path: root/78768-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78768 ***

  [Illustration:

               THE PEASANT WOMAN
               EDITH WYNNE MATTHISON
               FROM PHOTOGRAPH BY ALICE BOUGHTON]




                                 THE
                            TERRIBLE MEEK

                    A ONE-ACT STAGE PLAY FOR THREE
                   VOICES: TO BE PLAYED IN DARKNESS

                                  BY
                         CHARLES RANN KENNEDY
                              AUTHOR OF
                      “THE SERVANT IN THE HOUSE”

                 “_For they shall inherit the earth_”

                            [Illustration]

                     HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
                         NEW YORK AND LONDON




            ALL STAGE, RECITATION, PUBLICATION, TRANSLATION
                AND OTHER RIGHTS RESERVED. APPLICATION
              SHOULD BE MADE TO MESSRS. HARPER & BROTHERS




                               BOOKS BY

                         CHARLES RANN KENNEDY

                    SEVEN PLAYS FOR SEVEN PLAYERS

                      _Volumes now ready_:
                         THE WINTERFEAST
                         THE SERVANT IN THE HOUSE
                         THE IDOL-BREAKER
                         THE RIB OF THE MAN

                    SHORTER PLAYS FOR SMALL CASTS

                      _Volumes now ready_:
                         THE TERRIBLE MEEK
                         THE NECESSARY EVIL

                     HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK


               COPYRIGHT, 1912. BY CHARLES RANN KENNEDY
                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




                                  TO
                               MY MOTHER

                      A NEWER COURAGE. MORE LIKE
                    WOMAN’S. DEALING WITH LIFE, NOT
                     DEATH. IT CHANGES EVERYTHING




                          PERSONS OF THE PLAY

                            A PEASANT WOMAN
                            AN ARMY CAPTAIN
                               A SOLDIER


                               THE TIME

                          A TIME OF DARKNESS


                               THE PLACE

                           A WIND-SWEPT HILL




                          THE TERRIBLE MEEK




                          THE TERRIBLE MEEK


  _Before the curtain rises, a bell from some distant place of
     worship tolls the hour. Nine brazen notes, far off, out of
     tune. Then a heavy peal of thunder, and the sharp, cracking
     strike of a bolt; yet, above all, one other sound, more
     piercing--a strange, unearthly Cry. There follows a mighty
     howling of wind, blended with a confused clamour of voices
     and the hurrying of many feet. The noises have almost all
     died away, when the Curtain rises upon inky darkness._

  _A sudden hush. The silence deepens. There is a sense of
     moorlands and desolate places._

  _Far off, a cow lows in her stall. Some lost sheep down in the
     valley bleats dismally. Silence again._

               _It is broken by the Voice of a Woman, weeping
                  bitterly._ A PEASANT WOMAN.

WOMAN. Oh!...

               _Another Voice: the gentlemanly, well-bred voice
                  of an army man, now under some stress of
                  emotion._ A CAPTAIN.

CAPTAIN. My God, this is awful. I can’t stand it.

WOMAN. Oh!...

CAPTAIN. Come, my good woman, it’s all over now. There’s no earthly
help for it. You can’t remain here, you know.

WOMAN. Leave me be. Leave me be.

CAPTAIN. All the others left long ago. They hurried off home the
moment--the moment the storm came....

Come, it’s bleak and quite too dreadful for you up on this hill. Let
me send you back to the town with one of the soldiers.

WOMAN. One of the--soldiers!...

CAPTAIN. Yes: come, come now....

WOMAN. Leave me be. Don’t touch me. There’s the smell of death on you.

CAPTAIN. Well, since you.... And, after all....

               _The clank and rattle of his sword and uniform
                  mark his moving away. He sits._

The smell of death. My God, it’s true.

               _A bitter wind comes soughing up from the valley.
                  The sheep bleats once, piteously. Then all is
                  quiet again._

               _Some one else is coming. He is heard stumbling
                  blindly up over the hill, the steel butt
                  of his weapon ringing among the stones._ A
                  SOLDIER.

               _Groping in darkness, he collides suddenly with
                  the_ CAPTAIN. _His Voice is that of a common
                  man, city-bred_;

SOLDIER. Gawd blimey, wot the ’ell....

Oh, beg pawdon, sir. Didn’t know it was you, Captain.

CAPTAIN. That’s all right, sentry.

SOLDIER. ’Pon my word, sir, you give me a start, fust go orf. Wot
with the storm an’ the darkness, an’ this ’ere little job we been
doin’, I tek my oath I thought for a moment as you was ... well,
summat else.

Wasn’t quite a nice thing wot ’appened up ’ere just nah, sir, was it?

CAPTAIN. It wasn’t.

