: BARRIEl MJ' UC-NRLF ^B 2TT 27T ,1V 38-30 Wfs$ 3; New York ^1' Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/barrierneworiginOOsutrrich THE BARRIER a IFlew ant) ©rtgtnal ipla^ in ffour Bets BY ALFRED SUTRO Copyright, 1908, by Ai^fred Sutro CAUTION— This play is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, is subject to royalty, and any one pre- senting the play without the consent of the author or his agents will be liable to penalty under the law. All applications for amateur performances must be made to SAMUEL French, 38-30 West 38th Street, New York City. New York SAMUEL FRENCH publisher 28-30 West 38th Street . London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND Cbaracters. The Duke op St. Edmunds. The Marquis op Studland, M.P, Lord Roland Dumaray. Captain Antony Erquen. Mr. Hanks. Eustace Marillier. Margaret Verrall. Lady Studland. Lady Alma Dumaray. Mrs. Pethick. Wilson. The action of the play passes in two days. o o Q o er I The following is the cast of the original production of: — THE BARRIER. Produced on Thursday, October 10th, 1907, at the Comedy Theatre, London, by Charles Frohman. The Duke op St. Edmunds Mr. Eric Lewis. The Marquis of Studland, M.P. . .Mr. Dawson Mil ward. Lord Roland Dumarat Mr. A. E. Matthews. Captain Antony Erquen Mr. Allan Aynesworth. Mr. Hanks Mr. Michael Sherbrooke. Eustace Marillier Mr. A. E. Anson. Margaret Verrall Miss Marie Tempest. Lady Studland Miss Lillah MacCarthy. Lady Alma Dumaray Miss Muriel Beaumont. Mrs. Pethick Miss Geraldine Olliffe. Wilson Miss Jean Harkness. THE BAERIER. ACT I. The dratuing-room of Margaret Verrall''s house in Regent's Park. It is a room of modest size, welU lined with hook-shelves, hung with good pictures, the furniture artistic and pleasant — a room that is cosy and comfortable, exceedingly unpreten- tious, and argues the possession, in its owner, of refined and cultured instincts. In a corner is a piano; on one or two small tables are books and magazines. A bowl of fiowers is on the piano. From the ivitidows is a pleasant vieiv on to the park. At left is a door leading to an inner room; at back another, opening on to a landing and staircase. Mrs. Pethick, a gray-haired lady, whose face ha- bitually wears a somewhat sour and discontented expression, is seated at a table, knitting. The door at back bursts open, and Wilson rushes into the room, flourishing a poster. Wilson, {excitedly) Mum! Mum! Mrs. Pethick. What is it, Wilson? Wilson. Got it from the paper-boy, m'm. Look ! {She flourishes the poster, on which is inscribed in large letters, " Margaret Verrall throws up HER PART AT THE OrPHEON.") Mrs. Pethick. {putting up her glasses, reading) 5 g ; ; ; ; THE BARRIER. ";UJ&rgare;i:; Ve^ri.all throws up her part at the Or- phedn.'' Well ! Wilson. A poster all to herself, m'm, like as if she was a Distressing Incident, or a Earthquake ! Mrs. Pethick:. (grumbling) What are we com- ing to ! (Tony comes in with hat and stick) Ah, Captain Wilson. Have you seen this, sir? Tony, (laughing, as he puts doivn his hat and stick) Yes, I've seen it ! And the newsboys are making a fortune ! (Wilson goes, lack) Good af- ternoon, Mrs. Pethick. Mrs. Pethick. (sourly) Afternoon. What next, I wonder! What is it they say? Tony. Merely that she has thrown up her part. Also that she refuses to be interviewed. Mrs. Pethick. Interviewed ! I've had to discon- nect the telephone. And there has been a constant stream of reporters all the morning. Tony, (sitting) The stage is very popular. Mrs. Pethick. (knitting savagely) More ex- citement over an actress going out of a bill Tony. Than over a rich man entering the King- dom of Heaven. Yes. Mrs. Pethick. (Stopping her knitting for a moment and looking severely at him) Captain Er- quen, I must beg you not to bring sacred matters into contempt. Tony. (meekly) I apologize, Mrs. Pethick. But so many rich men have died lately — one won- ders. Mrs. Pethick. (knitting again) There won't be any of them in Heaven — and there won't be any actresses either. Tony. That's rather severe, Mrs. Pethick — but, of course, if you've made up your mind Where is Margaret? Mrs. Pethick. Eesting. Or writing. Or feed- ing her canaries. Or sulking. We had words. THE BARRIER. Y Tony. Oh, I'm sorry. Mrs. Pethick. (viciously) I'm her companion, and chaperone, and receive a hundred pounds a year Tony, (meelcly) 1 know, Mrs. Pethick. Mrs. Pethick. But that's no reason why I should be muzzled, and sat on, and jumped on Tony. The doctor ordered her exercise. But she'd really better try golf. Mrs. Pethick. (angrily) Don't, Captain Er- quen ! I don't