-^^0^ <^- "** ,0^ ^'•4J%''^o. ', ^ -^^0^ K^ Hq, ^oV"^ ^^-n^. v/^- l'^ (E^ : ^° ■''*•. s • nJ^N. ^ ^^ • -.^ •'.^ ^ <^^ o • » • "^ ' • "^ •1- V. 0^ s''^/. ^ f-1 - tv. ^- -^ ^9 o ^5:^IIIII1W^3^ <- .^^v G^ ^ .7^^, . V - ^ '^ A^ -^ THE VOICE OF THE WILDFLOWERS A Fantasy BY MARIETTA MINNIGERODE ANDREWS AUTHOR OF The Cross Triumphant, a Pageant of the Church in England and America WRITTEN FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE WILDFLOWER PRESERVATION SOCIETY Dedicated to PAUL BARTSCH Copyright f <^ Ji^ Marietta Minnigerode Andreivs ©CI.A683245 SEP 16 1922 C[l0mmittfr A ^ J 4?^ ^ V Mrs. James Parmalee ^^>*^ Mrs. Fairfax Harrison , h *. Mrs. E. H. Bouton 'f Mrs. Louis Hertle Dr. Paul Bartsch Mr. Charles Moore Mr. J. H. Small Mr. Ben A. Harlan Organizer and Producer Bess Davis Schreiner Director of Rhythm Carolyn McKinley Soloist Estelle Wentworth Director of Music - . Paul Bleyden and The Voice of the Wildflowers, Miss Opal Whiteley, Author of "The Story of an Understanding Heart" r!^^ Produced in honor of the GARDEN CLUB OF AMERICA at the NATIONAL RED CROSS BUILDING Washington October 25, 1922 3 THE PASSERBY Oh ! dogwood blossom by the way, Flaunting on high Your snow-white, pure and spotless spray Against the sky — I leave you ! Other thoughtless hands May bruise and break — But m}'^ sad spirit understands The risk you take. Oh, violet and blue lupine! Bloom on in peace ! Scatter your seed in warm sunshine, Spend and increase ! I spare you ! Other reckless feet May tramp you down — Crush to the earth your life-blood sweet. Your seed unsown ! I thank you for the message sent, As on I speed. I thank you for the courage lent Me in my need. Through narrow street and sordid scene You play your part — Your color, perfume, living green, Stay in my heart ! STORY An outdoor setting with trees and shrubs as background and wings. Little gnomes in green. The first gnome peers anx- iously around and finding the coast clear beckons to his mates who play upon the lawn. All shrink back against the foliage as steps approach. Mortals pass, portraying the friendship of the flowers and their part in the joy, love, grief and faith of men. These having passed, the gnomes return, until the en- trance of The Voice of the Wildflowers. Then they again shrink from sight, returning timidly as her speech attracts them, as if in sympathy with her, seating themselves at her feet, listening. Having told of some of the gentle offices of the wildflowers, The Voice calls them forth that they may express in color, rhythm and music their joy at being thus brought into friendly touch with man. The flowers appear in successive groups, each group attired in the variations of a single color of the spectrum, until the seven groups have formed a living rainbow, semi-circular, opening toward the audience, and then the white flowers, who have been a chorus behind the scenes, appear and group themselves around The Voice. In more simple form this can be done by seven single figures, in violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red draperies. . When the rainbow group is complete, the lullaby music is heard, and the flowers becoming drowsy, turn and look once more into the face of her whose Voice has been loaned to them, and sink into sleep at her feet. PANTOMIME Showing that the flowers are dear to man in undiscrimi- nating childhood, in ardent love, in broken-hearted grief, and in triumphant faith. That infancy, youth, age, and eternity know and love the flowers. 1. Lady walking in a garden, reading; her children come joyously to her, their hands full of flowers pulled up by the roots. The little happy group passes. 2. A young lover, in picturescjue costume, breaks a red rose from a bush, and kneeling before his lady love, offers it to her. They pass. 3. An older woman alone, in trailing black, gathers an arm- ful of white fl.owers, burying her face in them as she passes. 4. A priest, with dangling crucifix, and breviary in his hand, passes thoughtful through the garden. A single lily attracts his attention. He tenderly takes it with him to the altar. THE VOICE I am The Voice of the Wildflowers. Once in many years they find a voice. Isaiah spoke for us — the roses of the wilderness. David spoke for us — the flowers of the grass. Jesus spoke for us — the lilies of the field. Wordsworth spoke for us — "Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, its fears. For me the meanest flower that blows, can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. I, too, who am today The Voice of the Wildflowers, have an understanding heart and am a child of Nature. When I shall have spoken to you for these my little sisters, I shall call them forth that they may dance for you in all their rainbow colors. To man, we, the wildflowers, are an evidence of divine gra- ciousness. We give him the inspiration of beauty ; The charm of color; The perfection of design ; The solace of fragrance ; The peacefulness of silence. From rocky crag and lonely moor we smile. Into ourselves we draw the poisonous breath of pestilential swamps. Our rootlets stay the onslaught of destroying floods. Our sunflowers, iron-weed and primroses stand sentinel to screen the unsightliness beyond your city confines. 