SOLDIER. I’m on guard myself, sir; or I don’t know as I’d ’a’ come
up, not for choice.

You bin ’ere all the time, Captain?

CAPTAIN. Have I? Yes, I suppose I have. I’ve been here ... ever since.

SOLDIER. It’s not exackly the place ter spend a pleasant arternoon,
is it, sir?

CAPTAIN. No, I suppose not.

SOLDIER. O’ course, there’s company, as you might say; but not quite
congenial company, eh wot?

CAPTAIN. That depends entirely upon the point of view.

SOLDIER. Dam’ creepy, I call it!...

Well, we done for _’im_ good an’ proper, any’ah.

CAPTAIN. My God, yes. We builders of empire know how to do our
business.

SOLDIER. Pretty bloody business, too, ain’t it, sir?

CAPTAIN. Yes, that’s the word.

               _They consider it for a moment. Presently the_
                  SOLDIER _laughs at some amusing recollection_;

SOLDIER. It’s an ill wind wot blows nobody any good. _I_ got summat
aht o’ this, orl said an’ done.

CAPTAIN. What’s that?

SOLDIER. I got some of ’is togs.

CAPTAIN. His togs. How do you mean?

SOLDIER. Why, I’ll tell yer. _’E_ didn’t want no more togs, not the
way ’e was goin’; nah did ’e? So me an’ the boys, we got our ’eds
together, and arter we’d undressed ’im an’ put ’im to bed, so to
speak, we pitched an’ tossed for the ’ole bag lot, one by one, till
they was orl bloomin’ well divided aht. I got ’is boots.

CAPTAIN. You got his boots, did you?

SOLDIER. Yes, pore devil. _’E_ don’t want them no more. Not quite my
fit; but they’ll do to tek ’ome for a keepsake--that is, if we ever
do get ’ome aht of this ’ere stinkin’ ’ole. My little missis ’ll
think a lot of them boots.

CAPTAIN. They will be a pleasant memento.

SOLDIER. Just wot _I_ say, sir. Oh, my missis, she got an ’oly nose
for ’orrors: she reely ’ave. Tellin’ abaht them boots ’ll last ’er a
lifetime.

CAPTAIN. She must be an attractive young woman, your--missis.

SOLDIER. Oh no, sir, just ordinary, just ordinary. Suits _me_, orl
right....

               _Some memory holds him for a moment_;

Funny thing, Captain, ’ow this ’ere foreign service keeps you--well,
sort of thinkin’, don’t it? S’pose it’s the lonely nights an’ the
long sentry duties an’ such like....

CAPTAIN. You’ve felt that too, then, have you?

SOLDIER. Yessir; meks me think abaht my missis. ’Er was in the family
way when I left ’ome, sir--expectin’ just a couple of month arter I
sailed....

The little beggar ’ll be gettin’ on by nah--that is, if ’e come orl
right.

CAPTAIN. You’ve made up your mind for a boy then, eh?

SOLDIER. She allus ’oped for a boy, sir. Women’s like that. S’pose
it’s orl right; it’s men wot’s wanted these days, wot with the Army
an’ the Spread of Empire an’ orl that.

CAPTAIN. Yes, they make better killing.

               _The_ SOLDIER _is rather stupid, or he would have
                  laughed. He goes on_;

SOLDIER. Yessir, ’er’s bin ’ankerin’ arter a kid ever since we was
married six year ago; but some-’ow or other it never seemed to come
orf. ’Ealthy woman, too, sir. _You_ unnerstand ’ow these things is,
Captain: there’s no tellin’. Little beggars come by guess an’ by
Gawd, it seems to me....

I wonder if it’s a boy. There’s no gettin’ no news aht in this
blarsted....

Good Gawd, wot’s that?...

CAPTAIN. What?

SOLDIER. Be’ind us. Summat sort of.... There, ’ark!

               _The_ WOMAN’S _Voice rises, sighing like wind_;

WOMAN. Oh!...

SOLDIER. My Gawd, wot is it?

CAPTAIN. It’s a woman.

SOLDIER. A woman! Up _’ere_?

CAPTAIN. She has every right to be here. This is her place.

SOLDIER. But does she know? Does she know wot’s ... danglin’ up
yonder, over ’er ’ed?

CAPTAIN. She knows more than we do. She belongs to him. She is his
mother.

SOLDIER. ’Is mother!...

CAPTAIN. Yes, he was her baby once.

               _The_ SOLDIER _is affected by this. He speaks
                  with real compassion_;

SOLDIER. Pore devil!

               _Their minds go wandering through many troubled
                  by-paths of thought. Presently the_ SOLDIER
                  _speaks again_;

Wot was it ’e done, Captain?

CAPTAIN. Don’t you know?

