'! I 
 
 !i!iPI!'! 
 
 ALBION AND ROSAMOND 
 &r THE LIVING VOICE 
 
 [Two Dramas] 
 ANNA WOLFROM 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 
 ANNA S. GURLEY 
 
 MEMORIAL BOOK FUND 
 
 FOR THE PURCHASE OF BOOKS 
 IN THE FIELD OF THE DRAMA 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 William F. E. Gurley 
 
 CLASS OF 1877 
 1935 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 3545.04595A3 
 
 Albion and Rosamond and The living voic 
 
 3 1924 021 731 728 
 
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/cu31924021731728 
 
ALBION AND ROSAMOND 
 
 and 
 
 THE LIVING VOICE 
 
 TWO DRAMAS 
 
 BY 
 ANNA WOLFROM 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 
 1916 
 
Copyright, 1916 
 Sherman, French & Company 
 
ALBION AND ROSAMOND 
 A HISTORICAL DRAMA 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Albion, king of the Lombards 
 
 KuNiMOND, king of the Gepidae 
 
 AuDoiN, father of Albion 
 
 Haduwalt, the keeper of the king's door 
 
 Vestralp, one of Albion's followers 
 
 Helmechis, armor-bearer of Albion 
 
 GisuLP, nephew of Albion, and master of the 
 horse 
 
 Nakses, a trusty servant of the pope 
 
 Peredeo, chamberlin of Kunimond 
 
 Rosamond, wife of Albion, and daughter of Kuni- 
 mond 
 
 Gambara, cousin of Rosamond 
 
 Albswinda, daughter of Albion by his first wife 
 
 Freya, sister of Albion 
 
 Elprieda, daughter of the chagan of the Avars 
 
ACT I 
 
 The scene is laid in Pcmnoma, north of the 
 Danuhe, in the meadhall of the Lombards. At the 
 head of the long mess table sits Audoin, the old 
 king; on the sides are his worthy fighters, all par- 
 taking of wine and food. On the walls hang 
 shields, spears, helmets, javelins and other imple- 
 ments of warfare of the early Germans. The 
 dress of the men is very primitive, tunics of home- 
 spun linen with overdress of skims, or skins hang- 
 ing from the shoulder. 
 
 Early spring in the middle of the sixth century 
 
 A. D. 
 
 [The blast of an auroch's horn is heard'\ 
 
 Audoin. Who comes? 
 
 Haduwalt [rising from his seat at the table^i. 
 Perhaps it is the return of your messenger from 
 the camp of the Gepidae. 
 
 Audoin. Not yet, my good fellow. The 
 enemy's land is far ; the king slow to give an an- 
 swer. 
 
 3 
 
aititon anD laosamonD 
 
 Haduwalt. The enemy sleeps little; they are 
 ever on the watch, for their many eyes scan the 
 mountain tops here about. 'Twas but yesterday 
 that I mistook a prowler for a deer, and succeeded 
 in wounding him only in the arm with my ar- 
 row. 
 
 Vestkalp. Were your aim as good as mine you 
 would have put the arrow into his heart. 
 
 AuDoiN. No, no, comrade ; we have no desire 
 to kill one lonely man. It is the tribe — the tribe 
 must be wiped out with but a blow. 
 
 A Tribesman. How, my king! Know you 
 well that the prowlers are but spies who form a 
 linked chain from here to the camp of Kunimond. 
 
 AuDOiN [his eye flashing^. Invite the spies 
 in; let them know more. The more they know, 
 the greater their fear will be. 
 
 [Albion thrusts the door open and stcmds m 
 the entrance. His huge physique is com- 
 manding, hut his eye is obedient as he 
 looks at his father. All gaze in silence at 
 himi for a moment^ 
 
 AuDOiN. What ! you, my son .'' 
 
 Albion. Yes, my great father and conqueror. 
 
 AuDoiN. What do you here. J" Bring you news 
 from Kunimond.? 
 
ailiion anD BosamonD 
 
 Albion. None, father. [^Casting Ms eye to 
 the grouncr\ 
 
 AuDoiN. What are you doing here then, you 
 weak imp of Wotan? \^Helps himself to wine 
 from the wassail bowl^ 
 
 Albion. Watchers of Asgard, I beg a place 
 among you. 
 
 AuDOiN. Do you wish to have me violate the 
 custom of our tribe? Know you weU that no son 
 can dine with his father, the king, until he has won 
 his arms from the king of the enemy. 
 
 Albion \^the fire of the barbarian is in his eyel^. 
 I brought you but three days ago the helmet and 
 javelin of a Roman general. 
 
 AuDOiN. The white curs. Call yourself a war- 
 rior when you have merely gone among the rem- 
 nant of Cffisar's people, who now hire their soldiers, 
 where you can buy arms for the price of your 
 song.'' 
 
 Albion. [The gray heron's pinion shakes in 
 the Roman helmet that he wears; the alderwood in 
 his right hand strikes heavily across the round 
 shield on his left arm.] Audoin's son never 
 bought even a drink of Siculian wine from a 
 suckled son of Romulus. {_Going] I will bring 
 you back a spear of the enemy or I'll let the 
 
6 ai&ion anP HogamonD ; 
 
 Gepidae send mine to you that you may return 
 them to Rome. 
 
 Haduwalt {standkig with extended arm 
 against the door\. Good speed, noble son of the 
 Lombards ; no prince was ever more worthy of the 
 name. 
 
 Albion [extends his alderwood toward Hadu- 
 walt]. Your good grace speeds me on. 
 
 Haduwalt [grasps prmly the shaft for a mo- 
 ment; then with an onward movement~\. Your 
 father's blood will some day conquer Italy. 
 
 AuDOiN. What say you, you weakling of a 
 wolf's brood? No blood of mine will ever cross 
 those mountains before your king. I alone will 
 lead my people thither. [All rise from, the table^ 
 
 Haduwalt. We have long been camped in 
 Pannonia, my good sire; I tremble in the calves 
 of my legs from the weary days of rest. Your 
 fear of the enemy marks well the end of the noble 
 sons of Wotan. 
 
 AuDoiN [with great anger^. No fear have I 
 of the Gepidae, you green-eyed toad. Because 
 they stand between us and fair Italia, is for no 
 other reason than the she-wolf that suckled our 
 children killed off all the brave ones in their in- 
 fancy. [Chuckles loud^ Had you shown any 
 
^Ibton anD BosamonD 
 
 signs of the strength of our fathers you would not 
 have been waiting here. \^Hobbles across the 
 room, shaking his fist^ There are many cowards 
 who bear the name of Wotan, but you, you whelp, 
 have the whitest liver of them all. 
 
 Haduwalt [white with rage and clenching his 
 -fist'\. If you were other than the great king of 
 my people I would strangle you in the very next 
 instant, that your nostrils might never quiver 
 again with the burning fever of a woman's — 
 
 AuDoiN [rushes at him, hut is restrained by an 
 attendant~\. Dog! 
 
 Vestealp. Hold, my good men. It is women's 
 words only that stir up your hearts to anger. No 
 cowards ever were born to the Lombards. We are 
 fighters — all. 
 
 TaiBESMSN. We drink to Vestralp. Yes; 
 fighters all. 
 
 Vestbalp. Is it not so, worthy king? Did not 
 the father of the race whom the grey heron brought 
 from Wotan say that one day his sons would con- 
 quer lands and make the name Lombards, borne by 
 their father, immortal? 
 
 AuDOiN. I, son, have given my life to carry 
 out that prophecy. The years are many that 
 crown my head, the roads have been rough and the 
 
8 aiftfon anP BogamonD 
 
 struggles endless — yet I possess the courage to 
 go on. I will go on. 
 
 Haduwalt. King, we are one and all with you. 
 Are we not, kinsmen? 
 
 Tribesmen. Ready we are, brother. 
 
 Helmechis [stands forth from the crowd]^. 
 Three years have we faced the foe that separates 
 us from the longed-for Italia. If we cannot break 
 the back-bone of the Gepidae, wherefore do we lie 
 here forming a wall against the enemy on the 
 North.? 
 
 AuDoiN. If in three sleeps of the heron mother 
 we find that Narses has not returned to bid us 
 march on with the Roman's help, we go alone. 
 
 Vestbalp. Why wait.^" Know you well that 
 Rome's emperor will give us no aid, unless he sees 
 himself repaid thrice. 
 
 Haduwalt [the shrill note of the ttiba is heard^. 
 Some one comes through the lines of the watchers. 
 [Opens a slit in the door. Looks out with peer- 
 ing eye^ He comes ; it is the Roman messenger 
 returned. 
 
 AuDOiN. Narses brings good tidings, no doubt. 
 
 Narses [entering, tired and weary, the old 
 priest, with long heard, raises up the grapes from 
 the fields of prized Italy'\. I have returned, my 
 
ai6fon anP BogamonD 9 
 
 noble Audoin, with news from Pavia as well, and 
 brought the sweet fruit of her cherished vineyards. 
 
 Audoin. What care I for the vineyards of the 
 Roman thieves.'' Have you seen Theoderic's 
 ghost, and what message has he sent to his enemy of 
 the North.? 
 
 Narses. Chief — 
 
 Audoin. King of the Lombards. 
 
 Narses [bowing'\. King of the Lombards. 
 Great and mighty are the forces in and out of 
 Pavia. The Maurusian troopers guard the walls, 
 while within the Isaurian mercenaries sing heroic 
 songs to the children that the deeds of their ances- 
 tors may inspire them. 
 
 Audoin. Sing songs ; sing songs, hey .'' 
 
 Nakses. Aye, my king. 
 
 Audoin. Sing they not of the children of 
 Wotan that await their Lorch armor as a token 
 of submission .'' The exarch, what promises did he 
 make? 
 
 Narses. None, my lord, none. He has sent a 
 thousand of his best virgin shield-bearers to the 
 Gepidae to help them against the fury of the Lom- 
 bards. 
 
 Audoin. What sayest thou? [Rises from his 
 seat and supports hhnself with one hand against 
 
10 Albion anP BogamonD 
 
 the skill-covered back^ To aid the enemy of — 
 of Audoin. Curses on them. What compact 
 would he make with me ? 
 
 Nabses. The exarch but laughed at your mes- 
 sage. He would make a treaty on no terms. 
 Bade me tell the king of the Lombards that in the 
 full of another moon his legions would cross the 
 Alps. 
 
 Audoin. To fight the Gepidae.? 
 
 Narses. To aid them against you, king. 
 
 Audoin \_tottermg^. We shall see, we shall see. 
 The pagan Huns, the Avars shall hear of this. 
 Kunimond shall never live to be the cat's-paw of 
 the Romans. 
 
 Nabses. Our people have already suffered so 
 at your hand, king Audoin. Have mercy on a 
 Christian folk. 
 
 Audoin. Christian dogs. What care I for 
 their white livers and black eyes.'' My last terms 
 have been sent. I'll wring the neck of every son 
 of Romulus. 
 
 Nabses. Have mercy. Son of Wotan. A great 
 pestilence is about to take all Italia. In Pavia 
 they fear it — yes — as the worm-eaten oak fears 
 the northwind. 
 
ai&ion anP BogamonD n 
 
 AuDoiN. Haduwalt, Helmechis, warriors ; hear 
 thee what Narses has to say. 
 
 Tribesmen. Aye, chieftain. 
 
 AuDoiN [m gayer spirits^. Theodoric's tomb 
 shall be my tomb. We march forward tomorrow. 
 [All men go to their tents except HELBtECHis] 
 
 Albswinda [a fair girl of thirteen, dressed in 
 simple attire of limen, with bltte eyes and flaxen hair, 
 enters, half timidly, from a curtained door to the 
 left, arid stands behind the hinges chair'\. What 
 good news does the good Narses bring.? 
 
 AuDOiN. My little suckling wolf. [Extends 
 his arm to her, which he encircles about her'\ 
 Good news. The weaklings of Rome are eating 
 the core of their own lives. 
 
 Albswinda. What mean you, father of my 
 father.'' 
 
 AuDoiN. The gray heron has spread her wings 
 over all Italia, and sprinkled my curses upon every 
 head. 
 
 Albswinda. The gray heron can do anything, 
 can't she.? She found me in the marshes of the 
 Danube and gave me to your Albion. 
 
 AuDoiN [tenderlyl. You are more mine than 
 his. You are all mine. 
 
la Albion anP EogamonD 
 
 Albswinda. Did the mother heron find my 
 father for you, too? 
 
 AuDOiN. She finds everything for me. She 
 sent me Narses, there. [^Points toward where 
 Naeses is talking to Helmechis] Sent him to me 
 that I might learn the path into fair ItaUa. 
 
 Albswinda. Let's go on then, father. I am 
 weary of the stalking of horses and men. I am 
 tired of the clatter of iron and steel — weary unto 
 death of all this blood and battle. 
 
 AuDoiN [^thought fully']. There is nothing else 
 in life. 
 
 Albswinda. Oh, yes, there is. Narses says so ; 
 didn't you, Narses.'' 
 
 Narses [turning around]. Yes, child of the 
 forest. There is much for you, but not for the old 
 servant that has endured many changes of mon- 
 archs. 
 
 Albswinda. My father Albion says that he will 
 be king of Italia someday. 
 
 Audoin [with anger]. Yes, when I leave it to 
 him. 
 
 Albswinda. Where is my father Albion ? 
 
 Helmechis. He has gone to get a white heron's 
 feather so that you may conquer a hero's heart. 
 
 Albswinda. Freya has always had one, but 
 
Albion anP BogamonD is 
 
 never has found a hero. She says that I must be 
 like her, and always stay with my father. 
 
 AuDOiN. My Freya is wise like the auroch. 
 
 Nakses. a woman's wisdom is often lacking, 
 but the fair God of the East gives her great pa- 
 tience and endurance that she may help to rear 
 His children. 
 
 Albswinda \_mterested^. Tell us more of thy 
 God. He can help one to do anything, can he 
 not.? 
 
 AuDoiN. Wotan will curse thee, child, to hear 
 you praise the Roman's God. The assassins of 
 Caesar but mock you. 
 
 Albswinda. Yes, but He does make men good 
 and kind. He teaches that it is wrong to murder. 
 
 AuDoiN, He has brought ruin to Italia. 
 Think of what Rome was when they bowed unto 
 Jupiter ; she conquered all the lands touching the 
 great seas. 
 
 Narses [pointing toward heaven^ . Rome's new 
 God will some day rule the world, as her sword once 
 did. 
 
 AuDoiN [rises and stalks forward^. Wotan's 
 rule will bring peace and strength to the land of — 
 
 Narses. To the land of God and Christ the 
 redeemer. 
 
1^ ai&ion anP IRogamonD 
 
 AuDOiN \_angrilif'\. Stand back; swallow your 
 words. Viper of Padus. 
 
 Albswinda [^r^vrmvng over to him and clutching 
 his arrn]. Father Audoin — please come with me. 
 Freya awaits us. She sent me for you. 
 
 AuDOiN [with extended arm'\. Out — out of 
 my house. Know you not — 
 
 Naeses. I know that the great king of the 
 Lombards is no match for the Gepidae. In seven 
 days you will be a prisoner in the watch-tower of 
 Kunimond. There you will be taught to know of 
 the guiding spirit of a new God. 
 
 Ai/BswiNDA. Already I love the God of the 
 Romans. 
 
 AuDoiN [fo Naeses]. Curses on thee. \Tear- 
 img about in a great fury^ Get thee gone. 
 Hound for a Hydra's brood. Already my son is 
 on the way to the camp of the Gepidae. [Striking 
 his breast^ My blood flows in Albion's veins, and 
 it throbs with lust for the blood of Kunimond. 
 [Stretching his hands upward^ Wotan, Wotan, 
 I call on thee to curse the nation of Caesar, to tear 
 the babes from their mothers' breasts, to burn 
 these heretics as Nero did the Christians on their 
 own crosses dipped in tar. [Exit, followed by 
 Heumechis] . 
 
aifiion anP ClogamonD is 
 
 Albswinda \tenderly'\. Fear not the hate of 
 my father's father. When not at war he grows 
 ugly like a wolf. 
 
 Narses [reclming on the f.oor]. Since he is 
 ever at war the curses of the dead are always upon 
 him. 
 
 Albswinda. A warrior's mission is far nobler 
 than that of any other. 
 
 Narses. No, my child, a warrior is the lowest 
 type in God's eyes. He kills God's children. 
 
 Albswinda. Isn't that funny, my good priest ; 
 to your God the great Audoin is the worst of crea- 
 tures, to my God the greatest. 
 
 Narses. Let me tell you something. Our God 
 had a son, one who gave up his life's blood to save 
 mankind. 
 
 Albswinda. All of our sons do that. 
 
 Narses. Yes, but before he did it he taught his 
 fellow-men and instructed his disciples in the true 
 life — a life without murder, without jealousy, 
 without selfishness. He taught man to be lowly, 
 to bear and suffer the burdens of his weaker 
 brother. To go into all the paths of life and 
 search for the fallen and the depraved, and bring 
 them out of it into a bright and joyous life. 
 
 Albswinda. But how are you to know when 
 
16 ai&ion anP IRogamonP 
 
 you are good and they are bad, when they are 
 fallen and you saved? 
 
 Naeses. By prayer, my child, your heart will 
 gain understanding, and great wisdom will be given 
 unto you to know the difference. 
 
 GisuLP [opening the door and standing tdthiml. 
 Greetings to you, my Albswinda. 
 
 Albswinda [rwrming to greet Mtri]. And to 
 you, my old playmate. Welcome home again, 
 Gisulp. 
 
 GisuLP [seeing the retreating form of Naeses]. 
 Who goes yonder? 
 
 Albswinda. A messenger of the Romans. 
 
 GisuiiP. What business has he with the king? 
 
 Albswinda. Rome will not make terms of 
 treaty with the Lombards. They have sent sol- 
 diers to strengthen the Gepidae, so that our 
 soldiers cannot defeat the purpose of the Ro- 
 mans. 
 
 GisuiiP. Kunimond comes hither. 
 
 AuDoiN [enters, followed hy staff'\. So, Gisulp, 
 the enemy sent his runner ahead to warn the sen- 
 tinel. 
 
 Gisulp. Yes, my lord. 
 
 AuDoiN. Think you that Albion arrived at his 
 camp too late? 
 
ailiion anD mosamonD n 
 
 GisuLP. Albion went to the supply camp of 
 the Gepidae where the prince commands. 
 
 AuDoiN. Be quick, be quick, tell me of the 
 king's arrival. 
 
 GisuLP. As I was out by yonder hill, where the 
 river turns and dashes over the mountain, I saw a 
 soldier following its stream until he came to the 
 great gash in the earth's face, and then disap- 
 peared. To my loud cries he answered not, but 
 soon I saw him clambering over the rocks, bearing 
 a white eagle's wing, a token of peace, so I could 
 but wait. 
 
 AuDoiN. And then.'' 
 
 GisuLP. He said to go bear word to my king 
 that Kunimond was on the way to pay a visit to 
 the king of the Lombards, carrying the message 
 himself. 
 
 AuDoiN \^the noise of armor and horse is heard^. 
 Kunimond is here. [Takes his seat^ 
 
 Haduwalt [looking out of the slit in the door, 
 then opernng the door'\ . King Kunimond. 
 
 Kunimond [enters, followed hy soldiers'\. 
 Audoin, king of the Lombards, greetings. 
 
 AuDOiN. Son of Wotan — 'tis he. 
 
 Kunimond. Yes, Kunimond, king of the 
 Gepidae. 
 
18 ai6ion anP RosamonD 
 
 AuDoiN. 'Tis not oft that enemies greet one 
 another. Thy visit must be an urgent one. 
 
 KuNiMOND. We have been a wedge between a 
 forsaken and a chosen land these many winters. 
 We retreat not, neither do we move ahead. A 
 force of well armed men lie ahead; neither your 
 men nor my men alone can take them. Behind us, 
 soon to crush us down like beasts, come the Avars, 
 then the Huns. There is only one thing left for 
 us to do. 
 
 AuDoiN. To crush the enemy. 
 
 KuNiMOND. Together. 
 
 AuDoiN. What meanest thou.? 
 
 KuNiMOND. That you and I must link our 
 armies together in this one last battle against the 
 Romans, and divide the spoils. 
 
 AuDoiN [rismgr, and speaking with a tone of 
 hatred^ . Divide — the lands ? No, Kunimond, 
 you wrong your enemy. Either you take it alone, 
 or we take you and Rome both. 
 
 Kunimond. We have wasted our lives sitting 
 on the hillsides with only waiting. The Roman 
 forces are too strong. 
 
 AuDoiN. When you grow weary of the way, 
 turn aside and let us take the ground. Long have 
 we fought you to get you out of the way. Let us 
 
aitiion anP iRogamonP i9 
 
 fight on until one or the other of our tribes is 
 wiped out. 
 
 KuNiMOND. Audoin, I came bearing a kind 
 message in my heart, I go taking with me a greater 
 hatred than Wotan has given to man. No Lom- 
 bard shall ever pass the line into Italy alive. 
 
 Audoin. Coward, think you that your threat 
 weakens my purpose? 
 
 KuNiMOND. I curse the name of Lombard.'' I 
 curse you, king of that people. [^Backs to the 
 door^ 
 
 Audoin. Spit on, you viper. Your fang hasn't 
 enough poison to disturb the stomach of a pigeon. 
 
 KuNiMOND. May the sacred heron yet eat your 
 heart out of your body as you lie wounded unto 
 death on the shores of the Danube. 
 
 Audoin [with rage\. Demon, out with you. 
 Curses, double curses upon you, upon your child, 
 upon the tribe of the Gepidae. Will you blas- 
 pheme and denounce the sacred emblem of our 
 tribe? Wotan, smite him dead; send the forgers 
 of fire and — 
 
 Fbeya [rather large, showing the strength of 
 her race in her face, and dressed iai a tvm,ic of linen 
 •with a covering of dark wool]. Father, peace in 
 your own house. Strangers are ever welcome here. 
 
go gt&ion anP IRogamonD 
 
 Thy board is their board, thy bed their bed. 
 [KuNiMOND goes out, followed by trawi] 
 
 [Albswinda entwines her arms about the 
 
 waist of FaEYA as she looks with fear upon 
 
 the old king^ 
 AuDoiN. Get thee gone — out of my sight — 
 all of you. [All move slowly to and out of the 
 door. Freya and Albswinda stand by the door 
 into their apartments, the curtain of which is held 
 by Freya as she looks upon her father with com- 
 passion,, Albswinda with awe. In the darkening 
 gloom he ca/rmot see them'\ It has come. 
 [Pawse] The will of the unseen is greater than 
 all earth's gifts. Today we are a mighty roaring 
 sea pushing all before us, tomorrow but a mere 
 mountain brook trickling over the pebbles — a 
 wasted force. [Staring out of the slit in the door^ 
 The roses of my life are fading — too long have I 
 camped on the brink of fortune, never to win. My 
 blood and bones are old, my energy dead, the 
 charm of Wotan has left me. The men there are 
 alive to the fire within them, they are waiting for 
 me to send them on. I stand back — afraid, yes, 
 afraid of that unseen spirit that has laid the finger 
 of ruin on Italia. [Sobbvng'\ Wotan, Wotan, 
 help me — help. 
 
aiOton anP BogamonD ai 
 
 Freya [coming forward to support her father]. 
 Rest here, father. [Leads him to his throne chair] 
 You are weary. The cares of life are many. 
 
 AuDoiN. What is life without cares.? I want 
 them. But I can no longer give my men the vigor 
 as of old. It is here, [strikes his breast] but it 
 won't come out. 
 
 Fkeya. You must rest. 
 
 AuDOiN. No, child; you do not understand. 
 You have too long been seeped in the good wine of 
 Asgard. There is a strange mystery about this 
 God of the Romans. It disturbs my sleep. Ask 
 Albswinda. She knows. It comes lurking on with 
 smiles and kisses, but in it is only the advance 
 guard of ruin and death. See, all of Rome is being 
 hushed to sleep by a great pestilence. It is at the 
 gate of Pavia. It is my time to move now. 
 Wotan has put his finger upon the hour-glass — 
 the time has come. 
 
 Freya. No, father; you are sick with weari- 
 ness. Let us wait the return of Albion. He can 
 lead the men on to Rome after he has captured the 
 Gepidae. 
 
 Albswinda. He will win. [Coming forward 
 and seating herself at Audoin's feet] I saw a 
 strange woman at the camp the other day. She 
 
aa ^Ihion anP BosamonD 
 
 said, as soon as she saw me, that I was the daughter 
 of Albion, the conqueror of Italia. And the race 
 would some day mingle with all the peoples of the 
 earth. 
 
 AuDoiN. The child wearies me. 
 
 Albswinda. No, father of my father. I will 
 be good. [Lays her head gently on his knee^ 
 
 Freya. The moon begins to wend her way 
 across the sky, the hush of the bird in the marshes 
 tells us that it is time to sleep. 
 
 AuDOiN. No sleep for me. We move forward 
 at once. Call my men. 
 
 Feeya. Rest thyself, father. 
 
 AuDOiN [holding feebly to the back of his 
 throne-chair^ . No, we go. Call Helmechis. 
 
 Freya [looking out of the window^. The 
 clouds in the east foretell a stormy night. They 
 are making a race to cover the moon's face. 
 
 AuDOiN. Listen! I hear the cry of the gray 
 heron. 
 
 Freya. 'Tis but the song of the men in the 
 tents. 
 
 AuDoiN. They sing.? 
 
 FrSiya, Always. What else have they to do? 
 They sing today, fight tomorrow, and then — 
 
million anD KosamonD 23 
 
 AuDoiN. They will sing little on this march. 
 We must work — yes — must work to win. 
 
