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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rada, by Alfred Noyes.
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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44829 ***</div>
<div class="transnote">
<p>Transcriber's Note:</p>
<p>Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible.</p>
</div>
<div class="center">
<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" width="391" height="600" alt="" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p>
<h1>RADA</h1>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="BY_THE_SAME_AUTHOR" id="BY_THE_SAME_AUTHOR">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</a></h2>
<div class="center">
<ul class="ilb"><li>TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN</li>
<li>DRAKE</li>
<li>THE FOREST OF WILD THYME</li>
<li>FORTY SINGING SEAMEN</li>
<li>THE ENCHANTED ISLAND</li>
<li>THE WINE PRESS</li>
</ul></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="center">
<a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a><img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="600" height="393" alt="" />
<p class="caption">THE BAYONETS</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>
<p class="center xlarge">RADA<br />
<span class="large">A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE</span></p>
<p class="center">BY<br />
<span class="large">ALFRED NOYES</span></p>
<p class="p2 center">WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER GOYA</p>
<p class="p2 center large">METHUEN & CO. LTD.<br />
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br />
LONDON
</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p>
<p class="center"><i>First Published in 1915</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="DEDICATION" id="DEDICATION">DEDICATION</a></h2>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thou whose deep ways are in the sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Whose footsteps are not known,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To-night a world that turned from Thee<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is waiting—at Thy Throne.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The towering Babels that we raised<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Where scoffing sophists brawl,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The little Antichrists we praised—<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The night is on them all.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The fool hath said ... The fool hath said ...<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And we, who deemed him wise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We, who believed that Thou wast dead,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">How should we seek Thine eyes?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How should we seek to Thee for power,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Who scorned Thee yesterday?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How should we kneel in this dread hour?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Lord, teach us how to pray.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Grant us the single heart once more<br /></span>
<span class="i2">That mocks no sacred thing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Sword of Truth our fathers wore<br /></span>
<span class="i2">When Thou wast Lord and King.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Let darkness unto darkness tell<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Our deep unspoken prayer;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For, while our souls in darkness dwell,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">We know that Thou art there.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</a></h2>
<table summary="Illustrations">
<tr><td>THE BAYONETS</td>
<td class="tdr padl"><a href="#frontis"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td><td class="tdr small">FACING PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td>OVER THE JAWS OF THE CROWD</td>
<td class="tdr padl"><a href="#facing016">16</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>THE OLD DANCE OF CHARLATANS AND BEASTS</td>
<td class="tdr padl"><a href="#facing022">22</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>THE VAMPIRE</td>
<td class="tdr padl"><a href="#facing056">56</a></td></tr>
</table>
<p class="center"><i>Reproduced from etchings by Goya</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a><br /><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="PRELUDE" id="PRELUDE">PRELUDE</a></h2>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Under which banner? It was night<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Beyond all nights that ever were.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Cross was broken. Blood-stained Might<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Moved like a tiger from its lair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And all that heaven had died to quell<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Awoke, and mingled earth with hell.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For Europe, if it held a creed,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Held it thro’ custom, not thro’ faith.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Chaos returned in dream and deed,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Right was a legend—Love, a wraith;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And That from which the world began<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was less than even the best in man.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">God in the image of a snake<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Dethroned that dream, too fond, too blind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The man-shaped God whose heart could break,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Live, die and triumph with mankind;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A Super-snake, a Juggernaut,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dethroned the Highest of human thought.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Choose, England! For the eternal foe<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Within thee, as without, grew strong,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By many a super-subtle blow<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Blurring the lines of right and wrong<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In Art and Thought, till nought seemed true<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But that soul-slaughtering cry of <i>New!</i><br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">New wreckage of the shrines we made<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Thro’ centuries of forgotten tears....<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We knew not where their hands had laid<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Our Master. Twice a thousand years<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Had dulled the uncapricious sun.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Manifold worlds obscured the One;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Obscured the reign of Law, our stay,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Our compass thro’ the uncharted sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The one sure light, the one sure way,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The one firm base of Liberty;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The one firm road that men have trod<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thro’ Chaos to the Throne of God.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Choose ye!</i> A hundred legions cried<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Dishonour, or the instant sword!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ye chose. Ye met that blood-stained tide,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">A little kingdom kept its word;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, dying, cried across the night,<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Hear us, O earth, we chose the Right.</i><br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Whose is the victory? Though ye stood<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Alone against the unmeasured foe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By all the tears, by all the blood,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">That flowed, and have not ceased to flow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By all the legions that ye hurled<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Back thro’ the thunder-shaken world;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">By the old that have not where to rest,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">By lands laid waste and hearths defiled,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By every lacerated breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And every mutilated child,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose is the victory? Answer, ye<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who, dying, smiled at tyranny:—<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<i><span class="i0">Under the sky’s triumphal arch<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The glories of the dawn begin.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Our dead, our shadowy armies, march<br /></span>
<span class="i2">E’en now, in silence, thro’ Berlin—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dumb shadows, tattered blood-stained ghosts,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But cast by what swift following hosts!<br /></span></i>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And answer, England! <i>At thy side,</i><br /></span>
<span class="i2"><i>Thro’ seas of blood, thro’ mists of tears,</i><br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Thou that for Liberty hast died</i><br /></span>
<span class="i2"><i>And livest, to the end of years.</i><br /></span>
<span class="i0">And answer, earth! Far off, I hear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The pæans of a happier sphere:—<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<i><span class="i0">The trumpet blown at Marathon<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Exulted over earth and sea;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But burning angel lips have blown<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The trumpets of thy Liberty,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For who, beside thy dead, could deem<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The faith, for which they died, a dream?<br /></span></i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<i><span class="i0">Earth has not been the same, since then.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Europe from thee received a soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whence nations moved in law, like men,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As members of a mightier whole,<br /></span></i>
<span class="i0"><i>Till wars were ended....</i> In that day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So shall our children’s children say.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHARACTERS" id="CHARACTERS">CHARACTERS</a></h2>
<p><span class="smcap">Rada</span>, wife of the village doctor.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Bettine</span>, her daughter, aged twelve.</p>
<div>
<div class="ilb vam smcap">Brander<br />Tarrasch</div>
<div class="ilb vam">⎧<br />⎨<br />⎩</div>
<div class="ilb vam"><p class="hanging">German soldiers quartered in her<br />
house during the occupation<br />
of the village.</p></div></div>
<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Nanko</span>, an old, half-witted schoolmaster,
living in the care of the doctor. He
has a delusion that it is always Christmas
Eve.</p>
<p>German soldiers.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a><br /><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="RADA" id="RADA">RADA</a><br />
<span class="smaller">A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE</span></h2>
<p class="direction"><i>The action takes place in a Belgian
village, during the War of 1914.