SOLDIER. Not exackly. I got enough to look arter with my drills an’
vittles withaht messin’ abaht with politics an’ these ’ere funny
foreign religions.

CAPTAIN. And yet you, if I mistake not, were one of the four men told
off to do the job.

SOLDIER. Well, I ’ope I know my duty, sir. I on’y obeyed orders. Come
to that, sir, arskin’ your pawdon, it was you as give them orders. I
s’pose _you_ knew orl right wot it was ’e done?

CAPTAIN. No, I don’t know exactly, either. I am only just beginning
to find out. We both did our duty, as you call it, in blindness.

SOLDIER. That’s strange langwidge to be comin’ from _your_ lips,
Captain.

CAPTAIN. Strange thoughts have been coming to me during the last six
hours.

SOLDIER. It’s difficult to know wot’s wot in these outlandish
places. It’s not like at ’ome, sir, where there’s Law an’ Order an’
Patriotism an’ Gawd’s Own True Religion. These blarsted ’eathens got
no gratitude. ’Ere’s the Empire sweatin’ ’er guts aht, tryin’ ter
knock some sense inter their dam’ silly ’eds; an’ wot do you get aht
of it, orl said an’ done? Nuthin’! Nuthin’ but a lot of ingratitude,
’ard words, insurrections, an’ every nah an’ then a bloody example
like this ’ere to-day! Oh, these foreigners mek me sick, they do
reely!

CAPTAIN. Yes, perhaps that has been the real mistake all along.

SOLDIER. Wot ’as, Captain?

CAPTAIN. Taking these people--men like this one, for instance--for
foreigners.

SOLDIER. Well, you’ll excuse me, sir, but wot the ’ell else are they?

CAPTAIN. I’m not quite sure; but supposing they were more nearly
related? Supposing, after all, they happened to be made of the same
flesh and blood as you and me? Supposing they were men? Supposing,
even, they were--brothers?

SOLDIER. Brothers! Why, that’s exackly wot ’e used ter say--’im up
there....

Did you ever ’ear ’im, sir?

CAPTAIN. Once. Did you?

SOLDIER. Once.

               _They remain silent for a little._

It was politics when I ’eard ’im. On’y it sahnded more like some
rummy religion.

CAPTAIN. When I heard him it was religion--sounding curiously like
politics.

SOLDIER. Them two things don’t ’ardly seem to go together, do they,
sir?

CAPTAIN. They don’t. Perhaps they ought to.

SOLDIER. I don’t know. Seems to ’ave led _’im_ into a pretty mess....

It’s a queer world!...

I wonder wot it was ’e reely done.

CAPTAIN. It’s rather late in the day for us to be considering that,
seeing what we have done, isn’t it?

SOLDIER. Well, I don’t know. P’r’aps it’s funny of me, but I never
done a job like this yet withaht thinkin’ abaht it arterwards.... An’
I done a few of ’em, too.

If you arsk me, sir, it was them--well, them long-faced old jossers
dahn there as begun the ’ole beastly business. You know ’oo I mean.

CAPTAIN. Yes, I know whom you mean. But haven’t they a name?

SOLDIER. Well, I ’ardly know _wot_ ter call them, sir. They’re like
a lot of old washerwomen. Allus jawin’. We got nuthin’ exackly like
that sort at ’ome, sir.

CAPTAIN. Oh, I don’t know that there’s all that difference.

SOLDIER. They was allus naggin’ the pore fellow, one way an’ another.
Couldn’t leave ’im alone. They started the ’ole business.

CAPTAIN. Why, what fault did they find with him? What was it they
said he did?

SOLDIER. It wasn’t nuthin’ ’e done, far as I could mek aht. It was
summat as ’e said, wot riled them.

CAPTAIN. Something he said?

SOLDIER. Yes, summat ’orrible; that’s wot they said. Summat too bad
ter be spoken, summat they wasn’t a-goin’ ter stand from anybody.
Least, that’s wot I ’eard....

Wasn’t so very ’orrible, neither. Not ter me. Sahnded a bit mad,
that’s orl.

CAPTAIN. Oh, then you know what it was?

SOLDIER. Yessir. They ’ad a name for it, too: on’y I can’t quite
remember. One of them big jaw-crackers, you unnerstand. Seems a bit
orf for a bloke ter come ter this, just for usin’ a few words.

CAPTAIN. There is great power in words. All the things that ever get
done in the world, good or bad, are done by words.

SOLDIER. Well, there’s summat in that, too. On’y this thing ’e
said--blimey, it was nuthin’! There ain’t a loony alive wot doesn’t
say the same thing ’e said, an’ more, a thahsand times a day, when
’e’s reel bad in ’is ’ead. At the most, it sahnded like a bit of
langwidge, that’s orl.