 Fbeya. The days of work are over. Father, 
 you must realize that age, white, hoary age, has 
 overtaken you, and your place as leader must be 
 given to Albion. 
 
 AuDoiN. What say you, child of my heart? 
 You kill me to talk thus. Let me go tonight. On- 
 ward with the troops. [Standing, though totter- 
 ing^ I wiU lead them. 
 
 Albswinda. Father Audoin, shall I call them 
 for you ? [Still holding the curtain btf the door^ 
 
 Atjdoin. Call Haduwalt, child. [Exit Albs- 
 winda] 
 
 Feeya. 'Tis the wine in your brain. Be quiet 
 and sleep tonight. With tomorrow's sun you can 
 be off. 
 
 Haduwalt [entering the door of mead-hall^. 
 You called me, chief of the Lombards.'' 
 
 Audoin [leaning on Freya amd talcing a step 
 forward^. Move the tents, load the wagons, pre- 
 pare the foot soldiers with ample provisions. 
 
 Haduwalt. By tomorrow's night all will be 
 ready. 
 
 Audoin [amazed^. No, tonight. 
 
24 aiftion anP HogamonD 
 
 Haduwalt. Tonight? What mean you ? 
 
 AuDOiN. There is but one time to move — the 
 critical time, and it is now. 
 
 Haduwalt [moving toward the door\. If it 
 is your bidding. 
 
 AuDOiN. Send the horsemen ahead. Leave the 
 brood mares, the calves and colts behind in these 
 quarters. 
 
 Freya [with tenderness^. No, father; go not 
 tonight. I pray you. 
 
 AuDoiN [ignoring Freya's entreaty]. Saddle 
 my horse. At once, I teU you. 
 
 Freya [with outstretched arms]. Father. 
 
 AuDoiN. You do not understand, child, I must 
 be obeyed. The men are restless. Get me my 
 cuirass, spurs and helmet. My battle axe, my — 
 [Freya has left the room and Audoin looks about 
 perplexed] 
 
 Haduwalt [entering abruptly]. My lord, the 
 men refuse to go tonight. 
 
 Audoin. Refuse, refuse! They know naught 
 but obedience. 
 
 Haduwalt. In the morning all will be ready. 
 
 Audoin [not to be outdone]. Go; bid them be 
 ready at once. 
 
 Haduwalt [persuasi/vely]. From the many 
 
Albion anP BosamonD 25 
 
 times that you have broken up camp my lord, you 
 must know that one cannot do it on a moment's 
 notice. 
 
 AuDoiN \^sliaking with rage, his hands clenched^. 
 Be off before I strangle you. [Hadtjwalt re- 
 mains motionless, looking upon Audoin with won- 
 derl Be off, I say. 
 
 \^At the unmoved figure of Haduwalt, Audoin 
 makes a lurch, then, as if catching himself, 
 stands a moment as if to reflect. Passion 
 overcoming him, Audoin throws himself 
 upon Haduwalt, grapples with him, throw- 
 ing him to the floor. Freya is just enter- 
 ing the door with the armor of her father, 
 and, dropping it, runs to separate them^ 
 Audoin [^breathlessly^ . I will kill him — let me 
 to him. 
 
 Freya. Father, Haduwalt is thy trusted serv- 
 ant. He would never do ought but for your good. 
 Haduwalt. It is but the wine, Freya. He will 
 sleep it off. 
 
 Audoin {more composed^. No, my son, it is 
 not the wine. It is the last spark of fire within me. 
 Already it is dead. [Trembling^ I feel no longer 
 the love of battle. [Tatters'] 
 
 Feeya. You must rest one night before you 
 
aiblon anD mo0amonD 
 
 march southward. [Extending her arms toward 
 
 AUDOIN.] 
 
 [AuDOiN falls helpless into the arms of Feeya 
 
 and Haduwalt, who lead him across the 
 
 room into the adjoinmig one, Habuwalt 
 
 stopping at the doorwai/] 
 
 Haduwalt. Life is but a beginning and an 
 
 ending, linked together with a song. [The men 
 
 hatve come in for further ordersl^ Vestralp, our 
 
 chieftain is ill — we cannot go tonight. Prepare 
 
 for your march tomorrow. 
 
 [A great clatter of hoofs is heard. The men 
 stand back in awe^ 
 Helm^chis. Who comes thither? 
 Freya [who has just rejoined the men]. Per- 
 haps, 'tis the prince, my brother — the new king. 
 {The door opens, and an Avak, with flat nose 
 and high cheek bones, dressed in a skirt of 
 leather with a skin of the wolf covering the 
 left shovlder, while the right one is left bare, 
 and high strapped sandals are on his feet, 
 flings himself from his horse and enters] 
 The Avar. Friends, I come to seek peace. I 
 come with a message from the Chagan of the Avars. 
 All [gazing in wonderment]. The Lombards 
 make no peace. 
 
^Ition anP BogamonD n 
 
 The Avar. From across the Danube come the 
 Huns. They are threatening our lands on the 
 Ural, our very lives. 
 
 All. Keep them back as Rome is keeping us 
 back. 
 
 The Avar. They are double us in numbers. 
 Our king has made plans for war, but we need your 
 help. Let not the blood of Germany be spilt by 
 the mighty force of the Hun. 
 
 Haduwalt. What shall be our recompense.'' 
 
 The Avar. A fairer battlefield than you have 
 ever fought upon. 
 
 Haduwalt. The fairest battlefield lies yonder 
 beyond the Alps. 
 
 The Avar. Then my people will help you to 
 win it, if now you help us. 
 
 Vestralp. No, alone ; we Lombards seek the 
 prize alone. 
 
 Freya. Why seekest thou thy enemy's hand 
 when for years you have refused us aid against the 
 Gepidae.'' 
 
 The Avar, Princess ; I cannot explain the acts 
 of my king, my people. I but bear a message to 
 your chieftain. 
 
 Helmechis. We march tomorrow — south- 
 ward — upon the people of Kunimond. 
 
28 aiftion anP BogamonD 
 
 The Avak. I seek a word with your king. 
 
 A Pagan Pkiest [^enters slowly from the cur- 
 tained door to the left. His outstretched hands 
 are covered with a towel, symbolic of death, and as 
 he approaches, all kneel]. King Audoin is dead. 
 
 FftEYA. Unto Valhalla I commend his soul. 
 
 The Tribesmen. Our king is dead. Peace 
 unto his soul. \^All rising] Long live Albion — 
 Our King. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT II 
 
 Tlie scene is laid among the foothills of the 
 Julian Alps. In the foregrotmd are the tents of 
 the LoTiibards. The men are sitting in groups, 
 mending their armor and straps. In the distance 
 the mountains roll one beyond the other, showing 
 the beauty a/nd wondrous verdure of the lands of 
 Italy toward which they are struggling. 
 
 Haduwalt. Perhaps the king returns today? 
 
 VestraIiP. How do you know so much, you 
 curser of women? 
 
 Haduwalt [^laughing']. Anything but that, 
 good brother. I curse because there are no women. 
 
 Vestralp. So say you; ha, ha! 
 
 GisuLP. Haduwalt speaks the truth. \^Risvng, 
 shows a shield that he has been fixing^ Women 
 shun us sons of Wotan as if we were snakes. Our 
 own sisters who wait beyond the Danube pray for 
 us, while our fair daughters of Italy run from us 
 to pray to their God for protection against us. 
 
 Vestealp. It is wise that they should, for who 
 29 
 
30 gi6ion anP BogamonD 
 
 wants a black-haired, black-eyed wife to bring 
 black-eyed imps into the world? 
 
 GisuLP [admiring his armor'\. Their eyes shine 
 with the same lustre as their grapes. 
 
 Haduwalt [^snapping a strap that he is mend- 
 i'ng'\. Black-eyed sea birds, they are fair to see, 
 but what wives are they compared to the fair 
 daughters of Wotan? 
 
 GisuLP. We train our women to be drudges, 
 to do the work of the Greek slaves, but the Roman 
 trains his women to be companions of his heart and 
 life. 
 
 Vestralp. Get thee a wife from the lazy hordes 
 if you want to spend the rest of your life washing 
 your children's faces. 
 
 Haduwalt. The Roman women no longer bear 
 sons, and so Rome must appeal to us Germans to 
 fill her armies. 
 
 GisuLP. Rome's force is spent, 'tis true, but 
 after war comes love. All day and night is spent 
 in dreaming of war and talking of love. 
 
 Vestbalp. Ha, ha ! Love-sick youth. 
 
 Haddwalt [trying on his leather leggims^. 
 The last weary march wore my boots to the uppers. 
 Had I now but a wife to make me a pair from the 
 
aiftton anP BogamonD si 
 
 skin of that wild boar that Gisulp brought home 
 the other day! 
 
 Gisulp. Would you have her adorn them with 
 the gold you stole from the old bishop who passed 
 a night in your tent three days ago, as he was on 
 his way to convert the Avars ? 
 
 Haduwalt [casting mi ugly eye toward the 
 speaker^. Better I take it than a flat-nosed Hun. 
 It is to buy a skin of Siculian wine which you love 
 so well. 
 
 Vestralp. Why buy wine when — \The call 
 of the auroch's horn startles them, and they rise 
 from their seats on the ground^ 
 
 Gisulp {^running up tlie steps to the top of the 
 ledge^. He comes, he comes. The king. 
 
 Tribesmen \^all mwgr]. The king comes. 
 King Albion ! 
 
 [Albion appears suddenly from over the 
 ledge just behind the tents. On his bare, 
 left arm he carries a small round shield, 
 painted red, the centre of which bears a 
 golden wheel without spokes — a Runic 
 character of the sun. On his right arm he 
 wears broad, gold bracelets; his breast is 
 protected by a well-wrought cuirass. The 
 
32 ai&ion anP ClogamonD 
 
 upper part of the legs is covered with short 
 leather breeches, while from the knees to 
 the ankles the bare calves are laced around 
 with leather straps. On his feet are high 
 and well-fitting sandals, on the left one is a 
 spur. A short battle axe is thrust in his 
 belt, a wolf skim, hangs from his shoulders, 
 and from the Roman helmet — won from 
 the enemy — rises, instead of a Latin crest 
 of black horsehair, the pinions of his be- 
 loved gray heron] 
 Albion. Comrades all — I salute you. 
 Tribesmen [^bowing toward Albion]. We wel- 
 come our king home. 
 
 GisuLP. What news, my uncle? 
 Albion {^descending the steps]. It is well, my 
 lad. Good news, good. I have made peace with 
 the Avars. 
 
 Haduwalt. On what terms? 
 Albion. Good terms, brother. You will be 
 pleased. 
 
 Vestralp. Yes, if they help us to make a good 
 fight. 
 
 Albion. Little Vestralp, you were born fight- 
 ing. 
 
 Vesthalp. My king, I want to die fighting. 
 
aitilon anP IRogam onD as 
 
 GisuLP. Let us get at it at once. I like not 
 this land where diseases spring up in a night and 
 leave a train of dead in their wake. 
 
 Albion. What mean you, my boy .'' 
 
 GisuLP. The pestilence of Italy has come to 
 our camp and killed a hundred and sixty-three of 
 our best horses. 
 
 Albion. Better a hundred and sixty-three 
 horses than a hundred and sixty-three men. 
 
 Haduwalt. We are too tough skinned to get 
 the diseases that float around in the air. If we 
 wait here long enough we will not have to fight — 
 all of Italia's fair sons will die off. 
 
 Helmechis {^coming domn the steps and carry- 
 ing helmets, saddles, etc. He is dusty and fatigued 
 from the long ride~\. They are already dead. A 
 ride of three days has not revealed a living soul 
 to us. 
 
 Vestralp. Is that the good news then, my 
 king.'' 
 
 Albion. No, my brother, we have made terms 
 with the Avars. 
 
 Haduwalt. How, my lord.? 
 
 Albion. If they lend us their aid against the 
 old enemy, the Gepidae, half of the spoils shall be 
 theirs and all their lands. Then, too, if we sue- 
 
34 aiOton anP BogamonD 
 
 ceed in gaining the lands of the Po they shall have 
 all of Pannonia for them and theirs. 
 
 Teibesmen. Good, good ! It shall be for them 
 and theirs. 
 
 Helmechis. And Gisulp, my son, you shall 
 have all the brood mares to raise an army of horses 
 fit to excel the triumphal march of Caesar. 
 
 Vestkai,p. And what are we to have — we who 
 have spent our blood on the battle-field.'' 
 
 Albion. What more does a soldier want than 
 battle? Are you not content with that.'' Get 
 thee gone — all. \Wavmg his hand^ I want to 
 rest from the long journey. 
 
 Haduwalt. When do we march, fair son of 
 Wotan.? 
 
 Albion. Get thee ready. The gray heron 
 mother will give us the bidding. She has never 
 failed us. [^All retreat from the stage'\ 
 
 GisuLP [lirigering upon the step^ . We shall all 
 be ready when you awake. 
 
 Albion. One sleeps long after a ride of two 
 moons and a sun. \^Waves his hand at Gisulp as 
 the latter disappears otfer the ledge. He walks 
 over wearUy to Ms tent amd stands a jnoment at 
 the opening^ My eyes close from the weary days, 
 but my heart beats with all the fervor within me. 
 
ailiion anD laosamonD ss 
 
 It was worth it all just to have seen fair Rosamond 
 but once. [^Laughs mockingly^ She has lived 
 with me every moment since, she will live every hour 
 with me in the future when my people are her peo- 
 ple, when her father's people are no more. [^En- 
 ters tent and the end of the Traveler's Song is 
 heard\, 
 " I wandered through the night as does the 
 
 moon — 
 Wandered of my heart's beloved in search ; 
 I found but death, mocking with cruel doom. 
 For today's day seems to be a year to me." 
 
 Rosamond [accompanied by Gambaba, appears 
 slowly above the ledge of rock. Looking arotmd^ . 
 There is no one here, my cousin, not even a guard 
 of whom we might ask a cup of water. 
 
 Gambara. Perhaps it is mess-time, fair Rosa- 
 mond, and they are eating in the large camp 
 yonder. 
 
 Rosamond [descending the steps^. Thinkest 
 thou that the young king has returned? 
 
 Gambab,a. Let us hope that he has. [Sighs^. 
 
 Rosamond. I grow weary. 
 
 Gambaha. Sit thee down here, my child. [Mo- 
 tioning her to a low stump near the steps^ . 
 
 Rosamond. 'Tis with great fear that I come 
 
36 ai&ion anP iaogamonD 
 
 here to the camp of my father's enemy. Ah, 
 cousin, what perils my father has encountered in 
 the last year. He has grown aged with the worry 
 and suspense of war. 
 
 Gambaka. Thy father's life is thy life, I know, 
 but the sun shines high in the heavens as yet for 
 him. Soon he will be able to march beyond the 
 Alps. 
 
 Rosamond. Albion will never let us. I fear 
 him as the bird fears the hawk. He is spreading 
 his wings further and further with the lengthening 
 days of spring. 
 
 Gambara. Ah, but when they touch the lands 
 of the Gepidae they will be singed. 
 
 Rosamond. He is fair — this noble son of 
 Audoin. 
 
 Gambaka. How thinkest thou so, fair Rosa- 
 mond ? 
 
 Rosamond. The night that I encountered him 
 horseback near our camp I did all but faint. 
 
 Gambaea. Then thou didst fear him.'' 
 
 Rosamond. No, I felt that I could climb upon 
 the back of his steed and ride away to the land of 
 No-where. 
 
 Gambaea. Remember that he is a vulture, wait- 
 
gi6ion anP BogamonD 37 
 
 ing to tear the heart out of your father, your peo- 
 ple and — yourself. 
 
 Rosamond [with alarm~\. That is why I have 
 come - — to ask for mercy. He is of our race, of 
 our god ; he cannot let us fall into the hands of the 
 Avars. 
 
 Gambaka. Why does he go on long journeys 
 to their lands, why does he feast with their king, 
 drink from their wassail bowl? [^Becoming 
 angry'] Thou didst never see Elfrieda, the beau- 
 tiful daughter of the pagan Avars .J" 
 
 Rosamond. No, my cousin, nor do I want to. 
 I hate her. 
 
 Gambara. So do I. These people — [^Looks 
 about with mistrust] 
 
 Rosamond. I had a dream last night, good 
 Gambara, and it weighs heavily upon my mind. 
 
 Gambaba. Dreams are messengers from 
 Wotan. What was it, my child ? 
 
 Rosamond. I was walking among the reeds of 
 the bank of that small stream to the left of our 
 camp — very near the spot where I first saw Albion 
 — when I found a falcon, strong, beautiful, and 
 wild. I took it in my arms, held it close to my heart 
 and petted it. It seemed so near to me, to my life. 
 
aibion anD HosamonD 
 
 Gambara. And? 
 
 Rosamond. And there as I sat content, watch- 
 ing the clouds in the blue sky float lazily south- 
 ward, its heart beating close to my heart, two 
 great eagles came and snatched the falcon 
 away. 
 
 Gambaba. Then thou shall be happy. Thou 
 shalt soon marry a noble prince whom thou wilt 
 love dearly. 
 
 Rosamond. But will someone take him away 
 from me? 
 
 Gambara. Why thinkest thou that .'' 
 
 Rosamond. What is the meaning of the two 
 eagles that took my falcon.'' 
 
 Gambaka. Someone is coming. [The voice of 
 Albion is heard as he sings a strain of his favorite 
 Traveler's Song] 
 
 Rosamond \with emotion^. 'Tis his voice. 
 l^The flap of Albion's tent is thrown back, 
 and he steps forth without armor or helmet; 
 he stares for a moment, then reaches out 
 to a projecting rope to support him] 
 
 Albion. Rosamond. 
 
 Rosamond [proudly]. I am the daughter- 
 queen of the Gepidae. 
 
 Albion [advancing with keen interest]. So see 
 
aibton anP BogamonD 39 
 
 I, fair daughter of Kunimond. How fares it with 
 his grace, the king? 
 
 Rosamond. You ask this question as if my 
 father were your friend instead of your foe. 
 [Gambara slips ammfj 
 
 Albion [lightltf^. Enemy in war, friend in 
 love. 
 
 Rosamond. You have hounded him for years, 
 you have made him old long before his time, you 
 have made friends with the most bitter foe that 
 ever threatened a tribe of Wotan. 
 
 Albion. I beseech your pardon, proud daugh- 
 ter of a proud father, if I am guilty of any of 
 these charges. 
 
 Rosamond. Can you deny this.'' Your jour- 
 neys have been many as have been your intrigues. 
 The eastwinds have blown the dust of your numer- 
 ous marches our way to cover the tents by which 
 we have traced ruin with our finger tips. [More 
 softly'\ Have pity on your brethren, on my 
 father — on myself. 
 
 Albion [approaching^. On you, fair child, no 
 wrong would I do. You may have my life, my 
 love. 
 
 Rosamond [drawimg back^. Your love? 
 
 Albion. Yes. 
 
40 aiSion anP HogamonD 
 
 Rosamond. You play with me. You do not 
 respect my mission. 
 
 Albion \^mtently~\. Respect it? More than I 
 can tell you. Has it not brought you hither, has 
 it not brought you to me.'' 
 
 Rosamond. If you care then so much will you 
 not grant me one wish? 
 
 Albion. And that is ? 
 
 Rosamond. Is? Do you not know, can you 
 not guess? 
 
 Albion. I have only one thought, and that is 
 — you. 
 
 Rosamond. As long as you are an enemy of 
 the Gepidae — of my father, you must not speak 
 thus to me. 
 
 Albion [tenderly^. Rosamond — come with 
 me. 
 
 Rosamond {drawing away'\. When you have 
 broken that treaty with the Avars, the Gepidae 
 will j oin heart and sword with the Lombards. 
 
 Albion. Not heart and sword, but heart and 
 heart. Come — {Offers to take her hand^ 
 
 Rosamond {angrily^. Do not take today that 
 which you will throw away tomorrow. 
 
 Albion. Enemies in war, but friends in love, I 
 
3l&ion anP iao0amonD 41 
 
 say. Do you not know, fair daughter of Kuni- 
 mond, that the first spark of life in man, that sets 
 him to doing and living is war, the second is love? 
 Can you expect to make him over? You who have 
 been born as I among the clatter of sword and 
 shield, fed upon the flesh of the wUd bird so that 
 every fiber of your being thirsts anew with the 
 rising sun of each day to seek the spoil of your 
 own hand. Peace with your father would mean 
 death to my life and purpose. For many years 
 we have striven for the fields of fair Italia, and I 
 mean to enter there, not with the aid of the 
 Gepidae, but with the curses of their dead souls. 
 I want to hear them spit and rave, just as I love 
 to hear the last gurgle of the dying dragon that 
 I have left to die in the marshes. I — 
 
 Rosamond [^with imtensity']. Oh, no, Albion. 
 You are not so cruel. We are not here to tear 
 out the hearts of men as if they were instruments 
 of warfare. A mother has borne each one, a 
 mother's love watches over everyone alike. 
 
 AliBSWinda [her voice is heard in the distance^. 
 Father, father Albion. 
 
 Rosamond. Someone comes. [^Shuddering^ 
 A voice of a child. 
 
42 ai6ion anP BogamonD 
 
 Albswinda [from the top of the ledge'\ . Gisulp 
 said true, you have come home. [Running down 
 the steps, she embraces him]. 
 
 Albion [stroking her hair]. Yes, child, hours 
 have I been home, and you are late in finding it 
 out. This is Rosamond, the daughter of the 
 Gepidae. 
 
 Rosamond [stretching out her arms to Albs- 
 winda] . Child of Albion, I greet thee tenderly. 
 
 Albswinda. Did father bring you to me? I 
 love you. 
 
 Albion. As does your father, Albswinda. 
 
 Rosamond. I came with my cousin to seek 
 peace with your father. These are troublesome 
 times, my child, for you and me. 
 
 Albion. Take fair Rosamond to your aunt, 
 Albswinda. Let her there rest and feast for a 
 weary march she must have endured to come so 
 far. 
 
 Rosamond. Not a weary one, my lord, if you 
 but grant my wish. 
 
 Albion. And is it thy father's wish? 
 
 Rosamond. Not yet. He does not know of my 
 coming. If first I have your promise I shall work 
 hard to get his. [Albswinda is leading her out 
 to the left] 
 
ai6ton anP BogamonD 43 
 
 Albion. You have my heart; is that not 
 enough? 
 
 Rosamond. My first duty is to my tribe. 
 Swear that you will not join forces with the enemy 
 to kill them. 
 
 Albion [^with emphasis^. I swear not to kill 
 the tribe. [Rosamond, content, disappears he- 
 hind the tents'] But I will join forces with them 
 myself, joy of my heart. The son of Audoin must 
 win. 
 
 GisuLP [appearing at the top of the steps. 
 The clatter of hoofs, the clash of steel, and the 
 tramp of men are heard]. Uncle, the men are 
 coming. Your soldiers must have ridden fast so 
 nearly to beat your arrival. 
 
 Albion. You speak true, my boy. Wild, im- 
 petuous, these hounds of the forest tear the earth 
 up as they go. I was but a day ahead of them. 
 They were left to break up camp. 
 
 GisuLP. Then they ride better than the king. 
 
 Albion [laughing] . I rode out of my way. 
 
 GisuLP. I hope that it well paid you. 
 
 Albion. I wished to pass the camp of the 
 Gepidae. 
 
 GisuLP. To see that their forces were equal to 
 
 ours 
 
 ? 
 
44 aibion anD HosamonD 
 
 Albion [cZimfcs the steps to look at the ap- 
 proaching army^. Narses returns with them; he 
 is leading them. 
 
 [^The soldiers, covered with dust, file down the 
 steps, led hy Nakses and drop upon the 
 ground with their loads~\ 
 
 Narses. My young king, I greet thee. 
 
 Albion. Sit thee down, my good man. Have 
 you traveled far? 
 
 Narses. Farther than I wish. I am old and 
 men's struggles tire me more than a long march. 
 Loading up the heart is a more difficult task than 
 loading up one's back. 
 
 Albion. Bring thee a message of peace from 
 thy people? 
 
 Narses. Why do you ask for peace? There 
 was no peace with your father. He was bom of 
 the tribe of the devil. 
 
 GisuLP. Put this old man away, uncle. He 
 blasphemes the dead of Wotan. 
 
 Narses. Where do you come from, you whelp 
 of Satan? 
 
 Albion [Gisulp starts as if to choke the old 
 Tnan^ . No, my child, respect his age. 
 
 Gisulp. I wiU hear no more of him. Bid him 
 begone. 
 
ai6ion anP iao0amonD 4.5 
 
 Nakses. I am accustomed, my boy, to the 
 abuses of mankind. I have spent a long life bring- 
 ing peace to men's souls. I will pray for you. 
 
 Albion. Mind him not, father ; his rash youth 
 knows no bound. \^Addressing a servant'\ Get 
 food and wine for the Roman. His way has been 
 long. 
 
 \TJie soldiers are piling their armor, shields 
 and saddles at the door of the tent as they 
 take one piece after another from their 
 bodies^ 
 
 GisuiiP. Feed the men first, uncle. 
 
 Albion. A feast awaits you, my warriors. 
 The fattest calf, the choicest swine are broiling on 
 the coals for two hours or more. Helmechis has 
 warned them in advance of your hungry stom- 
 achs. 
 
 Albswinda l^the Trwn are filing out behind the 
 tents, when Albswinda enters from, the left and 
 crosses over to the right with plate and cup in 
 hand. Handing them to Narses]. Hearty 
 greetings to God's servant. 
 
