hagen is certain to be furious. 
 
 GER. For my part, I admire her courage. 
 
 MRS. IS. But, Gerald ... we can't afford to defy this 
 man. 
 
 GER. Estelle can afford it, I hope. 
 
 MRS. IS. Here comes your father now. Look at him! 
 Gerald, won't you go, please ... I want to have a talk 
 with him. 
 
 GER. All right. 
 Exit, right. 
 
 MRS. IS. John! 
 
 iSMAN. [Enters, left, pale and depressed.'] What is it ? 
 
 MRS. IS. You look so haggard and worried! 
 
 IS. I am worried ! 
 
 MRS. IS. You ought to be home in bed. 
 
 IS. I couldn't sleep. What good would it do? 
 
 MRS. IS. Aren't you going to get any rest at all? 
 
 IS. It's time for reports from the London markets 
 pretty soon. They open at five o'clock, by our time. And 
 I'm hoping there may be some support for Intercontinen- 
 tal .. . it's my last hope ! 
 
 MRS. IS. Oh, dear me ! Dear me ! 
 
 IS. If that fails, there is nothing left for us. We are 
 ruined! Utterly ruined! 
 
 MRS. IS. John! 
 
 IS. We shall be paupers! 
 
 MRS. IS. John Isman, that's absurd! A man who's 
 worth a hundred million dollars, like you . . . 
 
 IS. It'll be gone ... all of it ! 
 
 MRS. IS. Gone? 
 
 IS. Do you realize that to-day I had to sell every dollar 
 of my Transatlantic stock? 
 
 MRS. IS. [Horrified.'] Good God ! 
 
198 PRINCE HAGEN [act hi 
 
 IS. There has never been a day like it in all history ! 
 There are no words to tell about it ! 
 
 MRS. IS. Oh, that monster ! 
 
 IS. And the worst of it is, the man seems to be after 
 me particularly ! Everything I rely upon seems to col- 
 lapse . . . everywhere I turn I find that I'm blocked. 
 
 MRS. IS. Oh, it must have been because of that affair 
 in our house . . . and in the saloon that dreadful night. 
 We ought never to have gone to that place ! I knew 
 as soon as I laid eyes on the man that he'd do us harm. 
 
 IS. We must keep out of his power. We must save 
 what we can from the wreck and learn to do with it. 
 You'll have to give up your Newport plans this year. 
 
 MRS. IS. [Aghast. '\ What! 
 
 IS. We won't be able to open the house. 
 
 MRS. IS. You're mad! 
 
 IS. My dear . . . 
 
 MRS. IS. Now, John Isman, you listen to me! I was 
 quite sure you had some such idea in your mind ! And 
 I tell you right now, I simply will not hear of it ! I . . . 
 
 IS. But what can we do, my dear? 
 
 MRS. IS. I don't know what we can do! But you'll 
 have to raise money somehow. I will not surrender my 
 social position to Mrs. Bagley-Willis . . . not for all the 
 Wall Street panics in the world. Oh, that man is a fiend I 
 I tell you, John Isman . . . 
 
 IS. Control yourself! 
 
 HAGEN. [Off right.'] Very well ! I shall be charmed, 
 I'm sure. [Enters.] Oh ! How do you do, Mrs. Isman ? 
 
 MRS. IS. Oh, Prince Hagen, a most beautiful evening 
 you've given us. 
 
 HAGEN. Ah ! I'm glad if you've enjoyed it. 
 
 MRS. IS. Yes, indeed . . . 
 
 IS. Prince Hagen, may I have a few words with you? 
 
 HAGEN. Why, surely ... if you wish . . . 
 
ACT m] PRINCE HAGEN 1^9 
 
 IS. I do. 
 
 MRS. IS. Prince Hagen will excuse me. 
 Exit, left. 
 
 HAGEN. [Goes to table, centre, and sits opposite isman.] 
 Well? 
 
 IS. Prince Hagen, what do you want with me? 
 
 HAGEN. [Surprised.'] Why . . . the pleasure of your 
 company. 
 
 IS. I mean in the Street. 
 
 HAGEN. Oh ! Have you been hit? 
 
 IS. Don't mock me. You have used your resources 
 deliberately to ruin me. You have followed me . . . you 
 have taken every railroad in which I am interested, and 
 driven it to the wall. And I ask you, man to man, what 
 do you want? 
 
 HAGEN. [After some thought."] Isman, listen to me. 
 You remember four months ago I offered you a business 
 alliance ? 
 
 IS. I had no idea of your resources then. Had I 
 known, I should not have rejected your offer. Am I being 
 punished for that? 
 
 HAGEN. No, Isman ... it isn't punishment. Had you 
 gone into the alliance with me it would have been just the 
 same. It was my purpose to get you into my power. 
 
 IS. Oh! 
 
 HAGEN. To bring you here ... to make you sit down 
 before me, and ask, What do you want? . . . And so I 
 will tell you what I want, man to man ! [A pause.] I 
 want your daughter. 
 
 IS. [Starts.] What! 
 
 HAGEN. I want your daughter. 
 
 IS. Good God ! 
 
 HAGEN. Do you understand now? 
 
 IS. [Wk^spering.] I understand! 
 
 HAGEN. Isman, you are a man of the world, and we 
 
200 PRINCE HAGEN [act hi 
 
 can talk together. I love your daughter, and I wish to 
 make her my wife. 
 
 IS. And so you ruined me ! 
 
 HAGEN. Four months ago I was an interloper and an 
 adventurer. In a month or two I shall be the master of 
 your financial and political world. Then I had nothing 
 to offer your daughter. Now I can make her the first 
 lady of the land. 
 
 IS. But, man, we don't sell our children . . . not in 
 America. 
 
 HAGEN. Don't talk to me like a fool, Isman. I never 
 have anything to do with your shams. 
 
 IS. But the girl ! She must consent ! 
 
 HAGEN. I'll attend to that. Meantime, I want you to 
 know what I mean. On the day that your daughter mar- 
 ries me I will put you at the head of my interests, and 
 make you the second richest man in America. You un- 
 derstand? 
 
 IS. [Weakly.'] I understand. 
 
 HAGEN. Very well. And don't forget to tell your wife 
 about it. [He rises.] 
 
 IS. Is that all? 
 
 HAGEN. No; one thing more. Your daughter is not 
 here to-night. 
 
