RBARIANS By )eCAMP LELAND iTRY-DRAMA COMPANY PUBLISHERS BOSTON Price 35 cents BARBARIANS "It is insulting, if you like, but you cannot deny that it is also truthful, and truth is what we writers aim at. " BARBARIANS A PLAY IN ONE ACT By ROBERT DeCAMP LELAND Being An Episode of The War of 1914 The Poetry-Drama Co., Publishers Boston Copyright, 1915. by Robert DeCamp Lcland JUL 3! 1915 ©CI.D 41374 fuot, BARBARIANS Scene A barber-shop in Provencia, a typical small town of the Republic. Time Spring of the year 1915. Late afternoon. Persons Dennis Culp, the town's lawyer, justice of the peace and political string puller of the county. Fat, sluggish-moving, full of face and sharp of wit. A cracker box politician. Age fifty-two. Richard Prost, editor and publisher of "The Beacon," the town and county newspaper. Tall, sleek, a rus- tic in dress, bearing and mentality. A smug man of the people. Frederick Tyran, owner of the Provencia mills and wealthy by the town standards. Known as the Leading Citizen. A self-made man with the usual rebellious children and society-infatuated wife. Opinionated, but always on the side of convention. Stanley Ebben Dowd, pastor of the local church. Pious to the bone. Would run from truth as from the swish of a woman's gown; and holds mirror- breaking to be the amusement of Godless men. Old, gray, soured. Ben Loof, Provencia's man about town. Winter home, the grocery store. Summer home, the barber shop. Dave Brandt, the town barber. Known in Provencia as The Stranger. A serious, kindly man, well past middle age. Thought by the townspeople to be a little queer, because it was once discovered that he wrote poetry. BARBARIANS Scene: A typical barber-shop in a typical small town. A small, dirty, brown-varnished room, reeking of pomade and perfumery. A lone barber-chair stands in the middle of the room before an expanse of mirror. Beneath the latter, the usual array of bottles and ton- sorial paraphernalia. On the walls a jumbled grouping of town notices and cheap lithographs of young women in various stages of undress. A row of tumble-down chairs on one side of the room; before them a small, table with the usual collection of magazines. There is one door, which opens out into the village square. It is late afternoon of a threatening April day. Brandt comes into the shop, takes off his coat and hat and slowly lights the single oil lamp that hangs from the center of the room. He seems worn and haggard. H,is eyes are troubled and his step, as he walks about the shop, is heavy. He turns to the windows and lowers the shades, one by one. Before the last one he pauses and stands looking out on the village square. The town is as quiet as a city street on a Sabbath afternoon. Sighing, he lowers the shade, and turns away from the window. Going slowly to the table, he sits down and reads from a newspaper he has brought with him. It is a city sheet, a week old, but to him it is news. The headlines and news matter glaringly tell war's story, varying crudely mendacious and sensa- tional accounts with the babbling sentimentality of hate-inflamed editors, the whole being what passed for news in the early years of the war. Loof enters, grunts hello, and sprawls out in one of the chairs. Brandt looks up, then back at the paper. Silence. Then high-pitched voices are heard outside, and Dennis Culp and Richard Prost enter in heated agreement. Culp I tell you it's barbarous, that's what! It's about time we did something, by George! Prost First be sure you're right, then go ahead. That's my motto. An' I guess it's a good rule, ain't it? An' there's no question but that you're right. Culp (Decisively) Right! Why, to a certainty. I'm not gen'ly on the off side, am I, hey? (He nods to Loof and Brandt.) Hello Dave, hello Ben. Prost Howdy boys! Looks like rain. Brandt (Busy arranging things at shelf.) Good afternoon. (Culp gets into the chair and Prost sits down beside Loof at the small table.) 10 CULP {To Brandt) Well, what do you think about it, Dave? Haven't heard you express your opinion. I suppose you've read the news. Ain't it just about the limit! Cruel, inhuman, barbarous; that's what the paper calls it, and that's my sentiment, {Brandt is silent) Prost {Unconsciously quoting) Thousands of women and children slaughtered in cold blood! This outrage will go down in history as wholesale murder. Think of it! My wife and your wife might have been there! Culp An' it was done in such a cold-blooded, deliberate way. Almost premeditated, I'd call it. Accordin' to all the tenets of international law, it was murder ! Loof ( Wagging his head gravely in assent) Yuh, murder ! Prost {Righteously) Let alone the sovereign rights of hu- manity. Think of it! Why the paper says, churches looted, homes demolished, women ravaged. And now this. I tell you it's an upheaval. I have never seen the press so charged with righteous indignation, an* the people so stirred. Culp {In his favorite judicial manner) An' why not? We bein' a neutral nation, have the right to judge. Could we stand idly by and see the slaughter of the innocents ? By all the laws of the commonwealth and humanity, no ! ii {He is interrupted for a moment by Brandt, who passes a lathered brush over his mouth. A pause. The door opens and Pastor Dowd enters, an umbrella in one hand and a batch of journals in the other. Gingerly he crosses the room, nodding economically to the group, and sits down beside Loof. The men exchange greet- ings) Dowd {Tremulously) I suppose you have seen it. Really I think it's too horrible. {He nervously fingers the papers and looks around for assent) Prost You're right, pastor, it is. Dowd I would pray for them for they know