 Albion [^hesitating a moment by the tent, 
 GisuLP stands by the steps, looking with anger 
 upon his cov^im]. I will leave you to her, Narses. 
 She has been looking for your return these many 
 
46 aitnon anP BogamonD 
 
 months. Come, Gisulp, let us mess with the men. 
 \^Exit bothi 
 
 Nabses [Albswinda seats herself on the ground 
 beside him]. That young beast has the eye of 
 Audoin. 
 
 Albswinda. He has — he is my cousin. His 
 father was killed by the spear of a Roman when 
 Gisulp was a very little boy. 
 
 Nabses. Your grandfather's spears killed 
 many of our men. 
 
 Albswinda. Gisulp has sworn life-long hatred 
 to all Romans. 
 
 Nakses. Hate, child, is the voice of the devil. 
 
 Albswinda [moving closer to the priest]. He 
 knows nothing of the bad man. No, nothing at 
 all. 
 
 Narses. You must teach him, bird of the for- 
 est. 
 
 Albswinda. You know Freya brought Gisulp 
 and me up to believe in the god of eternal winter 
 with one great, all-seeing eye, the sun. Do you 
 suppose that Satan lives in that ball of fire in- 
 stead of down under the earth? 
 
 NaesSs. He lives everywhere — in you, in 
 me. 
 
 Albswinda [drawing bach]. But you said. 
 
aiOion anP HogamonD 47 
 
 dear Narses, that he ruled over the kingdom of 
 fire. 
 
 Narses. That kingdom is in yourself. When 
 you have done wrong does not your conscience burn 
 you.? 
 
 Albswinba. Yes, father. 
 
 Narses. Then that is God overcoming the 
 devil. 
 
 Albswinda. How can you tell when he has 
 been overcome.'' 
 
 Narses. When you make up your mind never 
 to do wrong again. {^Raising his finger rever- 
 ently^ Then the devil has been outwitted by God. 
 
 Albswinda, What is the meaning of wrong, 
 father of the Romans.-' 
 
 Narses. I am a Roman, yes, fair child, the son 
 of the greatest people that God ever created, but I 
 have been hounded, exiled, driven into the wilds like 
 a dog because I chose to tell my good emperor his 
 duty toward man. To give one's soul and life 
 [eats as if hungry^ to help advance the ambitious 
 whims of a master and then receive only a kick 
 in return. 
 
 Albswinda. Then I have never done wrong, 
 because I have never been driven into the woods 
 and hunted like a dog. 
 
4>8 ai&ion anP Bogamontt 
 
 Narses. You do not understand, child. 
 l^Raising two fingers toward heaven] God grant 
 thee wisdom when trouble comes to thee, when thy 
 heart burns with the fever of repentance pray to 
 our Christian God and he will comfort thee. 
 
 Aleswinda. Hast thou that great comfort 
 then? 
 
 Nabses. Even though the servant of God hast 
 cast me out, even though the wild boar chase me 
 and the hungry wolf would make his dinner of 
 my old bones I walk the lonely pathsf of these 
 forests, singing because God is in my heart, his 
 strength gives me courage. 
 
 Albswinda \_testing hrni. Laughing]. You 
 talk very queerly, father Narses. Ha! ha! I 
 like not your God if He is in the heart of every 
 Roman. They are cowards, murderers, thieves. 
 
 Narses. Why say you so, my Albswinda.'' 
 
 Albswinda. Have they not stolen our lands, 
 hounded my people for centuries; have they not 
 killed our men by thousands, tried to drown us in 
 the North Sea ? They are not human as you say ; 
 they are not good enough to be called dogs, let 
 alone men. 
 
 Narses. You, too, have some of the fire of 
 your people. Calm yourself, child. Forgiveness 
 
aitiion anP IRog amonD 4.9 
 
 is the first law of our God. Our people have much 
 yet to learn, but they are no longer the cruel 
 hounds of war that they were under Cassar. War 
 is the spear of Satan. He is not satisfied to kill 
 off one by one, he must stir them up to fight so 
 that his victims may be numbered by the thou- 
 sands. 
 
 Albswinda. But every man who dies in war 
 has a place by the throne of Wotan in the hall of 
 the Valhalla. There it is ever joyous. Is it so 
 by the throne of God.? 
 
 Nakses. The followers of Wotan are all here- 
 tics, heretics, my child. Know thee not that 
 Christ was the Savior of mankind.'' He came to 
 teach the world that human existence was pre- 
 cious, that everyone should spend his life ennobling 
 his fellow-man, that the years on this earth are a 
 constant struggle toward His Kingdom, and can 
 be earned only by doing some good each day. 
 
 Albswinda. Good ! Good ! How strange it 
 all is. 
 
 [Elfeieda, the daughter of the Avars, 
 dressed m a tunic of leather with a skin 
 of a tiger thrown over her shoulder, with 
 high strapped sandals on her feet and a 
 javelin m her hand, is seen coming over the 
 
50 Albion anD KosamonD 
 
 ledge of the rock. Seeing the two figures 
 m close conversation she slips behind a tree 
 to listen] 
 
 NabSes. Yes, my child. The word good 
 means God. Each day must man labor to over- 
 throw the work of the devil, and your great mis- 
 sion in life is to teach this tribe that way. 
 
 Albswinda [^with childish vrmocen^e]. Me. 
 
 Narses {^rising and holding up a small cross 
 that he has just taken from his breast]. In this 
 sign Constantine conquered Rome, in this sign 
 your people shall learn to know that the law of 
 my God is the law of happiness. 
 
 Albswinda [^falling on her kn^es before Nauses, 
 zeith hands uplifted]. Our God, our Father. 
 
 Naeses. May God bless thee. 
 
 Albswinda. And thee, too, my noble father. 
 
 Narses [^kissvng the cross, and reaching down to 
 have her do likewise]. Do you promise to take 
 this into the hearts of your people, to convert 
 them from the love of warfare, to teach each and 
 everyone that the Christian way is the only way."" 
 
 Albswinda. I will. 
 
 Narses. To thee [^handing her the cross] I 
 give the key to God's chosen land. Know that 
 
aifafon anP mo0amonD 51 
 
 the way is long and wearisome, the path strewn 
 with discouragements. 
 
 Albswinda \^pressmg the cross to her hearty. 
 Though the way be weary, father, I will lead my 
 people His way — the right way. 
 
 Narses [pomting to the sinking sun over Italy^. 
 That way shall be your way. The chosen land of 
 Italy needs the blood of a new race to continue 
 her great work of the world's civilization. Lead 
 them thither. 
 
 Albswinda {^holding up the cross^. Into Italy. 
 
 Narses \^crossvng hvmself'\. In the name of the 
 Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. 
 
 Albswinda [^crossing herself^. In the name of 
 the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. 
 
 [Nasses goes out; Albswinda stamds in 
 thought as Elfkieda steps out from her 
 hiding place and looks upon her^ 
 
 Elfeieda. No, no, my child. Put away such 
 heathen thought. The old man totters with age 
 in mind as well as in body. 
 
 Albswinda. Who — who are you ? 
 
 Elfrieda. I come from far away, carrying a 
 message from the chagan of the Avars to the king 
 of the Lombards. 
 
52 ai&ion anD Bo$amonD 
 
 Albswinda. To my father? 
 
 Elfeieda [in surprise^. Is he your father? 
 The great king — Albion? What right then 
 have you to listen to that impostor? 
 
 Albswinda. The good Narses? 
 
 Elfeieda. Call him what you like. His kind 
 have worn our camps out by nights, to men al- 
 ready weary from the day's fighting, preaching to 
 them of civilization. There is no state of civiliza- 
 tion ; men only mistake it for a period of peace. 
 Life progresses only when in uproar, in battle, in 
 preserving the life of their nation. Show me 
 what Rome has done since she has been seeped in 
 the culture of the East, and I can show you ten 
 to one more things, original and lasting, that she 
 did when inspired by Jupiter. 
 
 Albswinda. What proof have you — child of 
 the Avars? 
 
 Elfrieda. Did not my father send me to 
 school in Athens, then to Rome. Did I not mock 
 them in their shams, their imitations. What be- 
 came of Greece when she began to imitate the 
 works of the great men of the age of Pericles? 
 What is Rome doing now ? Merely feigning great 
 things while the very core of her people is being 
 eaten out by the vices of the East. They come 
 
million and IRogamonD 53 
 
 like a great flock of vultures upon the body of the 
 dead; it is easy to persuade a mind already weak- 
 ened by disease. 
 
 AiiBSwiNDA. I know not why you talk thus to 
 me. 
 
 Elfeieda. I am trying to save you from de- 
 struction. 
 
 Albswinda. Me ? Why — I am trying to 
 save my people from the same thing. 
 
 Elfeieda. Yes, but for what? Your people 
 and my people, barbarians though they are, are 
 the strong men that Wotan made them, not weak- 
 ened by wine and licentious living. Save them for 
 the generations to come. They will need our men 
 to be the fathers and us women to be the mothers 
 for new nations in the West. Civilization is noth- 
 ing more than license to carry on destruction al- 
 ready started by Alexander and Caesar. 
 
 Albswinda. But my father.'' You have a 
 message to my father. \_Rtms to tent, callmg^ 
 Father, Father Albion. Someone awaits Father 
 Albion. 
 
 Albion [^coming out of tenfl. Me.? Am I 
 wanted? 
 
 Albswinda. Yes, a daughter of the Avars 
 bears a message to my father. [^Enters tent^ 
 
54> ai&ion anP BogamonD 
 
 Elfrieda [from across the foreground^. The 
 great Albion. I carry you a message from my 
 father, the chagan. 
 
 Albion. This is not his daughter, Elfrieda. 
 
 Elfeieda. It is. 
 
 Albion. They told me much of you when I 
 was in your father's camp — of your childhood — 
 your wisdom — your long visit among the Ro- 
 mans. 
 
 Elfrieda. I am no longer the child my people 
 think me. Ten years among the weak nations of 
 Greece and Rome have made me come here to warn 
 you against taking your people into their midst. 
 Under the disguise of religion, civilization, of cul- 
 ture Rome is engulfed in vice. Could it be other- 
 wise ? The German nations that have already pre- 
 ceded you into the southern lands are passing — 
 dying by the thousands. Life is a hard school, it 
 must be gained by degrees, by slow steps so that 
 when the goal is reached every muscle, nerve and 
 brain tissue is prepared for the change. Was it 
 so with first conquerors of Rome? No, the con- 
 quest was sudden, but the fall by disease, drunken- 
 ness and women told in a few short years when 
 Rome regained their territory. My father is on 
 
aiftion anP mogamonP 55 
 
 his way to join you to go there to destroy your 
 nation and ours. 
 
 Albion. Is it good news that you bring then? 
 
 Elfmeda. No, no, I beg of you not to go. 
 Save the bodies of our good barbarians and the 
 bodies will save the minds for the generations to 
 come. 
 
 AiiBiON. What say you? Men would make 
 compacts, but women break them. Is it always 
 so ? Women cry against war — yet bear sons to 
 fight on. 
 
 Elfrieda. No ! No ! I cry not against war, 
 my father's friend. War with men is right, but 
 not with cowards, dullards, remnants of great war- 
 riors, that is not a test for an Avar or a Lombard. 
 
 Albion. You talk like a soldier. [^The sovmL 
 of the auroch's horn is heard^ Listen. Who 
 comes ? 
 
 ElfrIeda. The Avars. My father sent them 
 to join you. 
 
 Albion. But why then this message of de- 
 spair ? 
 
 Elfhjeda. I want to save you and my father, 
 because in saving you I'll save great nations to 
 conquer the great West. 
 
56 aiftfon anD KosamonD 
 
 Albion. That, too, is my dream. [Waving 
 his hand toward the tentsli The back of the 
 Gepidae Is broken. 
 
 Elfrieda. Then my journey is without re- 
 sult, is it, my king of the Lombards? 
 
 Albion. To no dishonor to so beautiful a 
 queen, it is. 
 
 Elfeieda [waiting for the sound of the horn 
 to cea~se^. I bear you another message, then my 
 king. Before a son is born to you to bear your 
 name, the white-livered Romans will poison you. 
 
 Albion [laughing^. With the fear of their 
 God.? 
 
 Elfeieda. No, their religion is harmless, it is 
 the curse of the body that no barbarian can with- 
 stand. 
 
 [The clash of the soldiers' armors and their 
 marching bring the women and warriors 
 out of the tents^ 
 
 Albion. My dear Elfrieda, then your brothers 
 go with me. We die together. 
 
 Rosamond [to GambaraJ. It is Elfrieda. 
 What dost she here? 
 
 Albion [with a jest^. She bears me a message 
 not to go, to beware of the Romans who will poison 
 me. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
aiOfon anP BogamonD 57 
 
 Elfrieda. Yes, so say I. For you stand as 
 one for your whole tribe. When I say poison I 
 do not mean a mere weed that sickens you unto 
 death in an hour, but one that shoots stem and 
 root into your body to eat out the good, leaving 
 only the rotten in its place. 
 
 Rosamond. What right have you to talk thus 
 when your father's army doth approach? 
 
 Elfrieda. I wanted to save my people. My 
 father would not listen, but King Albion shall. 
 
 Rosamond. No, he goes and I go with him. 
 
 Albion [^crossing hurriedly to her side^. To 
 Rome, my Rosamond. 
 
 Elfrieda \_running up the steps to where her 
 father's soldiers are, jumps upon a horse and 
 cries^. To Rome, my brothers — to civilization 
 and death. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT III 
 
 A view of the mountains of Northern Italy, 
 south of the Danube, where the Gepidae have 
 camped for several years. Here they have 
 awaited the opportunity of marchimg into Italy, 
 keeping at bay the army of the Lombards on 
 the north bank of the Danube. Their camp- 
 house, made of upright logs with the skins of the 
 roof stretched over the edge and nailed at irregular 
 places, is situated on the right hand side. 
 
 Sentinel [^walking up and down^. Who 
 comes ? 
 
 Albion [appearimg suddenly from the woods'l- 
 Albion, king of the Lombards. 
 
 Sentinel \bowing'\. King Albion. 
 
 Albion. Is your mistress, the queen, within? 
 
 Sentinel. Aye, my lord. [Disappears'\ 
 
 Rosamond [^bursting out of the door, and run- 
 ning to Albion]. Albion, Albion! Greetings! 
 
 Albion. My Rosamond. [^Encircling her im 
 his arms^ 
 
 5S 
 
aifiion anD iao0amonD 59 
 
 Rosamond. The days have been long and many 
 since I saw you. 
 
 Albion. Think that I have not kept count? 
 
 Rosamond. I have counted the hours and the 
 minutes until this day. 
 
 Albion. And yet when I kept you a prisoner 
 at my camp you did but cry and weep for your 
 father. 
 
 Rosamond. Well, but I had run away without 
 telling him. As he always feared for my safety, 
 I knew that, finding me gone, he would hunt 
 marshes and woods until weary. 
 
 Albion. Hast thou told him? 
 
 Rosamond [^wistfullyl. Of what? 
 
 Albion. That you are to become a Lombard, 
 my wife. 
 
 Rosamond. I dared not. 
 
 Albion. And why? 
 
 Rosamond. A messenger had preceded me 
 with the news that you had made a treaty with 
 the Avars. 
 
 Albion. And ? 
 
 Rosamond. All the wrath of the gods of the 
 Valhalla were called down upon you. He swore 
 that you had kept the vile oath of your father; 
 that you had desecrated every honorable rule of 
 
60 ailJfon anD laosamonD 
 
 Wotan's code; that all the true and brave Lom- 
 bards were dead. 
 
 Albion [^drawing his arm about her^. Per- 
 haps. 
 
 Rosamond. No, my fair god, say not so — be 
 the hero of my dreams, a true son of Asgard. 
 
 Albion. Every hour of my life is spent in 
 serving Asgard and you, fair one. 
 
 Rosamond. Then break the cruel compact with 
 our enemy. 
 
 Albion. Listen. My father, my father's 
 father, his father's father, spent their lives fight- 
 ing to gain a road that would lead them into a 
 chosen land. Each one won the point for a few 
 hundred miles, each one gave his life, hard-earned, 
 to pass it on to his son. Now it is my turn. I 
 must serve my fathers well. 
 
 Rosamond [pulling away]. Then you love me 
 not ; 'tis but the lands, the spoils, the open way 
 that makes you seek my hand. 
 
 Albion. If we gain Italy, the land your father 
 is striving to conquer, but unable to do so alone, 
 why can we not give this land here of Pannonia, a 
 discarded one, to the Avars? 
 
 Rosamond. Why serve them at all.? 
 
 Albion. Your father's forces are spent, mine 
 
aififon anD laosamonD ei 
 
 are nearly so, therefore we need supplies in men, 
 food, horses, and armor to go on — on together. 
 
 Rosamond. To go — on together. [Pensive^ 
 Then through your love for me you hope to gain 
 that which your sword fails to win. 
 
 Albion. By the gray heron, yes. You and I 
 are children of kings for the same purpose. Let 
 our love unite our armies as well as our own 
 lives. 
 
 Rosamond. But the Avars — what can they 
 unite? 
 
 Albion. They will furnish the solder for the 
 welding. 
 
 Rosamond \^drawmg away coldlt/^. My father 
 wiU never give unto you. 
 
 Albion. But my Rosamond will. 
 
 Rosamond. Your Rosamond.'' 
 
 Albion [with Ms arms about her]. Today 
 shall be our wedding day. 
 
 Rosamond. Sh! he comes. {Voices are heard] 
 
 Kunimond [stepping out of the door]. My 
 child, thee forgettest thy father of late — oh ! a 
 stranger .'' 
 
 Rosamond. Yes, my father. 
 
 Kunimond. From where.? 
 
 Albion. A day's travel northward. 
 
62 ai&fon anP EosamonD 
 
 KuNiMOND {^suspiciously^. Not from the 
 enemy's line? 
 
 Rosamond. Albion, father. The Lombard 
 king. 
 
 KuNiMOND [drawing back, Ms hand over Ms 
 eyes'\. Away, away. The curse of Wotan is 
 upon you. 
 
 Albion. I come with a truce of peace. 
 [Rosamond slips away'\ 
 
 KuNiMOND. There can be no peace now be- 
 tween Lombard and Gepidae. Once I had 
 dreamed of such, but your dead father killed the 
 last hope. 
 
 Albion. I come to make a compact with you 
 then. 
 
 KuNiMOND. A compact with the slayer of my 
 son! You jest. 
 
 Albion. The years that have kept us behind 
 the mountains there would have made us all rich 
 on Italy's store. 
 
 KuNiMOND. Give you a share of the blood- 
 stained gold, stained by my own people. 
 
 Albion. And mine. 
 
 KuNiMOND. The curse of Wotan upon you. 
 [Risiaftg'\ You do not merit the name of a soldier 
 of the Val-father. 
 
aitixon anP lRo0amonD 63 
 
 Albion. Because I fight too well, eh? 
 
 KuNiMOND. What do you know of war — only 
 to make compacts with someone else to do the 
 fighting. 
 
 Albion. You shall suffer for that, by Zio. 
 
 KuNiMOND. I see that the wine of the war- 
 god has but intoxicated you. 
 
 Albion. One paw of the she-wolf is alreeidy 
 on Italy. 
 
 KuNiMOND. And I shall plant the other three 
 there. 
 
 Albion. With the help of the sons of the 
 Lombards. 
 
 KuNiMOND [becoming mfuriated^. You white 
 cats — do you think that the sons of the Gepidae 
 need your aid? Get thee hence, out of my sight 
 before I strangle you. There was but one war- 
 rior among you Lombards and that was your 
 father, Audoin. When he died the strength of 
 Wotan died with him — now but a pack of cow- 
 ards remain. 
 
 Albion [trying to calm himself^. What say 
 you! I challenge you now to the test. 
 
 KuNiMOND. But yesterday did I receive the 
 news of the treaty that you made with the Avars 
 — heretics — by which you promise to give these 
 
64 Albion an P BosamonD 
 
 lands here, to them if they help you to wipe us out, 
 in order that you may cross the mountains yonder 
 into the fair lands of the Po. 
 
 Albion. So I did, but today I come at the 
 bidding of your fair daughter, Rosamond, to join 
 you in that conquest and to ask for the hand of 
 Rosamond. 
 
 KuNiMOND [with intense angerj. By Frigga's 
 girdle, no. We are sons of Asgard, true to the 
 marrow. Fighting born and fighting to die. 
 [Grapples with Albion] I will kill you as you 
 killed my son. Coward. Imp of my life-long 
 foe, to death will I send you. 
 
 Rosamond [appearing in the doorway^. 
 Father, what mean you? No son of Wotan fights 
 with his guests. [Separating them^ Thou 
 shalt not. 
 
 Albion. Fair Rosamond, you have saved him 
 this time, but another will come. 
 
 Rosamond. My father is sacred to me, Albion. 
 If you would prove all you have said to me, guard 
 his life as a token of its truth. 
 
 KuNiMOND [adjusting his cap and sandals. 
 Angrily^. Even the curses of Rome have fallen 
 upon my child. White livered — [Enters camp- 
 house, sulking^ 
 
aiftion anP IRogamonD 65 
 
 Albion. It is of no use ; he is one of the fath- 
 ers. 
 
 Rosamond \^p%Mmg a long, white wool cape over 
 her blue linen dress, bordered with swansdowri]. 
 I grant that he is, for he is born of the heart 
 of the white eagle on the cliffs of the Baltic. 
 \^Sorro7efulli/'\ But the courage of Asgard is 
 passing. 
 
 Albion. Too many Romans among us. They 
 weaken us with their foolish tales of eternal pun- 
 ishment. 
 
 Rosamond. Let us talk no more of war — I 
 am weary of it. 
 
 Albion. You forget that life has no other 
 charms for a warrior. 
 
 Rosamond. And for a lover.? 
 
 Albion [forgetting the affair']. Today is our 
 wedding day. 
 
 Rosamond [rumning up to hi7n\. Father for- 
 bids. 
 
 Albion [^slipping his arm about her]^. For- 
 bids. Let us hope — I have counted the moons 
 on yonder Alps until it seems all too long until 
 this day. 
 
 Rosamond. Why so, my Albion.'' 
 
 Albion. I heard the heron mother call three 
 
66 ai&ion anP IRogamonD 
 
 times from yonder marsh as I rode thither to hear 
 your voice in the night. 
 
 Rosamond. My voice in the night? Why, I 
 sleep. 
 
 Albion. I have heard you sing oft the songs 
 that every son of Asgard loves to hear, the same 
 songs that our mothers sang us to sleep with. 
 
 Rosamond [pvlling herself away and laughmg'\. 
 Did I sing so loud that my voice could reach the 
 river beyond? 
 
 Albion. Sometimes I crept on hands and 
 knees to your tent that your voice might sound 
 all the clearer. 
 
 Rosamond [with a jesting finger^. Gambara 
 sings beautifully. 
 
 Albion. But not like my Rosamond. I know 
 her voice well, but it lacks the depth and tender- 
 ness of the one who comes today to be the queen 
 of the Lombards. 
 
 Rosamond [shudders as if pained'\. Today? 
 
 Albion [taking her in his ar'ms~\. Why, my 
 Rosamond, why do you shudder? This is the 
 happiest of days. 
 
 Rosamond. I have a strange forboding. 
 
 Albion. But my love? 
 
 Rosamond. All my life I have been taught to 
 
ai6lon anP HogamonD 67 
 
 hate you and your tribe with an eternal hatred. 
 I have feared every one of you as I have the poison- 
 ous venom of the serpent. To speak to one of the 
 Lombards was to receive the sting of the adder — 
 which meant death. 
 
 Albion ^laughing heartily^. And now you are 
 to be mine — come to our tribe as a true daughter 
 of Wotan. 
 
 Rosamond. But he may curse me for it. It 
 is against my father's wishes. 
 
 Albion. But now thy husband's wishes are to 
 be first. Listen. [^The auroch's horn is hearcT^ 
 My men are coming. I have promised them great 
 joy today with all the mead they can drink. 
 
 Rosamond [in a repenting tone~\. The mead- 
 hall shall ring today with the voice of Lombard 
 and the voice of the Gepidae. 
 
 Albion. Are they not all the children of Wo- 
 tan.'' I have brought thee a branch of red heather 
 as a token of approval from the dead of the north- 
 ern forests. 
 
 Rosamond [kissing it^. The red heather grows 
 but from the heart of my people whose souls have 
 joined the ranks of the mighty of the Valhalla. 
 Wotan will bless us. 
 
 Albion [embraeimg her. Tlie men file in from 
 
68 ai&ion anD iao$amonD 
 
 the forests near hy. Freya and Albswinda fol- 
 low; Gambaba stands at the open door of the camp 
 house while Albion and Rosamond move to one 
 side to greet them] . Welcome my sons of Audoin, 
 welcome all. 
 
 Haduwalt. The sons of the war-god, Zio, 
 bring you their blessing, my king. 
 
 Vestralp. I bring you more than blessings, 
 brave Albion, a hope that the name of our people 
 shall never be lost. 
 
 Albion. How so, Vestralp.? 
 
 Vestralp. That Albion's son shall one day 
 rule the world. 
 
 Soldiers [^together]. Aye, aye, a son to Al- 
 bion. 
 
 Helmbchis. I have saved the armour of our 
 king for him — the one Albion first wore. 
 
 GisuLP. Yes, my uncle, we bring you great 
 joy this day. {^Standing oibt to the right] Greet 
 brave Albion, my brothers. 
 
 Soldiers [all]. Albion, the first king of Italy. 
 
 Albion [taking the hand of Rosamond]. And 
 her first queen, Rosamond. Daughter of the 
 Gepidae, we welcome you to the throne of the 
 Lombards. 
 
