IXCEUM EDITION THE CHRISTIAN P LAY HALL CAINE ([JorncU Hmucraitg Slibrarg Slliara, '^tm ^ark FROM THE BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY xne aate snows wnen uus volume was taken. Dk CO] the! To renew this book copy the call No. and give to 'le librarian. OC' HOME USE RULES All books si^b^ect to recall mS CP AH borrowers must regi^ ter in the library to borrow books for home use. ' All books must be le- turned at end of college year k>r inspection and repairs. Limited books must be ■ returned within the four week limit and not renewed. Students must return all books before lieaving town. Officers ^ould arrange for the retum,of books wanted ' during their absence from town. Volumes of periodicals ' and of pamphlets are held in the library as much as possible. For special pur- poses they are given out for a limited time. Borrowers should not use their library privileges for the benefit of other persons. Books of special value and gif^ books, when the ...... giver wishes it, are not allowed to circulate. Readers are asked to re- port all cases of books marked or mutilated. Do not deface books by marks and writing. d \ ^ikn January, IW8, marking the 175th M Performance of "The Christian" in its present run in London, and the 3221st Performance in England. Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3452655 THE CHRISTIAN THE CH1(ISriJ[!Mi A DRAMA /» F»ur jiai By HALL CAINE Special Note. — Certain passages and speeches printed in this play and written by Mr. Hall Caine have been omitted from the stage representatiodi^ LONDON: COLLIER AND CO. iichiru Copyright in the Play has been secured in the United Kingdom and in the United States and in all countries and colonies having a treaty or an under- standing with either. k^'-'7y ~) THE "PERSONS OF THE PLAY Lord Storm Thu Hon. John Stoem Father Lamplugh Archdeacon Wealthy Parson Quatlb Paul Love Horatio Drake Lord Kobbrt Feb EoSBNBEEa Buckley Bertie Cowley Glory Quaylb Polly Love Mrs. Gallendeb Betty Belmont Letty Belmont BOSA BAY Liza Mother Kent Little Jenny Black Meg BOBNE — Chiefly London Time — The Preient This new version of The Christian was produced on Saturday, August 37 St 1907 at the Lyceum Theatre, London, by Messrs. Henry R. Smith and Ernest Cnrpenter, according to arrangement with Mr. Wentworth Croke, the principal parts heing played by Mr. Matthieson Lang, Mr. Fred- erick Ross and Miss A lice Crawford, PREFACE TO THIS EDITION Once more The Christian (Jirst on its publi- cation as a novel and now on its production a9 a play) has met mth the most violent opposition. That is not to he wondered at, for equally in rmrra- tive and in dramatic form the work is intended to rebel against the accepted order in morality and religion. Only a fool could throw a bomb into the social system and be surprised . at the explosion. And only a weakling could wonder that among the effects produced by his deliberate act would be a certain injury to himself as well. That I have suffered for The Christian, per- haps jiistly, certainly severely, it would be folly and affectation to deny, but I am at least entitled to say that in the storm of controversy which has followed on the production of the play some bad weapons have been used against me, and I have more than once been hit beloza the belt. I count the personal equation, however, as nothing against the viii PREFACE TO THIS EDITION wilful misrepresentatwn of the motive of my work, for that involves injury to the principles of conduct I have attempted to support. It is the oldest, the basest and I think the most transparent trick in controversy, to set up something' your adversary did iwt say and then proceed to demolish it. That is the trick which has been played upon me in more than one quarter. Re- gardless of the clear fad that the object of a dramatist can only be learned from the general trend of his scenes, isolated passages have been qitoted in order that they might be condemned. As a consequence a totally false impression of my in- tention has been conveyed, and people who thought they were hitting at me have been merely bashing their knuckles at my shadow on the wall. TTiat the public may know what it is that the play of The Christian really does say ; that good women who are trying to earn their living in various walks of life may see that I am fighting for them, not against them, and that unscrupulous me7i in positions of power and responsibility may be made aware that their accusations of falsehood do not frighten and will not silence mc, I have reluctantly consented to the publication of the drama an condi- tion that it shall be sold at the lowest price at which it can be produced. PREFACE TO THIS EDITION ix / say reluctantly because I am only too conscious that the text of a modern drama must necessarily convey an inadequate impression of the acting play- The need to he brief and businesslike is apt to make the printed page lopk bald ; the stage directions are likely to break the continuity of the story ; and the inevitable absence of atmosphere is almost certain to leave the narrative arid and stark. A play is only a play when it is acted. Before that it is no more than the hook of the words. The author is one cf many collaborators in the creation of a work to which the ingenuity and imagination of the stage producer, the voice and heart of the actor have all contributed their share. Therefwe in publishing The Christian I know full well that I am offering the public merely the dry bones of the drama at the Lyceum Theatre into which the beautiful art of Mr. Ernest Carpenter, Mr. Mtxtheson Lang, Mr. Frederick Ross, Miss Alice Crawford and of all my other colleagues behind the curtain, has breathed the breath by which it lives. H. C. SepUmhe* 1907. AUTHOR'S 3^0TE One of the reasons for which I wrote this play over again was that I wished to avail myself of an opportunity of speaking in a popular way to a popular audience on the problem of the fallen woman. That problem has occupied my mind and totcched my sympathies since the days of my early manhood. I have studied it hi London, New York, Paris and Rome, and I think [ know it ki most of its many aspects. I know where the fallen womnn comes from, what makes her what she is, what keeps her in her present condition and what hope there is of her redemption. I know the means that are employed for her rescue, the institutions estab- lished for her relief, the good women, like Sister Mildred, who spend their lives in helping her, and the attitude adopted towards her class and her calling by law, religion and society. Into this new version of an old play, I have put the results of the reflection and observation of twenty-five years, and xii AUTHOR'S NOTE m writing it I have fried to state a case, to make a suggestion, and to present a picture. But the fallen ■woman is only the necessary hack- ground to my play, and the foreground is occupied by a problem of far wider and more general in- terest — that of the physical relation of woman to man. This is perhaps the gravest problem that is on the forehead of the time to come. If the woman movement of the moment means no more than the claim of one half of humanity to participate in chairs of life which have hitherto been controlled by the other half, it is merely a development of the efforts towards emancipation which, during the past hundred years, have given woman a recognised legal status in nearly all that concerns her property, her debts and her material welfare. But it is a revo- lutionary movement indeed if it claims for woman that in her sexual and spiritual relations also she shall be placed in a condition of equality with man that has never been granted to her in any country since the beginning of the world. That in all things which concern these sexual and spiritual relations woman is practically in the same position now as she was in the days of Moses, that she is Just as much as ever mail's human chattel, that neither religion nor civilisation has done anything to establish her vital indepen- AufHOR-S mdTB xiii dence, that nature itself (if not the Author (^nature) puts her mfo a condition of subjection — this is the thesis I have attempted to present in my play. Hut I have failed in the purpose for which I have written it, if I have not shown the pity and the cruelty of tlie order oj things wherein it is always the woman who has to pay, as well as the pagan in- juMice of the accepted idea that her suffering and degradation are inevitable to ihe social