not their crime. Culp {Grandly) We must each do our share. We must make a protest. Of course war is war, but right is right, and justice is justice. Dowd {Gravely) You have said well. Loof Damned if it ain't so. {Dowd starts and glares at Loof. The others laugh) Prost {Winking at the others) Guess Ben is a little carried away with the question. But I don't blame him none. Say, did you ever read history Well, last night I was 12 happenin' to read of the old days of Rome, of them old Vandals and Huns, and it come to me sudden the likeness of the Vandals and Huns to these Barbarians. They're just the same. Culp Should think that would make a great argument for your next Wednesday editorial. Prost (Excited) By hemlock! a stroke of genius. I never thought of it. I'll set it boxed on the front page so that all the world can read. Dowd (Tapping his umbrella on the floor to emphasise his words) Good. We must all do our part for the cause of right. Gentlemen, next Sunday you will hear me give from the pulpit a stirring sermon whose text is "Right or Might?" I will show what the power of the pulpit can do, and flaming, righteous indignation. Gulp We'll all be there, pastor. I'll bring Lizzie an' the kids. Loof I ain't gone to church fer ten years, but believe me, Dowd, I'll be there strong to hear the flamin' words. Prost And what your sermon won't do my editorial will, by gosh. We'll show them how to smash militarism ! 13 CULP (Gesticulating from the barber chair. Brandt is still busy with him) Everyone in the community must put their shoulder to the wheel. What you do in your field I will do in mine. The greatness of the law and the state will have their exponent in me. I will show you what the commonwealth can do. I will work heart and soul for that end, Dowd Well done! Prost (Quoting again) Good for you, Dennis. I always knew you had it in you. We will crush the rebellion of the mailed fist. Let those suffer who would turn Europe into a shambles, caring not for the respect of glorious, law-abiding civilization! Dowd (Amid general approval) Amen to that. (An auto- mobile draws up outside. A moment later the door opens and Frederick Tyran enters with the provincial pose and poise of the zvealthy small town citizen) Culp Why here comes Mr. Tyran! (They all look toward the door. Dowd and Prost rise and greet him, Dowd fawning, and Prost with bravado, hoof, sitting deep in his chair, looks up) Frost You're just the man we want to see, Tyran. You've come at the right time. 14 Tyran So ! {He fondles a cigar lovingly) What's the ex- citement? Fve been so blamed busy over at the works to-day that I couldn't get around before. {He pauses) Boys, I've got news, that's a hummer. {The room is all ears) The chance of my life has come to me to- day, the biggest opportunity I have ever had. It means a new era for me, the town and the people : I've got to tell you now; I can't wait. {Something in his tone holds them. The room becomes so stilled that the rain drops can be heard pattering on the walk outside. Culp half rises from his chair; Brandt stands poised with razor uplifted; Dowd nervously shifts his umbrella from one hand to the other; Prost mumbles "By gin- ger!" to himself; and Loof almost straightens up in his chair) Culp {Always the first to get his voice) We are waiting, Tyran; tell us. Tyran {Making the most of the moment) It is this. I have within two hours landed a $100,000 contract for shrapnel shells for the foreign powers. They will be used against the Barbarians. It will mean everything to us. I am starting work on a new factory at once, am hiring 200 workmen, and in three years' time I miss my guess if the village ain't the wealthiest in the state. {He pauses to let his words gather emphasis. A gasp goes around the room. Culp rises half out of his chair. Prost swallows a mouthful of words) 15 Dowd (Softly, to himself) It will mean a new church ! Loof (Marvelling) One hundred dollars ! Culp (Holding out his hand from the chair) Congratula- tions, Tyran ! It's the best thing you've ever done. A damn fine stroke of business, if you ask me ! Prost Great, Fred. We're proud of you. It helps us all. Why, even Loof here will be able to get a job. Give me the inside facts for my next week's issue. All Provencia should know this at once, as soon as type can be set! Tyran I can't do that quite yet, Prost, but thanks just the same. You see, this thing has got to be kept kinda quiet for a while, because we're not at war yet with Culp (Angrily) Barbarians! Prost (Quoting furiously) What if we are supposed to be neutral! Right is right, ain't it? And it's our duty to help crush rebellion and the ring of iron that tyrants mold! Dowd (Excited for the moment) Goodly words, goodly! 16 CULP We were just saying before you came in, Tyran, that each of us should do our share. Church and State, Society and Industry, should all join hands — and you represent Industry. (Suddenly excited, he jumps from the chair, nearly knocking Brandt down, and stands before the group) I've got it! Fve got a plan, and it's a crackyjack. Came to me just this minute. We can each of us show our separate belief in the right cause but, by Jingo, we want to make a united stand, don't we? (Shouts of approval) We are consecrated to the service of right and must do a serious duty. It is this, a petition to the commonwealth for war— a war for justice and right. If we don't help to end the life of the barbarian — and our help is sorely needed — we ourselves will be ended. The iron is hot, we must strike the spark. (The burning words of the glorious emancipator are not without avail. One by one the faces of the little group of patriots mirror the