The scene is a room in the doctor’s
house. On the right there is a
door opening to the street, a window
with red curtains, and a desk
under the window. On the left
there is a large cupboard with a
door on either side of it, one
leading to a bedroom and the
other to the kitchen. At the back
an open fire is burning brightly.
Over the fireplace there is a reproduction
in colours of the Dresden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
Madonna. The room is lit only
by the firelight and two candles in
brass candlesticks, on a black oak
table, at which the two soldiers are
seated, playing cards and drinking
beer.</i></p>
<p class="direction"><i><span class="smcap">Rada</span>, a dark handsome woman, sits
on a couch to the left of the fire,
with her head bowed in her hands,
weeping.</i></p>
<p class="direction"><i><span class="smcap">Nanko</span> sits cross-legged on a rug before
the fire, rubbing his hands, snapping
his fingers, and chuckling to himself.</i></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> (<i>throwing down the cards</i>).</p>
<p>Pish! You have all the luck. (<i>He
turns to <span class="smcap">Rada</span></i>) Look here, my girl,
where is the use of snivelling? We’ve
been killing pigs all day and now we
want to unbuckle a bit. You ought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
to think yourself infernally lucky to
be alive at all, and I’m not sure that
you will be so fortunate when the
other boys come back. Wheedled them
out of the house finely, didn’t you?
On a fine wildgoose chase, too. Hidden
money! Refugees don’t bury their
money and leave the secret behind
them. You’ve been whimpering ever
since we two refused to believe you.
What’s your game, eh? I warn you
there’ll be hell to pay when they come
back.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>sobbing and burying her face</i>).</p>
<p>God, be pitiful!</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<p>This is war, this is! And you can’t
expect war to be all swans and shining
armour. No—nor smart uniforms either.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
Look at the mud my friend and I
have already annexed from Belgium.
Brander, you know it’s a most astonishing
fact; but I have remarked it
several times. Those women whose
eyes glitter at the sight of a spiked
helmet are the first to be astonished
by the realities of war. They expect
the dead to jump up and kiss them
and tell them it is all a game, as
soon as the battle is ended. No, no,
my dear; it’s only in war that one
sees how small is one’s personal happiness
in comparison with greater things.
Isn’t it?</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>He fills a glass and drinks.
<span class="smcap">Brander</span> lights a cigar.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<p>Exactly. In times of peace we forget
those eternal silences. We value<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
life too highly. We become domesticated.
Why, I suppose in this magnificent
war there have been so many
women and children killed that they
would fill the great Cloth Hall at
Ypres; and, as for the young men,
there have been so many slaughtered
that their dead bodies would fill St.
Peter’s at Rome. Why, I suppose they
would fill the three hundred abbeys of
Flanders and all the cathedrals in the
world chock-full from floor to belfry,
wouldn’t they? How Goya would have
loved to paint them! Can’t you see it?</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>He grows ecstatic over the idea.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Tournai with its five clock-towers, Ghent, and Bruges,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Louvain and Antwerp, Rheims and Westminster,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Under the round white moon, on Christmas Eve,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With towers of frozen needlework, and spires<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That point to God; but all their painted panes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bursting with dreadful arms and gaping faces,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gargoyles of flesh; and round them, in the snow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The little cardinals, like gouts of blood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The little bishops, running like white mice,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hooded with violet spots, quite, quite dismayed<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To find there was no room for them within<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Upon that holy night when Christ was born.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>But perhaps if Goya were living to-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>day
he would prefer to pack them into
Chicago meat factories, with the intellectuals
dancing outside like marionettes,
and the unconscious Hand of God
pulling the strings. You know one of
their very latest theories is that He is
a somnambulist.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">Rada</span></i>).</p>
<p>You should read Schopenhauer, my
dear, and learn to estimate these
emotions at their true value. You
would then be able to laugh at these
feelings which seem to you now so
important. It is the mark of <i>Kultur</i>
to be able to laugh at all sentiments.