7 Where man ignorantly forces nature into lines of harshness, we steal, and in a season have brought back the van- ished grace. Our myrtle and morning glories creep tenderly over your for- gotten and neglected graves. To our frightened small brothers in feathers and fur, we the wildflowers offer protection. What though our petals be bruised? The fireflies cradle them- selves in our hearts. W^hat though our branches be broken ? The wee rabbits hide in the briars of the rose. To the bees give we pollen, borne mysteriously afar that need- ful things may multiply. To the goldfinch the silvery silk of our seed, that her naked nestlings may find ease. The brown Anosia lays her eggs on the leaves of our milkweed and her caterpillar babies find in us their nursery, nurse and nourishment. To the very worms we give the fresh food of our foliage. m\ If now and then my little sisters wander even as your own children do, into places not for them, it is but love excessive. There are no misers among us. Should our poppies red and cornflowers blue mingle with your golden grain, be merciful ! Grant us still along your highways our ungrudged habitations, permit us to increase along the embankments of your railways, for the joy of the passerby! Spare us the burning torch, the glittering scythe, that lay us low! Into the air we will pour our sweetness ! Into ourselves, draw your destroying gasses ! We will give you still the symbol of the white flower of a stainless life! 8 In death and dissolution, we will enrich your soil ! In our certain resurrection, we will uphold your faith ! Pause The Voice : Come, my little sisters, gather that your graces may be known ; Come in all the rainbow colors Nature makes your very own ; I>et our stronger human brothers whose protecting care we need vSee we too are living creatures, root and stalk and flower and seed. Enter the violet: The violet, hepatica, The iris, aster, blazing-star. The thistle's silky, downy seed, The stately purple iron-weed, The generous wistaria The little violet sisters are. The Voice: Men have seen our hungry rootlets seeking nurture 'neath the sod. Have they seen our sleeping babies cradled snug within the pod? Enter the indigo : Come we who wear the indigo, That deepest blue the flowers know — The larkspur, with its gallant spear, The ragged-robin, ever dear, The fringed gentian, sisters mine. And from the deep woods, the lupine. 9 The Voice : In the meadow and the forest still the blue flower survives ; Now from highways and from byways come to plead for harmless lives ! Enter the blue : My bluest blue, the chicory, Makes summer roadsides fair to see; The Quaker-ladies, in the grass. Bow as the gentle breezes pass ; And hair-bells on the mountain side Deck grimmest bluffs with azure pride. The Voice : We are threatened with extinction ; fire and scythe and idle hand Mow the ferns down, waste their treasure, ravishing Ui from the land. Enter the green : The background of all life is green ; Our laurel leaves with glossy sheen. Our Christmas ferns that pierce the snow, Our brake, turned gold in August glow. And trailing smilax in the shade. And in the sun, each grassy blade. The Voice : If you break us, we are broken; if you bruise us, how wc bleed! If you waste our hard-bought blossom, can we yield you ripened seed? Enter the yellow: The "cowslip by the river's brim," The evening primrose, prim and slim, The sunflowers, all brave and bold, 10 The dandelion's coin of gold, Sprinkle the world as gifts from God^ And widespread fields of golden-rod. The Voice: Our ripened seeds are offering to the birds a gift of love, Which the birds return in service, sowing seed in field and grove. Enter the orange : The milk-weed's gorgeous flame is spread Where lazy Susan lifts her head ; The lemon lily, stately, tall — The trumpet vine on roof and wall — And all the flowers as you pass by, Wink at you with a golden eye. The Voice : Our myriad roots are holding back the fury of the flood; Our chalices are yielding bees and butterflies their food. £nter the red: To clothe the rocks the ferns entwine With drooping, dainty columbine; And in the cool, sequestered nooks Lobelia blooms beside the brooks ; While o'er the world, the poppies spread A coverlet of gold and red. The rainbow has now been formed thus : Violet indigo blue green yellow orange red Indigo blue green yellow orange red violet Blue green yellow orange red violet indigo (etc.) The Voice : In man's vandal hands a-dying faded flowers are little worth ; Let us live, that we may gladden the waste places of the . earth. 11 Enter the white : The pure white flowers now will speak, From edelweiss on mountain peak. To water lily's stainless grace, And dainty, dainty Queen Ann's lace; To yucca, growing strangely grand In vast, unwatered desert land — The yarrow and the marguerite. The dear blood-root beneath your feet — But oh — the Queen of flower-world. When her white petals are unfurled In vernal, virgin purity. The blossom of the dogwood tree ! (At the close of this song, in which the audience could join, the music carries on a lullaby, which shall be sung for or by The Voice.) The soft golden glow dies away in the West And every wee bird seeks its own cosy nest, f i ^ m And Earth's flower-children, on Earth's mother-breast Fall asleep. Oh, turn. Little Sisters, your faces to me ; This hour brings blessing to humanity. Your beds are all waiting, and soon you will be Fast asleep. My voice is faijing, sleep touches my eyes ; Like you — I — am — drifting — on — dear — lullabies — To the dim world — of dreams and of — far-away — skies — So goodnight ! 12 3477-53 -^^0^ ^ Z^^,^^^', ^ .^"^ /.c^i^. > /,r>m^;^ ^ o 'o y ' <^. V -f .-^o^ ^, <-i^ ^ v^ :%:55^p> ^ o vO <^. < > s • • , O <^ ^^■n^. ■S^ .-^^^ -Jv^