 IS. No. 
 
 HAGEN. I wish her to come. 
 
 IS. But . . . she is indisposed ! 
 
 HAGEN. That is a pretext. She did not want to come. 
 
 IS. Possibly . . . 
 
 HAGEN. Tell her to come. 
 
 IS. [Startled.] What? Now? It is too late! 
 
 HAGEN. Nonsense. Your home is only a block away. 
 Telephone to her. 
 
 IS. [Dismayed.] But . . . she will not be ready. 
 
 HAGEN. Tell her to come ! Whatever she is wearing. 
 
ACT III] PRINCE HAGEN 201 
 
 she will outshine them all. [isman hesitates a moment, 
 as if to speak, then goes off, right, half dazed; the other 
 watches him, laughing silently to himself .1 That's all 
 right ! [^Sees Calkins.'] Ah, Calkins ! 
 
 CALKINS. [Enters with an armful of papers,'] Here 
 are the morning papers, Prince. 
 
 HAGEN. Ah! [Takes them.] Still moist! Did you 
 think I wanted them that badly? 
 
 CAL. Promptness never harms. 
 
 HAGEN. [Opening papers.] That's true. Ah, they 
 hardly knew which was more important . . . the ball or 
 the panic! We filled them up pretty full. Did you see 
 if they followed the proofs? 
 
 CAL. There are no material changes. 
 
 HAGEN. Ha ! Ha ! Cartoons ! Prince Hagen invites 
 the Four Hundred with one hand and knocks them down 
 with the other ! Pretty good ! Pretty good ! What's 
 this? Three millions to decorate his palaces . . . half a 
 million for a single ball? 
 
 CAL. I suppose they couldn't credit the figures. 
 
 HAGEN. Humph ! We'll educate them ! [Sweeps pa- 
 pers out of the way.] So much for that ! Were all the 
 orders for the London opening gone over? 
 
 CAL. All correct, Prince. 
 
 HAGEN. Very good ! That's all. [cal. exit.] They^re 
 all anxious about London ... I can see it ! Ah, Gerald ! 
 
 GER. [Enters, right.] Hello ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Smiling.] You see, they came to my party ! 
 
 GER. Yes. 
 
 HAGEN. They smile and chatter . . . they bow and 
 cringe to me . . . and I have not preached any of your 
 Christian virtues, either ! 
 
 GER. No. I grant it. It's a very painful sight. [After 
 a pause.] That was a pleas "• fancy ... to have a panic 
 on the eve of your ball ! 
 
202 PRINCE HAGEN [act iii 
 
 HAGEN. It wasn't nearly as bad as I meant it to be. 
 Wait and see to-day's ! 
 
 GER. What's the end of it all ? 
 
 HAGEN. The end? Why have an end? I didn't make 
 this game ... I play it according to other men's rules. 
 I buy and sell stocks, and make what money I can. The 
 end may take care of itself. 
 
 GER. It's rather hard on the helpless people, isn't it? 
 
 HAGEN. Humph ! The people ! lAfter a pause.'] Ger- 
 ald, this world of yours has always seemed to me like a 
 barrel full of rats. There's only room for a certain num- 
 ber on top, and the rest must sweat for it till they die. 
 
 GER. It's not a very pleasant image to think of. 
 
 HAGEN. I don't think of it. I simply happen to find 
 myself on top, and I stay there and enjoy the view. \_Seats 
 himself at table.'] As a matter of fact, Gerald, one of 
 the things I intend to do with this world is to clean it 
 up. Don't imagine that I will tolerate such stupid waste 
 as we have at present . . . everybody trying to cheat 
 everybody else, and nobody to keep the streets clean. 
 It's as if a dozen men should go out into a field to catch 
 a horse, and spend all their time in trying to keep each 
 other from catching it. When I take charge they'll catch 
 the horse. 
 
 GER. [Drily.] And you'll ride him. 
 
 HAGEN. And I'll ride him. 
 Laughs. 
 
 GER. [After a pause.] At first I couldn't make out 
 why you bothered with this Society game. Now I begin 
 to understand. You wanted to see them ! 
 
 HAGEN. I wanted to watch them wriggle! I wanted 
 to take them, one by one, and strip off their shams ! Take 
 that fellow Rutherford, the steel man ! Or Plimpton, the 
 coal baron, casting his eyes up to heaven, and singing 
 psalms through his nose ! The instant I laid eyes on that 
 
ACT in] PRINCE HAGEN 203 
 
 whining old hypocrite, I hated him ; and I vowed I'd never 
 rest again till Fd shown him as he is ... a coward and 
 a knave ! And I tell you, Gerald, before I get through 
 with him . . . Ah, there he is ! 
 
 PLIM. [Off.'] Hello, Isman! 
 
 HAGEN. Come. 
 
 Draws back with gerald. 
 
 IS. \_E71tering, right, with Plimpton and ruthebford.] 
 Any word yet? 
 
 PLiM. Nothing yet! 
 
 RUTH. Such a night as this has been ! 
 
 is. If the thing keeps up to-day the Exchange will 
 have to close . . . there will be no help for it. 
 
 PLiM. We are in the hands of a madman ! 
 
 RUTH. We must have a conference with him ... we 
 must find out what he wants. 
 
 IS. Did you speak to him, PHmpton? 
 
 PLIM. I tried to. I might as well have butted my head 
 against a stone wall. "I have money," he said, "and I 
 wish to buy and sell stocks. Isn't that my right ?" 
 
 RUTH. He's a fiend ! A fiend ! 
 
 PLIM. He smiled as he shook my hand . . , and he 
 knows that if coal stocks go down another ten points I'll 
 be utterly ruined ! 
 
 IS. Terrible ! Terrible ! 
 
 PLIM. [To RUTHERFORD.] Ruthcrford, have you learned 
 any more about where his money comes from? 
 
 RUTH. I meant to tell you . . . I've had another re- 
 port. The mystery deepens every hour. It's always the 
 same thing . . . the man takes a train and goes out into 
 the country; he gathers all the wagons for miles around, 
 and goes to some place in the woods . . . and there is a 
 pile of gold, fifty tons of it, maybe, covered over with 
 brush. Nobody knows how it got there, nobody has time 
 
204 PRINCE IIAGEN [act iii 
 
 to ask. He loads it into the wagons, takes it aboard the 
 train, and brings it to the Sub-treasury. 
 