2i\bion anP BogamonD 69 
 
 Rosamond. Good Vestralp and brothers, to- 
 day the sword of the tribes of the sons of Wotan 
 are melted into one. 
 
 GisuLP. Well said, my queen. [Presenting 
 Rosamond with a sword^ This has been welded 
 from the hammer of Thor. But yester day did I 
 draw it from the breast of a dead Roman. 
 
 Rosamond [symbolic of the marriage ceremony 
 of the old Teutonic people. Extending the sword 
 to Albion]. As this conquered one Roman, so 
 shall it many. With it I give you my heart and 
 life, dear Albion. 
 
 Albion [receiving it graciously^. More's the 
 welcome. [Brandishing it in the air^ It shall 
 win for me the kingdom of Romulus as it has won 
 the fairest daughter of Wotan. 
 
 Albswinda. Remember the Romans have 
 souls, too, father. God counts his dead and pun- 
 ishes the murderer accordingly. 
 
 Fbeya [seeing the angered look of Albion]. 
 Albion, forgive thy child. 
 
 Albion. Yes, Freya, 'tis but the poisonous 
 waters of the marsh. 
 
 Albswinda. No, my father, I speak the truth. 
 The Roman god is my God, and He is a just God. 
 
70 gitiion anP BogamonD 
 
 Albion. Freya, bring my daughter into the 
 hall, she is weary. A little wine will give her 
 strength. 
 
 [Freya leads Albswinda to the door of the 
 camp-hoibse~\ 
 
 Rosamond {^takimg Albswinda's handl Child 
 of my heart, enter into my father's house, as into 
 my life — henceforth it is mother and daughter. 
 
 Albswinda. I want thee, fair queen-mother, to 
 teach my father to hate war. All the strength of 
 our people has near been spent trying to kill their 
 own brothers — we are all children of God. {They 
 enter mead-hall together, followed by Freya and 
 Gam BAR a] 
 
 Albion [standing hy the side of the hal^. 
 Comrades, today a great wound has been healed, 
 the life-long hatred between brothers of Wotan, 
 and it needs but time to let the scar grow smooth 
 and firm. In a few more months the Alps will 
 sink away as our feet nimbly tread the paths worn 
 bare by the Romans. For a thousand years has 
 Jupiter led his sons proudly across these ways, 
 triumphant. Now 'tis Wotan's turn. The un- 
 numbered hordes of the Baltic have been pressing 
 down upon the works of the Romans for five cen- 
 turies, sometimes to win, sometimes to lose, but 
 
aiftion anP BogamonD 7i 
 
 never to lose again. Asgard but needs your loyal 
 support. Are you with your king-f 
 
 Tribesmen. Aye, aye, Albion. We are all 
 with our king. 
 
 Albion [waving the sword in the air'\. By this 
 the gates of HeU shall be opened to let the souls of 
 the Romans within. 
 
 Tribesmen. Well said, my kinsman and our 
 king. [Albion salutes and enters mead-hall. 
 The soldiers stand about in groups in great con- 
 fusion that the joyous wedding day has brought to 
 thern] 
 
 Albswinda \_suddenly appearing in the door- 
 way, slips in unobserved. Stamping her foot^. 
 Sons of Wotan, I command you. 
 
 Tribesmen [loolcing around toward the mead- 
 hall^. Yes, princess. 
 
 Albswinda. My father has just inspired you 
 with a great love for warfare. I am here on the 
 part of a greater Father to cry against a heathen- 
 ish practice. As brothers and sisters in a family 
 that weep and wail over the dead, so should we in 
 this great world-family do the same. 
 
 Haduwalt. The Romans cry peace unto souls 
 by day, while at night they steal upon us to slaugh- 
 ter us. 
 
72 aitifon an d HogamonD 
 
 Albswinda. That will no longer be. Their 
 God is a peaceful God. 
 
 Vestralp. Our war-god, Zio, has not left 
 enough force among them to cry out against any- 
 thing else. 
 
 GisuLP [Entering rapidly}. Tribesmen, come 
 to yonder woods. We have a wild boar within, 
 and the one who succeeds in breaking his jaws 
 shall this day sit beside our king at the wedding 
 feast. 
 
 SoLDiEKS [ira great glee'\. The brothers of 
 Thor are with thee. 
 
 GisuLP. Away at once so that he may not es- 
 cape. We will form a walled circle. \^The men 
 begin to file out. Seeing Albswinda, Gisulp turns 
 to her'\ We will bring to you, fair cousin, the 
 tusks for your rare necklace. 
 
 Albswinda. No, Gisulp, I wear no longer the 
 spoils of war. I have learned of a kinder Father 
 who says that all life is sacred. 
 
 Gisulp [looks mockvngli/']. How can that be? 
 
 Albswinda [running down to Ms side, looking 
 cautiously about}. I am going to tell you of a 
 wondrous story of a child born in Jerusalem. 
 
 Gisulp [with more vnterest}. And I am going 
 to tell you the story of Gisulp's heart. 
 
3lftfon and laosamonD 73 
 
 Albswinda. You are not ill, my cousin? 
 
 GisuLP [^patheticallyj. With a malady that 
 can never be cured without you. 
 
 A1.BSWINDA. Without me? 
 
 GisuLP. So said I, my Albswinda. 
 
 Albswinda. What is it, do tell me. 
 
 GisuLP. That I love you. 
 
 Albswinda. Love me ! Of course you do. 
 
 GisuLP. Well ! 
 
 Albswinda [^unconcerned^. Well, what about 
 it? 
 
 GisuLP [concerned^. Do you not care? 
 
 Albswinda [ZawgrAmgr]. The heron mother 
 would cry not to have my cousin love me. 
 
 GisuLP. Yes, but to love you for all time. 
 
 Albswinda. Why not for all time? 
 
 GisuLP. Oh, you child! You do not under- 
 stand. [Hesitating^ Someday I am going to 
 marry you. 
 
 Albswinda. Someday I am going to marry 
 you, too. 
 
 GisuLP [with delighf]. How long have you 
 thought so? 
 
 Albswinda. All my life. 
 
 GisuLP. All your life! You never told me so 
 before. 
 
74 aibion anO EosamonD 
 
 Albswinda. I did not have to. 
 
 GisuLP. How did you know that I wanted to 
 marry you? 
 
 Albswinda. How did I know? Why I told 
 myself so when we were little children together. 
 
 GisuLP. You never told me. 
 
 Albswinda \_shyly^. I wanted to surprise 
 you someday. 
 
 GisuLP [putting his arm about her J. You have 
 yet to guess what a surprise I have for you. I — 
 [Voices of the soldiers are heard before they 
 enter^ 
 
 Helmechis. Here we are, Gisulp. 
 
 Vestkalp [following the man with the boar 
 slung across his shoulder^. We made quick work 
 of him. 
 
 Gisulp. I see, my brave Lombards. 
 
 Haduwalt. Who is going to skin him? 
 
 Helmechis. Let Vestralp have the honor. 
 
 Vestralp. My honor lies in the fact that I 
 slew him. [Looking proudly upon the dead beast 
 on the ground^ 
 
 Gisulp. Draws straws and see. He that skins 
 the animal shall have the pelt. 
 
 Albswinda [rumning to get a twig, she breaks 
 it up in small pieces and stands ready for the 
 
gitiion anP BogamonD ts 
 
 match^. You, my brave Vestralp shall be first. 
 
 Vestralp [turning away^. No, I am the hero. 
 
 Albswinda. You, Helmechis, choose well. 
 [Selects the longest one^ You, Haduwalt, be 
 careful. [Also chooses a long one~\ You, Her- 
 man. [Takes owe] You, Gisulp, my heart goes 
 with it. [Chooses the shortest one'\ 
 
 A Soldier [after matching them alV\. Gisulp 
 has it. Let us watch to see that he does his work 
 well. 
 
 Gisulp [drawmg a long knife from his sheath, 
 he stands trvwmphantly across the carcass^, 'Tis 
 not the first. [A crowd of servants coTne in, 
 carrying a long tdble'\ Hey, hey, my men, what 
 do you here.'' 
 
 A Servant. 'Tis time for the feast, my lord. 
 
 Vestkalp. Can you not wait, you Gepidae? 
 
 Haduwalt. Hold back, you. [Gisulp he- 
 gins to skin the boar^ 
 
 Servant. A day like this comes not often when 
 the king's daughter marries the father's enemy. 
 
 Helmechis. Long live our queen, Rosamond. 
 
 Servant. Better said, man, but do you know 
 what it means to us to give her to a Lombard? 
 
 Gisulp. Nor for a Lombard to accept [skin- 
 ning all the whUe'\ a Gepidae into his home. 
 
76 aibfon anD KosamonD 
 
 [^From the door of the mead hall comes Albion, 
 leading Rosamond and Kunimond beside Gambara 
 and Fkeya] Let the feast go on. 
 
 Albion. What do you here, my boy? 
 
 GisuLF. Vestralp brought in this beast from 
 the wood yonder, and it fell to my lot to hide him. 
 
 Kunimond. See to it, my youth, that you hold 
 your own hide on until you are as old as that beast 
 is. [^The men laugh jauntingly; the servants set 
 about arranging the tables^ 
 
 Albion [watches Gisulp as he strips the belly 
 of the beast from head to taH]. 'Tis well I 
 taught thee, my son, to know the difference be- 
 tween hide and hide. 
 
 Gisulp [looking at Kunimond]. Some hides 
 lose their worth from age. 
 
 Kunimond. Better to suffer an old one, dried 
 and seared by age, than to have a young one rot 
 in the ground as yours soon will. 
 
 Gisulp [with an ugly gesture"]. I challenge 
 you right now, [stepping across the carcass] and 
 I will give you three spear thrusts in advance. 
 
 Albion. Enough, my lad. [Addressing his 
 own men] Take the sport off to the woods and 
 finish it there. Gisulp, go find your cousin, she 
 may wander too far from the camp. [The men 
 
aiftion anP HogamonD 77 
 
 file out on the left while Gisulp, after ripping the 
 skin from the animal and handing it to a comrade, 
 struts out angrily on the right^ 
 
 Freya. Forgive the rashness of Gisulp, king. 
 [^Addressing Kunimond] The youth has always 
 been so since my sister found him on the river's 
 brink. 
 
 [Gambara is directing the servants, Albion 
 and Rosamond are at the back of the stage 
 looking at the distant hills of far-away 
 Italy^ 
 
 Kunimond. He is a true son of Audoin, my 
 life-long foe. 
 
 Freya. How so? My father was a kind and 
 loving king to his people. 
 
 Kunimond. Yes, but by his enemy he was as 
 much to be dreaded as the claw of the wild cat. 
 
 Freya. Yes, he was. He was one of Wotan's 
 prized shield-bearers. The cruelties of our peo- 
 ple are not as much from the heart, my son of 
 Asgard, as from the inborn teachings of our race. 
 
 Kunimond. And they breathe true, as the 
 snow breathes the purity of the heavens. 'Tis 
 the task of everyone of us to help Wotan free the 
 land of all impostors. 
 
 Freya. It is not right that he has made the 
 
78 aitilon anD BosamonD 
 
 entrance to the hall of the Valhalla so hard as 
 only to be won by the number of the dead that 
 can be counted to the hero's honor. My father's 
 life was spent solely that he might earn a seat in 
 the great hall. 
 
 KuNiMOND. What will become of the rest of 
 the sons of the Val-f ather .'' If the great Audoin 
 has won that place his son never shall. Pray to 
 Frigga to send you soon to your work among the 
 Valkeyrie before you, too, are lost to Wotan? 
 
 Albion {^turning and waikmg with Rosamond 
 toward Kunimond and FeeyaJ. The sun sinks 
 tonight with a dark circle about it. What means 
 it, my lord.? 
 
 Kunimond. Your sister can tell you. Wotan 
 teaches his daughter to believe in signs while his 
 sons in spears. 
 
 Rosamond. Father and husband, your helmets 
 and battle axes this day are melted in the feast-urn. 
 Call thy brothers to come that the result will be 
 perfect. 
 
 Albion {^seeing his tnen advancing'\. How well 
 they know that the feast is ready. 
 
 Kunimond. 'Tis well that we eat for the first 
 and last time together. 
 
 Gambaea. The feast is ready, my king. We 
 
aitifon anP BosamonD 79 
 
 have sent for the men. Sit here in the centre, 
 Rosamond ; place your husband where you will. 
 
 Rosamond. Here, Albion, you sit beside my 
 father — on his right, and then I shall be on your 
 right. 
 
 Albion [in high spirit s^. Thy command is 
 most pleasing, my sweet one. [^Seats himself be- 
 side Kunimond] Now is the house of the Gepidae 
 divided against itself. [Pulling Rosamond down 
 into a seat beside him^ 
 
 Rosamond. I thought that I had this day be- 
 come a Lombard. 
 
 [The men come in groups and find seats at 
 the end of the tables^ 
 
 Kunimond [lookimg about^. Where is that 
 boar-slayer? He has won a place by his master, 
 has he not? 
 
 Vestbalp. Here I am, king of the Gepidae. 
 [Standing back of Albion's chair^ I am here 
 to serve my king. 
 
 Albion. Stand thee well there. Perchance 
 your king may have need of you. 
 
 Rosamond [looking toward the wood'\. Here 
 come the children. 
 
 Albswinda [rushing in, her arms filled with 
 garlands'}. Hurry, my cousin Gisulp. Already 
 
80 aitiion anD BosamonD 
 
 the feast is on. \^Seats herself at the end of the 
 table, GisuLP at the other end^ 
 
 Albion. The children do well in forgetting 
 their father and king's wedding day. I suppose 
 that every man is concerned only with his own. 
 
 GisuLP [^laughing^. We were talking of our 
 own wedding day, uncle. [^Turnimg to his brother 
 Lombards^ Drink one and all with me, too, to- 
 day, brothers. 
 
 KuNiMOND [filling cups from the wassaU-bowl^. 
 Drink today, mine enemies — to-morrow we may 
 be at war again. 
 
 Rosamond. Why say you that, father .-' Are 
 we not friends and brothers henceforth.'' 
 
 Albion. Well said, my fair wife; friends and 
 brothers henceforth. 
 
 KuNiMOND [pointing to the white strap garters 
 of the Lombards^ To those stinking, white-legged 
 mares, never ! 
 
 Lombard soldiers [rising with anger^. In- 
 sulting heathen-soul. The challenge is open. 
 
 Albion [laughing and swinging his cup^. 
 Down, my men; mind not the vain glory or idle 
 boasting of Kunimond. 
 
 Helmechis. As you bid us ; but the slur will 
 yet be deluged in blood. [All sit doztm^ 
 
3I6ion anD EosamonD si 
 
 Rosamond [wavmg her cup to the enraged 
 Lombards']. Peace, my brothers. Today heart 
 and hand of the two great enemies are locked in 
 one forever. Forgive the rashness of my father, 
 the great and mighty king of the Gepidae, for it 
 is no small thing to see the slayer of his son and 
 hope of future victories sitting in his son's place. 
 It gores me to the quick, my brothers, but the 
 drops of hate from his over-steaming heart are 
 turned into love in mine. In combined forces 
 there is strength, and our soldiers shall wave their 
 spears in your defence as well as their own. To- 
 day Albion and I have sealed that long-fought 
 struggle for supremacy. The perilous marsh- 
 paths will no longer be ensnared and tricked by 
 the other. With bone-girted chest we will brave 
 the Roman fiends together. \^To her father] 
 Father, for all time turn your eyes to Albion as 
 to your own begotten son ; hide the burning hate in 
 your heart ; cleanse your veins of that vile and 
 evil-thinking blood, and claim Albion your son — 
 the future heir to your throne. 
 
 KuNiMOND [^shaking with rage]. You are no 
 longer a daughter of my blood to ask such a thing 
 as this. Wotan will never forgive you for your 
 white liver. Born enemies since the day the sun 
 
8a ai&ion anP BosamonD 
 
 forgot to sink in the cup of Thor's mother; no 
 marriage tie can wipe out the insults and the mur- 
 ders they have inflicted upon my tribe. Lombards ! 
 Down with your lies, your threats, your bloody 
 spears ; down with your compacts, your intrigue, 
 your war-masks ; may the poison of your own gall 
 eat out the vitals of one and all of you. 
 
 Albion [rising^. I hoped to hold the peace 
 that lay in my heart today forever. It has not been 
 my wont to sit idly by, looking on the sham battles 
 during the short number of winters that Wotan 
 has given me. Love alone has bred happiness and 
 peace of soul of which I had long dreamed, but 
 never known, and we Lombards came to this board 
 to make known that our war-corslets were laid 
 away until such time that we Lombards and 
 Gepidae could go across the Alps together. Poi- 
 soned hate lies in the shield of my heart, too, worthy 
 king ; it was stored up there by the bloody deeds of 
 your tribe through the ages our people were nes- 
 tling on the shores of the Baltic. For there you 
 broke the covenant of Wotan and fought your 
 brothers like enemies. l^FaeiTig his own men] 
 Today, [^draiemg his sword from his girt] today I 
 open the challenge of our forefathers. [To 
 Kunimond] Are you ready, you venomous whelp? 
 
^Itiion anD EosiamonD 
 
 Rosamond \laymg her hand on the hilt of Al- 
 bion's sword'l . No, my brave, forget my father's 
 insult, today is our wedding day. 
 
 KuNiMOND [to Rosamond]. Down, you 
 breeder of cowards. [To Albion] I hang that 
 challenge on the point of my spear. You will find 
 it there any time happiness and peace leave you. 
 
 Albion [^o Gisulp]. Get my war-harness, my 
 sharp-barbed spear. No time is better than that 
 at hand. 
 
 GisuLP. Aye, my lord, now the blood of my 
 race is talking. \^Goes out'\ 
 
 Gambara [<o Kunimond]. My good uncle, do 
 not forget the great love you have for your child. 
 It is dearer to you than life itself. For her sake 
 join hands with Albion, and let this day be a day 
 of peace. 
 
 Gisulp [returning^. Here, my brave kinsman, 
 is your helmet, your shield, your spear shaft. 
 Fight well and do your father and my grandfather 
 honor. 
 
 Albion [^receiving his armor piece by piece and 
 stepping out in front of the tahle^. Are you 
 ready to give an account to Asgard, my death- 
 doomed foe.'' 
 
 Kunimond [slightly intoxicated, rushing for- 
 
84 aitiion and EosamonD 
 
 ward and pulling his sword^. Have you ordered 
 your funeral rites, mighty son of a weakling! 
 
 Feeya [infuriated'^. My brother was not born 
 of a weakling, sire, but of the glorious sun that 
 sent him forth to radiate the light of Wotan upon 
 earth. 
 
 Gambaea [leading Rosamond away. Ai-bs- 
 wiNDA is seen at the side, praying with uplifted 
 cross^. Come, my child, 'tis but the wine of the 
 Romans that tears the hearts and minds from our 
 men. Leave them to Asgard for safe-keeping. 
 
 KuNiMOND. Up, vipers of the forest. 
 
 Albion. And you are one of them. [Thrust- 
 ing his sword against the shield of Kunimond] 
 
 KuNiMOND. Yes, but a human one that will 
 suck your blood to a drop. [The servants clear 
 the tables and chairs away'\ 
 
 Feeya [the clashing of the swords of the kings 
 is heard'\. Remember well the teachings of your 
 father, Albion. His spirit now cries out to honor 
 his name. 
 
 Albion. 'Twas the twist of his sword that 
 broke the shaft of many a life. [Bach and forth 
 across the stage they go^ 
 
 Kunimond. You should have taken lessons 
 from him if he were so skilled. 
 
Albion anP laogamonP 85 
 
 Albion. His lessons were never forgotten. It 
 is well to wear out the strength of the foe first, so 
 he will not die too soon on your hands. 
 
 KuNiMOND [with a side lunge^. So I know. 
 
 Albion [^with an unexpected thrust to the left, 
 then to the right, stabbing Kunimond]. But not 
 too well. 
 
 Kunimond [^faMimgJ. Oh, I have been pierced 
 — as I — would not have done — a dog. 
 
 Albion. You are no better. [^Stcmding 
 proudly and looking upon his victim on the floor] 
 
 Kunimond. Help, comrades, help. I am dy- 
 ing. [^The soldiers ru^h up to aid hint] 
 
 Albion. Stand back, fiends, cowards. To the 
 victor belong the spoils. 
 
 Kunimond. My curses on you ! My curses — 
 [Dies] 
 
 Albion. Lombards, here, take your booty. 
 Save for me the skull that I may adorn it with gold 
 and fashion it into a drinking cup. [The men are 
 carrying the body away] A cup from which to 
 drink to our glorious march into Rome. 
 
 CUETAIN 
 
ACT IV 
 
 Scene 1 
 
 Before the walls of Verona. The castle is just 
 withm, the parapets of which can be seen. The 
 Roman soldiers man the walls, having held out the 
 siege for three years. The army of the Lombards 
 and Gepidae, headed by Albion, is without — 
 storming the walls. 
 
 Albion [o« horseback^. These walls are made 
 of the same metal as the heart of Caesar. You can 
 neither pierce them, nor budge them from their 
 hold. 
 
 Roman Soldier [Jrom the top of the wdlV\. 
 Heretics, get thee hence ! We call down the curses 
 of Heaven upon you. 
 
 Haduwalt. The curses of Rome fall but upon 
 yourself. Be careful as to how you use them. 
 
 Albion. Talk less, my comrade, and fight more. 
 Tear out yon lower rock that the whole wall may 
 fall. 
 
 GisuLP [drinnng cm arrow, winged with heron 
 
 feathers, into the heart of a Roman]. There, 
 
 86 
 
3Ifaion anP BogamonD 87 
 
 weakling of Jupiter, your days are numbered. 
 \^Ro7nan soldier falls] 
 
 Vestbalp. Already the wall is weakening. 
 We dine in Verona tonight. 
 
 Albion. Good! Brave Vestralp, and a Ro- 
 man banquet will be yours. 
 
 Helmechis [launching a spear over the walls]. 
 To the fairest daughter of Verona. 
 
 GisuLP. Spare, by Zio, the maids. We cannot 
 dance without them. 
 
 Roman Soldier. The emperor is but three 
 hours away. There will be left not one of you to 
 dance. 
 
 Albion. I greet the ruler of Rome. He may 
 dine with us then at the banquet. 
 
 LoMBAKDS [with one voice] . A short life to the 
 Roman emperor. 
 
 Albion. Every inhabitant shall suffer death 
 for his stubbornness before the morrow's sun. 
 [His horse falls] 
 
 Roman Soldiee. Here dwells a Christian peo- 
 ple. We ask but justice to our homes and families. 
 
 Haduwalt. We offered that a year ago. 
 
 Roman Soldier [to Albion, who cammot make 
 his horse rise]. Barbarian king, break your cruel 
 vow, and our God will reward you. 
 
88 9l6fon anD Klo0amonn 
 
 Albion. I gainsay it. By Wotan. 
 Roman Soldier }[swords lifted in prayer'\. In 
 the name of Christ, our Redeemer. [Horse rises'\ 
 [The walls fall, a bright light hursts out into 
 the streets, confusion ahovMds'\ 
 Albion. To spears, my men. Verona is ours. 
 [Enters the city~\ 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 The castle is seen in full view. Albion walks on 
 its verandas, and directs the men in clearing away 
 the debris on one side, while on the other small 
 tables are brought in in preparation for the meal 
 of the evening. 
 
 A Roman Messengeu [to Albion]. I come 
 from the camp of the emperor with a message. 
 
 Albion [taking the sealed message^. His run- 
 ners do me credit. [Reads^ He bids me evacu- 
 ate. Bids is a mild word, my lad; why not say 
 force? 
 
 Messenger. He asks you to leave Italy at 
 once or he will be upon you. 
 
 Albion. Ha! Ha! Please return to your 
 master and tell him that Albion, king of the Lom- 
 bards and Gepidae, has just taken Verona. His 
 
aitiion anP BogamonD 89 
 
 soldiers are now besieging Pavia and Milan. Ha ! 
 Ha ! Rome has sent terms of peace, but Albion 
 knows but one word, " Mastership." Tell the em- 
 peror that he will find better amusement in Con- 
 stantinople. l^Messenger bows and leaves^ At 
 last, [waving the message'] at last. [£«i] 
 
 First Soldier, [digging]. If I were not my 
 mother's own child I would away with all this and 
 clear myself to the marsh. 
 
 Second Soldier. What to do there but to feed 
 upon snipe. 
 
 Third Soldier. 'Tis well you are here where a 
 great feast is all in the getting. 
 
 First Soldier. What to get but the drippings. 
 
 Third Soldier. That is more than Rome's 
 emperor has paid you. 
 
 Second Soldier. What ! Hold ! What have 
 I here.'' [Holds up a broken statitette] 'Tis so 
 long in the ground that the fair daughter of Juno 
 has turned to stone. 
 
 Third Soldier. And shrunk. 
 
 First Soldier. She is one of the vestal virgins 
 that has hidden her face in shame. 
 
 Second Soldier. Of what ? 
 
 First Soldier. That Rome should one day 
 open her gates to the barbarians. 
 
90 ai&fon anP HosamonD 
 
 Second Soldier \_admiring the statuette^. 
 Hold up your head, you pretty siren. Rome 
 never would have fallen had it not been for you. 
 When our mothers and sisters drench their souls 
 in the sordid cup of licentiousness, the stones upon 
 which the strength of the nation rest totter and 
 fall in time upon the ground. You called in sweet 
 tones upon Jupiter to save you, but he had wept 
 pitiful tears so long for you that the ducts of his 
 heart ran dry. Then you prayed to Zeus, but he 
 shook the whole of Mt. Olympus in his laughter, 
 knowing that his revenge upon Socrates had found 
 vent when Rome was perishing by the scratch she 
 had received from Greece. Woman ! you have been 
 the curse of the world. When you lifted your eyes 
 in prayer men's hearts were turned heavenward; 
 when you spurned the duties of home and mother- 
 hood man fell with you. J[Throwmg and breaking 
 the statue^ To the flood-tide of Hell with you. 
 