like it — I'm not in the mood for it ! And this frivolity is altogether out of place, in the presence of a crisis ! Tony, (nursing his hnee) A big word, Mrs. Pethick — ^but not quite justified — is it ? It's scarcely a crisis when a lady becomes engaged. Mrs. Pethick. (snorting) A lady ! An actress ! Tony, (cheerfully) And a very fine one, by Jove ! She has conquered this funny old city — and the poster's the proof of it ! Mrs. Pethick. Bah ! They'd put me on a poster if I murdered the cook ! Tony. I trust your ambition will not carry you those lengths, Mrs. Pethick. But I say again, why crisis? Margaret's engaged Mrs. Pethick. To the son of a Duke! When the papers know that! Tony. They'll be simply delirious — ecstatic, epithalamic — wild and bubbling over! — Pity he''^ not the eldest son. Mrs. Pethick. You are amazing! (She lays down her Tcnitting, and stares at him over her glasses.) Tony. Eeally? Why? Mrs. Pethick. Aren't you in love with her your- self? Tony. We're all in love with her, Mrs. Pethick. 8 THE BARRIER. Mrs. Pethick. (sourly) I'm not! And I'd much rather she married you! Tony. That's very good of you. Why this pref- erence ? Mrs. Pethick. He's such a nice boy ! Tony. She's such a nice girl. Mrs. Pethick. (knitting rapidly) Only known her six weeks ! Tony. Tjong enough to go round the world — and it's not so far to a woman's heart. Mrs. Pethick. (snapping her needles) A wo- man's heart — twaddle ! Besides, she's years older ! Tony, (indignantly) She's not ! Mrs. Pethick. Ever seen her birth certificate? Tony, (shaking a finger at her) Spiteful ! And wTong, too. I've never known Margaret tell a lie. Nor have you, either. Mrs. Pethick. (knitting more violently than ever) Oh, you make me tired, w4th your Margaret ! (Margaret enters from l., holding a cage with a canary in it, that she puts on the table. She pats Tony's arm as she passes, and lends merrily over Mrs. Pethick. Margaret. Does he make you tired, Mother Pethick? Mrs. Pethick. (crossly) Don't call me Mother Pethick ! I won't have it ! I've told you that lots of times. I won't have it ! Margaret, (merrily) Isn't she cross, Tony? Instead of being overjoyed ! Don't go, old lady. Sit down. (She presses Mrs. Pethick, who has made as though about to rise, back into her chair. Mrs. Pethick. (sourly) Old lady! Listen to her — such manners ! And why have you brought that nasty bird in here? Margaret. He wanted a change of air, he told THE BARRIER. 9 me — and to see his godmother — that's you, dear por- cupine, (she kisses Mrs. Pethick, who wriggles un- der the caress) Tony, she has been so rude to me ! Tony. And to me. Margaret. Such a wicked old tongue she has! Always dissatisfied — and predicting unpleasant things ! Mrs. Pethick. Never mind — you'll soon be rid of me now — Lady Margaret ! Margaret. No — Lady Koland, my dear. And it sounds nice — awful nice! But 1 shall always stick to my dear old frump ! Mrs. Pethick. (indignantly) Margaret! Margaret, (dancing round her) I love her, I love her, and who shall dare To chide me for loving — my grumpy old bear ! Mrs. Pethick. (rising, with dignity) Permit me to leave you. Margaret. Not now. Sit down. Business. Let us be serious. You too, Tony. About this throwing up the part. Tony. Yes? Margaret. I couldn't tell them at the theatre about Roland, of course — and I was so anxious to be free — till we're married at any rate — and — such a stroke of luck ! I had a difference with the author — about some lines he wanted me to speak, and I wouldn't. He was stubborn, I firm — result, I simply left. Manager tearing his hair, offering to fricassee the author, stew him, roast him or boil him — swear- ing I was worth more to him than a million authors — I refused, and retired — with dignity. And there we are ! Mrs. Pethick. There we are! A nice state of things ! A whole theatre upset by a mere — galvan- ized doll ! Margaret, (chuckling) There, Tony — that's how she talks to me! But I want you to do the rest, will you? 10 THE BARRIER. ToxY. Of course. I'll go down, and see Forres- ter. Margaret. Ascribe it to nerves — caprice — any- thing. I want to be out of the bill for a bit. Mrs. Pethick. {grimly) And your salary? Margaret. That'll be out of the bill, too. We've lots of money. Mrs. Pethick:. No, we haven't! You're so ex- travagant ! Always sending cheques to ridiculous charities ! Frauds they are, all of 'em, / know. Margaret. We've enough to keep the pot boil- ing, for the present, at any rate. And I can't be at the theatre now — Roland told his people this morn- ing Mrs. Pethick. Poor things! My heart bleeds for them ! Margaret, (merrily) Put on some sticking- plaister, frumpy dear — you've no blood to lose ! But I'm sure they'll appreciate my leaving the stage for the moment. Don't you agree, Tony? Tony. Yes, I do. I think you're right. Mrs. Pethick. (with derision) He thinks you're right ! She asks the man who loves her whetlier she's right in marrying someone else! Margaret. Now just you go away, you bundle of perverse sentimentality, and leave me to talk with — the man who loves me ! Mrs. Pethick. (gathering vp her belongings) I go. You're dining at home? Margaret. Of course. ^Irs. Pethick. Then at least let me request you, when we meet at dinner, to respect the laws of com- mon civility. (She goes, l.. Toxy holds open the door for her, then returns. Margaret has gone to the table on ivhich the cage stands, and is playing witli the bird; she has her back to Toxy. Margaret, (softly) Do you still love me, Tony ? THE BARRIER. H Tony. Not impossible. Habit I've got into. Like smoking cigarettes. Not worth talking about. Margaret, {turning and facing him) Curious man ! Tony. Lots like me, in the army. Men of one idea. I've proposed to you, with military regularity, every six months. Margaret, (pained) Don't, Tony ! Tony. Next proposal was just about due, when up popped Roland. But, very seriously, Maggie, there isn't a grain of feeling in me that isn't one large wish for your happiness. Margaret, {earnestly) I'm sure of that. You've been a dear friend to me. And you'll re- main so, won't you? Tony. Always — but not quite so near a one. I'm going away. Margaret. Where? For long? Tony. India. I've been offered a very fine berth — on a railway. Great stroke of luck. Only heard of it this morning, and accepted right away. Margaret. I'm glad — and I'm sorry Tony. I'm off next Friday. Margaret. So soon? Tony. The man whose place I'm taking died suddenly of enteric — must sail at once. But you won't miss me. Margaret. I shall, awfully. Tony. Roland will be there. Margaret. Tony, he is a dear boy, isn't he ? Tony. A good fellow — and a gentleman — which is more than can be said of all duke's sons. Oh yes, I like him — as well as can be expected — under the circumstances. Margaret. So you don't think me so very foolish ? Tony. Foolish — why ? We'll leave all that cackle about difference of station to newspaper writers and disappointed old maids. Margaret. But the family? 12 THE BARRIER. Tony. They'll try to prevent it, because that's the usual thing, and dukes always do the usual thing Margaret. I suppose so. Tony. But your name stands as high as that of any woman in London — and you and Roland will get married, whether the Duke likes it or not — and they'll come round. Margaret. I wonder! Tony. Sure to ! They've only to see you ! Now let's discuss this theatre business. There's the ques- tion, of course, of the contract. (Wilson enters hurriedly, with a card on a salver.) Margaret, {very much annoyed, waving her away) Wilson, I told you I would see no one ! Wilson, {very excitedly) If you please, m'm — Margaret. No one, I said — no one at all ! Tell him so ! Wilson, {trying to get in a word) M'm Margaret. At once, do you hear? Wilson, {gasping) The Duke ! Margaret. ) ^ , . . ^ \ The Duke? ? ? Tony. ) Wilson. Yes, m'm, if you please, m'm. {she presents the salver) Margaret, {talcing the card) The Duke of St. Edmunds ! The Duke here ! Tony ! Wilson. Such a nice gentleman, m'm ! Not at all what you'd think a Tony. You must see him, of course. Wilson. Most affable, m'm ! So polite and Margaret. Heaven, I must do my hair! Tony, talk to him while I Ask him to come up, Wilson. His {She pauses and loohs interrogatively at Tony. Tony, {with a chucHe) His Grace. THE BARRIER. 13 Margaret. Fancy! {To Wilson) Go! (TFil- SON goes) I'll fly. Oh ! {she rushes to the book- shelves, and feverishly picks out hooks) Ibsen, Tol- stoy, iSrietsche. Scatter these, Tony. They'll show him that I — I shan't be long. {She rushes out. Tony, with a smile, puts the hooks on the table. Wilson comes in with the Duke.) Wilson, {pompously) His Grace the Duke of St. Edmunds, {she goes) Tony. Good afternoon. Won't you sit down? Miss Verrall will be here in a moment. She asked me Duke. Thank you. {he sits) Tony. Let me introduce myself. I am Antony Erquen, late Captain in His Majesty's Border Rifles — and a very old friend of Miss Verrall's. Duke. Ah. You are young to have left the Arm}^ Tony. After fifteen years' service a fellow gets tired of inspecting his men's clothes, and boots, and counting the beery coppers they've taken in the can- teen Duke. K'ot very edifying, certainly. Tony. So I sent in my papers, and became a private citizen again. But I have still not lost the habit of criticising men's clothing. Duke. Ah. Nothing very wrong, I trust, with mine? Tony, {with a smile) You seem to have the proper number of buttons, Duke, and I imagine your boots fit you. But, seriously, isn't it an absurd thing that a highly trained officer should have to concern himself with these trifles? Duke. I am a fairly old man, Captain Erquen, and have lived so long among absurd things that I have grown used to them, {he fingers the hooks on the table) Ibsen, Tolstoy, Nietsche! Dear me! Does Miss Verrall read these? 