 IS. The man's an alchemist ! He's been manufacturing 
 it and getting ready. 
 
 RUTH. Perhaps. Who can tell? All I know is the 
 Sub-treasury has bought over two billion dollars' worth 
 of gold bullion in the last four months . . . and what can 
 we do in the face of that? 
 
 PLiM. No wonder that prices went up to the skies ! 
 
 RUTH. I had the White House on the 'phone this after- 
 noon. We can demonetize gold . . . the government can 
 refuse to buy any more. 
 
 IS. But then what would become of credit? 
 
 PLIM. [Vehemently.'] No, no . . . that will not help ! 
 [Gases about nervously.] There's only one thing. [Whis- 
 pers.] That man must be killed ! 
 
 RUTH. [Horrified.] Ah ! 
 
 IS. No. 
 
 PLIM. Just that ! Nothing else will help ! And instantly 
 ... or it will be too late. 
 
 IS. Plimpton ! 
 
 PLIM. He must not be alive when the Exchange opens 
 this morning! 
 
 RUTH. But how? 
 
 PLIM. I don't know . . . but we must find a way ! We 
 owe it as a public duty . . . the man is a menace to 
 society. Rutherford, you are with me? 
 
 RUTH. By God ! I am ! 
 
 IS. You're mad ! 
 
 PLIM. You don't agree with me? 
 
 IS. It*s not to be thought of ! You're forgetting your- 
 self, Plimpton . . . 
 
 PLIM. [Casing about.] This is no place to discuss it. 
 But I tell you that if there is no support from London . . . 
 
 RUTH. [Starting.] Come . . . perhaps there may be 
 
ACT III] PRINCE HAGEN 205 
 
 word! IThey start leftJ] We may beat them yet . . . 
 who can tell? 
 
 PLIMPTON^ RUTHERFORD and ISMAN gO off. 
 
 HAGEN. [Emerges with gerald from shadows^ shaking 
 with laughter.^ Ha ! ha ! ha ! Love and self-sacrifice ! 
 You see, Gerald ! 
 
 GER. Yes ... I see! ^Looks right . , . then starts 
 violently.'] My sister ! 
 
 HAGEN. Ah ! 
 
 GER. What does this mean? 
 
 HAGEN. \To ESTELLE, who enters, right, evidently agi- 
 tated.'] Miss Isman ! 
 
 EST. My father said . . . 
 
 HAGEN. Yes. Won't you sit down? 
 
 EST. {Hesitatingly.] Why ... I suppose so . . . 
 
 HAGEN. [To GERALD.] Will you cxcusc US, plcasc, 
 Gerald ? 
 
 GER. [Amazed.] Why, yes . . . but Estelle . . . 
 
 EST. [In a faint voice.] Please go, Gerald. 
 
 GER. Oh ! very well. 
 Exit, left. 
 
 EST. You wished to see me. 
 
 HAGEN. Yes. [Sitting opposite.] How do you like it 
 all? 
 
 EST. It is very beautiful. 
 
 HAGEN. Do you really think so? 
 
 EST. [Wondering.] Don't you? 
 
 HAGEN. No. 
 
 EST. Truly ? 
 
 HAGEN. No. 
 
 EST. Then why did you do it? 
 
 HAGEN. To please you. 
 
 EST. [Shrinks.] Oh ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Fixes his gaze on her, and slowly leans across 
 
206 PRINCE HAGEN [act hi 
 
 table; with intensity.l Haven't you discovered yet that 
 you are mine? 
 
 EST. [Half rising.'] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. How long v^^ill it be before you know it? 
 
 EST. How dare you? 
 
 HAGEN. Listen. I am a man accustomed to command. 
 I have no time to play with conventions ... I can- 
 not dally and plead. But I love you. I cannot live without 
 you ! And I will shake the foundations of the world to 
 get you ! 
 
 EST. [Staring, fascinated; whispers.'] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. All this . . . [waving his hand] I did in the 
 hope that it would bring you here ... so that I might 
 have a chance to tell you. Simply for that one purpose. 
 I have broken the business world to my will . . . that 
 also was to make you mine ! 
 
 EST. [Wildly.] You have ruined my father ! 
 
 HAGEN, Your father has played this game, and his 
 path is strewn with the rivals he has ruined. He knows 
 that, and you know it. Now / have played the game ; and 
 I have beaten him. It took me one day to bring him 
 down . . . [Laughs.] It will take me less time to put 
 him back again. 
 
 EST. But why, why? 
 
 HAGEN. Listen, Estelle. I came to this civilization of 
 yours, and looked at it. It seemed to me that it was built 
 upon knavery and fraud . . . that it was altogether a 
 vile thing . . . rotten to the core of it ! And I said I 
 would smash it, as a child smashes a toy; I would toss 
 it about ... as your brother the poet tosses his meta- 
 phors. But then I saw you, and in a flash all that was 
 changed. You were beautiful . . . you were interesting. 
 You were something in the world worth winning . . . 
 something I had not known about before. But you stood 
 
ACT III] PRINCE HAGEN 207 
 
 upon the pinnacle of Privilege . . . you gathered the 
 clouds about your head. How should I climb to you ? 
 
 EST, [Frightened.'] I see ! 
 
 HAGEN. I came to your home ... I was turned from 
 the door. So I set to work to break my way to you. 
 
 EST. I see ! 
 
 HAGEN. And that is how I love you. You are all there 
 is in the game to me. I bring the world and lay it at 
 your feet. It is all yours. You do not like what I do 
 with it, perhaps. Very well . . . take it and do better. 
 The power is yours for the asking ! Power without end ! 
 [He reaches out his arms to her; a pause.'] You do not 
 like my way of love-making, perhaps. You find me harsh 
 and rude. But I love you. And where, among the men 
 that you know, will you find one who can feel for you 
 what I feel . . . who would dare for you what I have 
 dared? [Gases at her with intensity.] Take your time. 
 I have no wish to hurry you. But you must know that, 
 wherever you go, my hand is upon you. All that I do, I 
 do for the love of you. 
 
 EST. [Weakly.] I . . . you frighten me! 
 
 HAGEN. All the world I lay at your feet ! You shall see, 
 
 PLiM. [Off left.] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Starting.] Ah ! 
 
 PLIM. [Enters, running, in great agitation, with a tele- 
 gram.] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. Well? 
 