 Thikd Soldier [pickmg up the last of the 
 debris^. Come now, my brother, be not so merry- 
 like. 'Tis not for such as you; 'tis for the new 
 king that we must sing tonight, sad though we be. 
 
 Second Soldier. Here comes the queen. 
 Why is she so sad of late.? 
 
ai6ion anp mogamonP 9i 
 
 FmsT SoiiDiEK. Her liver is sluggish; my wife 
 has the same ailment. 
 
 Third Soldier. She hath reason. Is not Al- 
 bion the slayer of her father and brother ? 
 
 First Soldier. In the days of warfare what 
 woman long can count her loved ones among the 
 living.? [^One after another they slip away'\ 
 
 Rosamond [approaching on the arm of Gam- 
 baraJ. Cousin, I am weary. 
 
 Gambara. Sit thee down then, my child. 
 [Leads her to a bench beneath the porticoes^ 
 Here Peredeo will find us. 
 
 Rosamond. Why seekest Peredeo that which 
 he cannot have ? 
 
 Gambara. He seeks the love of the queen. All 
 good men do that. 
 
 Rosamond. He seeks more than my love, more 
 than life itself — revenge for my untimely entrance 
 into the chamber of my waiting-maid. He but 
 plays with the silly whims of us women. 
 
 Gambara. He is but a mere boy — his mother 
 was your mother's cousin. 
 
 Rosamond. I care not what he was ; the less he 
 is attached to me and my people the better ofF he 
 is. I belong to an accursed tribe, to an accursed 
 
n Albion anD laogamonD 
 
 family, to an accursed age. All the pride of my 
 childhood has been killed, the grip of death is now 
 upon my throat. I feel it — here, here. [^Clii>tch- 
 ing her throat^ Not only did the vampire take 
 the blood of my brother, the prince, but that of my 
 father, the king. 'Tis but a chance that stands 
 between me and my doom. 
 
 Gambara. Albion loves you. Does he not 
 search for you half the night? 
 
 Rosamond. I fear his drunken brawls. A bed 
 of pine boughs is better to me than the straw of 
 his couch. I am but a slave to his ever-changing 
 whim. 
 
 Per'edeo [entering with Albion]. The queen 
 is here, my master. 
 
 Albion. Will she consent to see her lord of 
 men? 
 
 Peredeo. I will persuade her mightily. She 
 cries and moans in her sleep for her deeid father, 
 and when awake she doth but stare into space. 
 
 Albion. She needs diversion, poor wife. The 
 long fighting of men has deadened her heart to love 
 and life. {To Rosamond, who has risen to gro] 
 Welcome, my Rosamond ; no fairer queen has ever 
 walked these stately halls than thee. The Romans 
 build better than they fight. 
 
Zlbion anP IRogamonD 93 
 
 HosAMOND {^drawing back]. No, Albion. I do 
 not wish to be welcome. Too much sacred blood 
 has been spilled to gain this home. I long for the 
 lowly home of thrushes on the brink of the river. 
 
 Albion. Might makes right. 
 
 Rosamond. Behind that coward's boast, think 
 you to hide the sins that have reddened your 
 soul .'' 
 
 Albion. If I have offended my Rosamond, for- 
 give. I have known nought else but — 
 
 Rosamond. But murder ! 
 
 Gambara \^trying to draw her off]. Calm thy- 
 self, cousin. 
 
 Albion [^ignoring the insult]. Good Gambara, 
 take no notice of the whims of Rosamond. 'Tis 
 but the false God of the Romans that has turned 
 her brain as it has that of my daughter, Albswinda. 
 
 Rosamond. False God, you say, king pre- 
 tender. [Laughs] Know you not that any god 
 that teaches man to kill and rob is false, wicked, 
 perfidious. Death to Wotan ! 
 
 Albion. The curses of Asgard will be upon us 
 now. To Wotan we owe our victories, our spoils, 
 our new homes. 
 
 Rosamond. The prize is not worth the price. 
 [^Leading Gambara out to the left] That which 
 
94 aitifon anD KosamonD 
 
 you have lost has greater worth than lands or 
 castles. [Exit^ 
 
 Albion. Greater worth than lands or castles. 
 What meanest the queen ? 
 
 Peredeo [«•» if to avoid an answer^. Think 
 you that Vestralp with his cavalry train will return 
 for the feast tonight.'' 
 
 Albion. What care I about a feast? 
 
 Peredeo. To sing of joy and drink more to 
 your conquests. 
 
 Albion. I care more for the conquest of Rosa- 
 mond's heart. What are these lands, Rome's 
 graveyard, [with contempt^ compared to the love 
 of one's wife.'' 
 
 Peredeo. I never had a wife. 
 
 Albion. Lose no time in getting one then. 
 
 Albswinda [running in\. Father — father Al- 
 bion, why has not everyone come? [Pekedeo goes 
 out^ 
 
 Albion. Why are you so anxious ? 
 
 Albswinda. Did you forget? [Shaking her 
 ■finger at him] 
 
 Albion [holdvng her extended hands]. Forget 
 what? 
 
 Albswinda. Why, this is my wedding day. 
 
 Albion. So it is, but you are so young. 
 
^Itifott anP Bogamonti 95 
 
 Albswinda. Why so? 
 
 Albion. It seems to me but yester day since 
 you came floating down the river on the mother 
 heron's back. 
 
 Albswinda. Here comes Gisulp. Is he not 
 strong and brave? 
 
 Albion. Strong and brave must every Lom- 
 bard be. {^Extending his hand to Gisulp] Joy 
 be with you, my sister's son. 
 
 Gisulp. Thank you, uncle. I have long looked 
 with joy and impatience for this, our wedding 
 day. 
 
 Albion [joining the hands of Albswinda and 
 Gisulp]. My blessings, children. 
 
 Rosamond [just entering with Hm'lm^ciiis]. A 
 soul so cursed should have no blessing to give. 
 
 [Soldiers, Gambara and Fkeya file in through 
 the porticoes^ 
 
 Helmechis. 'Tis a cheap gift, my queen; it 
 costs nothing. 
 
 Albion [circling around from group to group'\ . 
 Ah, welcome, one and all, my brave followers. 
 Here tonight we meet in joyful celebration. 
 
 Rosamond [aside to Helmechis]. Joy sprin- 
 kled with ashes has little flavor. 
 
 Helm^echis. Beautiful Rosamond, your joy 
 
96 Albion anD BosamonD 
 
 henceforth shall be sprinkled with the dew of the 
 sea. 
 
 Albion. Long have we fought, my brothers ; 
 long have we hungered and toiled for the lands of 
 Italy, with i-eward at last. Today Verona became 
 ours. Tonight you sleep in the palaces of the 
 rich, the beds of down shall be yours instead of 
 the hard earth. Rejoice then with me. Render 
 your thanks unto Wotan for his guidance. The 
 cellars that are filled with mead and wine are yours, 
 the lands of the churches are yours, the gold candle 
 sticks of the altars are yours. 
 
 Albswinda \_standing forth with rage']. No, 
 my father's soldiers. Touch not the gifts of the 
 church. They are sacred to me and my God. He 
 wiU strike everyone dead with the spoils, the sacred 
 emblems of His church, if you do. 
 
 Albion [im heightened mirth]. We reached our 
 goal on the nick of time. Tomorrow the rotten 
 worm of the Romans would have eaten the courage 
 of every one of us. Fill the cups with the age- 
 old wine [^servants pass the goblets], and drink to 
 this day, our glorious entree. [Addressing Pere- 
 DEo] Bring me the mead-cup that we may cele- 
 brate with it, this day of joy, this day that has 
 shone upon Lombard and Gepidae as one. 
 
ai6fon anP BogamonD 97 
 
 Peredeo [^entering with the goblet, fashioned 
 from the skvll of Kunimond into a drinking cup'\ . 
 Here, my lord, 'tis. Look well into the bottom 
 of it. 
 
 Albion [dramiwgf the cup^ . Fill it again — 
 again. 
 
 Peredeo \^sarcastically^. Look well into the 
 bottom of it. 
 
 Albion. Silence! Begone! To the children 
 of Wotan, gone before, to the children of Asgard 
 that are yet to go, I drink to thee. [^Drinks once 
 ■more^ 
 
 Rosamond. Peace to my father's soul ; he hath 
 gone before. 
 
 Helmechis. Albion is yet to go. 
 
 Albion. Come, my queen, heart and heart 
 alike, drink with me this day. The days of trials 
 are over, the days of war are at an end. Together 
 we will while the hours away by the streams of 
 Italy. There I will tell you of a love as only a 
 Lombard can. 
 
 Soldiers. Aye, as only a Lombard can. 
 
 Rosamond [^hesitating by the side of Hel- 
 mechis]. Albion, thou dost drink well alone, for 
 thou alone hast won the victories. 
 
 Helmechis. Well said, my fair Rosamond. 
 
98 2Lltion anP laosamonP 
 
 Albion \^drmking'\. Without thy love I could 
 never have braved the fortresses of Rome. 
 
 Rosamond. My father's sword has greater 
 strength than my heart. 
 
 Albion [drinking again]. To thy father's 
 sword. [Hits the hilt upon his side] 
 
 Rosamond. Would that it were in your heart. 
 [Aside] 
 
 Albion. Now, my queen, you drink. Come. 
 [Extends the cup to her entreatingly] 
 
 Rosamond [moving slowly to the steps]. No 
 good can come to me. A strange fear enters my 
 heart. 
 
 Albion. Why should you fear to drink after 
 me? What doth not poison me cannot poison my 
 Rosamond. 
 
 Rosamond [loolei/ng back]. It is not the poison 
 I fear. 
 
 Albion. What then ? 
 
 Rosamond. The mercy of your soul. As it 
 has pierced the heart of my people so will it pierce 
 mine. 
 
 Albion [in high glee]. Drink, drink, fair 
 Rosamond. 'Tis but the — 
 
 Rosamond. 'Tis but the dregs of war and 
 bloodshed. [Drinks from the skuM-cup] 
 
dlhion anP HogamonD 99 
 
 Albion ^staggering, half drtink]. Right you 
 are. Ha! Ha! The bitterest dregs that you 
 have ever drunk. [Holds up the cup'\ Do you 
 know it, does it not look familiar, do not the eyes 
 squirm and pierce you, does not the contorted form 
 remind you of someone that you have seen? Look 
 well, fair queen, and it will take shape, it will mock 
 and spurn you this day for the empty love you have 
 given your husband. Stand back and ask forgive- 
 ness, ask on your bended knees — for I am your 
 king and master. 
 
 Rosamond. What mean you ? Have you gone 
 mad with drink.? 
 
 [The people leave the stage except Albion, 
 Rosamond, and Helmechis] 
 
 Albion. Mad, mad! [Laughs^ You do not 
 know what it is to be mad. I am radiant with joy. 
 This night has fulfilled the dreams of my childhood, 
 the aspirations of my boyhood, the completion of 
 manhood. I am drunk with happiness. 'Tis a 
 wedding day for me — my third. This time 
 eternal bliss and I have welded the hot irons of 
 fate. Joy! joy! supreme joy is its offspring. 
 Here the skull of your father mocks you, it spurns 
 your trickery, your deceitful heart. Revenge is 
 sweeter than a woman's love, and now jaded queen, 
 
100 ai6lon anP EogamonD 
 
 you take the dregs. [^Throws the cup upon the 
 foor and retreats through a curtained door in the 
 bacAr] 
 
 Rosamond [wild •with rage^. What does he 
 mean? He is mad, mad! Long have I dreamed 
 it, yet not dared to speak. 
 
 Helmechis. Have I not warned you? 
 
 Rosamond. You cannot tell your mother's sex 
 anything. They must see for themselves. 
 Woman ! Cursed have you been since the birth of 
 the sun. [Draws herself up as the horror of 
 Albion's act dawns upon her^ 
 
 Helmechis. Calm yourself, my love. Flee 
 with me. 
 
 Rosamond. Yes, yes, that will I do when you 
 have pierced his heart as he has pierced my 
 father's. 
 
 Helmechis [in awe^. Murder Albion? 
 
 Rosamond. Why not? 
 
 Helmechis. Kill my king? 
 
 Rosamond. You would take the love of his wife 
 — is that not worse? 
 
 Helmechis. You know not what you ask me. 
 I cannot pay that price. 
 
 Rosamond. Am I not worth even more than 
 that? 
 
aibfon anD HosamonD loi 
 
 Helmechis. Worth more than all the jewels 
 of Zenobia's store. I will go to Syria's desert and 
 dig them up with my own hands even though I take 
 the turn of twenty winters. 
 
 Rosamond. I will go with you, help you, grow 
 old with you, but help me first to rid myself of this 
 perfidious wretch. 
 
 Helmechis. Let us begone. Tomorrow's set- 
 ting sun will find us on the shores of the Adriatic 
 where we will find a Byzantine vessel for Tyre. 
 
 Rosamond. Leave this insult go unheeded! 
 [Pointmg to the cup^ You do not know your 
 queen, you do not know that the same blood flows 
 in my veins as in Albion's. 
 
 Helmechis. Albion is my foster-brother — 
 my hand can never take his life. Ah, here comes 
 Peredeo. 
 
 Peredeo [^coming out of Albion's hed cham- 
 ber~\ . I did not think of finding any of the feast- 
 makers left here in the night. 
 
 Helmechis. Then you have not gone far. 
 Rosamond. What hath the king found to 
 do.? 
 
 Peredeo. He sleeps, my queen. 
 Helmechis. Peredeo, thou hast sworn life-long 
 obedience to me. 
 
102 ai&ion anP iao0amonD 
 
 Peeedeo. Yes, my lord, for once you saved the 
 blow that would have pierced my body. 
 
 Helmechis. Today you shall repay me. 
 
 Peredeo. How may I serve you? 
 
 Helmechis. Will you do as I bid you .J" 
 
 Pekedeo. Gladly. 
 
 Helmechis. Then enter your king's chamber, 
 unbuckle his sword from his belt, and pierce him 
 through and through. 
 
 Pekedeo [pulling bacfc]. Kill my king! 
 
 Helmechis. Yes. You promised to do as I 
 bid you. 
 
 Peredeo. Anything, anything, my Helmechis, 
 but that. 
 
 Helmechis. That is the price you must pay 
 me for your own life. 
 
 Peredeo [with fear] . Ask not that of me. 
 
 Rosamond. Thou ungrateful coward. Will 
 you, a GepidaeV forget a debt of honor ? 
 
 Peredeo. I will do anything you ask, fair 
 queen ; I am your lowly servant. 
 
 Rosamond. Do then as Helmechis bids you. 
 
 Helmechis. Go! [Pointing to the curtained 
 door] We wiU wait the end here. 
 
 Peredeo [covering his face with his hands]. 
 Kill Albion, our beloved king ! No ! No ! 
 
Albion anP KogamonD io3 
 
 Rosamond [vmpatiently to Helmechis]. Play 
 yourself not such a coward as he. Go do the deed 
 yourself. 
 
 Helmechis. Peredeo, you will then fly with us 
 to the land of the rising sun. We will go at once 
 — show thy courage now, and win for thyself a 
 place in the house of Asgard. 
 
 Rosamond. I will go to Albion. I shall tell 
 him of what I saw yesterday in my maid's waiting 
 room. I will tell him of your insult to me, me — 
 your queen. 
 
 Peredeo {tremhlmgl. No, no, do not do that. 
 Albion would kill me. 
 
 Helmechis [playing upon Ms weakness^. Kill 
 him first. 
 
 Peredeo [kneeling before Rosamond]. For- 
 give me, queen. I was drunk with wine. 
 
 Rosamond. You have sworn that you loved me. 
 
 Helmechis. Viper ! 
 
 Rosamond. Prove it now. If thou dost love 
 me, rid me of Albion. 
 
 Peredeo [rising^. I will. My promise for it. 
 [Goes toward the bed chamber^ 
 
 Helmechis. We will await you here. 
 
 Peredeo. For thy love, my queen. [Enters 
 the chamber^ 
 
104 aifiion anD laogamonD 
 
 Helmechis. Forget not my love, fair Rosa- 
 mond. 
 
 Rosamond \_raismg her hand and listening']. I 
 hear him. He doth snore so loudly. 
 
 Albion [^from withi/n'] . Help ! Help ! Who 
 murders me.'' Who? Who.'' 
 
 Peeedeo. Your wife, fair daughter of Kuni- 
 mond. 
 
 Albion [a struggle is heard. Albion comes 
 staggering out with his hands over the wound of 
 his heart] . Save — save me — - Rosamond. Hel- 
 mechis — save me. 
 
 Helmechis. You must pay with your own life 
 the many lives you have taken. 
 
 Albion [^falling to the ground]. My brother 
 — this from you. 
 
 Rosamond. Die ! die ! you infamous dog. 
 
 Albion [struggling to rise]. This from the 
 ones I loved, the ones I have shielded and given my 
 whole life to guard. This — is — my reward — 
 is it.? Wotan, Wotan. 
 
 Peredeo [from the curtained doorway] . Look 
 well into the bottom of it, king. 
 
 Rosamond [picking up the goblet]. The dregs 
 are yours, my Albion. [Laughs] 
 
 [Albion tries to rise and say something, but 
 
aitifott anD EosamonD los 
 
 fails. After a faint whisper " Tlie dregs " 
 is heard, he falls heipless upon the floor^ 
 Helmechis [m awel. He is dead. 
 Rosamond \_raisJmg the cup heavenward'\. 
 Father, I have revenged your death. You may 
 drink now. \^A pause'] Drink, father. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
THE LIVING VOICE 
 A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Marion Ford, sister of the dead sculptor 
 
 Alice Thwing, her friend 
 
 Harris Thwing, brother of Alice and fiance of 
 
 Marion 
 Death, inner consciousness 
 Oscar Johnson, a Norwegian student at the Beaux 
 
 Arts 
 Sidney Bray, an English student at the Beaux 
 
 Arts 
 Jules Morel, a French student at the Beaux 
 
 Arts 
 Jane Sheidley, an American artist 
 Vera Letstischy, a medical graduate from Russia 
 Cash Roberts, a cowboy from Colorado 
 
 GiFFORD 
 
 Clemens 
 
 Australian prospectors 
 
 Students, models, laborers, sightseers, miners, etc. 
 
ACT I 
 
 The scene is laid in Paris in early winter. A 
 large, oblong room is the studio of the late Paul 
 Ford, vn which are to he found statues standing 
 here and there. At one end, to the extreme right, 
 is a large, unfinished, clay statue, covered over with 
 pieces of wet cloth. On the walls are hung Indian 
 relics, while on the couch and floor are rich 
 Navajos. To the left, in full view, is an alcove, 
 now heavily curtained, in which lies the dead. A 
 few pieces of furniture complete the setting. 
 Death has laid a gloom over the studio, which is 
 felt as the two girls move noiselessly about, arrang- 
 ing their living-room for the callers of the morn- 
 ing. Marion Ford is a girl of twenty-two, rather 
 large and of dark complexion, while Alice Thwing 
 is younger, more slight and of lighter complexion. 
 
 Alice. It is dreadful, girl, I know. We have 
 been able to master every situation, but I am afraid 
 that this one is too much for us. You cannot stay 
 here alone. 
 
 109 
 
Marion ^cheerfully']. Oh, but I can. What I 
 must do, I must. 
 
 Alice. Isn't there any relative that you can 
 have come and live with you ? 
 
 Marion. No one but Aunt Loll. Then she 
 wouldn't put up with my freakish whims. 
 
 Alice. There is nothing about you that is 
 freakish, Marion. How absurd ! 
 
 Marion. Aunt Loll is father's sister, and she 
 never had any patience with him for giving his life 
 for gold. When she couldn't persuade him to 
 forsake the life of a prospector, she did try to have 
 him send Paul and me back to Boston, so that we 
 could be educated under her guidance. 
 
 Alice [looking toward the curtains]. Dear old 
 Paul. Think of him dead. Dead, Marion, and 
 you left alone. [Begins to sob] I cannot bear 
 to see you suiFer. 
 
 Marion [choking down her own despair, she 
 struggles to regain her self control]. Alice, I 
 know how genuine your heart is. I — I so — ap- 
 preciate it. But let us be brave. You know how 
 brave — brave — Paul was. 
 
 Alice [regaining some of Marion's self com- 
 posure]. Wasn't he a martyr to the cause? Al- 
 ways joyous when we were hungry, always cheerful 
 
Cfte MMins ^oict m 
 
 when we were sad in those first pioneer days in 
 Paris. 
 
 Marion. Just the dear, good brother he always 
 was ; just the same when we were children. He was 
 always giving me the biggest piece of pie, or trad- 
 ing off his knife for a picture card with which to 
 surprise me. [Opens the door in response to a 
 messenger's knock^ 
 
 A Messengeh,. For Miss Ford. 
 
 Marion [taking a large bouquet from the bo«/]. 
 Yes, thank you. [Messenger remains standing 
 like a statue^ Oh, I forgot. [Rushes over to the 
 drawer of the table to get her pocket-book, but 
 upon looking into it, finds it empty. Stands a 
 moment thinking^ Alice, haven't you a tip for 
 this boy? 
 
 Alice. Not a sou. I gave my last cent to 
 Harris. 
 
 Marion [to the Messenger, kindly^. Can't 
 you come back tomorrow? 
 
 Messenger. Oui, Madame, as I go to the store 
 — early — at six o'clock. Will that suit Ma- 
 dame? [JSari^] 
 
 Alice [throwing herself into a chair^. Poor 
 Paul. 
 
 Marion. Alice, do be philosophical about it. 
 
112 Cfte Lining mitt 
 
 Years ago, Paul and I decided to walk this path 
 with an unfaltering step. Away back there, in 
 the old mountains, as we threaded our way through 
 the trails homeward from school, we determined 
 that some day we would go out into the great 
 world — beyond the great prairie — to see and 
 live. We then knew what it meant. 
 
 Alice. It meant courage, didn't it, dear.? 
 
 Marion. It meant everything, Alice. There 
 we had our home, our horses, our cattle, the mine. 
 Father had worked so to leave us something, but 
 he was gone. What were those dreams without 
 him? 
 
 Alice. But you had Paul. 
 
 Marion. We knew well that life, and it held 
 out nothing new to us. We determined to make 
 a life for ourselves, although it meant toil and suf- 
 fering. Ah, the night Paul took my cold hand 
 from the pommel and asked me if I were willing to 
 risk my share of the home to help him make a career 
 in Paris. 
 
 Alice [clapping her hands with approval!^. 
 You did. You did. 
 
 Marion. No, Alice. I haven't succeeded. I 
 was brave then because the ardour of youth made 
 
Cl)e Lining l^olce ns 
 
 my heart swell with emotion. I dared anything. 
 Alice. See how nobly you have stood by him 
 in this little studio. How you have cooked and 
 been the veritable little housewife. You mothered 
 him just as you did so many of us students. 
 
 Marion. I have lost him, my Paul. [Alice 
 sighs loudly as if to echo Mauion's thought^ 
 Isn't it a cruel fate that robs me of him now when 
 I need him most? 
 
 Alice. But you told me to be a philosopher 
 just now. You must prove yourself one. 
 
 Maeion. Yes, I know. How many times we 
 have talked it over — decided that as it was all a 
 game of chance, that we must be resolute — be 
 ready to overcome those peculiar whims that chance 
 sees fit to play at times. I can do it! \^She 
 stands up, her whole body shows determination, as 
 she straightens one hand into the palm of the 
 other^ 
 
 Alice [goes over and puts her arms about 
 
 Marion]. You will try, won't you? You know 
 
 how brave Paul would have been if he had lost you. 
 
 [Marion opens the door in response to a 
 
 knock, amd three of Paul's friends from the 
 
 Beaux Arts enter^ 
 
Oscar Johnson. Dear Miss Ford, I am so 
 sorry for you. This is a terrible blow to us all — 
 our comrade gone. 
 
 Jules Moeel, {^taking both her hamds in his^. 
 Mon pauvre enfant, vous avez aujourd'hui perdu 
 votre frere et mon ami. Je pleurs avec vous au 
 fond de mon coeur. 
 
 Mamon. Merci, Mons'r, vous etes bien amable. 
 
 OscAB, Johnson. Miss Ford, I have arranged 
 for the funeral. The American girls at their club 
 have arranged to go in a body to the cemetery, 
 and the men will accompany the remains. You 
 can send your carriage ; it will be less fatiguing. 
 
 Sidney Beay [^standing all the while and hold- 
 ing a huge bouquet of flowers^. Bougereau's and 
 Constant's Classes have been abandoned and are 
 coming to the chapel to pay their respects. 
 
 Marion. I shall go too, Mr. Bray. I think it 
 idiotic to send one's carriage when one is quite as 
 well as I am. I thank you all so much; it is so 
 kind. [She puts her hand up to her head as if 
 about to faint^ 
 
 Sidney Bray [offering her a chair^. Please 
 sit down, Miss Ford. The strain has been beyond 
 your endurance. 
 
 Alice [who has been arraTigvng the flowers in 
 
Cfte JLitiing ^oict ns 
 
 the vases, runs to Maeion's sideJi . We are afraid 
 that Marion will never stand it. Paul was father 
 and brother to her, and now without him we fear 
 the worst. 
 
 Makion [brushmg her hair from her forehead 
 and rising^. No, no, I am quite myself again. 
 Don't you see that I am strong — stronger for 
 having known Paul and the noble fight he made for 
 life? 
 