system and even necessary to the schente of creation. I do not find that idea in the teaching of either cf the two thrilling incidents in which the founder of our faith dealt with " the woman who was a sinner " and the m£n who had shamed and would have stoned her. In attempting to depict some of the ways in which man is the chief cause of the degradation of woman I have not hesitated to speak of men as I see them, whether the persons concerned wear black cloth or the motley of the members of one branch of my own profession. And in offering my play by choice to an audience of the people I plead for a better attitude of mind towards woman in her spiritual as well as her legal relations. Better them any legislation intended to establish the civil status of woman, and better than any institutions designed to rescue a/nd redeem her when she has become a victim to her own weakness or a prey to xiv AUTHOR'S NOTE the sin of man, would be the successful promulga- tion of the obvious truth that she is a separate being, with sexual rights (as well as responsibilities) upon which no man ought to he allowed to trespass without utter dishonour amd everlasting disgrace. The most acute, though not necessarily the most tragic part of the problem of woman's relation to man is that which concerns her condition a* a fallen creature, and in presenting a picture of a new hind of effort to rescue her (by going one better than the devil), I have christened my imaginary institution " The Queen's Home " with- out ashing permission of our oivn gracimis Queen, and without intending to involve her in particular in any responsibility for the theory upon which it is supposed to be founded, but merely in order to accentuate my own opinion that the work of reclaim- ing the victims of the social system is above all else woman's worh, and that the way to the highest expression of that thought is to put the name of the first lady in the land at the head of it. H.C. Isle of Man, August 1907. THE CHRISTIAN THE FIRST ACT The Tberace op Loed Stokm's House in the Isle oj Man. Entrances right and left at hack. Steps centre up from lawn and down to the sea brow. A strip of water and Peel Castle beyond. Two or three lawn chairs, seats, etc., right and left, with cushions. One small table. Bright sunshine — warm day — middle of afternoon. When the curtain rises. Lord Storm, an elderly gentleman is awakened from his afternoon nap on garden seat at left. A footman, Cowley, enters from terrace at left, carrying salver vnth letters, newspapers, ivory paper-knife, etc, Cowley. [Laying letters, etc., on table.^ The English mail, my lord. Lord Storm. [Slitting open envelopes, etc.] Good 1 Where's my secretary ? Cowley. In his room, my lord. A 2 THE CHRISTIAN act I Lord Stoem. Tell him to bring his book and come down imme- diately. Cowley. I will, my lord. \Going, reticrning.'\ Does your lordship take tea on the lawn to-day ? Lord Storm. Yes ! No ! Where is the Archdeacon ? Cowley. In the library, my lord. Lord Storm Reading ? Cowley. Sleeping on the coach, my lord. Lord Storm. And my son ? Cowley. In the study, my lord. Lord Storm Also sleeping ? COWLET. Writing all th3 afteraaja, my lor J. ACT I THE CHRIST I A tt 3 Lord Storm. Serve tea in the library as soon as the Archdeacon has finished his forty winks. Cowley. [Going.} Very good, my lord. Lord Storm. Cowley ! Cowley. Yes, my lord. Lord Storm. There will be two or three friends from the town — better wait till they come perhaps. Cowley. I will, my lord. [Exit Footman by terrace left. Lord Storm having slit open the envelope reads letters one by one. Lord Storm. [Reading Jwst letter."] " My lord, knowing you have a good and tender heart . . ." Have I ? [Throws letter down, takes up another.l " Being in urgent need of a little money as a loan on mortgage, I take the great liberty . . ." Do you ? [Throws down second letter, takes up a third.] " As treasurer of thfe com- mittee for the annual regatta, I am requested . . ." Are you ? [Throws down third letter, takes up a large 4 THE CHRISTIAN act i envelope."] Ah ! [Reads eagerly, nodding his head and saying, " Good I Very good I " Meantime Paul, the secretary, enters silently left of terrace, note-hook in hand, takes seat by table, opens book and prepares to write. LoED Stoem, as if unconscious of Paul's pre- sence, reads his letter aloud.] " Your request, my dear Eichard, comes at the very nick of time. By the accident of young Charles Marlowe's promotion one of my own private secretaryships unexpectedly be- comes vacant, and it gives me the utmost pleasure to offer the appointment to my nephew, your son. Let him, therefore, come up to London immediately, and you may rely upon me to lose no proper opportunity to advance his interests in the career of public life which you wish him to pursue." [Lord Stokm, visibly excited, rises with letter in hand and moves to and fro as he dictates reply.] " To the Earl of , Downing Street, London." Paul. [Writing shorthand.] Yes ? LoRi) Storm. " My dear brother, I lose not a moment in sending you my warmest thanks for the prompt and brotherly response which you have made to my request." Got that? Paul. Yes, my lord. Lord Storm. " John shall leave for London without delay, and I ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 5 shall be none the less anxious to despatch him to Downing Street because this house is at present full of an atmosphere -which in its effect on a young man of my son's too fervent temperament may prove to be dis- turbing to my hopes and plans." Paul. Yes? LoBD Storm. " That worthy but rather unctuous ecclesiastic, our college chum, Archdeacon Wealthy, is here for a few days on his leisurely way to some sort of pastoral visitations to certain comfortable castles in Scotland ; and that drawing-room Savonarola, Father Bertram Lamplugh . , ," Paul. [Writing.'] ". j . drawing-room Savonarola, Father Bertram Lamplugh . , ." Lord Storm. ". . . who has lately been assailing with such mer- ciless severity the darling sins of Society, is holding a mission in the island , , ," Yes? Paul. Lord Storm. "While the notorious Mrs. Ormerod Callender, philanthropist, sociologist, upholder of the rights of woman and censor ef the morals of men and music- halls, is taking her holiday in the town." 6 THE CHRISTIAN act i Paul. Yes? Lord Storm. " But besides all this, I have my own reasons to fear that your nephew, who is only too obviously of an impressionable nature, has lived long enough in this little backwater since his return from Oxford, and that further residence here may possibly lead to relations and responsibilities which would be a life- long disadvantage, or at least difficult to shake off." Paul. "... difficult to shake off." Lord Storm. That will do. Type it, bring it back to me to sign, and post it by the night mail. Paul. Yes, my lord. Loud Storm. [Giving letter.'] Take this to my son in the study and tell him it's time he came out for a breath of air. Paul. Yes, my lord. [Footman, followed, hy an old Clergyman, is seen coming from the tea-race left. Lord Storm. \Gatlieirxng wp other letters.'] Say " No " to this [Exit roOTMAN. ACT 1 THE CHRISTIAN j and this — and this. Look at the rest yourself and answer them as you please. Paul. Yes, my lord. Footman. The vicar, my lord, LoBD Storm. Ah, how is Parson Quayle ? Parson Quayle. [Sitting.] As well as an old man can expect to be, Lord Storm. Lord Storm. And your people at home, parson ? Parson Quayle. My daughters are well, too, but growing elderly themselves, God help them I Lord Storm* Your grand-daughter is young enough and bright enough anyway. Parson Quayle. Glory ? Yes, all girlish blood and beauty. I tell my daughters there are three motes and a sunbeam in our old house. Glory is the sunbeam, bless her ! 8 THE CHRISTIAN act i LoBD Storm. Quite grown up, they tell me. Parson Quayle. Changed certainly since the days when she and your son, John, used to plunge about in the bay like two young porpoises in the Spring sunshine. [Paul, who has gathered up letters, is going out left. Lord Storm. Just as much a mermaid as ever, they say. ' Parson Quatle. Just I Out on the sea all day long, with the sister of your young secretary and their two friends from England. Lord Storm. Who are the friends from England ? Parson Quayle. One of them is Horatio Drake, son of the Member of Parliament of the same name. He was at school on the island ten or fifteen years ago, and since then he has lived in Egypt, where he has made a great fortune in that land that is more magical, it seems, than the country of the Arabian Nights. Lord Storm. And the other ? ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 9. Parson Quayle. Lord Robert Ure, tke younger brother of the Duke — or is it the Marquis ? — of something. LoED Stokm. What are these young men doing here ? Paeson Quayle Making holiday on our breezy Manx shores merely. The girls met them at the Bazaar we held in the Castle grounds on behalf of the new church organ. LoKD Stoem. Vicar, I should not advise you to encourage this acquaintance. Pabson Quayle. No? LoED Stoem. I should be sorry to see a child of mine associate with the brother of the Duke of . Parson Quayle. Is that so ? LoED Stoem. A gamester, a promoter of doubtful companies, a hanger on to the soiled and tattered fringe of the theatre and the music-hall — he is precisely the kind of person who enables half -informed people to condemn ro THE CHRISTIAN act i the whole strata of Society by exposing such speci- mens of the top layer. Parson QuATiiB. Really 1 But the other one — I am bound to say the other one Lord Stobm. I know nothing about the other one, but since he is a friend of Lord Robert Ure, I should conclude that he is a member of a class no less dangerous and per- nicious — the class that seems to think that baptism by money releases its members from the restrictions of the ten commandments. Parson Quatle. Well, I am bound to say that what you tell me of these gentlemen agrees with my own impressions, and that their influence on Glory has not been for good. Day and night now she pleads for permission to go to London. Lord Stobm. With these men ? Parson Quatle. God forbid ! But to earn her living there, aided by their influence and advice. LoBD Storm. How ? In what way, at what calling ? , ACT I THE CHRISTIAN u Parson Quayle. Oddly enough, in the theatre or the music-hall. Lord Storm. And are you going to permit her ? Parson Quayle. I have no prejudices against the theatre, hut it is not the career I had marked out for her. I had hoped she would become a nurse, and take the place of Town Nurse in our Cottage Hospital — for as long as I lived at all events. Lord Storm. And why shouldn't she ? Parson Quayle. A child is a separate being, Lord Storm. We old people are apt to think that because our children live under the same roof with us they ought to be subject to the same laws; but they are often farther away from us than if they were people at the other end of the world — twenty years, forty years, fifty years away, breathing another air, belonging to another age. It is the law of the generations — we cannot impose our will on theirs. Lord Storm. And you are actually going to allow this young girl to go dead against your hopes and expectations ? 12 THE CHRISTIAN act i Pakson Quayle. What can I do ? The theatre is in her blood. Her mother was an acti'ess when my poor son married her, and ever since she died — they both died — and the child came to live in our old home, I have felt as if she were a sea-bird imprisoned in a cage and must break the bars some day. Lord Storm. Vicar, I think your principles are weak and wrong and mischievous. I think our children should be subject to our will, for the sufficient reason that our knowledge is larger and our experience longer. Listen! Thirty years ago I came to live on this island because my health broke down and my life was in danger. As a consequence my career came to an end, and while I have been chained down to this rock in the Irish Sea I have seen my contemporaries one by one take high places in the world and my brother become Prime Minister of England. It has been a bitter draught, but there has always been one drop of sweetness at the bottom of the cup. Dis- appointed in the hopes and aspirations of my own life, my expectations have centred in my son. Parson Quayle. In John ? Lord Storm. John. To-morrow he is to go up to London to take the place of private secretary to his uncle in Downing Street. That is the first rung of the ladder ACT 1 THE CHRISTIAN 13 which may lead him to a seat in Parliament, perhaps to a place in the Government, and in due time to a position of power in the political life of^ the nation. Such is the course I have been mapping out for him through many years, knowing it to be the best for both of us, and if my son — my only son — were to come to me now, as your grand-daughter has come to you, and were to say, " Father, I can't do this, I wish to do something else," what do you think I should say to him ? I should say, " Do as I tell you, or understand — understand — ^you are never to expect help or recog- nition from me under any circumstances whatever — never ! " [John Storm enters by the terrace, left, with the letter in his hamd. Parson Qttatle. Ah, my dear John I John Storm. Vicar 1 Parson Qtjayle. You are leaving for London immediately? John Storm. So it seems. Parson Quatlb, Glory will be going up before long, I fear. John Storm. [Eagerly.] Glory going to London ? '4 THE CHRISTIAN act i Paeson Quayle. You may see her there, perhaps. John Storm, [With a look of joy. 1 I wonder! Pakson Quayle. And if, in that big bewildering Babylon, you can give an eye to the girl— Lord Storm. Better not think of it, my boy. If you are to do your work you'll have no time to think of anything else. [Enter Father Lamplugh and Mrs. Callender by terrace, right. ^ Ah, Father Lamplugh! Mrs. Callender, you remember my son ? [Lord Storm and Father Lamplxtgh shake hands and sit on left. Mrs. Callender. [Coming down right and taking John hy both, hands.^ Goodness me ! Is this the laddie who used to call me " Auntie " when I was here fifteen years ago ? [John kissei her hand.'] Tut, tut ! Has a body never a faoe that you must be kissing at her hand ? John. [Kissing her.] Auntie 1 ACT 1 THE CHRISTIAN 15 Mbs. Oallkndeb. That's nice now ; and mind ye, my lad, Jane Oal- lender is to be your Auntie still until some other body tak's ye from her ; and thea it'll no be tier hand ye'll be kissing for fear of her wrinkles, I'm thinking. Parson Quatle. Take a seat, Mrs. Callender. Mbs. Callendeb. [Sitting.] And how's the wee lassie in the stocking cap and the guernsey ? Pabson Quayle. A woman now, Mrs. Callender, and just going away to London to earn her own living. Mes. Callendeb. Well, well ! Pabson Quatle. John is going off too, but when the young people part to-morrow they part perhaps for ever. Mrs. Callendeb. Well, that's the way of the world, ye see. Parson Quatle. If our children could only remain children I But r6 THE CHRISTIAN act i they grow up in a day and a night seemingly, and then life and fate divide them. [Enter Aechdeacon, bare-headed, hy terrace left. Lord Storm. CoBie and sit down, Archdeacon. Archdeacon. [Bowing right and left.] My dear Father Lamp- lugh ! And Mrs. Callender ! Lord Storm. Had another afternoon nap, Archdeacon ? Archdeacon. [Sitting.] My custom always of an afternoon ! People tell me I lose two h«urs in the twenty-four, one month in the year, one year in twelve ; but how can I help it ? Ah, if I had the fiery energy of some of our friends, dear Storm ! Wonderful people 1 Wonderful ! Here's Mrs. Callender, for instaiice. When she's not brewing the thunder for our dear Bishop of London to hurl at some indelicacy in the music-halls, she is getting up monster processions to the Houses of Parliament, parading the street, strug- gling with placards and petitions Mrs. Callender. And policemen 1 [Laugh.] ACT I THE CHRISTIAN jj Aechdeacon. Then here is Father Lamplugh, pounding away from the pulpit at the sins of Society. ... By the way, dear Father, when do you begin your new course, your new season, so to say ? Never I Finished ? Father Lamplugh. Aechdeacon. Father LAMPLuan. Quite finished. Archdeacon. But what a pity ! Such an excellent way of gather- ing a congregation, and so good for the pew rents and the offertory ! Parson Quatle. We heard of it even here, Father Lamplugh. Crowded churches, hundreds turned away I Archdeacon. On Sunday, too! Sunday, as friend Punch re- minds us, is becoming such a difficult day for Society people. So much to do. Receptions, concerts, calls, and then the usual week-ending. Indeed, I've known my fashionable friends to say that if the dear Father's discourses could have been delivered on some other day of the week, Tuesday, for instance, they would simply have rolled up in their thousands. iS THE CHRISTIAN act I Parson Quayle, They did come, though ? Archdeacoit. Come ? It was wonderful ! Ladies in dainty frocks and frills struggling into the church to hear their dearest peccadilloes torn to pieces. Parson Quayle. But didn't they take offence ? Archdeacon. On the contrary, they liked it. It is always so interesting to see ourselves as others see us — any others — even if it is only our valet and second foot- man. Lord Storm. All the same, if Father Lamplugh wlU forgive me, I doubt the good effect of sermons preached to fashion- able sinners on fashionable sins. Archdeacon. There you touch the root of the matter, dear Storm, and I sometimes wonder if sensational assaults on Society are so proper to the solemn passages of the pulpit as to encore verses in our dear Mrs. Callender's beloved music-halls. THE CHRISTIAN 19 LoED Stoem. Society has always had its frivolous, its irreligious and even its vicious side, but to say it is worse now Aeohdeacon. Society, dear Storm, may grow sluggish and need shaking up from time to time, and perhaps an occa- sional dose of gruel or say glouber salts Mrs. Callendbr. Or blue pill ! [Laugh.] Archdeacon. But having frequented Society in all its favourite haunts, I must say — I must candidly say, dear Father — that I have never seen the chamber of horrors, the cage of wild beasts, which you have been exhibiting to the public view. Mrs. Callendee. There are people like that, Archdeacon. I once knew a man who walked through Trafalgar Square without seeing the lions at the foot of the monument — he was blind, poor body ! \_Laugh.'] Archdeacon. Better be blind than uncharitable, dear Mrs Callander. In a clergyman it is so much more benevolent, so muc)) more brotherly Mes. Callendee. And so much more profitable. [Lcmgh,] 20 THE CHRISTIAN act i Father Lamplugh. The Archdeacon is right. It is easier and less excellent to pull down than to build up, and if ever I preach to the rich again, it will be to point out their duty to the poor. Archdeacoit. Ah ! "The poor ye have always with you ! " What a beautiful text that is ? Mark — always ! What a lesson to the people who think it is possible to abolish poverty altogether, I trust you are not one of them? Father Lamplugh. I am, Archdeacon. I think one of the worst forms of poverty would come to an end in sis months, if the Christian communities did their duty. Archdeacon. What form of poverty do you refer to, dear Father ? Father Lamplugh, Not the form that clutters our steps in rags and sleeps in Salvation shelters, but that which is clad in si'iks and eats in fashionable supper-rooms. Archdeacon. Ah ! You mean the outcasts who make the nightly horror of Piccadilly ? Father Lamplugh. I mean the poor women of the underworld, who ])efore the eyes of the police and in the blaze of the ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 21 electric lights, crowd the crush rooms of public halls, and are exposed for sale night after night under the very shadow of your church. Archdeacon. Lord Storm. But why speak of these as the poor, when their vanity, their idleness, and their sensuality Father Lamplugh. Because poverty is at the bottom of aU their vices, Lord Storm. Where do they come from ? From the house of the workman with the wolf always at the door ; from the home of the poor tradesman, the poor doctor or the poor clergyman, which the daughter has to leave in order to earn her own living ; from the sweating-dens of fashionable tailors and milliners of West London, where in defiance of the law, girls are overworked and ill-paid, and sent home through dark streets at late hours at night ; from the great shops of chartered libertines, where labour is cheapened by the profits of week-end prostitution. That's where they come from. Lord Storm, and not vanity or idleness or sensuality, but poverty, poverty, poverty is at the root of everything. John Storm. [Wilh emotion, as if speaking to himself.^ " Oh God, to think that bread's so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap." [Mrs. Oallender lays her hand on John's. Father Lamplugh. I tell you, the condition of these women and girls is the cruellest and most cowardly thing on God's earth. 22 THE CHRISTIAN act i They give the best years of their lives — the years of their youth and beauty, to be the first' wives of the well-to- do, and after that, what are they? Outcasts, Ishmaels, at war with the world, and with the world at war with them. You find shelters for the tramps of the East End — what do you do for the tramps of the West ? Archdeacon. But, my dear Father Lamplugh, there are always Homes, always Eefuges Mrs. Oallender. Washtubs I Archdeacon. Then there is the workhouse and the casual ward. Mrs. Callendek. The spike ! Father Lamplugh. No, there is nowhere for these children of the night when the houses of sin are shut to them. Society does nothing for them but harry them and chivey them and drive them on. Lord Storm. But surely Parliament — if this is a real social problem — surely Parliament is capable of dealing with it, Mrs. Callendbr. Parliament ! My goodness ! Of all the dunces for dealing with social problems Parliament would be bad to beat. There isn't a pin to choose between th& ACT! THE CHRISTIAN 23 parties either. Parliament indeed I Put Parliament on the scrap-heap, I say. LoBD Stobu. Then what would you do, Father Lamplugh ? Father Lamplugh. I should tell Society that if these People of the Abyss are necessities of the social system Society must recognise them; if they are the victims of Society, Society must save them. John Storm. [Eagerly as if to himself.] Ah ! Father Lamplugh. I should ask the rich men for their millions that I might build or buy or lease or rent the largest and finest mansion that would do for a Home and Refuge. John Storm. [More eagerly.'] Ah I Father Lamplugh. I should place it in the middle of West London, in ihe centre of gravity of the kingdom I wish to reform, and face to face with the soul markets I expect to destroy. If these places are gorgeous my home should be golden. If they blaze with electric light and draw moths to their flare by music and singing and dancing, so should mine. There should be only one difference between these houses and my house — they should be the devil's and mine should be God's. 24 THE CHRISTIAN act John Stoem. [StUl more eagerly.'] Ah ! Father Lasiplugh. As this would be a woman's movement, I should have women at the heart of it. I should ask the Queen to give it her name and good women of the upper world to follow her lead. More than that. I should call the women of fashion and frivolity from the card-tables and race-courses and restaurants to take their turns in the Refuge that would be ope i night and day. Lord Storm. And having so started your social crusade, with the rich men's millions and a committee of ladies, but no help from Parliament, you would put yourself at the head of it ? Father Lamplugh. No, I am too old, too tired, too weak and too sinful. The man I want at the head of that crusade must be a young man without a stain on his scutcheon. Well- bom, well-taught, well-nurtured, with the heart of a lion and the soul of a god. A nobleman if possible, that no lady of rank may be unwilling to serve under his banner; a gentleman that no poor girl may be afraid to come to him in her trouble ; a man, that no buUy may browbeat him without dread of being kicked into the street ; a martyr, perhaps, that no failure may frighten him, no ingratitude dishearten, and no temptation gainsay. John Storm. [Visibly moved.] Ah 1 Ah 1 ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 25 Lord Stoem. A dream, dear Father Lamplugh ! An idle, per- haps, a mischievous dream ! Even if you could induce the Queen to give her name to a Home for the rescue of fallen girls, and women of good family to associate with them, where is the man who is going to stand in front of such a Quixotic crusade ? The public would laugh at him, your churches would leave him alone, and the very people he wasted his life for would turn on him and rend him. A noble- man ! Where is the son of a noble house who is ready to forego his rightful heritage, the honours and rewards of his birth and profession, that he may herd in obscurity with sinners and sin ? Mrs. Oallendee. [Also visibly agitated.^ Where ? The son of a noble house who [Turning quickly to John.] Here, what do you say, laddie ? John Stohm. [Rising excitedly.'