 PLIM. I have a report from London. The market has 
 gone all to pieces ! 
 
 HAGEN. Ah ! 
 
 PLIM. Pennsylvania coal is down twenty-five points in 
 the first half hour. I'm lost . . . everything is lost ! 
 
 RUTH. [Running on.] Prince Hagen ! Steel is down 
 to four ! And the Bank of England suspends payments ! 
 What . . . 
 
208 PRINCE HAGEN [act m 
 
 PLiM. What do you want with us? What are you try- 
 ing to do? 
 
 RUTH. [Wildly.^ You've crushed us ! We're helpless, 
 utterly helpless ! 
 
 PLIM. Have you no mercy ? Aren't you satisfied when 
 you've got us down? 
 
 RUTH. Are you going to ruin everybody? Are you a 
 madman ? 
 
 PLIM. What are you trying to do ? What do you want ? 
 
 HAGEN. [Has been listening in silence. Suddenly he 
 leaps into action, an expression of furious rage coming 
 upon his face. His eyes gleam, and he raises his hand as 
 if to strike the two.~\ Get down on your knees ! 
 
 PLIM. Ha ! 
 
 RUTH. What ? 
 
 HAGEN. [Louder.'] Get down on your knees ! [plimp- 
 TON sinks in horror, prince hagen turns upon ruther- 
 FORD.] Down ! 
 
 RUTH. [Sinking.] Mercy ! 
 
 HAGEN. [As they kneel before him, his anger vanishes; 
 he steps back.] There ! [Waving his hand.] You asked 
 me what I wanted? I wanted this ... to see you there 
 . . . upon your knees! [To spectators, who appear right 
 and left.] Behold ! 
 
 RUTH. Oh ! 
 
 Starts to rise, 
 HAGEN. [Savagely.] Stay where you are ! . . . To see 
 you on your knees ! To hear you crying for mercy, which 
 you will not get ! You pious plunderers ! Devourers of 
 the people ! Assassins of women and helpless children ! 
 Who made the rules of this game . . . you or I? Who 
 cast the halo of righteousness about it . . . who sanctified 
 it by the laws of God and man ? Property ! Property 
 was holy ! Propert}'^ must rule ! You carved it into your 
 constitutions . . . you taught it in your newspapers, you 
 
ACT III] PRINCE HAGEN 209 
 
 preached it from your pulpits ! You screwed down wages, 
 you screwed up prices ... it must be right, because it 
 paid ! Money was the test . . . money was the end ! You 
 were business men ! Practical men ! Don't you know the 
 phrases? Money talks! Business is business! The gold 
 standard . . . ha, ha, ha ! The gold standard ! Now 
 someone has come who has more gold than you. You 
 were masters . . . now / am the master ! And what you 
 have done to the people I will do to you ! You shall drink 
 the cup that you have poured out for them . . . you shall 
 drink it to the dregs ! 
 
 PLiM. [Starting to rise.^ Monster ! 
 
 HAGEN. Stay where you are ! Cringe and grovel and 
 whine ! \_Draws a Nibelung whip from under his coat.'} 
 I will put the lash upon your backs ! I will strip your 
 shams from you ... I will see you as you are ! I will 
 take away your wealth, that you have wrung from others ! 
 Before I get through with you you shall sweat with the 
 toilers in the trenches ! For I am the master now ! / 
 have the gold ! / own the property ! The world is mine ! 
 You were lords and barons . . . you ruled in your little 
 principalities ! But I shall rule everywhere . . . every- 
 thing . . . all civilization ! I shall be king ! King! [With 
 exultant gestured] Make way for the king! Make way 
 for the king! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
210 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 The scene shows a spacious room, fitted with luxurious 
 rusticity. To the right of centre are a couple of 
 broad windows, leading to a veranda. In the cor- 
 ner, right is a table, with a telephone. In the 
 centre of the room is a large table, zvith a lamp and 
 books, and a leather arm-chair at each side. To 
 the left of centre is a spacious stone fireplace, hav- 
 ing within it a trap door opening downward. At 
 the left a piano with a violin upon it. There are 
 exposed oak beams; antlers, rifles, snowshoes, etc., 
 upon the walls. Entrances right and left. 
 
 At rise: calkins, standing by the desk, arranging some 
 papers. 
 
 CALKINS. \^As 'phone rings.'] Hello ! Yes, this is the 
 Isman camp. Prince Hagen is staying here. This is his 
 secretary speaking. No, Prince Hagen does not receive 
 telephone calls. No, not under any circumstances what- 
 ever. It doesn't make any difference. If the President 
 of the United States has anything to say to Prince Hagen, 
 let him communicate with Mr. Isman at his New York 
 office, and the message will reach him. I am sorry . . . 
 those are my instructions. Good-bye. [To hicks, who 
 enters with telegram.] Hicks, for the future, Prince 
 Hagen wishes all messages for him to be taken to my 
 office. That applies to letters, telegrams . . . everything, 
 
 HICKS. Very good, sir. 
 Exit. 
 
 CAL. [Opening a telegram.] More appeals for mercy. 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN 211 
 
 HAGEN. [Enters from veranda, wearing white flannels, 
 cool and alert.l Well, Calkins ? 
 
 CAL. Nothing important, sir. 
 
 HAGEN. The market continues to fall? 
 
 CAL. Copper is off five points, sir. 
 
 HAGEN. Ah ! 
 
 CAL. The President of the United States tried to get 
 you on the 'phone just now. 
 
 HAGEN. Humph ! Anything else ? 
 
 CAL. There has been another mob on Fifth Avenue this 
 morning. They seem to be threatening your palace. 
 
 HAGEN. I see. ,You wrote to the mayor, as I told you? 
 
 CAL. Yes, sir. 
 
 HAGEN. Well, you'd best put in another hundred guards. 
 And they're to be instructed to shoot. 
 
 CAL. Yes, sir. 
 
 HAGEN. Let them be men we can depend on ... I 
 don't want any mistake about it. I don't care about the 
 building, but I mean to make a test of it. 
 
 CAL. I'll see to it, sir. 
 
 HAGEN. Anything else? 
 