Isn’t it?</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<p>The priests, I suppose, are still balancing
themselves on the tight-rope, over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
jaws of the crowd. The poor old Pope
did his best for his Master, when the
Emperor asked him for a blessing on the
war. “<i>I</i> bless Peace,” said the Pope;
but nobody listened. I composed a little
poem about that. I called it St. Peter’s
Christmas. It went like this:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And does the Cross of Christ still stand?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Yes, though His friends may watch from far—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And who is this at His right hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">This Rock in the red surf of war?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">This, this is he who once denied,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And turned and wept and turned again.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Last night before an Emperor’s pride<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He stood and blotted out that stain.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Last night an Emperor bared the sword<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And bade him bless. He stood alone.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alone in all the world, <i>his</i> word<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Confessed—and blessed—a loftier throne.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I hear, still travelling towards the Light,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In widening waves till Time shall cease,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Power that breathed from Rome last night<br /></span>
<span class="i2">His infinite whisper—<i>I bless Peace.</i><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> and <span class="smcap">Brander</span> applaud
ironically.</i>)</p>
<div class="center">
<a name="facing016" id="facing016"></a><img src="images/facing016.jpg" width="600" height="434" alt="" />
<p class="caption">OVER THE JAWS OF THE CROWD</p>
</div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<p>Excellent! Excellent! (<i>To <span class="smcap">Rada</span></i>)
You should have seen our brave
soldiers laughing—do you remember,
Brander—at a little village near Termonde.
They made the old vicar and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
his cook dance naked round the dead
body of his wife, who had connived
at the escape of her daughter from a
Prussian officer.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<p>Ah, that was reality, wasn’t it? None
of your provincial respectability about
that, none of your shallow conventionality!
That’s what the age wants—realism!</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<p>It was brutal, I confess; but better
than British hypocrisy, eh? There was
something great about it, like the
neighing of the satyrs in the Venusberg
music.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>sinking on her knees by the
couch and sobbing</i>).</p>
<p>God! God!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<p>They were beginning to find out the
provincialism of their creeds in England.
The pessimism of Schopenhauer had
taught them much; and if it had not
been for this last treachery, this last
ridiculous outburst of the middle-class
mind on behalf of what they call honour,
we should have continued to tolerate (if
not to enjoy), in Berlin, those plays by
Irishmen which expose so wittily the
inferior <i>Kultur</i>, the shrinking from
reality, of their (for the most part)
not intellectual people. I have the
honour, madam, to request that you
should no longer make this unpleasant
sound of weeping. You irritate my
nerves. Have you not two men quartered
upon you instead of one? And
are they not university students? If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
your husband and the rest of the
villagers had not resisted our advance,
they might have been alive, too. In
any case, your change is for the
better. Isn’t it?</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>He lights a cigar.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<p>Exactly! Exactly! You remember,
Rada, I used to be a schoolmaster myself
in the old days; and if <i>you</i> knew
what <i>I</i> know, you wouldn’t cry, my
dear. You’d understand that it’s entirely
a question of the survival of the fittest.
A biological necessity, that’s what it
is. And Haeckel himself has told us
that, though we may resign our hopes
of immortality, and the grave is the
only future for our beloved ones, yet
there is infinite consolation to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
found in examining a piece of moss or
looking at a beetle. That’s what the
Germans call the male intellect.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<p>Is this man attempting to be insolent?</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>He rises as if to strike</i> <span class="smcap">Nanko</span>.)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander</span> (<i>tapping his forehead</i>).</p>
<p>Take no notice of him. He’s only
a resident patient. He was not calling
you a beetle. He has delusions. He
thinks it is always Christmas Eve.
That’s his little tree in the corner. As
Goethe should have said—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There was a little Christian.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He had a little tree.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up came a Superman<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And cracked him, like a flea.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> (<i>laughing</i>).</p>
<p>Very good! You should send that to
the <i>Tageblatt</i>, Brander.</p>
<p>Well, Rada, or whatever your name
is, you’d better find something for us
to eat. I’m sick of this whimpering.</p>
<p>Wouldn’t your Belgian swine have
massacred us all, if we’d given them
the chance? We’ve thousands of women
and children at home snivelling and
saying, “Oh! my God! Oh! my God!”
just like you.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>rising to her feet in a fury of
contempt</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then why are you in Belgium, gentlemen?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is it the husks and chaff that the swine eat,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or is it simply butchery?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p class="direction">(<i>They stare at her in silence, over-mastered
for a moment by her
passion. Then, her grief welling
up again, she casts herself down
on the couch, and buries her face
in her hands, sobbing.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i20">God! God! God!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="center">
<a name="facing022" id="facing022"></a><img src="images/facing022.jpg" width="600" height="444" alt="" />
<p class="caption">THE OLD DANCE OF CHARLATANS AND BEASTS</p>
</div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<p>Don’t you trouble about God. What
can <i>He</i> do when both sides go down
on their marrow-bones? He can’t make
both sides win, can He?</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<p>That’s how the intellectuals prove He
doesn’t exist. Either He is not almighty,
they say, or else He is unjust enough not
to make both sides win. But all those
anthropomorphic conceptions are out of
date now, even in England, as this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
gentleman very truly said. You see, it
was so degrading, Rada, to think that
God had anything in common with
mankind (though love was once quite
fashionable), and as we didn’t know of
anything higher than ourselves we were
simply compelled to say that He resembled
something lower, such as earthquakes,
and tigers, and puppet-shows,
and ideas of that sort. Reality above
all things! You may see God in
sunsets; but there was nothing <i>real</i>
about the <i>best</i> qualities of mankind.
It’s curious. The more intellectual and
original you are, the lower you have to
go, and the more likely you are to
end in the old dance of charlatans and
beasts. I suppose that’s an argument
for tradition and growth. If we call it
Evolution, nobody will mind very much.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>wringing her hands in an
agony of grief</i>).</p>
<p>Oh, God, be pitiful, be pitiful!</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander</span> (<i>standing in front of her</i>).</p>
<p>Look here, we’ve had enough of this
music. I’ve been watching you, and
there’s more upon your mind than
sorrow for the dead. Why were you
so anxious to wheedle us all out of the
house? Tarrasch has warned you
there’ll be hell to pay when the others
come back. What was the game, eh?