CAPTAIN. And _you_ don’t mind that, do you?

SOLDIER. Me? ’E could ’a’ done it till ’e was blue in the face an’
welcome, far as I’d care.

CAPTAIN. You yourself, of course, had nothing at all against him?
Nothing personal, nothing political, I mean. No more than I had.

SOLDIER. Lor’ bless you, no, sir. Rawther liked ’im, the bit I saw of
’im.

CAPTAIN. Only they--the long-faced gentlemen--found him guilty. So,
of course, they had to hand him over to the magistrate.

SOLDIER. Yes, blarst them. What did they want ter go an’ do that for?

CAPTAIN. It was perhaps their--duty, don’t you see?

SOLDIER (_taken aback on the sacred word_). Oh, was it? Well, since
you put it in that way, o’ course....

CAPTAIN. Then, again, came the magistrate’s duty. I suppose he found
he had some duty in the matter? Did _he_ very much object to this
horrible thing that had been said?

SOLDIER. Not much! ’E ain’t that sort, not this fellow!...

That’s the funny thing abaht it. Far as I could ’ear, there weren’t
no mention of that, by the time the case come into ’is ’ands. No, it
was riotin’ an’ stirrin’ people up agen the government, as ’e on’y
’ad ter deal with.

CAPTAIN. Was that charge proved against the prisoner?

SOLDIER. They ’ad witnesses, I suppose. On’y you know wot witnesses
are, in a case like this, sir. Got their orders, you unnerstand.

CAPTAIN. And, of course, they all did their duty. That sacred
obligation was attended to. They obeyed.

SOLDIER. I don’t know. Don’t arsk me. I know nuthin’ abaht it.

               _He is a little nettled at the turn the
                  conversation is taking._

CAPTAIN. Was there no one, from among all those crowds that followed
him, to stand up and say a word for him?

SOLDIER. Well, wot do _you_ think? Them greasy blighters! You saw ’ow
they be’aved just nah, when we done the job.

CAPTAIN. _Their_ duty, as voicers of public opinion, I suppose.

SOLDIER (_sullenly_). I don’t know.

CAPTAIN. Had they any very strong feelings against this monstrous
thing he said? Were they so stirred with affection for the
government? Or didn’t their duty cover those unessential points?

SOLDIER. I don’t know.

CAPTAIN. Well then, this magistrate? Having examined this poor wretch
in the presence of all that exemplary, patriotic, obedient mob of
people, he soon found out where _his_ duty lay? It was his duty to
hand him over to us--to you and me.

SOLDIER (_shortly_). Yessir.

CAPTAIN (_insisting_). To you and me.

SOLDIER. I said, Yessir.

CAPTAIN. Whereupon, though we were practically ignorant as to the
charge upon which this man was convicted: though we had grave doubts
as to whether he were guilty at all; and while it is perfectly
certain that we had nothing against him personally, that we even
liked him, sympathized with him, pitied him: it became _our_ duty,
our sworn, our sacred duty, to do to him--the terrible thing we did
just now.

SOLDIER. I can’t see wot you’re drivin’ at, sir. You wouldn’t ’ave a
man go agen ’is duty, would you?

CAPTAIN. I’m trying to make up my mind. I don’t know. I’m blind. I
don’t think I know what duty is.

SOLDIER. It’s perfectly plain, sir. Arter all, duty _is_ duty, ain’t
it?

CAPTAIN. Yes, it doesn’t seem to be very much else.

SOLDIER. ’Ow do you mean, sir?

CAPTAIN. Well, for instance, it doesn’t seem to be love or
neighborliness or pity or understanding or anything that comes out
hot and fierce from the heart of a man. Duty! Duty! We talk of duty!
What sort of devil’s duties are there in the world, do you think,
when they lead blindly, wantonly, wickedly, to the murder of such a
man as this!

SOLDIER. Well, far as I’m concerned, I on’y obeyed my orders.

CAPTAIN. Orders! Obeyed orders!

SOLDIER. Well, sir, it was you as give them to me.

CAPTAIN. Good God, man, why didn’t you strike me in the blasphemous
teeth, the hour I gave them?

SOLDIER. Me, sir? Strike my superior orficer!

CAPTAIN. You struck this defenceless man. You had no scruples about
his superiority. You struck him to the death.

SOLDIER (_hotly_). I on’y did my duty!

CAPTAIN. We have murdered our brother. We have destroyed a woman’s
child.

SOLDIER. I on’y obeyed my orders. When my superior orficer says,
_Kill a man_, why, I just kill ’im, that’s orl. O’ course I kill ’im.
Wot’s a soldier for? That’s duty! (_With sudden lust._) Blood an’
’ell! I’d kill ’im soon as look at ’im, yes, I would, if ’e was Gawd
aht of ’Eaven, ’Imself!...