 CAL. A message from a delegation from the National 
 Unemployment Conference. They are to call to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 HAGEN. Ah, yes. Make a note, please ... I sympa- 
 thize with their purpose, and contribute half a milHon. 
 \To GERALD, who enters, left.'] Hello, Gerald . . . how 
 are you? Make yourself at home. [To calkins.] I 
 attribute the present desperate situation to the anarchical 
 struggles of rival financial interests. I am assuming con- 
 trol, and straightening out the tangle as rapidly as I can. 
 The worst of the crisis is over . . . the opposition is 
 capitulating, and I expect soon to order a general resump- 
 tion of industry. Prepare me an address of five hundred 
 words . . . sharp and snappy. Then see the head of the 
 
212 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 delegation, and have it understood that the affair is not 
 to occupy more than fifteen minutes. 
 
 CAL. Very good, sir. 
 
 HAGEN. And stir up our Press Bureau. We must 
 have strong, conservative editorials this week . . . It's the 
 crucial period. Our institutions are at stake . . . the na- 
 tional honor is imperilled . . . order must be preserved 
 at any hazard ... all that sort of thing. 
 
 CAL. Yes, sir ... I understand. 
 
 HAGEN. Very good. That will be all. 
 
 CAL. Yes, sir. 
 Exit, right. 
 
 GER. You're putting the screws on, are you? 
 
 HAGEN. Humph ! Yes. It's funny to hear these finan- 
 cial men . . . their one idea in life has been to dominate 
 . . . and now they cry out against tyranny ! 
 
 GER. I can imagine it. 
 
 HAGEN. Here's Plimpton, making speeches about Amer- 
 ican democracy ! These fellows have got so used to mak- 
 ing pretenses that they actually deceive themselves. 
 
 GER. I've noticed that you make a few yourself now. 
 
 HAGEN. Yes . . . don't I do it well? [Thoughtfully.'] 
 You know, Gerald, pretenses are the greatest device that 
 your civilization had to teach me. 
 
 GER. Indeed ? 
 
 HAGEN. We never made any pretenses in Nibelheim; 
 and when I first met you, your talk about virtue and 
 morality and self-sacrifice was simply incomprehensible 
 to me. It seemed something quite apart from life. But 
 now I've come to perceive that this is what makes pos- 
 sible the system under which you live. 
 
 GER. Explain yourself. 
 
 HAGEN. Here is this civilization . . . simply appalling 
 in its vastness. The countless millions of your people, 
 the wealth you have piled up ... it seems like a huge 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN 213 
 
 bubble that may burst any minute. And the one device 
 by which it is all kept together ... is pretense ! 
 
 GER. Why do you think that? 
 
 HAGEN. Life, Gerald, is the survival of the strong. I 
 care not if it be in a jungle or in a city, it is the warfare 
 of each against all. But in the former case it's brute 
 force, and in the latter it's power of mind. And don't 
 you see that the ingenious device which makes the animal 
 of the slums the docile slave of the man who can outwit 
 him ... is this Morality . . . this absolutely sublimest 
 invention, this most daring conception that ever flashed 
 across the mind of man? 
 
 GER. Oh, I see. 
 
 HAGEN. I used to wonder at it down there on the Bow- 
 ery. The poor are a thousand to your one, and the best 
 that is might be theirs, if they chose to take it; but there 
 is Morality! They call it their virtue. And so the rich 
 man may have his vices in peace. By heaven, if that is 
 not a wondrous achievement, I have not seen one ! 
 
 GER. You believe this morahty was invented by the 
 rich. 
 
 HAGEN. I don't know. It seems to be a congenital 
 disease. 
 
 GER. Some people believe it was implanted in man by 
 God. 
 
 HAGEN. [Shrugging his shoulders.'] Perhaps. Or by 
 a devil. Men might have lived in holes, like woodchucks, 
 and been fat and happy ; but now they have Morality, and 
 toil and die for some other man's delight. 
 
 CAL. [Enters, right. 1 Are you at leisure, sir? 
 
 HAGEN. Why ? 
 
 CAL. Mr. Isman wants you on the 'phone. 
 HAGEN. Oh ! All right . . . 
 
 Goes to 'phone. 
 GER. [Rises.] Perhaps I . . . 
 
214 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 HAGEN. No, that's all right. [Sits at 'phone.'] Hello ! 
 Is that Isman? How are you? [To calkins.] Calkins! 
 
 CAL. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sits and takes notes. 
 
 HAGEN. How about Intercontinental? [Imperiously.'] 
 But / can ! I said the stock was to go to sixty-four, and 
 I want it to go. I don't care what it costs, Isman . . . 
 let it go in the morning . . . and don't ever let this hap- 
 pen again. I have sent word you are to have another 
 hundred million by nine-thirty. Will that do? Don't 
 take chances. Oh, Rutherford ! Tell Rutherford my terms 
 are that the directors of the Fidelity Life Insurance Com- 
 pany are to resign, and he is to go to China for six 
 months. Yes. I mean that literally . . . Plimpton ? What 
 do I want with his banks . . . I've got my own money 
 . . . And, oh, by the way, Isman . . . call up the White 
 House again, and tell the President that the regulars will 
 be needed in New York. . . . No, I understand you ... I 
 think I've fixed matters up at this end. I've got two hun- 
 dred guards up here, and they're picked men . . . they'll 
 shoot if there's need. I'm not talking about it, naturally 
 . . . but I'm taking care of myself. You keep your nerve, 
 Isman. It'll all be over in a month or two more . . . these 
 fellows are used to having their own way, and they make 
 a fuss. And, by the way, as to the newspapers . . . we'll 
 turn out that paper trust crowd, and stop selling paper 
 to the ones that are making trouble. That'll put an end 
 to it, I fancy. You had best get after it yourself, and 
 have it attended to promptly. You might think of little 
 things like that yourself, Isman ... no, you're all right; 
 only you haven't got enough imagination. But just get 
 onto this job, and let me hear that it's done before morn- 
 ing. Good-bye. [Hangs up receiver.] Humph! [To 
 GERALD.] They've about got your father's nerve. 
 
 CER. I can't say that I blame him very much. [In 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN 215 
 
 sombre thought.'] Really, you know, Prince Hagen, this 
 can't go on. What's to be the end of it? 
 
 HAGEN. [Laughing.] Oh, come, come, Gerald . . . 
 don't bother your head with things like that ! You're a 
 poet . . . you must keep your imagination free from such 
 dismal matters. . . . See, I've got a job for you. [Point- 
 ing to books on table.] Do you notice the titles? 
 