You’d better tell me. You couldn’t have
thought you were going to escape
through our lines to-night.</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>There is a sudden uproar outside,
and a woman’s scream, followed by
the terrified cry of a child.</i>)</p>
<p>Ah! Ah! Father!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<p>Hear that. The men are mad with
brandy and blood and—other things.
There’s no holding them in, even from
the children. You needn’t wince. Even
from the children, I say. What chance
would there be for a fine-looking wench
like yourself?</p>
<p>No, you were not going to try that.
You’ve something to hide, here, in the
house, eh? Well, now you’ve got rid of
the others, and we’ve had a drink,
we’re going to look for it. What is
there?</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>He points to the bedroom door.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>rising to her feet slowly, steadying
herself with one hand on the couch
and fixing her eyes on his face</i>).</p>
<p>My bedroom. No. I’ve nothing here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
to hide. This is war, isn’t it? If I
choose to revenge myself on those
that have used me badly, people
that I hate, by telling you where you
can find what everybody wants, money,
money—I suppose you want that—isn’t
that good enough?</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<p>Better come with us, then, and show
us this treasure-trove.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>shrinking back</i>).</p>
<p>No, no, I dare not. All those dead
out there would terrify me, terrify me!</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<p>A pack of lies! What were you up to,
eh? Telephoning to the English?</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<p>It has been too much for her nerves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
Don’t worry her, or she’ll go mad.
Then there’ll be nobody left to get us
our supper.</p>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> wanders round the room,
opening drawers and examining
letters and other contents at the
desk.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<p>That <i>would</i> be selfish, Rada. You
know it’s Christmas Eve. Nobody
ought to think of unpleasant things on
Christmas Eve. What have you done
with the Christmas-tree, Rada?</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<p>And who’s to blame? That’s what I
want to know. You don’t blame <i>us</i>,
do you? We didn’t know where we
were marching a month ago; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
possibly we shall be fighting on your
side against somebody else, a year
hence.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<p>Of course they didn’t know! Poor
soldiers don’t.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> (<i>who has been trying the
bedroom door</i>).</p>
<p>In the meantime, what have you got
behind that door? Give me the key.</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>hurriedly, and as if misunderstanding
him, opens the cupboard. She
speaks excitedly</i>).</p>
<p>Food! Food! Food for hungry men.
Food enough for a wolf pack. Come on.
Help yourselves!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<p>Look, Brander! What a larder!
Here’s a dinner for forty men. Isn’t it?</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada.</span></p>
<p>Better take your pick before the
others come.</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>She thrusts dishes into <span class="smcap">Brander’s</span>
hands and loads <span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> with
bottles. They lay the table with
them, <span class="smcap">Rada</span> seeming to share their
eagerness.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander</span> (<i>looking at his hands</i>).</p>
<p>Here! Bring me a basin of warm
water. There are times when you
can’t touch food without washing your
hands.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Rada</span> hesitates, then goes into the
kitchen. <span class="smcap">Brander</span> holds out a
ring to <span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span>.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Her husband’s ring. I got it off his finger<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When he went down. He lay there, doubled up,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With one of those hideous belly wounds. He begged,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Horribly, for a bullet; so, poor devil,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I put him out of his misery. I can’t eat<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With hands like that. Ugh! Look!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko</span> (<i>rising and peering at them</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i32">Ah, but they’re red.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Red, aren’t they? And there’s red on your coat, too.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He fingers it curiously.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I suppose that’s blood, eh? People are such cowards.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Many of them never seem to understand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That man’s a fighting animal. They’re afraid,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dreadfully afraid, of the sight of blood.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I think it’s a beautiful colour, beautiful!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You know, in the Old Testament, they used<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To splash it on the door-posts.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander</span> (<i>pushing him away</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i30">Go and sit down,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You crazy old devil!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Rada</span> enters with a bowl of water,
sets it on a chair, and returns to
the couch. <span class="smcap">Brander</span> washes his
hands.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i20">My hands want washing, too.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
<span class="i0">My God, you’ve turned the water into wine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Get me some fresh.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Rada</span> approaches, stares at the bowl,
and moves back, swaying a little.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander</span> (<i>roughly</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">I’ll empty it. Give it to me.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He goes out.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Old Testament, you know, is full of it.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Who is this</i>, it says, <i>that cometh from Edom,</i><br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>In dyed garments from Bozrah?</i> It was blood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That dyed their garments. And in <i>Revelation</i><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Blood came out of the wine-press, till it splashed<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The bridles of the horses; and the seas<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Were all turned into blood. Doesn’t that show<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That man’s a fighting animal?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> (<i>again fumbling at the bedroom
door</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">Give me the key.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>thrusting herself between him and
the door</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">That is my bedroom. You must not go in.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Are they so modest, then, in Belgium, madam?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You’re fooling us. What is it? Loot? More loot?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The family stocking, eh?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Brander</span> enters. He goes to the
table and begins eating.</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">The stocking? No!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The stocking is in the chimney-corner, see.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He shakes an empty stocking that
hangs in the fire-place.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bettine and I, we always hang it up<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ready for Santa Claus. It’s a good custom.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They do it in Germany. The children there<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Believe that Santa Claus comes down the chimney.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If I know anything of women’s eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s either money, or a daughter, Rada.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And so—the key! Or else I burst the door.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>looks at him for a moment before
speaking</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I throw myself upon your mercy, then.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It <i>is</i> my little girl. She is twelve years old.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Don’t wake her. She has slept all through this night.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I thought I might have hidden her. It’s too late.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s of the other men that I’m afraid.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not you. But they are drunk. If they come back....<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Help me to save her! I’ll do anything for you,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Anything! Only help me to get her away!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll pray for you every night of my life. I’ll pray....<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>She stretches out her hands pitifully