Not as I ’ave anythin’ personal agen this pore devil. On’y I _do_
know my duty.

               _They are silent for a little while. Then the_
                  SOLDIER, _feeling that he has gone too far,
                  begins assuaging the situation_;

There’s one thing certain: it’s no use cryin’ over spilt milk. ’E’s
dead an’ done for nah, wotever comes. Dead as a door-nail, pore cuss.

               _The_ CAPTAIN, _who has risen during his
                  excitement, now sits down again. His sword
                  clatters against a boulder._

               _A pause._

’E ain’t the fust man I done for, neither; an’ I bet ’e won’t be the
last. Not by a long way.

               _He speaks in an aggrieved tone. It is the way in
                  which shame comes to a soldier._

               _A pause._

CAPTAIN (_deeply_). So you think he is dead, do you?

SOLDIER. Well, wot do _you_ think? A man don’t live forever, ’ung up
as ’igh as we got ’im yonder. Besides, we did a bit of business with
’is vital parts, arter we’d got ’im up there.

CAPTAIN. And all that, you think, means--death.

SOLDIER. Well, don’t it?

CAPTAIN. That’s what I’m wondering.

SOLDIER. Six hours, mind you. It’s a long time.

CAPTAIN. There is something mightier than time.

SOLDIER. Well, they don’t supply little boys’ playthings, not from
our War Office. One of these ’ere beauties....

               _He rattles his weapon in the darkness and
                  continues_;

... when they _do_ start business, generally touch the spot.

CAPTAIN. It would have to reach very far, to touch--this man’s life.

SOLDIER. Nah, wotever do you mean, Captain?

CAPTAIN. I mean that life is a terrible, a wonderful thing. You
can’t kill it. All the soldiers in the world, with all their hate,
can’t kill it. It comes back, it can’t die, it rises again.

SOLDIER. Good Gawd, Captain, don’t you talk like that!

CAPTAIN. Why, what are you afraid of? We have shown great courage
to-day, you and I. Soldiers should be brave, you know.

SOLDIER. That’s orl very well, when it’s a matter of plain flesh an’
blood; but Lor’! Ghosts!...

Do you believe in them, sir?

CAPTAIN. What?

SOLDIER. Ghosts.

CAPTAIN. Yes. It came to me to-day.

SOLDIER (_slowly_). If I believed there was reely ghosts abaht....

CAPTAIN. They are the only realities. Two of them ought to be
especially important to you and me just now.

SOLDIER. Two? Blimey! ’Oose?

CAPTAIN. Why, yours, man, and mine. Our ghosts. Our immortal ghosts.
This deed of ours to-day should make us think of them forever.

SOLDIER. Yours an’ mine? I didn’t know we ’ad ghosts, you an’ me.

CAPTAIN. It makes a difference, doesn’t it? There have been millions
of our sort in the long history of the world. I wonder how many
more millions there will be in the years to come. Blind, dutiful,
bloody-handed: murderers, all of us. A soldier’s ghost must be a
pitiable thing to see.

               _The cloudy darkness slightly lifts from
                  the ground. Their forms can be dimly
                  discerned--vague shadows upon a deeper gloom.
                  Up above there still dwells impenetrable
                  night._

Tell me, brother murderer, have you ever prayed?

SOLDIER. Me, sir?... (_Ashamed._) Well, sir, nah you arsk me, yes I
’ave--once.

CAPTAIN. When was that?

SOLDIER. Why, sir, abaht a couple of month arter I set sail for this
blarsted little ’ole.

CAPTAIN. I understand. You prayed then for the birth of an innocent
child?

SOLDIER. Yessir.

CAPTAIN. You will have need to pray again to-night. Both of us will
have need. This time for the death of an innocent man.

               _The_ SOLDIER _is embarrassed. He does not know
                  what to say. Something about “duty” comes into
                  his head; but somehow it seems inappropriate._

               _A brighter thought occurs to him_;

SOLDIER. Well, it’s time I was dahn yonder, lookin’ arter the boys.
Any orders, sir?

CAPTAIN. Orders? No, no more--orders.

SOLDIER. Orl right, sir.

               _There is heard the rattle of his salute, and the
                  dying away of his footsteps, as he stumbles
                  blindly up and over the hill._

               _The_ CAPTAIN _does not speak until all is still
                  again_.

CAPTAIN. My God! My God! Oh, my God!