 GER. [Has been handling the books absent-mindedly; 
 now looks at titles.] The Saints' Everlasting Rest. Pil- 
 grim's Progress. The Life of St. Ignatius. . . . What 
 does that mean ? 
 
 HAGEN. I'm studying up on religion, I want to know 
 the language. 
 
 GER. I see ! 
 
 HAGEN. But I don't seem to get hold of it very well. 
 I think it's the job for you. 
 
 GER. How do you mean? 
 
 HAGEN. I'm getting ready to introduce Morality into 
 Nibelheim. 
 
 GER, What ? 
 
 HAGEN. [Playfully.] You remember you talked to me 
 about it a long time ago. And now I've come to your way 
 of thinking. Suppose I gave you a chance to civilize the 
 place, to teach those wretched creatures to love beauty 
 and virtue? 
 
 GER. It would depend upon what your motive was in 
 inviting me. 
 
 HAGEN. My motive? What has that to do with it? 
 Virtue is virtue, is it not? . . . No matter what I think 
 about it? 
 
 GER. Yes. 
 
 HAGEN. And virtue is its own reward? 
 
 GER. Perhaps so. 
 
 HAGEN. Let us grant that the consequences of edu- 
 cating and elevating the Nibelungs ... of teaching them 
 
216 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 to love righteousness . . . would be that they were de- 
 prived of all their gold, and forced to labor at getting 
 more for a wicked capitalist like me. Would it not still 
 be right to teach them ? 
 
 GER. It might, perhaps. 
 
 HAGEN. Then you will try it? 
 
 GER. No . . . I%i afraid not. 
 
 HAGEN. Why not? 
 
 GER. [Gravely.] Well . . . for one thing ... I have 
 weighty reasons for doubting the perfectibility of the 
 Nibelungs. 
 
 HAGEN. [Gases at him; then shakes with laughter.'] 
 Really, Gerald, that is the one clever thing I've heard you 
 say ! 
 
 GER. [Laughing.] Thank you ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Rises and looks at watch.] Your mother was 
 coming down. Ah ! Mrs. Isman ! 
 
 MRS. IS. [Enters, left.] Good afternoon, Prince Hagen. 
 
 HAGEN. And how go things? 
 
 MRS. IS. Fve just had a telegram from my brother. 
 He says that the Archbishop of Canterbury never goes 
 abroad, and was shocked at the suggestion; but he thinks 
 two million might fetch him. 
 
 HAGEN. Very well . . . offer it. 
 
 MRS. IS. Do you really think it's worth that? 
 
 HAGEN. My dear lady, it is worth anything if it will 
 make you happy and add to the eclat of the wedding. 
 There's nothing too good for Estelle. 
 
 MRS. IS. Ah, what a wonderful man you are. [Eyeing 
 him.] I was wondering how rose pink would go with your 
 complexion. 
 
 HAGEN. Dear me! Am I to wear rose pink? 
 
 MRS. IS. No, but I'm planning the decoration for the 
 wedding breakfast. . . . And I'm puzzled about the flow- 
 ers. I'm weary of orchids and la France roses . . . Mrs. 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN 217 
 
 Bagley-Willis had her ball room swamped with them last 
 week. 
 
 HAGEN. We must certainly not imitate Mrs. Bagley- 
 Willis. 
 
 MRS. IS. lComplace7itly.'] I fancy she's pretty nearly 
 at the end of her rope. My maid tells me she couldn't 
 pay her grocer's bill till she got that million from you ! 
 
 HAGEN. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 MRS. IS. I wish you'd come with me for a moment . . . 
 I have some designs for the breakfast menu . . . 
 
 HAGEN. Delighted, I'm sure. 
 They go off, left. 
 
 GER. Oh, my God! 
 
 EST. [Enters in a beautiful afternoon gown, and carry- 
 ing an armful of roses; she is nervous and preoccupied.] 
 Ah ! Gerald ! 
 
 GER. Estelle. 
 
 He watches her in silence; she arranges flowers. 
 
 EST. How goes the poem, Gerald? 
 
 GER. The poem ! Who could think of a poem at a time 
 like this? [Advancing toward her.] Estelle! I can bear 
 it no longer ! 
 
 EST. What ? 
 
 GER. This crime! I tell you it's a crime you're com- 
 mitting ! 
 
 EST. Oh, Gerald ! Don't begin that again. You know 
 it's too late. And it tears me to pieces ! 
 
 GER. I can't help it. I must say it ! 
 
 EST. [Hurrying toward him.] Brother ! You must not 
 say another word to me ! I tell you you must not ... I 
 can't bear it ! 
 
 GER. Estelle . . . 
 
 EST. No, I say ... no ! I've given my word ! My 
 honor is pledged, and it's too late to turn back. I have 
 permitted father to incur obligations before all the world 
 
218 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 GER. But, Estelle, you don't know. If you understood 
 all ... all .. . 
 
 EST. [With sudden mtensity.'\ Gerald! I know what 
 you mean ! I have felt it ! You know more about Prince 
 Hagen than you have told me. There is some secret — 
 something strange. \_She stares at him wildly.'] I don't 
 want to know it ! Gerald . . . don't you understand ? We 
 are in that man's hands ! We are at his mercy ! Don't 
 you know that he would never give me up? He would 
 follow me to the end of the earth ! He would wreck the 
 whole world to get me ! I am in a cage with a wild beast ! 
 They stare at each other. 
 
 GER. [In sudden excitement.'] Estelle ! 
 
 EST. What? 
 
 GER. Can it be that you love this man ? 
 
 EST. [Startled.] I don't know! How can I tell? He 
 terrifies me. He fascinates me. I don't know what to 
 make of him. And I don't dare to think. [Wildly.] 
 And what difference does it make? I have promised to 
 marry him ! 
 
 MRS. ISMAN enters, left, and listens. 
 
 EST. And I must keep my word ! You must not try to 
 dissuade me . . . 
 
 MRS. IS. Estelle ! 
 
 EST. Mother ! 
 
 MRS. IS. Has Gerald been tormenting you again? My 
 child, my child ... I implore you, don't let that madness 
 take hold of you! Think of our position. [Attempts to 
 embrace her.] I know how it is ... I went through with 
 it myself. We women all have to go through with it. I 
 did not care for your father ... it nearly broke my heart. 
 I was madly in love at the time . . . truly I was ! But 
 think what will become of us . . . 
 