and begins to weep. The men stand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
staring at her. The door opens
behind her, and <span class="smcap">Bettine</span>, in her
night-dress, steals into the room.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<p>Mother——Oh!</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>She stops at the sight of the strangers.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Don’t be afraid. I’m Nanko’s friend.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What? Don’t you know me? I came down the chimney.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I don’t see any soot upon your face.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>She goes nearer.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Nor on your clothes. That’s red paint, isn’t it?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Can’t help it. Santa Claus—that is my name.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What’s yours?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">Bettine.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i20">Ah! I’ve a little girl<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At home—about your age, too—called Bettine.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine</span> (<i>who has been watching him
curiously</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I know. You are the British. Mother said<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The British would be here before the Boches.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I dreamed that you were coming, and I thought<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
<span class="i0">I heard the marching. Weren’t you singing, too?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It made me feel so happy in my sleep.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What were you singing? “It’s a long, long way<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To——” what d’you call it? <i>Tipperary</i>? eh?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What does that mean?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">A place a long way off.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">As far as heaven?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">Almost as far as—home.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Well, I suppose it means the Boches must march<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A long, long way before they reach it, eh?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
<span class="i0">There’s Canada. They’ll have to march through that.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then India, and that’s huge. Why, Nanko says<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There are three hundred million people there,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And all their soldiers ride on elephants.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Poor Boches! I’m sorry for them. Nanko says<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They’re trying to ride across two thousand years<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In motor-cars. It’s easy enough to ride<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Two thousand miles; but not two thousand years.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>She runs to the stocking and examines
it. <span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> and <span class="smcap">Brander</span>
return to the table and eat and
drink.</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There’s nothing in the stocking. Never mind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nanko, when Christmas really comes, you’ll see.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>With a sudden note of fear in her
voice.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Mother, where’s father?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>putting an arm round her</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i22">He will soon be with us.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s all right, darling.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">Mother, mayn’t we try<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The new tunes on the gramophone?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i32">Now, wait!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ve an idea. It’s Christmas Eve, you know.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We’ll celebrate it. Where’s the Christmas-tree?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
<span class="i0">We’ll get that ready first.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Bettine</span> pulls the little Christmas-tree
out from the corner. <span class="smcap">Rada</span>
glances from the child to the men,
as if hoping that her play will win
them to help her.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i26">It’s nearly a week,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Isn’t it, Nanko, since you had your tree?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Here, put it on the table.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko</span> (<i>clapping his hands</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i26">Yes, that’s best.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I fear that we shall want a new tree, soon.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This one is withered. See how the needles drop.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
<span class="i0">There’s no green left. It’s growing old, Bettine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What shall we hang on it?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">What d’ you think<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of that now? (<i>He hangs his revolver on the tree.</i>)<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine</span> (<i>laughing merrily</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">Oh! Oh! What a great big pistol!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’ll be father’s present! And now what else?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko</span> (<i>eagerly</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What else?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Well, what do you say to a ring, Bettine?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How prettily it hangs upon the bough!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Isn’t that fine? (<i>He hangs the ring upon the tree.</i>)<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine</span> (<i>staring at it</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It’s just like father’s ring!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now light the candles. Isn’t it?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko</span> (<i>clapping his hands and capering</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i32">Yes, that’s right!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Light all the little candles on the tree!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, doesn’t the pistol shine, doesn’t the ring<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Glitter!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">But oh, it <i>is</i> like father’s ring.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He had a little piece of mother’s hair<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Plaited inside it, just like that. It <i>is</i><br /></span>
<span class="i0">My father’s ring.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">No; there are many others,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bettine, just like it, hundreds, hundreds of others.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And now—what’s in that package over there?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, that’s the new tunes for the gramophone.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s father’s Christmas present to us all.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now, what a wonderful man the doctor was!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nobody else, in these parts, would have thought<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of buying a gramophone. Let’s open it.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yes! Yes! And we’ll give father a surprise!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It shall be playing a tune when he comes in!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
<span class="i0">He won’t be angry, will he, mumsy dear?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Brander</span> opens the package. <span class="smcap">Nanko</span>
rubs his hands in delight. They
get the gramophone ready.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, this will be a merry Christmas Eve.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There now—just see how this kind gentleman<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Has opened the package for us. Now you see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The good of war. It benefits the health.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sets a man up. Look at old Peter’s legs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He’s a disgrace to the village, a disgrace!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nobody shoots him either, so he spoils<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Everything; for you know, you must admit,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Bettine, that war means natural selection—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Survival of the fittest, don’t you see?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For instance, <i>I</i> survive, and <i>you</i> survive:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Don’t we? So Peter shouldn’t spoil it all.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They say that all the tall young men in France<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Were killed in the Napoleonic wars,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So that most Frenchmen at the present day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are short and fat. Isn’t that funny, Bettine?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>She laughs.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Which shows us that tall men are not required<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To-day. So nobody knows. Perhaps thin legs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like Peter’s <i>may</i> be useful, after all,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