14 THE BARRIER. Tony. Oh yes. Duke. You increase my apprehension. My mis- sion was already sufficiently embarrassing ! I will confess to you, Captain, that I know these gentle- men only by reputation. Now that {he nods at the canary) is very much more in my line. Tony. The canary? Duke, {rising, and going to the cage) If I mis- take not, a very good Lancashire turn-crown. Yes — it is. The crest overlaps the eyes a leetle too much. — and I'm afraid the feathers are soriewhat inclined to curl. But it's a fine bird, {he turns) Pardon me. Captain. I am exceedingly fond of birds and flowers. Tony. So is Miss Verrall. Duke, {returning to his seat) Thank Heaven! We shall have some common ground. Tell me, Cap- tain — for I am a very shy man — is Miss Verrall — alarming ? Tony, {puzzled) Alarming? Duke. I have never seen her, you know. A per- son, myself, without any very pronounced or fixed prejudices, I am allied, by marriage, to the very pillar and prop of Nonconformity. He has a dread of the theatre. Tony. He? Duke, I am alluding to the father of my daugh- ter-in-law — my elder son's wife. You have heard of Mr. Hanks? Tony, {shaking his head) Vm afraid that I Duke. Surely you know Boilings and Hanks, the great drapers in the Seven Sisters' Koad? (Tony nods) Ah, of course. It is curious, Captain — these are the days of the great brewers, and great drapers, and great financiers — there were days of great states- men, great warriors, and even of great dukes. But let that pass. Tell me about Miss Verrall. Tony. This to begin with. She is the sweetest, noblest, truest creature— — - THE BARRIER. 15 Duke. That will do very well to begin with. Pray go on. Tony. You are laughing at me, but my empha- sis is not as out of place as you think. So many people are apt to imagine that because a woman is connected with the stage Duke, (breaking in gently) I quite agree, my dear Captain. And I am fully prepared to endorse all you say. My son has already emptied the ad- jective-box; I am glad to have your superlatives also. Will you tell me if Miss Verrall (Margaret comes in. Tony and the Duke rise. Tony. Here she is ! Duke, let me introduce you to Miss Margaret Verrall — the Duke of St. Ed- munds. And now I'll leave you. Margaret, (after an exchange of formal hows with the Duke) You'll come back, Tony? I'd like to Tony. I'll wait downstairs. (to the Duke) Good-bye. Duke. Good-bye, Captain. I trust we may meet again. Tony. With all my heart! (he goes) Margaret. Won't you sit down? And, first of all, tell me, please, must I punctuate every sentence with "Your Grace"? I've never spoken to a real live duke before. Duke. My dear Miss Verrall, your grace is greater than mine. And if any extra punctuation be needed, you have but to flash a smile on me. In the impossible event of my attention wandering, you may recall me to sanity by addressing me sharply as " duke." Margaret, (gaily) Ah, very well — that is de- lightfully simple ! (she sits) And — now ? Duke, (ruefully, as he sits, facing her) Now ! That's just it ! Miss Verrall, I have a difficult task before me — I maj say, in many respects, an odious 16 THE BARRIER. task. It will simplify matters very considerably if you allow me to offer, as preface, a little autobio- graphical sketch. Margaret, (smiling) By all means. Duke. Thank you. Miss Verrall, you behold be- fore you what is probably the most tragical figure in modern life — tragic, I assure you, don't laugh — a poor duke. Margaret. Oh ! Duke. The word '^ poor *' has been somewhat cor- rupted from its original sense — the sense in which I use it. I have no money. (Margaret hows smil- ingly) Nor is this my fault, Miss Verrall. My father, the kindest and most genial of men, absent- mindedly scattered the last fragments of a fortune into which his father, before him, had dipped very heavily. I i^arried when I was very young: when my father died I found myself practically without a shilling. Margaret, {politely) I'm sorry. Duke. In the course of your