\ I say, Mrs. Oallender, that there was one such person once — a Son of the House of David ! And if it is proper to speak in the same breath of smaller things, I will say, too, that if Father Lamplugh's dream is possible, it is better worth while to spend one's life in saving these poor women and girls, these poor sisters of sorrow, than to win all the honours and rewards of the proudest profession in the world. Mrs. Oallender. God bless ye, my lad ! That's speaking like a man. 26 THE CHRISTIAN act I \_The gong sounds within. The Footman cornea on to the terrace and announces tea. Com- pany move up steps, talking with anima- tion. Paul comes down to table with letter. LoED Stoem signs if, and then turns to John, who stands in the same place. Lord Stoem. [To John.] T've written to your uncle, saying you will go up to Downing Street immediately. Let it be to-morrow — Cowley can get you ready. . . . And take my advice, leave Society alone ; let social prob- lems stew in their own Juice. It will be best, I promise you. [Lord Storm goes up and out. Patjl, having sealed envelope, goes up steps and looks out to sea. Inhere is a sound of singing on the water. Glory's voice singing " The Manx Wedding" with chorus of other voices. John Storm. Paul, what's that ? Paul. Glory's boat coming out of the harbour, sir. John Storm. Who are with her ? Paul. My sister Polly. John Storm. Anybody else ? ACT I THE CHRISTIAN z-j Paul. Mr, Drake and Lord Robert Ure. \The singing comes nearer. Paul retv/rns to- John. Here they are, sir. May I say something ? John Storu. Well, my lad ? Paul. Was Peel the only place for these gentlemen to spend their holidays ? John Storm. You are thinking of Mr. Drake and Glory ? Paul, No, of Polly and Lord Robert Ure. I mistrust the man. He has persuaded her that she ought to leave Peel and look for a situation in London. John Storm. Is she likely to go ? Paul. She is sure to go. John Storm. [N^odding his head, with a far-off look,] What do you wish to do ? Paul. What would you do if it were your own case, and something near and dear tp you were in peril in that cruel city ? 28 THE CHRISTIAN t.ct I John Stoem. [With determination.] I should follow her there — I should watch over her — if she were in difficulty and danger Paul. That's what I wish to do, sir. You are going away to-morrow. Let me go with you. I don't ask wages — only let me go. . . . John Stokm. You shall! Paul. God bless you, sir. \They shake hands. Paul goes out right. Stoem stands on left. Singing swells up. Then there is a hahel ofha/ppy young voices coming from below. Girls and young men all talking together — " Give it to Glory." " Glory's got it." " Bravo Glory ! " Unter by steps at back the company from the boat. Deake in white flannels, etc. Then Glory Quayle, in guernsey and stocking- cap. Then Polly Love, and finally Lord Robert XJee. Gloey is carrying a sea- bird, with a string and trap suspended to its leg. Seeing John Storm, she comes ru7ining down. Glory. Ah, here you are ! We've come to fetch you. Look ! We found him on the rocks at the foot of the Castle. Somebody had been trying to catch him, ACT I , THE CHRISTIAN . 29 but he had broken the string and carried the trap away with him. John Stoem. Is it a cormorant ? Gloet. It's a parson gull. Othees. A parson gull ? Gloet. See his black coat ? Deake. But what about his white breeches ? Gloet. Oh, that's his surplice. \piving into her pocket for biscuit. LOED EOBEET. Well, Glory has given the churchman his " title,'' don't you know. Deaee. What are you doing now, Glory ? Gloet. [Who is offering biscuit to gull."] Giving him his " living," don't you know. [Lav^hJl Mr. Storm, will you cut away the trap for me ? John Stoem. [Taking out knife, efc.J With pleasure. 30 THE CHRISTIAN act I Polly. But what are you going to do, Glory? If you don't want him, give him to me and I'll take him home. Glory. Never ! To think of this wild creature that used to scream to the wind and ride on the billows being penned up in a cage and fed on a piece of lump sugar 1 Drake. Bravo, Glory ! Glory. [Running up stepsl\ Good-bye, little birdie, I'm going to give you your liberty. The cruel trap is gone and you are tied down to the stupid old rocks no longer. Away to the broad, broad sea, and the big, big waves, and the free, free ocean — away ! [She flings the bird out over the water and it disappears. She stands a moment watching it and wiping her eyes. Polly. Crying? This Glo'y is the funniest girl. Lord Robert. Isn't she ? [To Glory.] But, do you know, my dear, you've not yet introduced me to j our friend ? Glory. Haven't I, Lord Robert ? Come here, Mr. Drake. My friend, Mr. Storm. [Acting.^ The two Miss ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 31 Lilies . . . and Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. [All laugh and sit, except Glory, who stamda centre. Polly, It's the stage you ought to go on, Glory. LonD ROBEET. She will, too, sooner av later, depend upon that. Drake. "Why shouldn't she ? If life comes to a girl with both arms open, why should she turn her back on it ? Obey your own heart, I say, be true to your talents and let everything else go hang. Glory. Only fanpy ! Glory a public person, and all the world and his wife going down on their knees to her ! How the old island would be shocked ! [Acting.^ " Gough bless me ! The theaytre, ye say ! The gates of hell and the mouth of Satan ! And herself the grand-daughter of a Pazon, too !" [All laugh.l It's terrible to think of being an actress, isn't it, Mr. Storm? John Storm. That depends upon circumstances, Glory. Polly. But when Glory and I go up to town and she becomes an actress, whatever am I to be ? 32 THE CHRISTIAN act i LOED EOBERT. [With a certain freedom:] You, my dear Polly, are to be what nature meant you to be — one of those nice little nobodies who cannot possibly be anything sweeter than herself. Polly. [Pouting, tapping him playfully, etc.] Nonsense ! LoBD Robert. Isn't that better than staying in this sleepy place and throwing yourself away on some country bumpkin ? Drake. [Wamingly.] Robert I Lord Robert. Seriously, though, and Polly apart, the way pretty little women are wasted in the country is pitiful. John Storm, Do you call it being wasted, sir, when a good girl is married to an honest man ? Lord Robert. I do — ^because a girl like that in the country can never marry the right one. It's like this. She's young, she's pretty, has manners and taste and some refinement. The man of her own class is clumsy and ignorant and stupid and poor. She doesn't want him, and the man she does want belongs to another class, and daren't marry her — it would be social suicide. ACT 1 THE CHRISTIAN 33 John Storm. So, to save the man above from social suicide the girl beneath must choose moral death — is that it ? Lord Robert. Did I say so, my dear sir ? But look at it straight. Take the case of a girl like that. Two things are open to her — two only. Say she marries her country bumpkin, what follows ? A thatched cottage, a cow- house, a crock, a dresser, a form, an armchair, and a clock with a dirty face hanging on a nail in the wall. Three shillings a day and a can of buttermilk. Year one, a baby, a boy ; year twoj another baby, a girl ; year three, twins ; year four, barefooted children, squalling all over the house ; man grumbling ; woman distracted ; measles, hooping-cd6gh, death, a journey at the tail of the cart to the country church, and the awful words, " I am the " Drake. Hold your tongue, Robert. John Storm. Well, that's one side of the picture, sir. What's the other ? Lord Robert. Life ! Love ! Liberty ! If the girl has gifts, like Glory, the world is at her feet. John Storm. And if she hasn't ? 34 TH£ CHRISTIAN act i Loud Kobbwt. If she hasn't, bttt has good looks instead . . . ■well, in London [Pausing and laughing a/vohxa/rdly. John Sxoem. A short life and a merry one, eh ? LoED Robert. Why not? Five years, four years, three years even, but meanwhile everything she wants, every- thing she can wish for John Stobu. And then? Lord Robert. Every one for himself and God for us all, dear sir. She's as happy as the day while her youth and beauty last, lifts her head like a rosebud in the sun John Storm. Then drops it, I suppose, like a rose-leaf in the mud. Drake. [Rising uneasily.'] Robert, you're a fool ! But didn't we come out to do some fishing? [To Storm.] Glory thought you would Hke to come with us — vill you? John Storm. Not to-day, thank you. ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 31 Dbaee. We must be getting along, then, or we'll lose the tide, you know, [Lord Egbert and Polly go hack to boat. Drake and Glory are about to follow. JoHi* Storm. Glory I Glory. [To DaAKE.] Get the lines ready — I'll be down presently. [Drake goes out. Chorus as before ; Glory on the steps until it stops. John Storm. So you are going up to London at last. Glory ? Glory. [Coming down.] Yes, dear old London ! IVe been sending my love to it for years, and now I'm goin^ to skip off and do my wooing for myself. John Storm. How your grandfather will miss you ! Glory. Don't ! I've been trying not to think of it. Poor old grand-dad ! But, after all, he has Aunt Rachel and Aunt Anna to take care of him. And then, why should a great idle, hulking girl like Glory add to his burdens and responsibilities ? 36 THE CHRISTIAN act I John Storm. Is that all you are thinking of, Glory ? Glory. N — no ! To tell you the truth, I'm thinking of myself as well. I know it shouldn't be, but I can't help it. Ah, you are a man, and to be a man is to have all the world. But to be a woman — a poor gentle- woman — in a country place, too . . . Oh, I feel like that bird with the trap to its leg — and I want to be away — away I \Goes up and looks off. John Stoem, I know — I know. Glory. There used to be a few people in this dead-alive land, but there won't be a dog left soon. [Acting.] We take no thought for the morrow, what we shall eat or what wo shall put on ; the days of our years are three score years and ten, and if . . . Oh, it's basely ungrateful of me to talk like this ! [Looking off.] The dear little island, how beautiful it looks ! And when you've been born in a place and are going away from it . . . But how silly I am ! Here I've been three years hoping and praying to get away, and now [Dashes the tears from her eyes, sings some bars from " The Manx Wedding " and dances a step to the air. John Stokm. It is a lovely spot, isn't it ? , _ ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 37 * Glory. Isn't it ? And perhaps if we could bring back the days John Stoem. [ApproacJwng her!\ When you and I were boy and girl, Glory ? Gloet. When John Storm wore an Eton jacket^ John Stoem. And Glory Quayle went about in a short frock. Glory. You did everything I told you then. John Stoem. Yes, you wore the jacket, I think. Glory. Out in the boat, you know. John Storm. Or running barefoot in the wind on the edge of the shore. Glory. Or riding on the cart that was bringing home the new-mown hay. John Storm. Yes, three decks up with the driver over the back of the old mare. 38 THE CHRISTIAN act i Gloet. I can hear the rooks cawing in- the glen stUL John Storm. And I can see the starlings glittering in the sun- shine. Glokt. And the birds singing, and the bees humming, and then you and I John Storm. \RaptiMr(ymly.'\ Ah ! Glory. {Opening her eyes, sadly-l Ah ! [They look at each other ; pause^ What's the good of turning back the clock while the sun is so stubbornly keeping pace ? There's a great barrier between us, John. You are a nobleman's son, and I am only a poor clergyman's grand-daughter. It didn't matter while we were children, but the old days are over now. You will be Lord Storm yourself some day, while I — I will be Glory Quayle. John Storm. Thank God for that, Glory. Glory. Miss Glory Quayle if I stay here all my days. With a dame-school somewhere when the old grandfather is gone. Or perhaps a cottage hospital, and the poor fishermen's wives to look to in their monthly nursings ACT t THE CHRISTIAN 39 . . . Gan you Wonder that when Mr. Drake came back and pictured another life, a broader and more beautiful life, and promised to give me his influence to secure it John Stoem. The life of the theatre will be no bed of roses, Glory. Glory. I know — I know. — yet sometimes a great stillness comes over me, and I see in the future — the dim, dim future — a woman who has gone through many trials, many sufferings, many troubles, but hsys come to her own in the end, because she has conquered the public and they love her. That woman in the dim future is myself, John ; and then — • — John Storm. What then ? Glort. {Twning aside.} Then the barrier between you and me seems t« be gone. John Storm. [Following her up, with emotion.] Glory, I have something to say to you. I am to go to London also. My father expects me to go to-morrow. According to the plans he has made for me I am to take up public life and to follow if I can — if I am fit for it— in the footsteps of my uncle. Wouldn't that separate us still further, Glory — put a gulf between us that could nerer flifterwards be bridged ? [Glory nc^s her head slowly, waiting and Utten- ing intently.] 40 THE CHRISTIAN ACT i But what if I take up another life — a life that is nearer to the one j'ou live in ? Gloet. [Depressed.'] You mean — the Church ! John Stokm. Yes, the Church ; yet not as a career, a channel to success, a path to preferment, but as a crusade. Glory. A crusade ? John Storm, Listen ! There is a movement afoot to start a great home in West London for the women and girls of what is called the under-world — the poor wanderers of the night for whom nothing has ever been done in earnest since the beginning of the world. What a scene ! What a crusade ! To help the outcast, to support the weak, to comfort the broken-hearted I Glory. Well? John Storm. What if I were to give up the career my father in- tends for me in order to join in a work like that I Glory. You would be farther away from me than ever then — much farther — ^you in your way of life and I in mine. ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 41 John Stoem. But if I am willing to give up my profession, can't you give up yours — that we may never be separated — that the barrier between us may be broken down ? We are at the cross-roads, Glory — can't we go to- gether ? We shall be poor, we shall be unknown, but we shall be living the life — the real life — the only life — the life of warfare with the world's suffering and sin. Glory, [Sadly,'] It is a great and noble work, John John Storm. Isn't it ? Isn't it better, a thousand times better, than playing at life, with all its fashions and frivoli- ties! Glory. Fallen women and girls, you say ? John Storm. And girls in danger of falling — in danger from their poverty and the unscrupulous men who are always waiting to take advantage of it. Glory. We should be unknown — quite unknown ? John Storm. Yes, for we shall have to show the world that we are not thinking of ourselves in any single thing we do. 42 THE CHRISTIAN acti Glort. Poor, too ? John Stork. As poor as your own dear grandfather. Glory. I didn't think anybody would be poor who could help it. JoEN Storh. Glory 1 Glory. After all, it's a kind of going into the Church, and as far back as I can remember the Church has never meant anything to me but poverty. Oh, if you only knew what it is to be a poor clergyman's grantl- daughter — so poor, so very poor ! The counting, the planning, the scheming to make ends meet — and then the insults, the humiliations 1 Small gifts of money from the Clergy Society when you are sick and need a holiday ; hampers of food from rich parishioners to eke out the lard«r at Easter, and bundles of clothes at Whitsuntide that — that the other girls have left off! [She covers her eyes with her hands. Storm looks blindly forward. She uncovers her "*■ eyes ; they are wet loith tears.^ Oh, don't think me vain and selfish that I have been dreaming and dreaming of running away from it all some day, of doing something for myself to win praise and money, and even wealth perhaps, and now that the time seems to have come and you wish to draw me back again ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 43 [She covers her fence again. The singing comes from below, very softly. There, is a pause. John Stobm. I see how it is, Glory. It is the world coming in between us again. , The world with its beauty and brightness. It calls to you, beckons you, tempts you. Yet I ask you to give it up — to give it up for me. Do I ask too much ? Do I ? I do. [She gives no sign. He picks up the bird-trap.^ It was I who was like the bird, Glofy. One re- maining tie bound me to the old home. You have cut it away. [Throws trap out into sea on right.^ It is gone. [Singing swells up. Dkake comes to top of steps. Drake, Ah, Glory ! The lines are ready and the tide is at the top — aren't you coming along with us ? Come ! [He comes down and takes her hand. She allows him to lead her up, looking back at John Stoem. When they reach the steps there is a burst of laughter from the house and Lord Storm enters left down-stage, wearing hat and carrying walking-stick. Lord Storm. [To John.] We're going for a stroll along the cliff, John. You'll have enough to do at home if you are to go to Downing Street to-morrow. [He crosses right ; the rest of party are seen coming by terrace from left. 44 TRB CHRISTIAN act i John Storm. Father ! Lord Stobm. [Belvming right of him,.'