<span class="i0">In aeroplanes, or something. Every ounce<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Makes a great difference there. Nobody knows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s natural selection. See, Bettine?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ah, now the gramophone’s ready. Make it play<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A Christmas tune. That’s what the churches do<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On Christmas Eve: for all the churches now,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And all the tall cathedrals with their choirs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What do you think they are, Bettine? I’ll tell you.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll whisper it. <i>They’re great big gramophones!</i><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>She laughs.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now for a Christmas tune!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> (<i>adjusting a record</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">There’s irony<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In your idea, my friend, that would delight<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The ghost of Nietzsche! Certainly, it shall play<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A Christmas tune. Here is the very thing.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>There is an uproar of drunken shouts
in the distance.</i> <span class="smcap">Brander</span> <i>locks the
outer door.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The inn is full of drunken men to-night,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mother. D’ you hear them? Mother, was it an inn<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like that—the one that’s in my Christmas piece?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span></i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Don’t do it, we’ve had irony enough.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Don’t start it playing, if you want to keep<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This Christmas party to ourselves, my boy.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The men are mad with drink, and—other things.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Look here, Tarrasch, what are we going to do<br /></span>
<span class="i0">About this youngster, eh?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">Better keep quiet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till morning. When the men have slept it off<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They’ll stand a better chance of slipping away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They’re all drunk, officers and men as well.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">That’s the most merciful thing that one can say.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, what a pity! I did think, Bettine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That we should have some music. Well—I know!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tell us the Christmas piece you learned in school.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s right. Stand there! No, stand up on this bench.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your mother tells me that you won the prize<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For learning it so beautifully, Bettine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s right. Now, while you say it, I will stand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Here, with a candle. See, that illustrates<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The scene.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He lifts one of the candles to illuminate
the picture of the Madonna<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
and child. For a moment he
speaks with a curious dignity.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i10">You know it is not all delusion<br /></span>
<span class="i0">About this Christmas Eve. The wise men say<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That Time is a delusion. Now then, speak<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your Christmas piece.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine</span> (<i>with her hands behind her, as
if in school, she obeys him</i>).</p>
<p>She laid Him in a manger, because
there was no room for them in the inn.</p>
<p>And there were in the same country
shepherds abiding in the field, keeping
watch over their flock by night,</p>
<p>And lo, the angel of the Lord came
upon them, and the glory of the Lord
shone round about them, and they were
sore afraid.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>
<p>And the angel said unto them, “Fear
not: for behold I bring you good tidings
of great joy, which shall be to all
people.</p>
<p>“For unto you is born this day in the
City of David a Saviour, which is Christ
the Lord.</p>
<p>“And this shall be a sign unto you; ye
shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling
clothes, lying in a manger.”</p>
<p>And suddenly there was with the angel
a multitude of the heavenly host, praising
God, and saying:—</p>
<p>“<i>Glory to God in the Highest, and on
earth peace....</i>”</p>
<p class="direction">(<i>There is silence for a moment, then a
pistol-shot, a scream, and a roar of
drunken laughter without, followed
by a furious pounding on the door.
<span class="smcap">Bettine</span> runs to her mother.</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Here, Tarrasch, what the devil are we to do<br /></span>
<span class="i0">About this child?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He calls through the door.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">Clear out of this! The house<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is full. We want to sleep.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>The uproar grows outside, and the
pounding is resumed. There is a
crash of broken glass at the
window.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i26">Mother, I’m frightened!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is the Boches! Mother, it is the Boches!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where are the British, mother? You said the British<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Were sure to be here first!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i26">Bundle the child<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Into that room, woman, at once!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i><span class="smcap">Rada</span> snatches the revolver from the
Christmas-tree and hurries <span class="smcap">Bettine</span>
into the bedroom just as the other
door is burst open and a troop of
soldiers appear on the threshold,
shouting and furious with drink.
They sing, with drunken gestures,
in the doorway:</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Zum Rhein, zum Rhein, zum deutscher Rhein....”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">First Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i42">Come on!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They’re in that room. I saw them! The only skirts<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Left in the village. Comrades, you’ve had your fun—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s time for ours.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i18">Clear out of this. You’re drunk.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We want to sleep.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Second Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">Well, hand the women over.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There are no women here.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">First Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">You greedy wolf,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I saw them.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come! Come! Come! It’s Christmas Eve!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="center">
<a name="facing056" id="facing056"></a><img src="images/facing056.jpg" width="600" height="457" alt="" />
<p class="caption">THE VAMPIRE</p>
</div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Second Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Well, if there are no petticoats, where’s the harm<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In letting us poor soldiers take a squint<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Through yonder door? By God, we’ll do it, too!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come on, my boys.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>They make a rush towards the
room.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">Be careful, or you’ll smash<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Christmas-tree! You’ll smash the gramophone!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>A soldier tries the bedroom door.