               _He buries his face in the dirt and stones._

               _The faintest moaning of wind. The sheep bleats.
                  A dog, disturbed by the sound, barks, far off.
                  Then there is a deep silence, lasting one
                  minute._

               _The Voice of the_ PEASANT WOMAN _is heard,
                  speaking at first in dull, dead tones, very
                  slowly_;

WOMAN. Thirty-three year ago he was my baby. I bore him. I warmed
him: washed, dressed him: fended for him. I fed his little mouth with
milk. Thirty-three year ago. And now he’s dead.

Dead, that’s what he is. Dead. Hung up in the air like a thief:
broken and bleeding like a slaughtered beast. All the life gone out
of him. And I’m his mother.

               _A gray, misty light creeps over her face and
                  hands. Moment by moment, her features limn out
                  faintly through the darkness, one pale agony._

               _Her garments still blend with the general gloom._

That’s what they done to my son. Killed him like a beast. Respectable
people, they was. Priests, judges, soldiers, gentlemen: even common
folk like me. _They_ done it. And now he’s dead.

He didn’t hold with their kind, my son. He was always telling them
about it. He would stand up open in the market-place, at the street
corners, even in the House of God itself, and tell them about it.
That’s why they killed him.

He had a strange way with him, my son: always had, from the day he
first come. His eyes.... They was wonderful. They held folk. That and
his tongue and his tender, pitiful heart.

They didn’t understand it down here. None of us understood it. We was
blind--even me. Many a time I got in his way and tried to hinder him:
I was afraid for him, ashamed. And then he’d look at me....

They was always wonderful, his eyes.

He wasn’t particular, my son. He would go with anybody. He loved them
so. There wasn’t a drunken bibber in the place, not a lozel, not a
thief, not a loose woman on the streets, but called him brother. He
would eat with them, drink with them, go to their parties. He would
go with grand folk, too: gentlemen. He wasn’t particular: he would go
with anybody.

And I tried to hinder him: I got in his way, because I was ashamed.
I kept pushing in. I was afraid of what the people might think.
Like I was blind. Like I didn’t understand. I never told him as I
understood. And now it’s too late. He’s dead.

               _A gust of anguish takes her, overwhelming her_;

Oh, my son, my own son, child of my sorrow, my lad, come back to me!
It’s me, it’s your mother, calling to you. Cannot you hear me out of
the lone waste and the darkness yonder? My lad, come back, come back
to me!...

He’s gone. I shall never know the touch and the healing gladness of
him again, my son, my little lad.... Hark!...

               _The wind rises and falls away like a whisper._

On’y the wind blowing up over the moors. God’s breath, men call it.
Ah! It strikes chill to the bones....

Is it cold you are, my lad? I cannot reach you yonder--on’y your
feet, your poor broken feet and the ankles hanging limp toward me.
My bosom warms and waits for you, hungering, yearning like the day
I bare you; but I cannot get up to you: I am cramped and cold and
beaten: I cannot reach you yonder....

               _There is heard a low fluttering as of wings_;

The night-birds and the bats may come anigh you, they with their
black wings; but not your mother, the mother that gave you life, the
mother that held you warm, my son, my son, my little cold lad.

               _Her speech breaks away into sobs for a little
                  while. As she recovers, she goes into a dazed
                  dream of memories_;

That was a cold night, too--the night you was born, way out in the
country yonder, in the barn with them beasties. My man, he was sore
about it. He covered us over with his great wool coat, and went and
sat out in the yard--under the stars--till them three gentlemen come.

Them three gentlemen.... They talked wonderful. I have it all here in
my heart.

Ay, it was rare and cold that night. Like now. Like it is now....

Wonderful. They was not common folk. They was like lords, they spoke
so fine. About my little lad. About you.

And then, that other night, before you come. It was a kind of light:
it was a kind of glory. Like sunshine. I remember every word he said.
About you. About my little lad.

               _The agony begins to prick through again, stab by
                  stab, as she continues_;

It was all promise in them days, all promise and hope. Like you was
to be somebody. Like you was to be a great man. I kept it inside of
me: I fed on it: day by day as you sprung up, I learned you about
it. You was to be no common man, you wasn’t. You was to lord it over
everybody. You was to be a master of men, you was. And now you’m dead.

Oh!... Oh!... Oh me!...

That day of the fairing, when we went up to the big city, your father
and me and yourself. The wide asking eyes of you, your little hand,
how it would go out so and so, your little tongue all a-clatter, the
ways, the wonderings of you, and the heartbreak, the heartbreak when
we had you lost. Talking to the good priests, you said. Good priests!
My God!...

It began that day, that bitter day of the fairing when we went up to
the big city. I lost you then. I have lost you ever since.