 EST. [Vehemently, pushing her away.] Mother! I 
 forbid you to speak another word to me ! I will not hear 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN 219 
 
 it ! I will keep my bargain. I will do what I have said 
 I will do. But I will not have you talk to me about it . . . 
 Do you understand me? 
 
 MRS. IS. My dear ! 
 
 EST. Please go ! Both of you ! I wish to be alone ! 
 
 MRS. IS. [In great agitation.'] Oh, dear me ! dear me ! 
 Exit, left. 
 
 GER. Good-bye ! 
 
 Exit, right; estelle recovers herself by an effort; 
 stands by table in thought. Twilight has begun to 
 gather. 
 
 HAGEN. [Enters by veranda.] Ah ! Estelle ! \_Comes 
 toward her.] My beautiful ! [Makes to embrace her.^ 
 Not yet ? 
 
 EST. [Faintly.] Prince Hagen, I told you . . . 
 
 HAGEN. I know, I know ! But how much longer ? I 
 love you ! The sight of you is fire in my veins. Have 
 I not been patient? The time is very short . . . when 
 will you let me . . . 
 Advances. 
 
 EST. [Gasping.] Give me . . . give me till to-morrow ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Gripping his hands.] To-morrow ! Very 
 well ! [Turns to table.] Ah, flowers ! Do you like the 
 new poppies? 
 
 EST. They are exquisite ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Sits in chair.] Well, we've had a busy day 
 to-day. 
 
 EST. Yes. You must be tired. 
 
 HAGEN. In your house ? No ! 
 
 EST. Rest, even so. [Goes to piano.] I will play for 
 you. [Sits, and takes Rheingold score.] One of Gerald's 
 scores. 
 
 Plays a little, then sounds the Nibelung theme. 
 PRINCE HAGEN starts. She repeats it. 
 
 HAGEN. No ... no! 
 
9.20 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 EST. Why — what's the matter? 
 
 HAGEN. That music! What is it? 
 
 EST. It's some of the Nibelung music. Gerald had it 
 here. 
 
 HAGEN. Don't play it! [Hesitating.] Music jars 6n 
 me now . . . I've too much on my mind. 
 
 EST. [Rising.'] Oh . . . very well. It is time for tea, 
 anyway. Have you talked with father to-day? 
 
 HAGEN. Three times. He is in the thick of the fight. 
 He plays the game well. 
 
 EST. He has played it a long time. 
 
 HAGEN. Yes. ['Phone rings.'] Ah! What is that? 
 [Takes receiver.] Hello ! Yes . . . oh, Isman ! I see ! 
 More trouble in Fifth Avenue, hey? Well, are the regu- 
 lars there? Why don't they fire? Women and children 
 in front ! Do they expect to accomplish anything by 
 that ? No, don't call me up about matters like that, Isman. 
 The orders have been given. No . . . not an inch ! Let 
 the orders be carried out. That is ail. Good-bye. 
 Hangs up receiver. 
 
 EST. [Has been listening in terror.] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. Well ? 
 
 EST. What does that mean? 
 
 HAGEN. It means that the slums are pouring into Fifth 
 Avenue. 
 
 EST, [A pause.] What do they want ? 
 
 HAGEN. Apparently they want to burn my palace. 
 
 EST. And the orders . . . what are the orders? 
 
 HAGEN. The orders are to shoot, and to shoot straight. 
 
 EST. Is it for me that you are doing this? 
 
 HAGEN. How do you mean? 
 
 EST. You told me you brought all the world and laid 
 it at my feet. Is this part of the process? 
 
 HAGEN. Yes, this is part. 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN 221 
 
 EST. IS tares at him intently; whispers. ~\ How do you 
 do it? 
 
 HAGEN. What ? 
 
 EST. What is the secret of your power? They are 
 millions, and you are only one ... yet you have them 
 bound ! Is it some spell that you have woven? [A pause; 
 HAGEN stares at her. She goes on, with growing intensity 
 and excitement.'] They are afraid of your gold ! Afraid 
 of your gold ! All the world is afraid of it ! It is nothing 
 — it is a dream ... it is a nightmare! If they would 
 defy you ... if they would open their eyes ... it would 
 go as all nightmares go ! But you have made them believe 
 in it! They cower and cringe before it! They toil and 
 slave for it ! They take up arms and murder their broth- 
 ers for it ! They sell their minds and their souls for it ! 
 And all because no one dares to defy you ! No one ! No 
 one! [In a sudden transport of passion.] I defy you! 
 [prince HAGEN starts; she gases at him wildly.] 1 will 
 not marry you ! I will not sell myself to you ! Not for 
 any price that you can offer ... not for any threat that 
 you can make! Not in order that my mother may plan 
 wedding breakfasts and triumph over Mrs. Bagley-Willis ! 
 Not in order that my father may rule in Wall Street and 
 command the slaughter of women and children ! Nor yet 
 for the fear of anything that you can do ! 
 
 HAGEN. [In a low voice.] Have you any idea what I 
 will do? 
 
 EST. [Desperately.] I know what you mean . . . you 
 have me at your mercy ! You have your guards — I am 
 in a trap ! And you mean force ... I have felt it in all 
 your actions . . . behind all your words. Very well! 
 There is a way of escape, even from that ; and I will take 
 it ! You can compel me to kill myself ; but you can never 
 compel me to marry you ! Not with all the power you can 
 summon ... not with all the wealth of the world! Do 
 
2^2 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 you understand me? [They stare at each other.~\ I have 
 heard you talk with my brother, and I know what are 
 your ideas. You came to our civiUzation, and tried it, 
 and found it a lie. Virtue and honor . . . justice and 
 mercy ... all these things were pretenses . . . snares for 
 the unwary. There was no one you could not frighten 
 with your gold! That is your creed, and so far it has 
 served you . . . but no farther ! There is one thing in 
 the world you cannot get . . . one thing that is beyond 
 the reach of all your cunning ! And that is a woman's 
 soul. [With a gesture of exultant triumph.'] You can- 
 not buy me ! 
 
 HAGEN. Estelle ! 
 
 EST. Go ! 
 
 HAGEN. [Stretching out his arms to her.'] I love you ! 
 
 EST. You love me ! The slave driver . . . with his 
 golden whip ! 
 
 HAGEN. Even so ... I love you. 
 