 OscAK Johnson. We boys intend to do all we 
 can for you. We shall give you more than our 
 sympathy. I beg your pardon, if you need any- 
 thing or feel a shortage, we will purchase one of 
 Paul's statues. Already the fund is quite large 
 and steadily increasing, for the acquisition of one 
 for the Phroso Club. 
 
 Marion. How kind of you all ! I cannot thank 
 you enough, but I think that we have enough to 
 tide us over this great calamity. Paul just made 
 a sale of cattle recently and the money still re- 
 mains in the bank, I think. 
 
 Alice [^advancing and putting her arms about 
 Marion]. You know Marion has my brother and 
 me. You can be assured that she will be well pro- 
 tected. We feel just a little jealous, too, in our 
 love for her. 
 
116 CSe Litiing mict 
 
 Oscar Johnson. Good-bye, Miss Ford ; we will 
 be going. I shall return this evening with more 
 details. 
 
 Makion. Good-bye, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Bray, 
 et vous, Mons'r Morel. [^Extends her hand to 
 each in their goingj Now, Alice, what must we 
 do next.'' I suppose I just must go down to the 
 Palais de Justice with Paul's birth certificate, to 
 show that he was really born, before they will issue 
 a grant for his burial. 
 
 [Enter two women, old Latin Quarter ha- 
 bitues, of middle age and mannish dress. 
 One, Miss Sheidley, is a painter; the other, 
 Miss Lststischy, is a graduate in medp- 
 cvne~\ 
 Miss Sheidley. My dear Marion, this is the 
 fate of fools. Another of our gallant boys has 
 fallen into the clutch of that weird mistress — 
 genius. Poor Paul suffered and died for the cause. 
 Miss Letstischy. What cause.'' Jane, you 
 talk figuratively. Paul died as the natural result 
 of disease. I was called in consultation with Doc- 
 tors Brainard and Matin. 
 
 Miss SHEIDI.EY. Oh, rot ! Disease in the Latin 
 Quarter is bred only in the brains of the genius. 
 
Cfte jHltiing ^oict m 
 
 Did you ever hear of a common, ordinary being 
 taking ill in Paris and dying? No, we live on to 
 work, to worry, to hope, and to die a martyr's 
 death. No crown but that of expectation. 
 
 Alice. Is it true that all geniuses die young? 
 
 Miss Letstischy. Surely, Jane, you cannot 
 say that. Think of Jerome, Rembrandt, Raphael. 
 For a few who have shown signs of genius in youth 
 to have passed away before achieving a place in the 
 world's hall of fame, is no criterion that all have 
 died young. You, yourself, so worthy of recogni- 
 tion, have only been denied it because you are a 
 woman. 
 
 Marion. Yes, we all know of Miss Sheidley's 
 worth, and her years of devotion to her art. [^Go- 
 ing up to her and drawing her to her affection- 
 ately^ Your reward wUl come yet. What a help 
 you have been to all of us when we were newcomers 
 in this labyrinth of folly. 
 
 Alice. Indeed you have. My mother said she 
 met you when she came here on her wedding trip. 
 She said that you did an excellent portrait of 
 Queen Eugenia. 
 
 Miss Letstischy. If you had died young, you 
 would have been called a genius. 
 
118 Cfte Litiing l^oice 
 
 Miss Sheidley. 'Tis a pity I didn't die, then. 
 [Goes to the curtains, opens them and disappears 
 withiri] 
 
 Alice. What a dear, good soul she is ! How 
 many times I have gone to her for comfort when I 
 felt so alone in the world. 
 
 Marion. And yet you had a brother, the same 
 as I did, Alice. 
 
 Alice [with a sigh^. Yes, but Harris is one 
 that can understand every other woman but his 
 sister. 
 
 Miss Letstischy [knowingly~\. That is true of 
 most men, my dear. 
 
 Makion. It was not so with Paul. He under- 
 stood me better than any man ever will. But 
 Harris — 
 
 Miss Sheidley [coming out of the alcove weep- 
 ing~\. Our poor, dear Paul. He looks as peaceful 
 and godlike in death as he did battling the prob- 
 lems of life. [Coming over to Marion] What 
 can I do for you, my child, to help you over this 
 great chasm? You must come to me and tell me 
 of your plans. You cannot now, I know, but in a 
 few days. I must help you in your future ar- 
 rangements. 
 
 Alice. But, Miss Sheidley, Marion has me and 
 
Cbe Litimg l^oice 119 
 
 my brother. You know that she and Harris are 
 engaged, don't you ? 
 
 Miss Sheid LEY. No, bless me, no. When.'' 
 
 Marion. Yes, Harris and I have been fiances 
 for some time, but we didn't want to tell any one. 
 Now, that I am to go and live with Alice and Har- 
 ris, we thought that we better make it public. 
 
 Miss Letstischy. My blessings, child. You 
 are fortunate in having a dower. I once had a 
 sweetheart, but alas ! no dot. 
 
 Miss Sheidley. We have no dower in America. 
 Thank Heaven our daughters are fair enough to 
 be purchase price in themselves. 
 
 Harris [rushimg in all huoyant~\. Good even- 
 ing, ladies. [Graspmg warmly the hands of the 
 two visitors^ It is a ripping day without. 
 
 Alice. Harris ! You forget. [Pointing to- 
 ward the curtains'] 
 
 Harris [^putting his hand over his mouth]. 
 Yes, sister. 
 
 Miss Sheidley. Harris, you will take good 
 care of Marion, won't you.? She is worth her 
 weight in gold. Good-bye all, and do come to see 
 me if all goes right, or doesn't go right. I must 
 hear from you all from time to time. 
 \^The two women go out] 
 
Harris. Have the boys been here yet? 
 
 Marion. Yes, three of the boys from the 
 Beaux Arts. 
 
 Harris. Any from the club.'' 
 
 Mabion. Not yet this morning. 
 
 Alice. Mr. Johnson said that the American 
 boys were going to buy one of Paul's statues for 
 their club. 
 
 Harris. Bully ! How much ? 
 
 Marion. There is no price on Paul's work. 
 The fact that they desire one is a sufficient price. 
 
 Alice. Harris, how can you approach Marion 
 with such details .'' Has she not enough to burden 
 her now without money matters? \_Leaves the 
 roovi\ 
 
 Marion [apologetically^. Alice has never had 
 to think of herself. 
 
 Harris. No, thank God, we belong to a family 
 who believe it a man's duty to shield the weaker 
 sex. 
 
 Marion. It does me good to hear you say that, 
 Harris, dear. In the West the women are always 
 shielded by — probably not the stronger sex — 
 but by men. [Rises to arrange the chairs^ 
 
 Harris [zoith a sneer} . The West ! 
 
Cfte fLMtXQ ^oitt m 
 
 Marion [^with back turned]. Did you send the 
 cablegrams ? 
 
 Hakkis. It is all a waste of money, that. 
 What do those people care whether Paul is dead 
 or not? 
 
 Mabjon ^turning arov/nd quickly']. Care? 
 Care? Why not? 
 
 Harris. Those old cowboys. What are they 
 to you? 
 
 Marion [fewri]. Not — nothing. 
 
 Harris. Well then, why waste money on them ? 
 
 Marion. We were raised together. I would 
 want to know if one of them died. 
 
 Harris. You would — why ? 
 
 Marion. I do not know, Harris. But down 
 in here is a love that can never die. It isn't such 
 a love as I have for you. 
 
 Harris. Me ? Hm ! 
 
 Marion {^avoiding his abruptness]. No, it is 
 that of a comradeship. The memory of those 
 days when we held close together on the way to 
 school, because we were afraid of the great world 
 about us — that great expanse of emptiness which 
 one feels in the mountains. That memory is the 
 only link, Harris. 
 
Harris. It is a mighty slim one. 
 
 Marion. Haven't you any memories of child- 
 hood that hold you fast to some old love? 
 
 Harris. I should say not. I am not so ro- 
 mantic or foolish. 
 
 Marion. It is not foolish, my boy. It's the 
 dream-tale of the past, the hope of the future. 
 Why, [shakes her head with animation~\ it's the 
 thing I love best to think about. 
 
 Harris [gets up from his chair and paces the 
 floor^ . I thought so ! 
 
 Marion. You do not understand, then, Har- 
 ris, how, when you are bound to a little group that 
 rushes madly to school every day — a ride of 
 seven miles — there are incidents that knit your 
 lives together. If you could only see that bunch 
 of ponies chasing a puma down the trail until, 
 overtaken, he turns around and shows fight, you 
 would appreciate the ridiculous situation now, 
 and laugh too. Of course, we didn't think it 
 funny then. 
 
 Harris. Nor now, do you? 
 
 Marion [regamimg some of her old happmess'\. 
 Why, yes. Paul and I have laughed many times 
 — so much that often we could not eat our dinner. 
 Why, Harris, what makes you act so strange? 
 
[Harkis stamps his foot with cm impatient 
 sneer'] 
 
 HlARRis. Well. Paul has gone, what do you 
 propose doing? 
 
 Marion. HARRIS ! 
 
 Harris \^stops and closes his lips firmlif]. 
 Well.? 
 
 Marion. Why, I thought — thought I was to 
 live with you and Alice — all together, you know 
 — until we were married. 
 
 Harris. On what ? 
 
 Marion. What do you mean? 
 
 Harris. Do you know what your balance is in 
 the bank? 
 
 Marion. No. 
 
 Harris. One hundred and seventy-five dollars. 
 
 Marion. There is some mistake. 
 
 Harris {^tossing the bank-book on the table]. 
 There it is, you can see for yourself. 
 
 Marion. Your word is sufficient, Harris. 
 
 Harris. Paul must have dealt in stocks or 
 something. Less than a year ago he received ten 
 thousand dollars for the sale of cattle. 
 
 Marion. But we can get more. It is surely 
 not all gone — the home, the ranch, I mean. 
 
 Harris. You better be fmding out. 
 
124. c&e Litifnff i^oict 
 
 Marion. Why should I? I have you. I am 
 content with only you. 
 
 Hauris. Me? I have nothing to support two 
 women on. 
 
 Marion. Do you mean, Harris, that we are 
 not to be married, as we planned .'' Why, Paul — 
 
 Harris [^zcith contempt~\. Paul is dead. 
 
 Marion. Yes, but the very last thing he said 
 was that I had you, Harris — you, Harris. 
 
 Harris. He did not know how little that 
 meant. 
 
 Marion. How much, you mean? 
 
 Harris. No, little. 
 
 Marion. You do not mean it, Harris. My 
 whole life is to serve you — I love you. 
 
 Harris. Let us understand one another now, 
 girl. I have my career, I cannot sacrifice it for 
 marriage. I have but a meagre income, and Alice 
 must share that. 
 
 Marion [growing stronger'\. Meagre income.'' 
 Is our love so slimsy that a meagre income can 
 rend it in two ? No, no, Harris ; you do not mean 
 what you say. Our love is the love given by God 
 — good, strong, and enduring. It is the same 
 that my parents knew, to suffer, to bear, to for- 
 give. 
 
CSe Lining Woitz 125 
 
 Habris. On what? 
 
 Maeion. Let us go home to the ranch. There 
 is always enough there for a living and more — 
 true happiness. 
 
 Harris. There would be no happiness there for 
 me. 
 
 Marion. That is the only happiness. 
 
 Karris. It would be my death. 
 
 Marion. Life, you mean. Death is here in 
 Paris. Here where men and women seek careers. 
 The rot and sloth of centuries creep into your 
 bones and heart, and take possession of you before 
 you know it. It has ruined more of our hopeful 
 Americans than it has ever helped. Talk of life 
 here. Hm ! Why, it is polluted with the worst 
 venom. It fills the brain with the wine of loco, 
 which intoxicates and lures one on to perdition. 
 You think that I, Paul's sister, have been blind to 
 all this.'' No! I know it, have known it for' a 
 long time. I knew that Paul was no longer the 
 boy of old, that a drug coming from this artistic 
 influence was fast overcoming him and sapping 
 the very strength of his being. He walked on air, 
 this vile, corrupt air that they call Paris atmos- 
 phere, and forgot that he owed any duty to mother 
 earth. Now, you forget the duty you owe your 
 
126 C[)e Lining Woict 
 
 Maker, you give up the love — the purest that 
 will ever come into your life — to seek a career. 
 What career is more sacred in the sight of God 
 than to be the father of a home and children, to 
 carry out the laws of man? No, Harris, you will 
 never find happiness in this corruption. You 
 haven't the stamina that is necessary. Career 
 makes its own career. As a house falls that is 
 buUt upon the sands, so will your life fall, built 
 upon the delusion of Paris. 
 
 Hareis. You are dreaming again, Marion. 
 One of those dream-tales of your youth. 
 
 Marion. My dream-tale of youth was the 
 same as yours. I dreamed of a career in Paris 
 [^pointing to the curtams\ but there is my career 
 — crowned. 
 
 Harris. A woman like you would crush the 
 best talent in any man. 
 
 Marion. A woman like me would create talent 
 in him if he had none. My mission in life is to 
 serve and trust, not to lead. 
 
 Harris. Paul needed you sorely. 
 
 Marion. I was always with him. His life was 
 my life. 
 
 Harris. Too bad you haven't him now ! 
 
 Marion. Do not be sarcastic, Harris. Paul 
 
Cfte Lining l^oice m 
 
 is not dejid to me. He is standing there alive, 
 and he and I shall go on living together. 
 
 Harms. You mean to say that you will not 
 convert your mine into money and marry me? 
 
 Makion. Is that what you want."" You have 
 often heard us say that father gave it to us and 
 made us promise him, on his deathbed, that it 
 should never be sold. It was to be mine, my chil- 
 dren's, and children's children. It was his legacy. 
 
 Harris. Yours to do as you pleased with it. 
 
 Marion. Never ! Never to be disposed of. 
 
 Harris. Then you talk of love — your love. 
 
 Marion. That is no test of love. 
 
 Harris. What then .'' 
 
 Marion. Honor. 
 
 Harris. Honor to what? 
 
 Marion. To my dead father's name. 
 
 Harris. It is good-bye then? 
 
 Marion. Yes, if it is only a trifling bit of dirt 
 and not me. 
 
 Harris \_appealmgly^. Marion, what could we 
 do here without funds ? I love you, girl, but let us 
 be rational upon the subject. I will return to you 
 aU that I borrow — every cent that you take from 
 your own estate — in ten years. I can do it. I 
 feel it here [^slapping his chest^ that I am yet to 
 
128 cfte MMitiQ l^oice 
 
 be a Gerome, a Raphael, a painter of which Amer- 
 ica will boast. 
 
 Marion. That confidence is worth nothing un- 
 less the something within you creates the doing. 
 
 Harris. Then it is up to me to do it alone. 
 I cannot saddle myself with a wife. 
 
 Marion. The sooner you start the better for 
 you. 
 
 Harris [in am. entreating voice^. But I need 
 you. 
 
 Marion. No, if you prefer a career to the one 
 who loves you more than she does anything else 
 in the world you must seek it — and — alone. 
 
 Harris. Alone ! Think — Marion. 
 
 Marion. No, I cannot think. I feel the voice 
 of the dead directing me stronger than ever that 
 of the living. I cannot break the pledge that I 
 made to my father. 
 
 Harris. Then your love is but a bubble on the 
 surface. If you aren't willing to sacrifice all for 
 me — your — 
 
 Marion [in anger^. Sacrifice — sacrifice; talk 
 of sacrifice. What more sacrifice do you want 
 than that I am willing to go with you, to risk the 
 future on whatever you can do for me ? 
 
 Harris. There must be no risk when one's 
 
Cf)e JLitiing mitt 129 
 
 fame is at stake. My life would be worth nothing 
 without the assurance of a name. 
 
 Maeion, If that is all that I am worth to you, 
 the sooner we say good-bye the better. 
 
 Harris. It is in your power to help me. 
 Without you I will fail. 
 
 Marion [^pointing to the doorj . No, I will find 
 happiness alone — yes — alone. 
 
 [Harris pauses, starts forward, pauses 
 again, and then rushes out^ 
 
 Marion \^after a moment's deliberation, goes 
 over to the curtains, and, burying her face within 
 the folds, cries] You and I together, Paul. 
 You and I together. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT II 
 
 Scene 1 
 
 A cafe in Monte Marte. Around the severed 
 tables groups are sitting, some eating, some talk- 
 ing, some playing cards. Through a tall window 
 the church of Sacred Heart can be seen with a 
 few of the upper steps that lead up to it. 
 
 [Hareis Thwing, looking pale and haggard 
 from the dissolute life he is living is sit- 
 ting at one of the tables, playing cards 
 with three men'] 
 Haeeis. Play up, boys. I want to win some- 
 thing tonight. 
 
 CocHOTTE [passing through the room, pauses 
 a moment over Haeeis' shoulder]. Mons'r, are 
 you still playing that awful American game? 
 
 Haeeis [nervously shrugging his shoulders]. 
 Yes, Cochotte. We would ask you to join us, 
 but you haven't enough brains to play poker. 
 Cochotte. Pok-aire. No, thank you very 
 
 much. It takes too much money. 
 130 
 
Harris. Well, run along then, little girl. 
 
 A Companion [^addressing Harris from the 
 right^. How are you getting along at Whistler's, 
 old comrade .'' I never meet you on Pont Neuf any 
 more. 
 
 Harris. Well, to tell you the truth, it's been 
 a long time since I have been over to the Latin 
 Quarter. 
 
 Companion. Thought you lived over there 
 with your sister. 
 
 Harris [stands up to take the game, but, see- 
 ing that he has lost, sits down angrily^. I did. 
 
 Another Companion. Lost again, Harris? 
 
 Harris [sullenl,y'\. Yes, as usual. [Calling to 
 the waiter^ Four bocks. 
 
 [A bright young girl leaves the side of her fat 
 foster mother and scampers off to the left. 
 In a moment she returns with four tall 
 glasses of beer^ 
 
 Julienne. Here, Mons'r Harreese, my good 
 Mons'r. Are you going to take me to ride on the 
 Merry-go-round tonight again.'' 
 
 Harris [taking the last glass from the tray, 
 raises up to print a kiss on Julienne's cheek, 
 when he sees a priestly robed individual rise from 
 a near-by table. Harris catches the eye of this 
 
weird creature, and, dropping his glass, exclaims^. 
 Paul! 
 
 Death {^addressing the four workmen with 
 wham he has been sitting — without ohservmg 
 Hakris]. Don't apologize to me, comrades, for 
 not going to church. I find a greater sermon in 
 all your hearts than was ever preached in any 
 cathedral. 
 
 One Workman. But, father, confession? I 
 haven't confessed for an age. 
 
 Death. Do it now, brothers. 
 
 Workman. Here before everyone ? 
 
 Death. Why not? I do not see anything in 
 your hearts to confess. 
 
 Another Workman. You do not know, 
 father. I haven't been home to my wife for a 
 week. 
 
 Death. She did not need you. 
 
 Another Workman. I, father, I spent my 
 whole week's wages with Maria at the laundresses' 
 ball. 
 
 Death. That was better than drinking it up, 
 as you did last week. 
 
 Another Workman. Father, my old mother 
 is sitting alone at home tonight, watching for me 
 — and — here I am waiting for Marianna. 
 
Cfte Lining l^oice iss 
 
 Death. What would this world be without for- 
 giveness! \^Crosses himseli]^. Your mother is 
 counting her beads, and blessing you now and here- 
 after — as all mothers do. [^Sits agcdn and si- 
 lence reigns at his tahlel; 
 
 Hakuis. I saw — no — just thought I saw a 
 friend. [He runs his hand lightly across his fore- 
 head, and looks at the table where Death is sit- 
 ting^ 
 
 Companion. Play, Harris ! You are playing 
 like a novice. 
 
 Hab-ris. Gee ! what can a fellow do when he is 
 seeing things and cannot tell whether it's in his 
 head or really existing before his eyes.'' 
 
 Companion. Something has gone wrong in 
 your head, Harris. 
 
 Another Companion. I raise you ten there, 
 Harris. 
 
 Harris [impatiently]. I raised you, friend. 
 Get in the game right. 
 
 First Companion. Not for me. It's between 
 you fellows. 
 
 Harris [^drawing in the piW], Luck is mine 
 again. 
 
 [A group of girls file through. One leads 
 a French poodle. Another pauses at 
 
134. Cfte Lining mitt 
 
 Hareis' table, while two or more, in pass- 
 ing the table where Death is seated, shmer, 
 turn around, and, seeing nothing unusual, 
 pass on with quickened step^ 
 
 MiGNON [io Harris with pouting lips^. 
 That's what you said last week, Mons'r Harreese. 
 Now you must buy me a dog just like that one 
 you bought Fifette. 
 
 Harris. I stole that one from an English lad 
 that was drunker than I was. 
 
 MiGNON. Then you must steal one for me. 
 
 Harris [^reflecting, and looking intently now 
 and then toward Death]. No, I will not. I've 
 stolen enough now. I stole all the money from 
 the best friend I ever had and drove his sister out 
 to work. That's enough of a load [m^«] for me 
 to carry to — Paul ! [Covers his eyes with his 
 hands and seats himself^ 
 
 Death [rises just as the bells, the Angelus of 
 Sacred Heart, commence to ring. The workmen, 
 with reverent, up-turned faces, rise also, and the 
 men bow their heads as the figure of Death raises 
 his hands to bless them']. God loves his wayward 
 children, just as a mother does. 
 
 Harris. I wish that fellow would stay out of 
 here. He gives me the nightmare. 
 
A Companion. What fellow? You must have 
 snakes. Paul Ford haunts you at every turn. 
 What did you ever do to him? 
 
 IThe figure of Death passes out of door to 
 the right^ 
 
 Harris. Do? Well, I did enough. 
 
 Another Companion. You were engaged to 
 his sister, were you not? 
 
 Harris. Do not mention her name in this 
 place, sir. 
 
 A Companion. No offence, Harris. 
 
 Harris. She is as sacred to me as my sister. 
 
 Another Companion. Paul was a very dear 
 friend of mine. It was I who introduced him to 
 this life in Monte Marte, but he went fast — 
 faster than most of us. 
 
 Harris [^getting reckless as if trying to forget^. 
 Play on, boys, play on. Get to business. Let's 
 forget that life was ever anything but a game of 
 chance. [i?i«Migr] Chance! how dear that name 
 is ; how I have traveled with that fair creature ; 
 how I have courted her guidance ; how I have — 
 [^Throwimg down his glass^ Oh, damn it! Let's 
 dance and be merry. \_Thrusts his hands m his 
 pockets, and lazily satmters over to a crowd of 
 girls^ 
 
136 Cfte JHftifng Woict 
 
 One Companion. Harris is in one of his 
 moods tonight. There is no use trying to do 
 anything with him. 
 
 Anothee Companion. One of his fits, you 
 mean. 
 
 A Third Companion. That's the sign of 
 genius. We must not be too hard on our friend. 
 \_All laugh heartilif~\ 
 
 Let's get out into the midst of the festivities. 
 Here we have been all day, forgetting that all of 
 Paris is a fair whirl in her celebration of Mardi 
 Gras. 
 
 MiGNON. Mons'r Harreese, why are you not 
 on the boulevards tonight? Mardi Gras is fas- 
 ceenating to all you Americans, n'est pas? 
 Choose, Mons'r. Here is Fifette, Cochotte, 
 Maria, to prove to you that what I say is true, 
 n'est pas? \_Looks at all to confirm her state- 
 ment^ 
 
 Harkis. It used to be, mes enfants, before I 
 knew Monte Marte, but not now. 
 
 Fifette. Monte Marte loves Mardi Gras just 
 as much as the Latin Quarter does, but not in so 
 modest a way. [A twitter of mirth is heard from 
 every Zip] 
 
 Cochotte. I lived in the Latin Quarter, when 
 
Ci)e Lining Woict m 
 
 I was modest. [^All laiigh, crying, " Cochotte, 
 Cochotte! "] 
 
 Mama. You will never dare to go back now. 
 
 Cochotte [placmg a mash over her face'l. 
 Yes, today I am granted that privilege. The 
 mother of my fifteenth husband will not see me, or, 
 if she does, she will not recognize me. 
 
 Hakhis [throwing his hat into the air in ex- 
 ultant joy~\. To the Latin Quarter — who joins 
 me? 
 
 Cochotte. Moi, Mons'r. 
 
 FiFETTE. Et moi, Mons'r. 
 
 MiGNON. Et moi, Mons'r. 
 
 Maria \_with a squeaking voice'\. Moi aussi, 
 Mons'r. \_Rushing over to Harris, and, taking 
 his hand, leads the way, whUe the others follow 
 hand-in-hand'\ 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 Botdevard St. Michael is crossed with rue de 
 Pantheon; the buUdvng of the Pantheon is in 
 shadow in the near distance. The two cafes at 
 each corner are seen, while the small center of 
 flowers in the Place is barely visible, hidden by the 
 crowd. All is gay with moving people; the dazzle 
 of color from the confetti, whispering serpentines. 
 
138 Cfte Lining l^oice 
 
 and the unrolling of paper ribbon lend further 
 gayety to the scene. 
 
 Harris [entering and leading the four girls 
 much as he left the cafe^. Here we are, Co- 
 chotte, Fifette, Mignon, and Maria. Joy ! Joy ! 
 Let us dance and forget — forget and dance. 
 
 Mabianna [a frequenter of the Latin Quarter, 
 who, upon seeing Harris, leaves her compamion 
 and joins him']. Mons'r Harris, it's a long time 
 since you have graced the River Gauche. 
 
 Yvonne. Mon cher Mons'r. I am so glad to 
 see you alive. 
 
 Harris. Alive.'' How else did you expect to 
 see me? 
 