Oh, the big city, the cruel city, the city of men’s sin! Calling,
calling the sweet life of a man and swallowing him up in death.
There was no doing with you from that day. No home for you in the
little village from that day. Your father’s trade, your tasks,
your companions, all fell off from you that day. The city, the big
city called you, and the country thereabouts. It was your kingdom,
you said. You must find out and build your kingdom. And the people
thronged about you and followed you wherever you went in them days.
They hung upon your words: they worshipped you. In them days. It was
the way you had--your strange way. A power went out from you. You was
always like nobody else. A king! A king! It was me as put it first
into your head. You looked like a king. You spoke like a king. You
ruled like a king. You, the little peasant lad I bore. I never told
you: I never lifted up my hand to help you: I hindered you; but I was
proud of you, my lad, proud and ashamed, and afraid, too! And now
it’s too late. You’m dead. All come to nothing. You’m dead....

Dead. Killed by the soldiers and the judges of the great city. I’ll
tell them about it. I’ll go through all the earth telling about it.
Killed by the men you called your brothers. Killed by the children
of your kingdom. Killed, and the golden crown of your glory torn
off, battered, and cast to the ground. Beaten, mocked, murdered by
the mighty masters of the world. Hung up, high up in the air like a
thief. Broken and bleeding like a slaughtered beast.

               _She has come to the bottom of her grief. Her
                  voice dies away through strangled sobs into
                  silence._

               _A pause._

               _The_ CAPTAIN _rises. He halts irresolute for a
                  moment. Then he can be heard moving over to
                  where she lies prone on the ground._

CAPTAIN. Woman, will you let me speak to you?

WOMAN. Who are you?

CAPTAIN. I am the captain who spoke to you just now. I am in charge
here. I am the man who gave the order that killed your son.

WOMAN. Ah!...

CAPTAIN. Won’t you hear me? I must speak to you.

WOMAN. What do you want to say? What is there for you to say?

CAPTAIN. It is about myself.... I....

WOMAN. Go on. I’m listening.

CAPTAIN. I am a murderer. I want you to forgive me.

               _She does not answer._

I did it. I did it with a word. It was like magic. One word, one
little word, and I was a murderer. There is nothing more terrible in
the world than to be a murderer....

And now I want you to forgive me.

               _She does not answer._

I suppose it’s impossible. Forgiveness is impossible for a wretch
like me. Because I killed him.

For God’s sake, speak to me!

WOMAN (_in a stupor_). I want to. I’m trying to. But you say you
killed my son.

CAPTAIN. Oh!...

WOMAN. Why did you do it?

CAPTAIN. I did not know. Killing’s my trade. It was the only thing
they brought me up to do.

               _She does not answer._

I have been mixed up with it ever since I can remember. My father did
it before me. All my people did it. It is considered the thing--the
sort of thing a gentleman ought to do. They call it glory: they call
it honor; courage; patriotism. Great kings hold their thrones by it.
Great merchants get their beastly riches by it. Great empires are
built that way.

WOMAN. By murder?

CAPTAIN. By murder. By the blood of just men. Women and little
children too.

WOMAN. What makes them do it?

CAPTAIN. They want money. They want power. They want kingdom. They
want to possess the earth.

WOMAN. And they have won. They have it.

CAPTAIN. Have they? Not while your son hangs there.

               _She is bewildered._

WOMAN. What do you mean? My son.... My son is dead.

CAPTAIN. Is he? Not while God is in Heaven.

WOMAN. I don’t understand you. What were you saying yourself, just
now? On’y a little while ago I heard his blood dripping down here in
the darkness. The stones are dank with it. Not an hour ago. He’s
dead.

CAPTAIN. He’s alive.

WOMAN. Why do you mock me? You’m mad. Are you God, as you can kill
and make alive, all in one breath?

CAPTAIN. He’s alive. I can’t kill him. All the empires can’t kill
him. How shall hate destroy the power that possesses and rules the
earth?

WOMAN. The power that.... Who?

CAPTAIN. This broken thing up here. Your son.

WOMAN. My son, the power that....

CAPTAIN. Listen. I will tell you....

I am a soldier. I have been helping to build kingdoms for over twenty
years. I have never known any other trade. Soldiery, bloodshed,
murder: that’s my business. My hands are crimson with it. That’s what
empire means.

In the city I come from, it is the chief concern of the people.
Building kingdoms, rule, empire. They’re proud of it. The little
children in the schools are drilled in obedience to it: they are
taught hymns in praise of it: they are brought up to reverence its
symbols. When they wave its standard above them, they shout, they
leap, they make wild and joyful noises; like animals, like wolves,
like little brute beasts. Children! Young children! Their parents
encourage them in it: it never occurs to them to feel ashamed: they
would be treated like lepers if they felt ashamed. That’s what empire
does to human beings in the city I come from. It springs from fear--a
peculiar kind of fear they call courage.