\ Well, my boy ? John Storm, I don't want to go to Downing Street to-morrow. Lord Storm. Very well ! Let it be the next day, or even the day after. John Storm. Father, I don't want to go to Downing Street at alL Lord Storm. What do you say ? John Storm. I beg of you to allow me to choose another walk of life. Lord Storm. What other? John Storm. The one Father Lamplugh spoke about. Lord Storm. [Pattse.] Tou mean to tell me you prefer that Quixotic Crusade of poverty and obscurity to the emolument and distinction of the career I have chosen for you ? ACT I THE CHRISTIAN 45 JOHK StOBM. I must. Loud Stoem. And what must I do ? John Stoem. Let me live my own life, sir. LoED Storm. And what about mine ? Ever since I brought you here five-and-twenty years ago, a child in arms, as I may say, your life and my life have bean one life. I've had no thought that has not been for your wel- fare, no hope that has not been for your future, and must I now John Stoem. I am sorry I have disappointed you, father. LoED Stoem. [Contemptuously. \ Disappointed ! Disappointed ! Oh, a father is nothing. He may sacrifice everything, he may build up hopes, and then — \LooMng hade towards Glokt] — ^to suit the aims and aspirations of somebody else John Storm. Don't say that, father. LoED Stoem. To suit the schemes or the whims of a woman John Stoem. Stop, father ! 46 THE CHRISTIAN act i Lord Storm. I say a woman ! John Storm. Stop, I tell you ! Lord Storm. A woman, I say a woman ! John Stohm. Stop. Lord Storm. [Losing himself, and striking John Storm toith his stick across the breast.^ Damn her and both of you ! [John Storm snatches the stick out of his father's hand and raises his knee as if to break it. Glory. [Breathlessly.] John ! \_A pause. All eyes on John Storm. He turns, sees Glory, then raises his hat tuith one hand and retwrns the stick with the other. John Storm. \With emotion.^ Forgive me, father I Curtain. THE SECOND ACT* Saloon op Philharmonic Theatre, London. Scene shows back of dress circle. Promenade full, with men in evening dress, and the women of the town in rich and gaudi/ costumes. Saloon itself has large opening up stage left, and small door down stage left. On right a long sofa, on which several women a/re seated. Ottoman also at right ofcenVre. On left a sm^ll table with two chairs. when the curtain rises, the performance of a musical comedy is proceeding. Voices are heard singing from the stage behind, very low, so as not to d/rown dialogue on stage. At intervals applause from, audience. At the table on left sits Lord Robert Ure, smoking cigarette, obviously very nervozis, listening intently to what goes on in the theatre. A lady, Mrs. Gallehder, is seen moving about in the promenade, giving flowers to the women and speaking to them,. * Author's Note. — Not fully appreciating: fcr myself the moral difference between a. thedtre playing a musical comedy and a theatre playing musical sketches, I i^^vt cheerfully acceded to the vTish of the management of the Lyceum Theatre that the opening scene of this Act should be omitted, as being more proper to another place of amusement. — H. C. 48 THE CHRISTIAN act ii A tall hlack-haired girl, known as Black Meg, with a pet dog under her arm, comes down stage, drawing hy the torist a very young girl in short frock with her hair down. Black Meg. Jenny, what are you doin' here ? Jennt. Can't you see ? Black Meg. When did you come up from the country ? Does mother know ? Jenny. Mother don't care. She's married again. There was trouble at home. Besides she thinks I'm dead. Black Meg. Where are you stayin' ? Jenny. With Mother Kent in one of her houses. Black Meg. You little fool ! Kunning away from a stepfather to a rotten old blighter like that. Jenny. [With a faint cry."] Lemme go ! Yor 'urtin' me. \An elderly woman known as Mother Kent, all smiles, but with an evil face, comes down left 0/ Jenny. ACT n THE CHRISTIAN 49 Mother Kent. What's a-matter, dearie ? Jenny, She's spoilin' me glove and 'urtin' me arm. MoTHEE Kent. Gawd bless ye, dearie, you mustn't tike no notice of Black Meg. It's 'er love, pore dear. Run away, lovey. Look, your friend is waitin' for ye. [Jenny goes up. Oily old gentleman joins her. They go off by promenade.^ You're a nice one, you are, Meg ! Black Mes, Am I ? and what are you, you soapy old sinner, you old Mother o' Pearl ? Mother Kent. Your man ain't no class, or he'd lam yer 'ead off before 'e'd let ye give away the gime like this. Black Meg. D'ye think I'm afraid of 'im. Not me Curse the men, I say. I wouldn't 'arf like to chew up the lot o' them. [A man, Tenown as Bertie, in eve"zing dress, with a vulgar faee, comes down "ight of Meg. At sight of him, she trembles visibly. Mother Kent chuckles and crosses to table left. so THE CHRISTIAN act ii Bertie. What's up ? Black Meg, [Vert/ meekly.'] Helloa, Bertie, is that you ? Bertie. Why did you run away? You stay here until I come back. And look cheerful and merry, d'ye hear ? Blaok Meg. [Ifi^A apathetic effort.'] Right you are, Bertie. [Bertie ffoes up emd out right. Black Meg aits on ottoman. Mrs. Oallender comes dovm and sits left of her. Mrs. Oallender. Do you want a friend, Meg? Black Meg. I m all right, thank you. Don't bother about me. Mrs. Oallender. What a nice little dog ! Did you buy him in the Seven Dials \ Black Meg. No, he was give to me. Dogs stick to you, dogs do. Mrs. Oallender. IPfferimg a white flower:] Will you have a flower, Meg? ACT H THE CHRISTIAN 51 Black Meg. [Taking it."] This for me ? A white one ? [Break- ing down.] Look here, sister, lea' me alown and git 'old o' little Jenny. She ain't a bad lot — no worse than I was when I started. Mrs. Callenber. Give me your bag, Meg. [She takes and opens the bag that hangs on Meg's arm, and drops a card into if. While she does so, Mother Kent sits at table and Umches Lord Robert's arm. Lord Robert. "What's up, Mother ? Mother Kent< See there ? That woman's 'ere again, sir. Lord Robert. [Rising and going up.] Attendant ! [Attendant salutes him. He whispers and points over his shoulder towa/rds Mrs. Callender ; then stands in promenade looking towards stage. Mrs. Callender. [Closing purse.] That's my address, Meg, and if you'd like to come to tea with me Black Meg. Not much. Get 'old o' Jenny, I tell ye. It's too lats for the likes o' me. 5a THE CHRISTIAN act ii [Bertie comes hack with a callow youth, very favr hair, eyeglass, houquet of flowers; Black Meg taikes the arm he offers her, and they go up and off. Music louder at hack. Girls go up stage to promenade. Atten- dant, wlw has come down, touches Mes. Oallender on shoulder. Attendant You've got to go, missis. Mrs. Oallender. Again? Attendant. [Opening left door.] 'Op it, an' look slippy. [Mrs. Oallender goes out. ' Bertie a/nd Mother Kent alone down stage. Mother Kent. Sorry for you, Bertie. Your girl's goin' to slip ye. Bertie. What? Mother Kent. Goin' gorspellin', that's what she is. The Father's gettin' 'er. Bertie. The rather ? Mother Kent. Across the street. He's gettin' all o' them if they've got any looks. Gettin' them cheap too. Well, why shouldn't he ? The most o' parsons are as plain as ACT II THE CHRISTIAN 53 their patter, but he's a fine, good-looking young fellow, and he ought to get something for his work, pore dear Beetie. [Fiercely.] I wouldn't 'arf like to break 'is head. I will, too. Mother Kent. [Egging him on.] O yus, I dessay 1 Bertie. You dessay ! [Vehemently.] I will — I'll send 'im to the knackers. Mother Kent. Do it, dearie. If this Christian gime is played on our girls much longer, we might as well go on the parish strite ! Bertie. [Bitterly.] Not likely, though. Not 'arf. [The blare of the brass, the banging of the drums, and the singing of a chorus by many voices show thai the performance is coming to ark end. Berhe and Mother Kjent disappear. Lord Robert Ure comes down, agitated. Music ends. There is applause, followed by calls. A middle-aged mam, Rosenberg, comes down to Lord Roberi ; Semdtio features, many diamonds, ROSENBEBO. Glorious success I Immense I Oolossall 54 THE CHRISTIAN act u LoED Egbert. What are they doing now, Rosenberg ? BOSENBEBG. Taking the calls. Lord Robeet. Which of them ? ROSENBEEO. [Going back and looking into auditorium.] Every- body — all the principals. [CaUs again. Lord Robeet. Who's that for ? BOSENBBEQ. Gloria, of course. [Otdls again. LoED Robeet, And that ? Rosenberg. The Manager. [Oalla again. LoED Robert. And that ? EOSENBBEG. Gloria again ! [Ooming dovm^ Gre^^t Csesar, how- she's knocked 'em ! \Th& apploMse dies down, the people in prome- nade go out right and left. Enter the. Manager, Buckley, surrovjfidsd by group of friends, congratulating him. " Con- gratulations, dear boy I " " Our ruew star is a treasure I'* "Such chic, such sparkle / " " Sinffs likf an mtisi, too I " ACT II THE CHRISTIAN Si " But what ho/oe you London Managers been doing to let talent like that lie so long in the country ? " The Manager says, " Thanks f " " Thanks, dear hoy I " ; shakes hands, amd sees them all out by door down stage. Then turns to RosEN- BEKQ and Lord Eobebt. LoED Robert. [Lighting eigarette.