 Yvonne \ pouting and taking both his hands in 
 hers]. The last time I saw you, you said that 
 you were going to jump into the Seine. 
 
 Harris. I did.'' You do not want to believe 
 anything that I say. I am one of those fellows 
 that's always going to do something and never does 
 anything. 
 
 MiGNON. Aren't you going to buy me that 
 dog.'' You promised me you would. 
 
 Yvonne [pushing Mignon aside]. He prom- 
 ised me a dog before he did you. 
 
Ci)e JLMns l^ofce 139 
 
 CoRiNNE [interrupting the quarrel that is just 
 starting, she enters, gross in figure and old im 
 face^. You engaged me to pose for your Diana, 
 and I wore out three pair of shoes going to your 
 studio, only to find it ever deserted. 
 
 Harris. Corinne, forgive me. I must have 
 been awfully drunk, if I promised you that. 
 
 Corinne. You Americans are always prom- 
 ising and never paying. Girls, I move that we 
 take Mons'r as a guarantee for our debts. 
 
 Harris. Me.'' For your debts? [Laughs 
 hysterically^ God grant that I be worth one lit- 
 tle sou to somebody. 
 
 Yvonne. You are worth one little sou to me, 
 Harreese. 
 
 Harris [encircling his arm about Yvonne, 
 leads her away to a crowd on the left'\. I am 
 glad to be worth something to some little body. 
 
 Marion [dressed in a smart box-coat and short 
 skirt with a flat artist Barye cap, enters slowly 
 from the side, accompanied by Death]. It's 
 Harry ! How he has changed ! 
 
 Death. Outwardly, yes. 
 
 Marion. Ah, but his soul too. The face is 
 only a reflection of one's life and self. 
 
1^0 C&e Lining Igoice 
 
 Death. He is only going through a certain 
 stage of transformation. Every man must, to find 
 his true self. 
 
 Marion. Do you think that he will ever find 
 his true self again? 
 
 Death. Just as sure as the leaf turns its face 
 to the sun. 
 
 Maeion. But he has turned his away. 
 
 Death. Only for a time. Love and life are 
 everlasting. All things made by man perish, but 
 those by God never. They slumber for a time and 
 we forget. 
 
 Marion. There are some things that we are 
 forced to forget. 
 
 Death. Nothing that has to be forced is for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Marion. Ah, but I have forgotten all that was 
 dearest to me. You say that love lives — why 
 I have forgotten that I ever loved father, mother, 
 brother, lover. 
 
 Death. You deceive yourself, but not others. 
 That love which has once lived, is living always. 
 Hatred is the extreme form of love, and is only 
 another way of expressing it. He who does not 
 love deeply, does not know how to hate. 
 
 Marion [moving forward into the crowd]. 
 
This passing show is all a mockery, like life. 
 Things are not what we think they are. 
 
 Harris [joining a circle of girls who have just 
 surrovmded a figure dressed in blue satin and fin- 
 ishings to represent a hwtterfly^. Sweet Ninette. 
 I will now have my revenge for the time you de- 
 serted me at Saint Cloud for the petrified old 
 Egyptian. 
 
 Ninette [trying to break the circle of hands 
 that hound her^. Mons'r, he was not so hand- 
 some as you, but so much money. [Claps 
 her hands^ I ate pate de fois gras for three 
 days. 
 
 Harris [observing a group of Englishmen just 
 approaching, he whispers to Ninette]. Please 
 do be good, or one of my country cousins will 
 steal you. 
 
 First Engushman. Isn't it ripping? The 
 light-heartedness, the laughter of these young 
 people! Do you suppose they ever sleep? 
 
 Second Englishman. I dare say they do not, 
 although nature requires all human beings to re- 
 freshen their faculties with repose at least a fourth 
 of every twenty-four hours, but Frenchmen 
 never — 
 
 Mignon [leaping into his arms^. We French 
 
14.2 C&e Lining l^oice 
 
 never slept but once, and that was when you 
 caught our Napoleon. 
 
 Second Englishman [astonished and shocked, 
 he tries to get rid of his burden}. I dare say you 
 are right, Miss ; I dare say you are right. 
 
 First Englishman. These French girls are in- 
 trusively vulgar. 
 
 Thied Englishman [rather short, blumt in 
 speech, with a red face'] . Yes, but deucedly nice ! 
 
 Second Englishman [imploring Mignon to 
 get downli. I would much rather that you bestow 
 your affections on some one of your kind. It has 
 never been my custom to mingle with vulgar women. 
 
 Mignon [loMghingl. You are not mingling 
 with vulgar women. I am but a dewdrop from 
 among the world's greatest flowers. 
 
 Harris. Well said, Mignon. 
 
 Third Englishman. You may repose your 
 head on my manly breast, my child. 
 
 Mignon. You forgot to bring it with you to- 
 night. [Places her hands over her eyes, feigning 
 •weeping, jumps down and bounds toward Harris] 
 
 Harris [wrapping his arms about her'\. This 
 is only an excuse for a manly breast, but you are 
 welcome to it, such as it is. It lacks manliness, 
 honor, and everything but a heart. 
 
Cfte Hitifng l^ofce 143 
 
 MiGNON. No, Mons'r, that is the very thing 
 that you have not. Didn't you know that you had 
 no heart? Ah, there comes Mu Mu with his 
 donkey. [She tears away madly, and, jumping 
 upon tJie ass, led by Mu Mu, the clown, rides off, 
 throwing kisses to the Englishmen]i 
 
 [There is a constant filing in and out of rep- 
 resentatives from all nations, some young, 
 some old, some in masquerade. All seem 
 wild with the intoxication of the frivolous 
 atmosphere. A party of Americans, 
 among whom are Maeion and Alice, pass 
 along with the crowd across the square, 
 unnoticed by Haeris. He stands alone to 
 the extreme right, watching the human pro- 
 cession, while the lights seem to fade with 
 the last hour of the nighf] 
 Haeris. Where are the golden dream-tales of 
 the morrow.'' Today is ever here. 
 
 Death [suddenly stands beside him, but un- 
 observed by Haeeis]. Tomorrow is gained only 
 through the unknown. 
 
 Haeris. Unknown! Unknown! It is the 
 seeking of that that has been the source of all my 
 downfall. 
 
 Death. What would your life be if you had 
 
full power to perceive what the morrow was to 
 bring forth? 
 
 Harris. What would it be? Everything. I 
 would not be living here blindly, hoping against 
 hope that on the morrow I was to find an answer 
 to this longing in my breast ; that the long thirst 
 for fame was to be quenched; that this impenetra- 
 ble brain had been pierced with the light of genius. 
 There would be a purpose in working. But, my 
 God, this uncertainty ! Throwing a life away in 
 just trusting that the morrow is ever to dawn 
 rosy and fulfilled. Then to wake up and find it 
 the same old sixpence. A mad rush to the cafes, 
 a gabble with the vampires of the boulevards to 
 make us forget. 
 
 Death. Forget ? 
 
 Harris. Yes, why not? 
 
 Death. Is not the struggle after all the real 
 worth ? 
 
 Harris. Just for one's own satisfaction? 
 Never to have let the world know that one has 
 lived? 
 
 Death. Of what consequence is that? 
 
 Harris. Consequence? Should one dig alone 
 for one's self? Be a selfish brute, and not do some- 
 thing for the world in which he was bom ? Should 
 
Cfee jLitiing mice U5 
 
 he not do something that would honor the name of 
 his father, or at least for his commemoration? 
 
 Death. You can serve him better in carrying 
 out the divine laws. Your life work is not to 
 startle the world, but to study God's, to find out 
 just what gifts he has portioned out to you, then 
 — to enj oy them. 
 
 Harris [with contempt~\. Gifts.-' Enjoy? 
 HeU! 
 
 [Marion is seen walking across the street in 
 Harris' direction, but unobserved by him 
 UMtU she stands before him. Death dis- 
 appears. Somewhat abashed for a second, 
 she regains her composure, and, standing 
 at fidl height, looks with disdain upon 
 Harris and passes ow] 
 Harris [^stretches out his hands to her^. Ma- 
 rion, my Marion. 
 
 AiiiCE {^accompanied by three men of Western 
 dress, is following Marion, and, upon seeing her 
 brother, rums up to him entreatvngly'\. Harris, 
 Harris. You here? I thought something had 
 happened to you. You haven't been home for 
 days. 
 
 Harris. Haven't I? 
 
 AucE. Of course you haven't, as you well know. 
 
146 C&e JLitifng l^ofce 
 
 Harris. This great, glorious city is my home, 
 and I have been hereabouts — somewhere, Alice. 
 These men, who are they? 
 
 Alice. Friends from Marion's home. [Intro- 
 ducing them] Mr. Giiford, my brother. 
 
 Mr. Gifford. Glad to know you, sar. This 
 is a great treat for us mountain-bred fellars. 
 
 Alice. Mr. Clemens, Mr. Roberts, my brother. 
 
 Roberts [youngest of the three, tall, erect, with 
 open countenance, advances toward Harris with 
 extended hand]. We are glad to know all Amer- 
 icans. This here town can't have too many for 
 me. Why, if it wa'n't for your sister and Miss 
 Marion, we'd be in danger of our lives. As I 
 walked down Saint Michael this morning, a group 
 of Paris widows gathered around me, and even if 
 I didn't understand what they said, I beat their 
 game at kissing. 
 
 Harris [laughing heartily]. This is a great 
 fete day, when all hearts turn young. They knew 
 you were a stranger, and wanted to give you the 
 glad hand of welcome. 
 
 Clemens. The glad cheek, you mean. Just 
 as the Bible says, " If a man smite you on one 
 cheek, turn the other so he may do likewise." 
 
Cbe Litifng Woke w 
 
 Roberts. I like their down-right spunk. 
 That thing of fun is a thing we lose so early now 
 in life, and I forever after will recommend Paris 
 as the great fountain of mirth. 
 
 Alice. For a short time, yes, Mr. Roberts, but 
 it is the one great breeder of sorrow and discour- 
 agement in time. 
 
 Roberts. Why, Miss Alice, you surely do not 
 know what those words mean.'' A face so bright 
 and young — know — sorrow .'' 
 
 Alice [^loakiTig pitifully at her brother'\. Yes, 
 I am sorry to say I learned sorrow and discourage- 
 ment here. In America they were unknown to me. 
 
 Harris [^reassuringly^. You have found the 
 same true in America, Mr. Roberts, have you not.'' 
 From the West, what part.? 
 
 Roberts [Alice, leaving him, joins Marion, 
 who is talking to a group of girls'\. Colorado. 
 Medicine Bow Range. The top of the Rockies. 
 
 Harris. The foot-hills will do me. 
 
 Roberts. Aspire to the peaks, even if you do 
 have to stay at the base. 
 
 BLarris. What do you find there .!" A glorious 
 sunrise, a ravishing sunset — then darkness. 
 
 Roberts. Better a glorious sunrise and a fad- 
 
148 Cf?e Lining l^oict 
 
 ing sunset than none at all; better than the dark 
 alleys of man's moulding. But, then, there is the 
 gold, the sun-kissed gold. 
 
 Clemens \^turnmg aside from the group on the 
 left'\. Now you are talking, Cash. Always stick 
 to business. You plumb got away from business 
 since you came to wicked Paris. 
 
 Harris [^interested]. Yes, a few pebbles kissed 
 by the sun are alluring. It is just the same thing 
 repeated, whether in the search of gold or knowl- 
 edge. A few minutes of success in the rays of the 
 sun, then night comes and you grow weak in the 
 struggle. When the sun shines again, there is new 
 hope ; you begin the struggle all over, only to make 
 rapid strides toward failure and ruin. 
 
 Roberts. I never look at it in that way. I 
 want night to come to impede my labors, so the 
 morning will bring added hope and pleasure. If 
 we found gold every day, any place, there would 
 be nothing to prompt the search. 
 
 Harris. So it is always hope against hope with 
 you, too .'' 
 
 Roberts. A prospector enjoys the life of an- 
 ticipation. Just now I have run into a vein of 
 Miss Marion's mine. Since the lead is on her land, 
 I am up against it, unless I can buy her out. 
 
Cl)e JLiUlng mict i49 
 
 Harris. Why so? 
 
 Roberts. Because the law is with her. It is a 
 point which gives to the first party that which is 
 his, or at least the lead in law determines the own- 
 ership. 
 
 Harris. I thought that was still a disputed 
 point. 
 
 Roberts. So it is. But I cannot law with the 
 girl who was brought up beside me, whose child- 
 hood was a part of mine. 
 
 Harris. What do you offer.'' 
 
 Roberts. I cannot make much of an offer. 
 "My wealth, like hers, is buried beneath the ground, 
 but I have two friends here who are willing to kick 
 it off at a million. 
 
 Harris \^startled'\. Did I understand you to 
 say a million.'' 
 
 Roberts. A million, sir, a million. 
 
 [^The crowd gathers. Mignon comes by on 
 the donkey, led by Mu Mu. She motions 
 Harris to a seat by her side^ 
 
 Harris. I will give you a million for a ride, 
 Mignon. 
 
 Mignon. Cher, Mons'r, you can ride for nos- 
 sing. 
 
150 cfie Liufng mice 
 
 [Harris hesitates a moment, as if deciding 
 between the present and the future, then 
 leaps up beside her, and is off'\ 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT III 
 
 Scene is m the studio, as im, first act. The cur- 
 tains of the alcove are draped up, and within can 
 be seen a student's sommier, covered over with an 
 oriental covering, the back of which is massed high 
 with sofa cushions. A desk and a chair complete 
 the small room,. To the right of the studio is a 
 screen, cutting off a corner, where the details of 
 hottsekeeping are carried on. Alice, having been 
 entirely deserted by Harris, is living with Marion. 
 Three weeks have elapsed since Mardi Gras. 
 
 Alice [makimg the studio tidy^. It is certainly 
 a good thing that we have company once in awhile, 
 or I am afraid our little home would never get 
 cleaned. 
 
 Marion [wiping the glasses, which she sets on 
 the centre table'\ . It is always due to your efforts, 
 Alice, that it ever does. 
 
 Alice. Well, you see, you are always so busy. 
 
 You have important work which has to be done. 
 
 Mine can always wait. 
 
 Marion. You make light of my pastime. 
 151 
 
152 Clje JLiiJing ^oitt 
 
 Alice. Pastime? Well, I wouldn't call it pas- 
 time if I could get $500 for painting a portrait. 
 
 Mauion [trying to conceal lier embarrassment 
 m the glass that she is wiping^. I was recom- 
 mended to them by an old friend. They are no 
 critics of art, or else — \^Sighs^ 
 
 Alice. Else what? \^Gets down on her knees 
 as if looking under the couch^ Let's put on that 
 new oriental cover that you bought at the sale. 
 
 Marion. Don't you like the Navajo? Cash 
 would like it better. 
 
 Alice {^pondering as she stands up'\. Why did 
 you sigh just then? 
 
 Marion. I do not know. 'Cause I pity myself. 
 
 Alice. Why pity ? I do not understand. 
 
 Marion. So many of our wealthy Americans 
 get the idea that we students are starving over 
 here, and they want — they want [laughs hys- 
 tericallyl to encourage us by buying our poor old 
 stufF. 
 
 Alice. I don't call your work poor. Didn't 
 Colon say last week that your work haxl a feeling 
 and finish about it that most Americans lack? 
 
 Marion [behind the screen^. I couldn't do it 
 again. I mixed the paint with the tears of my 
 
Cl)e JLftiing mict 153 
 
 heart. From now on I am going to laugh — 
 laugh all the time. It's about time our men were 
 coming, and you are not dressed yet, child. 
 
 Alice. Do you think Mr. Roberts likes Paris.'' 
 
 Mariok l^taking a chair at the table^. Dear old 
 Cash. Of course he does, but he likes the moun- 
 tains a great deal better. 
 
 Alice [^sitting dozen on the couch, with duster 
 and rag vn her hamd^. He must look like a hero 
 in his cowboy suit. Why didn't you fall in love 
 with him instead of — 
 
 Marion. Your brother? [Alice shyly nods 
 her head'\ One cannot arrange such things for 
 oneself. [Reflecting^ He was a part of my child- 
 hood. Something kept telling me that my lover 
 should be found where the sun rose. 
 
 Alice. Sunrise is always so far off — like so 
 many other things in life. The more you travel 
 toward it, the farther back it seems to recede. 
 But you, Marion, have always been too well poised 
 for that. 
 
 Marion [carelessly^. I have often told myself 
 that, but I couldn't make myself believe it. 
 
 Alice. Do you think Mr. Roberts will stay 
 in Paris long.'' 
 
154. Cfte HMm ^oitt 
 
 Marion. I do not know. He has been here 
 three weeks now. I just about have made up my 
 mind to sign the deed. 
 
 Alice. I should think you would. I'd sign 
 anything for a million. 
 
 Marion. No, you wouldn't, if it were your 
 father's last request not to do so. 
 
 Alice. He didn't foresee all that you and Paul 
 would have to go through. 
 
 Marion. Have to go — we did not have to. 
 We did it because — poor fools — we thought we 
 had talent. 
 
 Alice. You have, haven't you.f* 
 
 Marion. No, I have learned to know one thing, 
 and that is that any one has talent who knows how 
 to work and work at it long enough. 
 
 Alice. Do you think — think — that Mr. 
 Roberts likes me? 
 
 Marion [smUing]. Why! I never — why, 
 yes, girlie, I believe he does. 
 
 Alice. Can you not put off signing that deed 
 for three weeks more? Three more weeks [moves 
 toward the door\ and I — well, I will. [Goes 
 ouf] 
 
 Marion [looking after Alice in wonder, clenches 
 
C&e JLMm ^oice 155 
 
 her fists, and puts them up to cover her face. 
 After a moment's pause she looks up and sees 
 Death standing before her. Looks hard at the 
 figure for a second^ . Who are you ? 
 
 Death. I am Ambition, Life, Love ; sometimes 
 you call me Remorse. 
 
 Maeion. What are you doing here? 
 
 Death. Am I not always with you? 
 
 Marion [submisskyely^. I do not know. Do I 
 owe you anything? 
 
 Death. You owe me everything. I am from 
 the Unknown. My mission is to unravel the mys- 
 teries of death. 
 
 Marion. So you are the one who took my Paul 
 and carried him to your unknown world ; you stole 
 my lover and crushed him into the dust. Do you 
 want me? 
 
 Death. Not just yet. 
 
 Marion. Oh, I am ready. Nothing worse 
 could happen. 
 
 Death. You have not yet suffered as woman 
 must before her soul is purified and sweetened. 
 
 Marion. Purified! Is not every woman who 
 has suffered purified? 
 
 Death. Yes. 
 
156 €^bt fjMm ^oitt 
 
 Marion. If woman must suffer more than I 
 to be made pure and good, I do not blame many 
 for not trying. 
 
 Death. You have suffered for yourself, but 
 you have had no compassion for others. 
 
 Marion. Why do you stand there and chastise 
 me for lack of effort .J* 
 
 Death. Victory crowns him only who never 
 gives up or says fail. 
 
 Marion. I have not yet given up, nor uttered 
 that miserable word, fail. 
 
 Death. But your ambition is misdirected. 
 
 Marion. Mis-di-rected ! What would you 
 have me do.'' 
 
 Death. Lift the man out of the mire, that one 
 you are trampling down beneath your contempt 
 and stupidity. 
 
 Marion. The man that I — am — trampling 
 — down ? 
 
 Death. Yes, you know whom I mean. 
 
 Marion. You talk at random. 
 
 Death. Think, child. \^Pauses~\ Think. 
 
 Marion. You mean Harris .'' 
 
 Death. Yes, he. 
 
 Marion. You do not know the shame, the 
 
tears, the lost confidence he has brought to me and 
 to his sister. 
 
 Death. The shame was created out of the web 
 of your own brain ; the tears came from a pitiless 
 and weak heart ; the lost confidence was but a mir- 
 rored echo of your own selfishness. 
 
 Marion [with an accusing glance^ . My selfish- 
 ness? Ah, you do not mean that! You would 
 never say that if you knew how I have sacrificed 
 myself for others. 
 
 Death [reflecting']. I have the book of records 
 here. There is nothing in it to show that you 
 sacrificed anything for sacrifice itself, but always 
 for the gain that you yourself would find. In 
 youth, it was father, mother, and Paul who sacri- 
 ficed — never Marion. Do you not accuse your- 
 self of it each day ? 
 
 Marion [shuddering at the sound of her own 
 na7ne~\. You are cruel. Please go away. I can- 
 not bear to see you longer. 
 
 Death. Where are the sturdy hearts that 
 mothered our children, that bridled the horse that 
 her warrior might be first in battle, that welcomed 
 and nursed the pilgrim, that loved, suffered for it, 
 but loved the more.'' The women of today, does 
 
158 ^iit flMm ^oict 
 
 the truth pain you, are creating a weak race that 
 will some day rise up and devour itself. 
 
 Marion. Truth? Yes, I want the truth, but 
 that is far from it. Women there are who are 
 struggling, toiling, longing for the voice of the 
 man whom they love, but he — where is he ? He 
 is no longer in battle, seeking glory, nor trampling 
 the obstacles beneath his feet to reach her side, 
 but crowning himself with garlands of deceit, with 
 which he may sweetly ensnare her. Every man 
 has himself to blame if he loses the love of the — 
 
 Death. You are beginning to cross-examine 
 yourself now. Can you not see, my child, that 
 your life is only a reflection of the sorrow, the suf- 
 fering, the intense stubbornness of your own soul? 
 By lifting yourself out, you will express the love 
 of your own being. It is your only chance to re- 
 deem the character of the man who loves you. 
 You are passing through the same stage of thought 
 as he is — only you have reached it through dif- 
 ferent channels. He can never rise without your 
 help — without the ennobling influence that woman 
 always possesses. 
 
 Mabion. Why? [Blushing and hesitating^ 
 You will drive me mad. How do you know my 
 very thoughts? [Death looks intently at her. 
 
Cf)e jLiliing Woke 159 
 
 but does not cmswerl Don't. [Screams and 
 Mdes her face in her hands. Death retreats be- 
 hind the screen. Marion sits sobbing, with her 
 head in her hands. Harris enters quietly, much 
 changed, dirty and unkempt, and stands gazing 
 upon her. Suddenly she looks up~\ You here ! 
 
 Harris [extending his arms to her^. Come. 
 
 Marion. What right have you to come to my 
 studio.'' I never want to see you again. 
 
 Harris. But will you not forgive ? I have suf- 
 fered, Marion. 
 
 Marion. You have made others suiFer. 
 
 Harris. I have made myself most of all. My 
 God, Marion, have pity on a dejected soul — sore 
 unto death. 
 
 Marion. Pity, my boy ? There is nothing but 
 pity in my heart for you. Yet what good does it 
 do to pity you.-* If I could only make you see 
 yourself as others see you, or raise your head to 
 \he sun — the glorious light of day. 
 
 Harris. So I have, Marion. Let me tell you 
 something. [He comes nearer; she draws back^ 
 The other night I was sleeping down in one of 
 those sewer gates, where the brine pours into the 
 Seine. Dark, filthy, stagnant pool that it was! 
 A soft hand brushed over my face. It awakened 
 
160 Cfte %.Mm ^oice 
 
 me, because I thought it was a rat. A soft, golden 
 light shone before my eyes, then began to drift 
 away — away. I followed it with my eye ; further 
 and further it withdrew, but never smaller. It 
 went, across the river, ran up the side of Notre 
 Dame, poised for a moment on its steeple, then re- 
 ceded back to the stars themselves. 
 
 Maeion. It is nothing new for you to see lights 
 or shadows. 
 
 Hauris. Shadows, no, but lights, Marion.'' 
 Never such a light as this. 
 
 Marion. You are raving; your brain has at 
 last given way. You are utterly lost to yourself 
 and to the world. 
 
 Harris. Do you really think so.-" I thought 
 you would give me some encouragement. 
 
 Marion. What encouragement have you given 
 me ? You left me when I needed you most. 
 
 Harris. Yes, I did. I do not deny it, but for- 
 give. I cannot tell you why I ask this of you. I 
 really don't expect you to, but something impels 
 me to ask forgiveness of you. 
 
 Marion. What good will that do you — of 
 what importance is my forgiveness? 
 
 Harris. A dog feels the kick of his master 
 
Cf)e Minim ^oicg i6i 
 
 more than he does of the miscreant. I — Marion 
 — I ask merely to have your good will, so that 1 
 will not feel like such a cur. I have been kicked 
 about a great deal, but what does that matter — 
 they were all grappling, like me, for lost dreams. 
 From you, Marion, I expected — 
 
 \^A sttdden knock interferes. Maeion mo- 
 tions to Harris to go behind the screen. 
 She looks about the room, trying to collect 
 herself, then, advancing to the door, admits 
 Mr. Roberts and his two friends^l 
 Roberts. Good morning, Marion. How are 
 you today? Been expecting us? 
 
 Clemens. Good morning, Miss Ford. How 
 are you this glorious spring morning? 
 
 Marion [^arousing herself to a more joyous atti- 
 tude^. Never better. I hope you are all well. 
 Won't you be seated? 
 
 GiFFORD. As for me, I feel as if I were the first 
 chick off the roost. 
 
 Roberts. You weren't on it very long. 
 GiFFORD. I notice that there were others. 
 Roberts [trying to change the train of 
 thoughf]. We are early visitors. Miss Alice is 
 quite well, I hope? 
 
162 Cl)e HMm ^oict 
 
 Marion. She will be here presently. You 
 know that she is the housekeeper, and I am the lady 
 of affairs. 
 
 Clemens. It isn't every one who can be the 
 boss of his own affairs. Now, if you had a hus- 
 band, you see, you would have to leave them im- 
 portant facts to him. 
 