And so we go on building our kingdoms--the kingdoms of this world. We
stretch out our hands, greedy, grasping, tyrannical, to possess the
earth. Domination, power, glory, money, merchandise, luxury, these
are the things we aim at; but what we really gain is pest and famine,
grudge labour, the enslaved hate of men and women, ghosts, dead
and death-breathing ghosts that haunt our lives forever. It can’t
last: it never has lasted, this building in blood and fear. Already
our kingdoms begin to totter. Possess the earth! We have lost it.
We never did possess it. We have lost both earth and ourselves in
trying to possess it; for the soul of the earth is man and the love
of him, and we have made of both, a desolation.

I tell you, woman, this dead son of yours, disfigured, shamed, spat
upon, has built a kingdom this day that can never die. The living
glory of him rules it. The earth is _his_ and he made it. He and his
brothers have been moulding and making it through the long ages: they
are the only ones who ever really did possess it: not the proud: not
the idle, not the wealthy, not the vaunting empires of the world.
Something has happened up here on this hill to-day to shake all our
kingdoms of blood and fear to the dust. The earth is his, the earth
is theirs, and they made it. The meek, the terrible meek, the fierce
agonizing meek, are about to enter into their inheritance.

               _There is a deep, solemn silence for a moment or
                  two, broken only by the tinkle of sheep-bells,
                  which are gradually approaching._

WOMAN. Then it was not all wasted. It was the truth, that night. I
have borne a Man.

CAPTAIN. A man and more than a man. A King.

WOMAN. My peasant lad, a king: Yes. And more yet. He was what he said
he was. He was God’s Son.

CAPTAIN. It will take a new kind of soldier to serve in his kingdom.
A new kind of duty.

WOMAN. A newer courage. More like woman’s. Dealing with life, not
death.

CAPTAIN. It changes everything.

WOMAN. It puts them back again. What he done, puts all things back
again, where they belong.

CAPTAIN. I can see the end of war in this: some day.

WOMAN. I can see the joy of women and little children: some day.

CAPTAIN. I can see cities and great spaces of land full of happiness.

WOMAN. I can see love shining in every face.

CAPTAIN. There shall be no more sin, no pain....

WOMAN. No loss, no death....

CAPTAIN. Only life, only God....

WOMAN. And the kingdom of my Son....

CAPTAIN. Some day.

WOMAN. When the world shall have learned.

CAPTAIN. Mother!... I am a murderer!...

WOMAN. I have been with Child. I forgive you.

               _It grows a little lighter._

               _Some one is heard stumbling blindly over the
                  hill. It is the_ SOLDIER. _His form emerges
                  gray out of the gloom._

SOLDIER. ’Ello! Are you there, Captain?

CAPTAIN. Yes. I’m here.

SOLDIER. The fog’s liftin’ dahn below there--liftin’ fast. It’ll soon
be up orf this ’ill, thank Gawd!

The General wants ter see you, sir.

CAPTAIN. What does he want with me? Do you know?

SOLDIER. Another of these ’ere bleedin’ jobs, I think, sir. Been a
bit of a disturbance dahn in the tahn. The boys ’ave their orders,
sir. General wants you ter take command.

CAPTAIN. Tell him I refuse to come.

SOLDIER. Beg pawdon, sir....

CAPTAIN. I refuse to come. I disobey.

SOLDIER. I don’t think I quite ’eard, sir.

CAPTAIN. I disobey. I have sworn duty to another General. I serve the
Empire no longer.

SOLDIER. Beg pawdon, sir, it’s not for the likes of me; but.... Well,
you know wot that means.

CAPTAIN. Perfectly. It means what you call death. Tell the General.

SOLDIER. Tell ’im as you refuse to obey orders, sir?

CAPTAIN. His: yes. (_Half to himself_); How simple it all is, after
all.

SOLDIER (_after a moment_); I’m sorry, Captain.

CAPTAIN. Thank you, brother.

               _The_ SOLDIER _has no word to say_.

               _The darkness is rapidly melting away. All three
                  figures are now beginning to be seen quite
                  clearly._

SOLDIER. Look sir, wot did I tell yer? It’s comin’ light again.

CAPTAIN. Eternally.

               _An unearthly splendour fills the place. It is
                  seen to be the top of a bleak stony hill with
                  little grass to it._

               _The_ WOMAN _is dressed in Eastern garments; the_
                  CAPTAIN _is a Roman centurion; the_ SOLDIER,
                  _a Roman legionary. Above them rise three
                  gaunt crosses bearing three dead men gibbeted
                  like thieves._

               _At the foot of the crosses a flock of sheep
                  nibble peacefully at the grass. The air is
                  filled with the sound of their little bells._


                               CURTAIN




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Words may have multiple spelling variations in the text. These
were left unchanged.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78768 ***