} Well, how has your debutante gone, Mr. Manager ? Buckley. Gone ? Like a house afire. Couldn't have believed it possible. Old piece, old music, nothing but a new star to announce, and yet RoSENBEEa. Tet the money will roll in lijce water off a mill- wheel if only^-. — Lord Egbert. If only our friend, Drake, who is so rich and so necessary to our scheme [Drake is seen crossing at back, carrying bouquet of flowers. Lord Robert caUs to him.^ Helloa there 1 Drake. Helloa ! [Oomes down much excited- Buckley. Gloria's hit 'em, sir, hasn't she ? S6 THE CHRISTIAN act ii Drake. Where is Gloria ? Buckley. Left her on the stage when I came away. They were all buzzing about her like bees about a honey- pot. Dbaee. Hoped to be the first to congratulate her and came round immediately. What about supper ? Buckley. That's all right. Seen to it myself, sir. BOSENBEBQ. Supper ? Drake. Just a bite to celebrate the event. Lord Robert, the Manager, the two Belmont girls, dear little Rosa Ray, and of course Gloria. You'll give us your company ? Rosenberg. Charmed, I'm sure. Going to Romano's. Buckley. No ; got the restaurant to send the supper in here. Ready immediately. Lord Robert. By Jove, old fellow, your little friend looked like a red standard-rose to-night. ACT II THE CHRISTIAN 57 Drake. Didn't she ? Such a face for the stage, so strong and yet so tender. Such fire, such life, such move- ment I Lord Robert. Such grace, such distinction, such style I Buckley. And then so bright, so chippy, so charming ! I'll give her a three years' engagement to-morrow ! Drake. Not if I know it, dear friend. It isn't in musical comedy that talents like hers Lord Robert, Quite right. She'll go farther than that if you'll only give her a chance. Drake. I will, too, if I have to back her in the best theatre in London and go home to Egypt with nothing but my return ticket in my pocket. ROSENBERQ. Great Caesar, she'll have to thank you for some- thing, sir I Lord Robert. \Laughing!\ Oh, she will, she will, make your mind easy about that. S8 THE CHRISTIAN act n Buckley. They all do, every one ef 'em ! \They laugh significantly, Dbaee. Robert, how often am I to tell you that this is a diflferent relation altogether? Because I discover a creature of genius and try to help her to the position she deserves, is it to be supposed LoED Robert. [Still laughing.] You hypocrite ! Do you want us to believe that you would have taken all this trouble Buckley. And put up all this money Lord Robert. If your " creature of genius " had been a man in- stead of a charming little woman with big black eyes, you know ? Dbaee. [Laughing and going off".] Oh, laugh away, you fellows — who the devil cares ? Lord Robebt. One moment, old fellow. Dbaee. [Stopping.] What is it now ! ACT II THE CHRISTIAN 59 Lord Eobekt. [Seriouelf/.'] Tbat woman has been here again to-night. Drake. What woman ?| Lord Robert. Mrs. Ormarod Callender, giving her flowers and cards away to the girls in the promenade, you know. She'll clear them all out if she's allowed to go on much longer. Drake. So much the better. It's a degradation and dis- grace that any theatre should try to attract by its audience instead of its artists, BirCKLET. Can't do without them, dear sir. When the rest of the house is empty I've seen the crush room crowded. Lord Roeeiit. It isn't the woman, I'm afraid of though — ^it's the man. Drake. The man ? Lord Robert. The person who has started his Salvation Zoo ia the old Corinthian Music Hall. We used to think we could laugh it down, but it's no laughing matter now. It's got royalty at the head of it and half the fashionable women of London at its back. 60 THE CHRISTIAN act ii Buckley. Gives a cheap show, too, and is packed to the doors every night of life. ROSENBEEG. Yes, the daughters of joy are as sentimental as nursery-maids, and go over at midnight to hear " Home, Sweet Home," and cry their eyes out. Lord Egbert. If this " purity " crusade can't he stopped we'll have to put out our lights, sooner or later, and turn the square into a howling wilderness. Drake. How do you propose to stop it ? Lord Egbert. By putting the man out instead. Drake. Putting him out ? Lord Egbert. N6thing easier. He is only the tenant of the Corinthian Company and Bosenberg is the Managing Director. Dbakb. Well? ACT II THE CHRISTIAN 6i LOED EOBEET. Since Gloria has made such a good little running to-night and you intend to do the best for her, I thought we might kill two birds with one stone. Buckley. Get rid of the parson and turn the old Corinthian into a brand-new house for a new star, see ? LoBD Robert. Rosenberg is willing to come in with us, and to sell the place cheap, so if you have any plans for Gloria why not settle the question right away ? Drake. My dear Robert, I'll tell you why. The Corinthian, is now a Home, a Refuge, a kind of church, isn't it ? Lord Robeex. So to speak, Drake. Well, to buy a church and turn it into a music-hall would he an abominable outrage. It would be like turning one of the tombs of Egypt into a dance-house Lord Robert. My dear Drake^ we are not going to uproot Christendom. In the interests of Society Buckley. And our friend, Gloria 62 THE CHRISTIAN act n LOBB BOBEBT. We are going to protect ourselves from a puri- tanical craze which is ruinous and ridiculous, re- possess ourselves of one of the temples of art and expel a cracked-brained clergyman who cannot be routed in any other way. ' Dbaki!. What you say reminds me of another objection. You speak of the clergyman, and we know who he is. Lord Kobebt. He's a fool and a fanatic, if you ask me. Deake. Be that as it may, he's an old friend of Gloria's, and to turn him out of his Home of Refuge, or whatever you like to call it, in order to stop his work and make room for her, would be cowardly and cruel. LOBD B0BEBT< The fellow himself would have 'no compunctions. If he ever gets hold of the girl he'U stop her work and take her away from you without Drake. When he attempts to do that we'U consider our position afresh. Meantime, if we have any respect for ourselves, let us treat him as a man and a gentle- man and refuse to take advantage of him. ACT n THE CHRISTIAN 63 [Exit, going out R. The others look blankly at each other. EOSENBERG. Doesn't look much like bringing it off there. Lord Egbert. It's all right. "We've one infallible assurap.«e of success. Buckley. What's that?, Lord Egbert. There's a woman in it. When a man's qualms of honour revolve about his relations with a woman his conscience is a coat that will always bear turning. \Ilnter from left of dress circle, which is now dark, three women, two being flashily dressed — Betty and Letty Belmont — the third modestly attired and quiet, EosA Eay. The Men. Helloa ! Lord Egbert. How's Betty to-night ? Betty. Broken-hearted, Bobbie. Letty. [To Manager.'] Better take us home and bury us both, Buckey. 64 THE CHRISTIAN act ll BnCKLET. Why, what ? Bettt. She's wonderful I She's irresistible ! She'll break up aU the women and capture all the men. EOSENBEBQ. [Looking off right.] She's coming — she's here! [Re-enter Drake, with Glory on his mm. She looks flushed and happy. The men and ■women receive her with clapping of hands. Glory. [Looking all round.] Oh, thank you ! Thank yon ! How good you are to me ! Betty. It was charming, Gloria 1 Letty, Such chic, such pace ! Betty. Never saw such a flutter in the front row of the stalls, dear. Letty. We'll see nothing there now except shirt-fronta and eye-glasses, Gloria. [Laugh.] ACTii THE CHRISTIAN 65 Betty. The men will go down before you in regiments, my dear. \L