 RobEkts. Well, I can plainly see that you 
 don't know her. She ain't for letting anybody 
 run over her. 
 
 Marion. I do not want my way near as much 
 as I used to, Cash-boy. 
 
 Roberts. You haven't called me that since old 
 Poker Jim took us all over to the Rout County 
 bear hunt. I got huffed at you for some trifling 
 thing, but you made amends by calling me Cash- 
 boy. l^Slaps his hand on his knee and laughs with 
 the rest^ 
 
 GiPFORD. Guess Miss Ford thought it was time 
 to cash you in. 
 
 Marion. Oh, I had forgotten that. [^Some- 
 what embarrassed, she goes to the door on the left 
 and calls Alice] Weren't those feasts fine, and 
 wouldn't you like to have a mess of bear meat, a 
 roasted potato, and a swab of sour bread for 
 dinner ? 
 
Cfte Lining ^oict i63 
 
 AucE [enters all radianfl. Good morning, 
 everybody. We didn't expect you so early. 
 [Catches Marion's glance} Perhaps it is I who 
 am late. 
 
 Roberts [offering Alice his chair~\. No, Miss 
 Alice, you are never too late. 
 
 Alice. Well, there is some compensation in 
 that. To be in the right place at the right 
 time. 
 
 Roberts [vmf aiding a long paper}. You see, 
 Marion, we have it all made out. Now, decide well 
 before you sign it. 
 
 Clemens. Miss Ford has, no doubt, considered 
 it enough. We have been here three weeks, nego- 
 tiating with her. 
 
 GiFFORD. It takes most women more than three 
 weeks to make up their mind, to my notion. 
 
 Clemens. Some make up their minds just as 
 quickly as men do. Sign now while your con- 
 science is clear and you are decided. 
 
 Marion. Oh, I haven't yet decided — not 
 quite. You know it was against my father's 
 wishes. 
 
 GiFFORD. But what can you ever do with that 
 side-hill yourself? A million will give you plenty 
 to live on and die on. 
 
164 Ci)g MUtXQ l^oice 
 
 Mabion. It may be easier to die on a million 
 than to live on it. 
 
 Roberts. I would like to have a chance at 
 either. 
 
 Alice. Perhaps you will. You see your mine 
 is right next to Marion's. If hers is worth that 
 much, yours might be. 
 
 RoBEETS. Now, you do see that just like a 
 man ! It will be easier, at any rate, to fight these 
 men. 
 
 GiFFOKD. He'll have a raw bone to chew, if he 
 gets to fighting with us fellows. We have wrung 
 a few necks ourselves, out in Australia. 
 
 Clemens. No, Gif, now be careful and not 
 frighten the ladies. Your raw bone talk won't 
 carry you everywhere, least of all in Paris. Now, 
 Miss Ford, have the kindness to sign right here. 
 
 Marion. Father always knew what was in that 
 mine, and he often said that if strangers ever got 
 to wrangling over his gold, he would rise from his 
 grave to carry every nugget down into the stream. 
 
 Clemens. Well, it will be much easier to get 
 the gold out of the stream than out of the mine. 
 
 GiFFORD. And cheaper, too. 
 
 Marion \_takes the pen with a reluctcmt air]. 
 It will never be more than dirt to me anyway, at 
 
Cftg jLititng l^ofce i65 
 
 this rate. Poor father never knew that I would 
 have to experience poverty and a few other beastly 
 things that poverty thrusts upon a girl. 
 
 Harris [riwfee* from behind the screen, and 
 takes the pen from Marion's hand, just as she 
 stoops over to write^ . Give it to me, Marion. It 
 will be more than dirt to me. It will be gold-life. 
 If in two years I have not made good, you can 
 break your father's promise, but, until then, leave 
 it to me. 
 
 Clemens. Miss Ford has given her consent and 
 promise to transfer this property to us for the sum 
 of a million dollars. What right have you to in- 
 terfere.'' 
 
 Harris. Right, right.? My God, have I killed 
 that right? 
 
 Marion. The pen, Harris. 
 
 Harris. No, Marion. I may apparently have 
 thrown away all my sacred vows, I may have lost 
 all honor man inherits, and wiped the streets of 
 Paris with your respect, but you owe this one thing 
 to me. 
 
 Marion. I owe nothing to you, sir. 
 
 Harris. You once promised to be my wife. 
 That vow is as eternal as the soul within us. 
 There is no death. The change is but the passing 
 
166 Ct)e Litifng mice 
 
 from one stage into another. When we plighted 
 our lives together, no two hearts ever beat with 
 truer intent. It is that love resurrected that 
 finds voice now. 
 
 Makion. Harris, you were always a dreamer. 
 You dream great dreams and then forget to carry 
 them out. 
 
 Harms. All great works were once a dream. 
 I thought the other night that I saw a beacon of 
 light leading me out of the mire, but today I know 
 it is the life within me kindled anew. 
 
 Clemens. Mr. Thwing, you are delaying af- 
 fairs. I must catch the noon train to London. I 
 must have this paper before I go. 
 
 Hareis. Take it with you. No one is holding 
 it. 
 
 Clemens. What right has such an indecent 
 character to interfere with your affairs, Miss 
 Ford.? I trusted to you to be a woman of your 
 own mind. Will you sign it? 
 
 Alice [insulted^. That is my brother. 
 
 Marion. It is my intention to sign it, Mr. 
 Clemens. 
 
 Harris. Never! A scratch of your pen and 
 you will blacken my soul forever, Marion. I have 
 come back to you repentant. Give me a chance for 
 
Cfte JLitilng mitt i67 
 
 reparation. If I do not make good in two years, 
 I will sell it for you. 
 
 Alice. If you love me.'' Marion, he is my 
 brother. 
 
 Mauion. Brother ? 
 
 Haekis. Your brother's friend. Time has 
 only sealed the tie of friendship more firmly. 
 
 Makion. What do you propose doing.? 
 
 Harris. Propose.'' I am going to open that 
 mine and work it. 
 
 Marion. Without funds? My father gave it 
 up as impossible after he had spent his life as a 
 prospector. 
 
 Harris [striking his breast^. My funds are 
 here. My life so far has been a failure. I am 
 going to begin now to live — not for myself, but 
 for you. 
 
 Marion. Me.-" 
 
 Harris. Yes, you. Will you grant me the 
 chance ? 
 
 Marion. How can I help you, Harris, after 
 you killed all the love I had for you ? 
 
 Harris [earnestly pleading^. Give me the mine 
 to work. If in two years I do not turn it over to 
 you as a paying investment, I will know that you 
 were right — that there never was anything in me 
 
168 Cfte Lftiing l^oice 
 
 worth while. But until then, Marion, I need your 
 trust and hope. 
 
 Makion [^turning to the three men]. Gentle- 
 men, the mine is not for sale. Mr. Thwing shall 
 be my manager. My father's voice still lives. 
 
 GiFFORD. Miss Ford, you do not realize what 
 you are doing. You are throwing away a fortune. 
 
 Marion. What is a million to me if all my trust 
 in mankind is lost — all hope in myself dead.'' 
 
 Roberts. It will not be lost, Mary, if that fel- 
 low has any sand in him, for gold is there, not far 
 from the surface. 
 
 Alice. I know that he will succeed, for he is 
 my brother. 
 
 Roberts. I would like to have him for my 
 brother. 
 
 Alice. Will you not help him, if Marion gives 
 him another trial.'' 
 
 Roberts. You bet I will — for your sake. 
 
 Clemens. Well, Cash, you'll be flunked out of 
 your per cent, if this doesn't go through. 
 
 Roberts. I am in hopes of getting more than 
 per cent. Something that doesn't grow in the 
 ground, but right here in a fellow's heart. 
 
 Harris. Marion, will you join me in two years .'' 
 
Cfte Hitting l^ofce i69 
 
 I will have the best log-cabin that human hands ever 
 built. 
 
 Marion. Is that all? 
 
 Harris. No, you will have the Marion mine 
 pouring out a hundred dollars' worth of gold a 
 day. 
 
 Marion. That is not much compared to what 
 it has cost me. 
 
 Harris. It will never give you another mo- 
 ment's uneasiness, if I can help it. You promise, 
 Marion.'' 
 
 Marion ^extending her hand^. In two years I 
 will tell you. 
 
 Roberts \^addressing Marion] . You will bring 
 Alice, won't you? 
 
 Alice [lawghmg~\. Well, I may bring myself 
 before that time. 
 
 Roberts. There will be a fine old cabin in the 
 pocket of Devil's Gulch waiting for you. 
 
 Harris [embraces his sister, then turns toward 
 Marion. He pauses a moment, at which time he 
 gazes entreatimgly upon her, then turns to follow 
 the Tnen out of the door'\. In two years, Marion. 
 
 curtain 
 
ACT IV 
 
 The scene is laid in the Rocky Mountains. A 
 cozy log-cabin is on the left, to the right a heavy 
 growth of pine, while to the hack is a sharp preci- 
 pice that looks down into the valley below. In 
 the distance, the snow-capped range of Medicine 
 Bow is to be seen. Two years have passed. Cash 
 Roberts is seated near the door, mending an old, 
 dirt-bedrabbled mimmg bucket. Haekis, dressed 
 in Western costume, well combed and renascent, is 
 slabbing with bark the rv^e casings of the cabin. 
 It is noon. The miners are in the cabin, eating 
 their dvrmer. 
 
 Hakms [^throwing down his hammer and stretch- 
 ing his arms heavenward'] . Oh, isn't this glorious ! 
 
 Roberts. More than that, boy. 
 
 Harris. Cash, it is everything, but I do not 
 know how to express it. 
 
 Roberts. Say damn. 
 
 Harris. That would mean that I didn't ap- 
 prove. 
 
 170 
 
Ci)c Litiing l^oice m 
 
 Roberts. Oh, you approve then? I thought 
 you were tired of this lonely life — tired of cook- 
 ing and — 
 
 Harris. And what, Cash.'' 
 
 Roberts. Of waiting. 
 
 Harris. Waiting.'' [Laughs and tries to ap- 
 pear unconcerned^ Why.? 
 
 Roberts. Yes, you know that you have never 
 heard a word from Marion, and it is more than 
 two years since you came up in these old hills. 
 
 Harris [stretchmg his hands to the mountains^. 
 My hills. It doesn't seem like two months, boy. 
 
 Roberts. Don't it? Then you do not miss 
 her? 
 
 Harris. Miss her? My God, Cash, every hour 
 I love her more. Miss her — why — she is always 
 with me ! 
 
 Roberts. I understand, but there is a differ- 
 ence. Having the one you love right there in the 
 doorway and dreaming of her there is not the same 
 thing. 
 
 Harris. No indeed, it is not, but I am so happy 
 to be here that I forget sometimes. It just seems 
 at times that she is here, or I could not be so 
 happy. 
 
 Roberts. What did Alice say in the last letter ? 
 
m C!)e Lining l^otce 
 
 Harris. She said Marion always seemed anx- 
 ious to hear from us, but never intimated a thing 
 about coming. 
 
 Roberts. Do you think she thinks we are lying 
 about the mine and its revenue? 
 
 Harris. No. A person who never lies himself 
 does not think others do. Then, isn't she getting 
 the real proof.'' 
 
 Roberts. Why shouldn't she write then. J" 
 
 Harris. There is a reason, Cash. I destroyed 
 all her confidence in me so completely that I some- 
 times fear that I will never regain it. Sometimes 
 I do not know how I can expect it. 
 
 Roberts. No one could ever do anything un- 
 kind to that girl. Why, she is the best woman 
 that God ever created. 
 
 Harris. I agree with you there, but there are 
 times when a man is not himself. [^Another slab is 
 added'\ 
 
 Roberts. Why, it seems only yesterday since 
 we were kids here, fishing in that stream down yon- 
 der. She used to tell me then that she was going 
 away some day to hunt her prince ; that she would 
 live in his castle in a far oflF country and never 
 come back. 
 
Harms. I always loved the girl, but for a time 
 a demon possessed me, and, while I did not forget 
 her, I made her think so. [Reassuring himself] 
 But I have built her a castle, Cash — right here — - 
 isn't it a beauty? 
 
 Roberts. But, if she never comes back.'' 
 
 Harris [throwing down his hammer^. Say that 
 she will come back. Cash, women like her are 
 the kind that save the world. They make men un- 
 derstand themselves. 
 
 First Miner [coming out of the door]. Ain't 
 you fellers goin' to eat no dinner.'' Boss is getting 
 to be a mighty good cook. 
 
 Second Miner [lighting his pipe]. The best 
 of cooks can't eat their own mixing. I have often 
 heard it sed if — 
 
 Harris. Now, do not complain, comrades. 
 You fellows seem to be getting fat on it. 
 
 Third Miner. I didn't ever tell ye, boss, but 
 that first meal you ever cooked nearly sent me to a 
 miner's grave — down there in that gulch. [All 
 laugh heartily] 
 
 Roberts. Well, Harris has made good, and, 
 what's more, he is making good other ways. The 
 Marion is banking two hundred plunks a day, and 
 
m C&e Lftifng mice 
 
 the owner is getting so rich that she has no time 
 to think of us fellows. Just keeps her busy 
 throwing it away to the birds. 
 
 First Miner. She will come back, Cash. I 
 know that gal ever since she was so high. There's 
 prospecting blood in her veins what she got from 
 her pa, and what's in the bone — you know. 
 Money is in the finding, not in the spending. 
 
 Harris. Don't you think, boys, that my cabin 
 beats anything around these parts ? Gee ! ain't it 
 swell? [Stands back and looks admirmgly upon 
 
 iq 
 
 Second Miner. 'Pears to me you's getting 
 ready to receive your sweetheart. I want a chance 
 to wear that black sateen shirt ma sent me for 
 Christmas. 
 
 Roberts. Better get it out, and, if Boss don't 
 make the occasion, I will. I just feel it in my 
 bones. Just now my stomach is making me feel 
 pretty hollow. Leave a slab or two off there, Har- 
 ris, and come to dinner. [Goes in the cahm\ 
 
 Harris. When I get my furniture from Chi- 
 cago, I will be so swelled up I won't know any of 
 you. And I just want to say a word of warning 
 now. If any of you fellows come around here 
 
Cl)e flMm ^oice 175 
 
 drunk, you don't want to lie down on my white 
 enameled bed, 'cause if you do — 
 
 Thied Miner. White enamel ! Ha ! Ha ! 
 
 Second Miner. Goin' to get a carpet, too, 
 Boss ? 
 
 Harris. You bet. A red velvet one with raised 
 flowers. 
 
 First Miner. Raised flowers.'' Can't you 
 walk on it ? 
 
 Harris. It will be like a good, old friend. The 
 longer you wear it, the brighter the flowers will 
 grow. 
 
 Third Miner. I got a hunch that there is som- 
 fin' goin' to be a doin' around here. 
 
 Harris [entering cdbin^. I hope you will keep 
 on hunching until it comes true. 
 
 First Miner. What's worse, an old bachelor 
 or an old maid? 
 
 Second Miner [picking up his mining coafl. 
 An old bachelor. Because he is — well, 'cause he 
 is. 
 
 Third Miner [disappearing over the brink^. 
 Can't tell 'cause why yeself. 
 
 First Miner. Just because he is an old bache- 
 lor? [Follows his companioni 
 
Second Miner. I will prove my point tonight 
 when we have all eat supper. Sleeping and eat- 
 ing and working time is all right, but that time 
 between ! [^Shakes his head, looks around, and, 
 finding his comrades gone, disappears^ 
 
 Third Miner [after a moment's silence, he 
 rushes in through the woods^. O Boss, Boss, 
 they've got Poker Jim down in the gulch ! They 
 are going to hang him ! 
 
 Harris [appearing in the doorway'\. By 
 George, they are not if I have got anything to do 
 with it! [Returns for his hat and comes out of 
 cabin a moment later, followed by Cash] Every 
 man has got a right to a trial. 
 
 Gash. Horse stealing is horse stealing, you 
 know. 
 
 Third Miner [shaking his head earnestly^. 
 And law ain't got anything to do with it. 
 
 Harris. It will if I can help poor old Jim, or 
 any other helpless creature. [All disappearing 
 over the brvnkl 
 
 Marion [descends the mountain behind the 
 cabin, led by Death. Silence is supreme while 
 she slowly comes down the path and looks about 
 her in awe and admiration']. Isn't it all beauti- 
 ful! 
 
Death. That is because God's touch has not 
 been transfigured. 
 
 Marion. How could I ever have stayed away 
 so long.'' No wonder I was never happy ! 
 
 Death. Happiness is a condition of the mind. 
 It is found anywhere — any place where there is 
 harmony. 
 
 Maeion [looking at hmi]. That is it. Har- 
 mony. I was never in accord with anything in 
 Paris. I tried to make myself believe that I was, 
 but I was always fighting a rebellious spirit down 
 here. 
 
 Death. It was to be so, Marion, so that the 
 worth of all this which is yours would be revealed 
 to you. We can only know by comparisons. 
 
 Marion. Oh, I love it all so ! [LooTcmg at the 
 cabki] I always loved this spot. Used to ask 
 father why he didn't build our cabin up here where 
 one could see. 
 
 Death. Every wish finds voice and expression 
 just as the soul does. 
 
 Marion. I do not understand. 
 Death. You wished in your childhood to have 
 a home here on this site, you go away and so shape 
 your life by circumstances that the man you love 
 comes here and fulfills that wish. 
 
178 C&e Lining l^oice 
 
 Marion. The man I love ? That love has long 
 been dead. 
 
 Death. Why did you come.? 
 
 Maeion. \^hesitatmg'\ . Come — why — I 
 wanted to see my old home. 
 
 Death. Do you not realize that your hatred 
 is turning to love.? 
 
 Marion. No, that is impossible. When the 
 heart has been torn asunder, it can never wholly 
 be repaired. 
 
 Death. Such hearts are the only ones that 
 know what true love is. Each little piece is joined 
 to the other by a paste so strangely made that only 
 God knows the secret of its making. 
 
 Marion. You once told me that hatred was the 
 extreme form of love. 
 
 Death. They are symbolic. It is a way of 
 testing one — a way of making one suffer to show 
 him the true value of sorrow. Without the latter, 
 one can never know whether he has loved or not. 
 
 Marion. I have been put to the test. I have 
 suffered — am suffering — but I — never — 
 will — 
 
 Death. What if God never forgave ? 
 
 Marion [a* if some truth had jUst been revealed 
 
to her, she walks to the edge of the cliff and looks 
 overly . Look ! What are those men doing down 
 there? 
 
 Death. They have just caught a man for 
 horse stealing. 
 
 Mauion. Oh, they will hang him ! 
 
 Death. No, Harris will not let them. 
 
 Marion. Won't let, why? 
 
 Death. Because Harris knows that every man 
 has a right to live. 
 
 Marion. But not a right to steal. 
 
 Death. No, but this man was tricked into it, 
 in a way. He took a stray horse to ride over the 
 range to visit his old father. While there, his 
 father sold the horse to get money to get drunk on. 
 
 Marion. He must have got good and drunk. 
 
 Death. Horses out here are cheaper than 
 good whiskey. 
 
 Marion [^draws back^. They are coming up 
 here. 
 
 Death. Harris has prevailed upon his men 
 that every human being must have a fair trial. 
 
 Marion. He will not be able to convince those 
 men that this fellow isn't guilty. I have seen too 
 many such cases. 
 
180 Cfte jLltiing l^oice 
 
 Death ^philosophically']. All things become 
 right with time. It alone solves God's problems. 
 [Disappears] 
 
 Alice [rtmning in from the woods with a bunch 
 of wild flowers in lier hand]. I thought I would 
 get here first by coming up the other way. I got 
 into a lot of fallen timber, and I feared that I 
 never would get out. [Breathlessly]. Where is 
 Harris? Have you seen him? 
 
 Marion. He is coming up the mountain there. 
 The men are bringing up a horse thief. 
 
 Alice. A horse thief ! Will he hurt us ? 
 
 Marion. Of course not, silly girl. AU horse 
 thieves are not criminals at heart. 
 
 Alice. But they are bad men. 
 
 Marion. Not all, Alice. But the West has es- 
 tablished laws of its own. It doesn't give innocent 
 men a chance. Here they come. 
 
 [The sound of voices is heard] 
 
 Alice. Where shall we go ? I am afraid. Oh, 
 I see Cash, but where is Harris ? 
 
 Roberts [advances ahead of a number of men, 
 who are bringing Poker Jim, with a rope about his 
 neck. Stops a moment, loolcimg at the girls be- 
 fore speaking] You here ? Why Mary — 
 Alice ! What brought you at this time of day ? 
 
Cfte JLMm ^oitt 181 
 
 Marion. We have been down in my cabin for 
 two days, wondering if you never came that way 
 once in a while to call. 
 
 Roberts. Empty walls have no charm for a 
 man. [^Seeimg Harris approaching^ Harris, 
 see who is here. 
 
 Harris [rushing up to Marion]. Marion, my 
 Marion. [Holds both of her hatnds m his for a 
 moment, then perceiving Alice] My little sister, 
 too. I am so glad to see you both. It's been ages 
 since — why, girls, it's awfully good to have you 
 here! 
 
 Marion. Who is it yonder, Harris, that you 
 are condemning to death.? 
 
 Harris [turning around to look, having forgot- 
 ten for the minute^ . Oh, yes ; why it is an old 
 timer, Poker Jim. 
 
 Marion. Poker Jim.? What, that dear old 
 harmless soul? Why, he saved my father's life 
 once. 
 
 Harris. Boys, bring Jim over here. 
 
 Roberts. So you like these here parts. Miss 
 Alice ? Think it is as pretty — pretty as the 
 Luxemburg gardens, eh? 
 
 Alice. But I don't like to be in company with 
 horse thieves. 
 
182 C&g fLitiing l^ofce 
 
 Marion. Why, Alice, it is an old friend. 
 Boys, take that rope from around his neck. 
 
 All. \^angrily^. No, he is ours. 
 
 Harris \^taMng off the rope^. No, he belongs 
 to God. He is a man like you and me. 
 
 Marion [^looking at Harris admiringly^. A 
 man? [Clasping her hands^ At last. 
 [^The men retreat into the woods^ 
 
 Harris. Yes, a man. He possesses all the feel- 
 ing, the heart and the desires that are his by just 
 inheritance. If for a moment or an hour a human 
 being turns aside, giving vent to some unconquer- 
 able impulse, should his companions condemn him? 
 Where is the man who at some time or other has 
 not given away to the demon within? Our fore- 
 fathers were men like us and understood these laws 
 when they said that no man should be condemned 
 without the judgment of his peers. 
 
 Marion. Would you encourage crime through 
 sin? 
 
 Harris. No, Marion, no. God forbid. But 
 sin is the great redeemer, it reveals man's soul to 
 himself. How are we to know that this heart is 
 not a lump of clay, how could we fathom the secrets 
 of our own minds were it not that sin reveals to us, 
 through her agencies, their true value? No, I say 
 
Cfje JLftifng mice isa 
 
 it again and again that God made all things wisely. 
 He made certain laws by which to teach man the 
 sacredness of his being. Sin and sorrow are 
 mediums by which God directs his children to the 
 finding of themselves. 
 
 Makion. Harris, for the first time in my life I 
 understand you. If sin has revealed your soul to 
 yourself, sorrow has surely done the same for me. 
 I have been cruel to my God. I have — oh, I have 
 cursed Him at times. 
 
 Harms. Marion, — how could you ? 
 
 Marion. When one has suff'ered as I have, one 
 could even hate the existence of all things of his 
 own creation. 
 
 Harris. I have suffered, Marion, for I have 
 sinned, but you, Marion, [stretching out his hands 
 to her'\ you have never as much as crushed the 
 petal of a flower. 
 
 Marion. Worse than death to all life, the love 
 that was once yours, that hung on the sacred 
 thread of our two beings, but was tossed up and 
 blown away by that sin. 
 
 Harris. No, Marion. It is as alive today as 
 ever. What God gives birth to never dies. I 
 have been made anew in this — God's great world. 
 [Points to the vlountams about hint] The love 
 
184 C&e HiUfng mitt 
 
 within my breast has grown stronger because I 
 have found that this life can never be complete 
 without you. {^Stretching his arms again to her^ 
 Come into that world. 
 
 Marion \^steps close to him and looks him in the 
 eyes'\. Harris. 
 
 Hareis. Come. 
 
 Marion. As you have given new life to my 
 father's friend, so have you given me new hope. 
 
 Harris. Without a deep love there can never 
 be sorrow. [Wrapping his arms about her'\ 
 Into my heart and life you must come forever. 
 
 Marion [appealingly']. Forever? 
 
 Harris. Forever. 
 
 Marion. And God's law shall be our law. 
 
 Harris. And God's law shall be our law. 
 
 Marion. I return gladly to the home of my 
 childhood and the home of our future. 
 
 Harris. For here as your parents toiled for 
 you so shall we labor for our children. 
 
 Marion. Ah! [Raising her head^ Father's 
 voice. For your children and your children's 
 children. 
 
 Harris. There is no death. 
 
 Marion. Only the lost periods when poor hu- 
 
Cfte Lining l^olce i85 
 
 man souls are blindly searching for the lighted 
 pathway. 
 
 [Cash and Alice morfe slowly along the preci- 
 pice, looking intently into the distan^e^ 
 
 Alice. Will you build our cabin over yonder 
 on the crest where we can hear the cry of the 
 eagle? [^They vanish behind the cabin^ 
 
 Harris [^stepping to the door, points within. 
 Marion ndth slow steps walks into the cahim\ 
 For our children and our children's children. 
 
 CTTRTAIN