pleasant excursion through life, Miss Verrall, you may have come across a thing called a mortgage. That thing has been a nightmare to me since I inherited the estates. I will not harrow you with details — but if you want to con- ceive my position, imagine a suit of clothes — with another man inside them ! My wife, who was a practical woman, realized that my elder son must marry money. He did — she arranged it — and then she died, and left me to face the consequences. Margaret. Were they so very dreadful? Duke. My son married the daughter of Boilings and Hanks — I mean Mr. Hanks Margaret. Seven Sisters' Road? Duke, {ivitli a smile) And elsewhere! To be brief, agricultural depression had, in the meantime, so considerably reduced the value of my estates that I was unable to pay the interest on the mortgages, nor were these worth the money advanced. Mr. THE BARRIER. 17 Hanks, who is fabulously wealthy — a kind of fairy draper — intervened. Mr. Hanks took ever the mort- gages, and it is he who manages the property. Mr. Hanks receives all the money that comes in, and pays all the money that goes out. I, my dear Miss Ver- rall, am simply a figurehead; nominally master and owner of Dumaray Castle, Stormbrook Priory, and the rest — really a pauper who finds it the most diffi- cult thing in the world to pay his tailor's bill and the subscription at his club. Margaret. How awful ! Duke. The fact is that it isn't pleasant — but one has to make the best of things, and I do. I at least derive this benefit from the arrangement, that I am enabled to retain my old serrants — even to pension them when they are past work — for Mr. Hanks is very just and very generous — and to maintain, though in a somewhat shaky fashion, the traditions of my ancient house. . . . There you have, Miss Ver- rall, very simply, the story of my life. It has, I venture to say, been a life of sufficient correctness — I have none of the vices with which popular fiction and popular preachers are wont to credit my or- der Margaret. And mine. Duke, {lowing) And yours. To be popular one has to punch hard — and we have both been punched. It doesn't hurt! Well, to continue. My elder son, as I have said, was married, six years ago, to Mr. Hanks's daughter, Alicia Gwendolen — a masterful lady, who has sent her husband into the House — where I imagine that in silence and resignation, he accomplishes such duties as are required of him. For we are not a brilliant family, Miss Verrall. Margaret, (merrily) You mustn't say that! Duke, {shading Ms head) The family brain, I fear, has gone the way of the family estat<^s, and has sadly — deteriorated ! But that by the way ! ^ly own daughter — poor child! — has allowed Alicia 21 18 THE BARRIER. Gwendolen to engage her to a wealthy South Afri- can magnate — and it was the intention, the long- thought-out, carefully-matured intention of the afore- said Alicia Gwendolen to marry Roland to an Ameri- can girl, whose father has made what is known as a pile in — pork. Margaret. Miss Hilling. I know. Duke. Imagine, therefore, the consternation into which his announcement of this morning has thrown the ruling powers! For you will, I am sure, have gathered from what I have said that Alicia Gwen- dolen is the sun, the rising and setting sun, around which I, the meekest of mortals, pathetically revolve ! Margaret, (laughing) Strawberry-leaves and all! Duke. All ! Her father whirls with me in the starry sphere, accompanied by her husband, my daughter, and, till to-day, Roland ! For with us, I assure you, the law of gravitation is suspended — and we are conscious only of one attraction — Alicia Gwen- dolen — who has annexed our souls, and keeps the keys in the little chatelaine that is strapped to her waist. And the mission with which I am charged. Miss Verrall, is a mission which this superior power has imposed upon me; and the initial repugnance with which I received it is vastly increased now that I have had the privilege of meeting you, face to face. Margaret, (clieerfulh/) Go on, duke — don't be afraid ! Your daughter-in-law is horrified at the idea of Roland marrying me? Duke. Let us say she — objects. Therefore, her father does also. And her husband. For myself, let me assure you that I have an absolutely open mind; nor did it need the testimony of Ibsen and Tolstoy to convince me Margaret, (with a chuclde) Never mind them. I put them there myself to make an impression. Go on. THE BARRIER. 19 Duke. Mr. Hanks is a worthy man. He has even a sense of humour. But he was early inoculated with Nonconformity — and has it badly. Need I say more ? Margaret. (g