It is opened from within, and
<span class="smcap">Rada</span> appears on the threshold
with the revolver in her hand.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">First Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Liars! Liars!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">There is one woman here,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One woman and a child....<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And war, they tell me, is a noble thing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is the mother of heroic deeds,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The nurse of honour, manhood.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Second Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i24">God, a speech!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko</span> (<i>who is hugging his Christmas-tree
near the fire again</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Certainly, Rada! You will not deny<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That life’s a battle.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i20">You hear, drunk as you are,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up to your necks in blood, you hear this fool,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This poor old fool, piping his dreary cry.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And through his lips, and through his softening brain,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The men that use you, cheat you, drive you out<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To slaughter and be slaughtered, teach the world<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That this black vampire, sucking at our breasts,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is good. Men! Men! The pestilence of your dead<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is murdering you by legions. All the trains<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of quicklime that your Emperor sends behind you<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Can never eat its way through all that flesh—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Three hundred miles of dead! Your dead!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">First Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i38">Hoch! Hoch!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A speech!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>
<p class="direction">(<i>They make a movement towards her,
which she arrests by raising the
revolver.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">I do not hate! I pity you all.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I tell you, you are doing it in a dream.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You are drugged. You are not awake.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">I have sometimes thought<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The very same.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">But you will wake one day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Listen! If you have children of your own,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Listen to me ... the child is twelve years old.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She has never had one hard word spoken to her<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In all her life.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Second Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">Nor shall she now, by God!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where is she? Bring her out!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">First Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i28">Twelve years of age?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Add two, because her mother loves her so!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s ripe enough for marriage to a soldier.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>They laugh uproariously, and sing again
mockingly</i>:)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Zum Rhein, zum Rhein, zum deutscher Rhein!”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>They move forward again.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada</span> (<i>raising the revolver</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One word. If you are deaf to honour, blind<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To truth, and if compassion cannot reach you,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Then I appeal to fear! Yes, you shall fear me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Listen! I heard, when I was in that room,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A sound like gun-fire, coming from the south:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What if it were the British?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Soldiers.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i28">Ah! The swine!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The dogs!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Rada.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bull-dogs; and slow. But they are coming,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, where they hold, they never will let go.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though they may come too late for me and mine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You are on your trial now before the world.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
<span class="i0">You never can escape it. They are coming,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With justice and the unconquerable law!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I warn you, though their speech is not my own,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I shall be but one of all the dead,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dead, with that child, in a forgotten grave—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I speak for them, and they will keep my word.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yes, if you harm that child ... the British.... Ah!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>They advance towards her.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I have one bullet for the child and five<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To share between you and myself.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">First Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i32">Come on!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She can’t shoot! Look at the way she’s holding it!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Duck down, and make a rush for it.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Soldiers.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i30">Come on!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>They make a rush. <span class="smcap">Rada</span> steps
back into the bedroom and shuts
the door in their faces.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Second Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Locked out in the cold. Come, break the damned thing down!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Bettine</span> (<i>crying within</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O British! British! Come! Come quickly, British!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander</span> (<i>trying to interpose</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">She’ll keep her word. You’ll never get ’em alive.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Never. I know that kind. You’d better clear out.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">First Soldier.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Down with the door!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>They put their shoulders to it.
<span class="smcap">Brander</span> makes a sign to <span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span>.
They try to pull the men back.
There is a scuffle and <span class="smcap">Brander</span> is
knocked over. He rises with the
blood running down his face, while
<span class="smcap">Tarrasch</span> still struggles. The door
begins to give. A shot is heard
within. The men pause and there
is another shot.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Brander.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">By God, she’s done it!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>There is a booming of distant
artillery.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i22">Hear!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She was not lying. That came from the south-west.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
<span class="i0">It is the British!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>A bugle-call sounds in the village
street.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Tarrasch.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">The British! A night-attack!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>They all rush out except <span class="smcap">Nanko</span>,
who peers after them from the door.
Leaving it open to the night, he
takes a </i>marron glacé<i> from the table,
crosses the room, and begins to
examine the gramophone.</i></p>
<p class="direction"><i>Confused sounds of men rushing
to arms, thin bugle-calls in the
distance, and the occasional clatter
of a galloping horse blow in from the
blackness framed in the open door.
The deep pulsation of the British
artillery is heard throughout, in
a steady undertone.</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko</span> (<i>calling aloud as he munches</i>).</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come, Rada, you’re pretending. They’re all gone.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rada, these <i>marrons glacés</i> are delicious.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s over now! Come, I don’t think it’s right<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To spoil a person’s pleasure on Christmas Eve.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He tiptoes to the door and peers into
the night.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come quick, Bettine, rockets are going up!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They are breaking into clusters of green stars!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, there’s a red one! You could see for miles<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When that one broke. The willow-trees jumped out<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Like witches; and, between them, the canal<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dwindled away to a little thread of blood.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And there were lines of men running and falling,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And guns and horses floundering in a ditch.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, Rada! there’s a bonfire by the mill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They’ve burned the little cottage.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">There’s a man<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hanging above the bonfire by his hands,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And heaps of dead all round him.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Come and see!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s terrible, but it’s magnificent,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like one of Goya’s pictures. That’s the way<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>He</i> painted war. Well, everybody’s gone....<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To think <i>I</i> was the fittest, after all!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p>
<p class="direction">(<i>He returns to the gramophone.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I wonder how this gramophone does work.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He said the tune that he was putting in<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was just the thing for Christmas Eve.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">I wonder,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wonder what it was. Listen to this!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He reads the title.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It’s a good omen, Rada—<i>A Christmas carol</i><br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Sung by the Grand Imperial Choir</i>—d’ you hear?—<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>At midnight in St. Petersburg</i>—<i>Adeste</i><br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Fideles!</i> Fancy that! A Christmas carol<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Upon the gramophone!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So all the future ages will be sure<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To know exactly what religion was.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
<span class="i0">To think we must not hear it! Rada, they say<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Angel Gabriel composed that tune<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the first Christmas Eve. So don’t you think<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That we might hear it?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Everybody is gone, except the dead.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It will not wake them....<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come, Rada, you’re pretending! Do not make<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The war more dreadful than it really is.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He accidentally sets the gramophone
working and jumps back, a little
alarmed. He runs to the bedroom
door.</i>)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Rada! I’ve started it! Bettine, d’ you hear?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The gramophone’s working.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><p class="direction">(<i>The artillery booms like a thunder-peal
in the distance. Then the
gramophone drowns it with the
massed voices of the Imperial Choir
singing</i>:)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="smcap"><span class="i0">Adeste Fideles,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Læti triumphantes,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Adeste, adeste in Bethlehem!<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Natum videte<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Regem angelorum:<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Venite, adoremus,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Venite, adoremus,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Venite, adoremus Dominum.<br /></span></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<span class="smcap">Nanko</span> <i>touches the floor under the
door of the bedroom and stares at
his hand.</i>)</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Something red again? Trickling under the door?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Blood, I suppose....<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>
<p class="direction">(<i>A look of horror comes into his face
as he stands listening to the music.