 EST. What do you know of love? What does the 
 word mean to you? Before love must come justice and 
 honor, with it come mercy and self-sacrifice ... all 
 things that you deride and trample on. What have you to 
 do with love? 
 
 HAGEN. [With intensity.] I love you! More than 
 anything else in all the world ... I love you! 
 
 EST. [Stares at him.] More than your power? 
 
 HAGEN. Estelle ! Listen to me ! You do not know 
 what my life has been ! But I can say this for myself . . . 
 I have sought the best that I know. I have sought Reality. 
 [A pause.] I seek your love ! I seek those things which 
 you have, and which I have not. [Fiercely.] Do you 
 think that I have not felt the difference? 
 
 EST. [In a startled whisper.] No ! 
 
 HAGEN. That which you have, and which I have not, 
 has become all the world to me ! I love you ... I cannot 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN 2^3 
 
 live without you. I will follow you wherever you com- 
 mand. Only teach me how to win your love. 
 
 EST. I cannot make terms with you. I will not hear 
 of love from you while you have force in your hands. 
 
 HAGEN. I will leave your home. I will set you free. 
 I will humble myself before you. What else can I do? 
 
 EST. You can lay down your power. 
 
 HAGEN. Estelle ! Those are mere words. 
 
 EST. No ! 
 
 HAGEN. Who is to take up the power? Shall I hand 
 it back to those who had it before? Are Plimpton and 
 Rutherford better fitted to wield it than I? 
 
 EST. [Vehemently.'] Give it to the people! 
 
 HAGEN. The people ! Do you believe that in that mass 
 of ignorance and corruption which you call the people 
 there is the power to rule the world? 
 
 EST. What is it that has made the people corrupt? 
 What is it that has kept them in ignorance? What is it 
 but your gold? It lies upon them like a mountain's weight ! 
 It crushes every aspiration for freedom . . . every effort 
 after light ! Teach them . . . help them . . . then see if 
 they cannot govern themselves ! 
 
 HAGEN. I meant to do it . . . 
 
 EST. Yes ... so does every rich man ! When only 
 he has the time to think of it ! When only his power is 
 secure! I have heard my father say it ... a score of 
 times. But there are always new rivals to trample . . . 
 new foes to fight . . . new wrongs and horrors to be per- 
 petrated! The time to do it is now . . . now! 
 
 HAGEN. Estelle . . . 
 
 CAL. [Enters hurriedly,'] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. What is it? 
 
 CAL. A message from Isman. There is bad news from 
 Washington. 
 
 HAGEN. Well? 
 
^m PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 CAL. A bill has been introduced in Congress ... it is 
 expected to pass both houses to-night . . . your property 
 is to be confiscated ! 
 
 HAGEN. What ! 
 
 CAL. The sources of 'natural wealth . . . the land and 
 the mines and the railroads ... all are to become public 
 property. It is to take effect at once ! 
 
 EST. [Pointing at him in exultation.~\ Aha ! It has 
 come! 
 
 They stare at each other. 
 
 CAL. I tried to get more information . . . but I was 
 cut off . . . 
 
 HAGEN. Cut off ! 
 
 CAL. I think the wires are down ... I can't get any 
 response. 
 
 HAGEN. I see! [Stands in deep thought; laughs.'\ 
 Well . . . [To ESTELLE.] At least Plimpton and Ruther- 
 ford are buried with me ! [To calkins.] Send to town 
 at once and have the wires seen to. And try to learn 
 what you can. 
 
 CAL. Yes, sir . . . at once! 
 Exit. 
 
 EST. They have done it themselves, you see ! 
 
 HAGEN. Yes ... I see. 
 
 GER. [Enters, centre; stands looking from one to the 
 other.] Well, Prince Hagen ... it looks as if the game 
 was up. 
 
 HAGEN. YouVe heard the news? 
 
 GER. From Washington? Yes. And more than that. 
 Your guards have revolted. 
 
 HAGEN. What! Here? 
 
 GER. Yes. We're prisoners of war, it seems. 
 
 EST. Gerald ! 
 
 HAGEN. How do you know? 
 
 GER. They've sent a delegation to tell us. They've 
 
ACT iv] PRINCE HAGEN ^25 
 
 cut the telephone wires, blocked the roads, and shut 
 us in. 
 
 HAGEN. What do they want? 
 
 GER. They don't condescend to tell us that. They 
 simply inform us that the woods are guarded, and that 
 anyone who tries to leave the camp will be shot. 
 EST. [In fright.'] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN stands motionless. 
 GER. [Solemtily.'] Hagen, the game is up ! 
 HAGEN. [In deep thought.'] Yes. The game is up. 
 [A pause.] Gerald ! 
 GER. Well ? 
 
 HAGEN. [Points to violin.] Play! 
 GER. [Startled.] No ! 
 HAGEN. Play ! 
 GER. You will go ? 
 
 HAGEN. Yes. I will go. But I will come back ! Play! 
 [GERALD takes the violin and plays the Nibelung theme.] 
 Louder ! 
 
 GERALD plays the Nibelung music, which is taken up 
 by the orchestra and mounts to a climax, in the 
 midst of which hagen pronounces a sort of incan- 
 tation. 
 
 Mimi ! Mimi ! 
 
 Open the gates of wonderland! 
 
 Bring back the mood of phantasy, and wake us from our evil dream ! 
 
 Silence. Then anszuering echoes of the music are 
 heard, faintly, from the fireplace. There are rap- 
 pings and murmurings underground, rumbling and 
 patter of feet, and all the sounds of Nibelheim. 
 As the music swells louder, the trap doors slide open, 
 and MIMI appears, amid steam and glare of light. 
 estelle sees him, and recoils in terror. A company 
 of Nibelungs emerge one by one. They peer about 
 
226 PRINCE HAGEN [act iv 
 
 timidly, recognize hagen, and with much trepida- 
 tion approach him. mimi clasps his hand, and they 
 surround him ivith joyful cries. He moves toward 
 the fireplace, and the steam envelops him. 
 
 EST. l^Starts toward him, stretching out her arms to 
 him.'] Prince Hagen ! 
 
 HAGEN. Farewell! 
 
 He gradually retires, and disappears with the Nibe- 
 lungs. The orchestra sounds the motive of Siegfried 
 Triumphant. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
B 15 lS-2 
 
One copy 
 
 del. to Cat. Div. 
 
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