Then, as if slowly waking from a
dream and almost as if sanity
had returned for a moment, he
cries</i>:)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It’s true! It’s true! Rada, I am awake!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am awake! And, in the name of Christ,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I accuse, I accuse ... O God, forgive us all!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="direction">(<i>He falls on his knees by the bedroom
door and calls, as if to the
dead within</i>:)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Awake, and after nineteen hundred years....<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bettine, Bettine! the British, they are coming!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Rada, you said it—they are coming quickly!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They are coming, with the reign of right and law.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But, O Bettine! Bettine! will they remember?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are they awake? I only hear their guns.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What if they should grow used to it, Bettine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fail to wipe this horror from the world?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">God, is there any hope for poor mankind?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">God, are Thy little nations and Thy weak,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thine innocent, condemned to hell for ever?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">God, will the strong deliverers break the sword<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And bring this world at last to Christmas Eve?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">The Imperial Choir.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="smcap"><span class="i4">Æterni Parentis<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Splendorem Æternum,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Velatum sub carne videbimus,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Deum infantem,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Pannis involutum,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Venite, adoremus,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Venite, adoremus,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Venite, adoremus Dominum.<br /></span></span>
</div></div>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Nanko.</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Will Christ be born, oh, not in Bethlehem,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But in the soul of man, the abode of God?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There, in that deep, undying soul of man<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(I still believe it), that immortal soul,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Will they lift up the cross with Christ upon it,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Fool of God, whom intellectual fools,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The little fools of dust, in every land,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Grinning their <i>What is Truth?</i> still crucify.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Could they not thrust their hands into His wounds?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His wounds are these—these dead are all His wounds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bettine! Bettine! the British, they are coming!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But you are silent now, so silent now!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will they lift up God’s poor old broken Fool,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And sleep no more until His kingdom come,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His infinite kingdom come?<br /></span>
<span class="i18">Will they remember?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>
<p class="direction">(<i>He bows his head against the closed
door, while the gramophone lifts
the chorus of the Imperial Choir
over the deepening thunder of the
guns</i>:)</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="smcap"><span class="i0">Nunc cantet, exultans,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Chorus angelorum,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cantet nunc aula celestium<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gloria, Gloria,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In excelsis Deo!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Venite, adoremus,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Venite, adoremus,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Venite, adoremus Dominum.<br /></span></span>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="INTERCESSION" id="INTERCESSION">INTERCESSION</a></h2>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now the muttering gun-fire dies,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Now the night has cloaked the slain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now the stars patrol the skies,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Hear our sleepless prayer again!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They who work their country’s will,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fight and die for Britain still,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Soldiers, but not haters, know<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Thou</i> must pity friend and foe.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Therefore hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thou whose wounded Hands do reach<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Over every land and sea,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Thoughts too deep for human speech<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Rise from all our souls to Thee;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deeper than the wrath that burns<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Round our hosts when day returns;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deeper than the peace that fills<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All these trenched and waiting hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Hear, O hear!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Pity deeper than the grave<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Sees, beyond the death we wield,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Faces of the young and brave<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Hurled against us in the field.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cannon-fodder! They <i>must</i> come,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We must slay them, and be dumb,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Slaughter, while we pity, these<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Most implacable enemies.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Master, hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They are blind, as we are blind,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Urged by duties past reply.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ours is but the task assigned;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Theirs to strike us ere they die.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who can see his country fall?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who but answers at her call?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who has power to pause and think<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When she reels upon the brink?<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Hear, O hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Shield them from that bitterest lie<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Laughed by fools who quote their mirth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the wings of death go by<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And their brother shrieks on earth.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though they clamp their hearts with steel,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Conquering <i>every</i> fear they feel.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There are dreams they dare not tell.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Shield, O shield, their eyes from hell.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Father, hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Where the naked bodies burn,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Where the wounded toss at home,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Weep and bleed and laugh in turn,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Yes, the masking jest may come.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let him jest who daily dies.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But O hide his haunted eyes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pain alone he might control.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shield, O shield his wounded soul.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Master, hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Peace? We steel us to the end.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Hope betrayed us, long ago.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Duty binds both foe and friend.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">It is ours to break the foe.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then, O God! that we might break<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This red Moloch for Thy sake;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Know that Truth indeed prevails,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And that Justice holds the scales.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Father, hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">England, could this awful hour,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Dawning on thy long renown,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mark the purpose of thy power,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Crown thee with that mightier crown!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Broadening to that purpose climb<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the blood-red wars of Time....<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Set the struggling peoples free,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Crown with Law their Liberty!<br /></span>
<span class="i8">England, hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Speed, O speed what every age<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Writes with a prophetic hand.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Read the midnight’s moving page,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
<span class="i2">Read the stars and understand:<br /></span>
<i><span class="i0">Out of Chaos ye shall draw<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deepening harmonies of Law,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till around the Eternal Sun<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All your peoples move in one.<br /></span></i>
<span class="i8">Christ-God, hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both for foe and friend, our prayer.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="center">The Gresham Press<br />
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED<br />
WOKING AND LONDON
</p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44829 ***</div>
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