passion- ate fire of the liberator) Prost Wonderful, by George! Tyran A corkin' good idea. Let's get to it quick, because Jennie's waitin' supper for me now. Dowd (Piously) The church is with you. Culp Pencil and paper at once. (Prost produces paper from his pocket, Tyran a pencil. Culp seises them and 17 begins to write feverishly, balancing the paper against one of the wall art-studies. The others watch, Brandt at a distance) Culp {Reading) We, the undersigned, feeling as we do {He surveys the group — Brandt at a distance) See, how many of us are there? Prost {Counting up) Six. Brandt {Suddenly looks up, a queer light in his eyes. He is calm, impressive, powerful, his head thrown back) Five ! There is no sixth ! Culp {Astounded) What! What do you mean? Brandt {Quietly) What I said. I shall not and will not sign. And wait {With a sudden, swift leap he moves across the room, and snatching the paper from Culp's hands, tears it to pieces. The crowd is dumb- founded. Culp, in a fury of anger, takes a step toward Brandt, but the latter stands his ground) Brandt {With folded arms. Coolly) Stand back, Culp. I know you well, and the rest of you. I am not afraid. (His voice rises above the muttering of the crowd. Grudgingly they fall back, watching him with mixed anger and amazement) I have something to tell you, each one of you rot-ridden, puritanic humbugs, you 18 Philistinic jawbones from the tyrant to the fool. And you are all representative of your rotten land. You speak of barbarians ! Do you know the word's mean- ing? You denounce a race with the word "Hun"; do you know your own country and your own people? Thank God, it is not my country, though it is the land of my birth and my life. I have never been part of it; I have always hated it and been hated in return. For that is the penalty of the man who fights his fight alone. Are you so blind that you can't see who the barbarians are? You are the barbarians; you are the race of the Huns and the Vandals. You who would try to crush a race greater than yours as the sun is greater than the candle — a race that is willing to die for its rights, and a cause that is juster than race has ever before conceived. I see each of you here to the soul. I can read in each of you your own individual rottenness, your own representative loath- someness. Church, State, Society, Industry, rich, poor; humble, proud ; it is all the same. Each has its own barbarities that make your denunciation of others a farce that would cause a Puritan to rock with mirth. Your customs, you have none that are not either ludicrous or pathetic; your laws shams; your people illiterate, ignorant sheep; philistines college and back- alley bred; your women childless, your prophets lying, your artists rejected men. Culp Blasphemy ! You — — Brandt Blasphemy to you ! You hang the men that would tell you the truth ! Print what I say in the columns of 19 your newspapers, your magazines that cater and truckle to the barbarities of your men and women. Cast out for a day the stupid, inane, hypocritical trivialities that crowd your prints, pander to your prejudices and stifle your intelligence; cast them out and taste the bitter- ness of truth. You think yourself the greatest of countries; you hold yourself civilized. You are the lowest in the scale ! I have seen it all. My eyes were not blinded by the glare of conceit, blatant optimism, depravity, childish faith in what is (The crowd shudders) Tyran (Groping for words) This is treason. You'll suffer — Prost The man is mad. (Loof rises to his feet and looks about him, trying to learn what it is all about. Dowd makes several false starts toward the door, but he de- cides to remain and hear) Culp He lies, he lies ! Who are you to Brandt You are the richest country, God knows, and gold has been the pit into which you have fallen, rag, bone and hair. Gold, the silken siren, that sure as the years will turn to rend you. Its mark is on your industry, your pulpit, your theatre, your art, your literature, your laws, your state, your homes, your souls ! It has made hypocrites of your leaders, prostitutes of your women, suicides of your artists. Its brand is the brand of sin, shame and pollution of all things that God made good. 20 From your cities, your Babylons, to your provinces, the story is the same. Your vaunted accomplishments are nothing, your blatant proudness a thing of emptiness when that burning canker has eaten its way into the soul of your civilization. (There are mumblings from the group. Fear and anger are written on each face. Eyes smoulder with bitter hate. As Brandt continues their fury increases) Liberty! You do not know the word. You are forged with the chains of convention, of mean, tawdry matter-of-factness. There is little in your land that is not ugly, sordid. And you boast of it all. Can you boast of the disease of poverty that is rotting the soul of your state? Are you proud of your provincialism, your childish optimism, your class hate, your hog-fat millionaires, your city flappers, your rustic Philistines, the red tape absurdities of your laws, your vice-ridden cities, your equally vice-ridden towns, your pitiable fear of art and truth, your society para- sites, your demagogic cut-throats, your unsexed, neuter women and the sex war they are making, your million species of hypocrisy, your ugly, inartistic architecture, your life- wasting factories, the tyranny of your homes, the neglect and scorn of those who should be your lead- ers, your schools and colleges that are breeding you a race of stunted automatons, your literary prostitutes, your cartoon art (He pauses) And you it is who speak of barbarians ! Oh, the glories of irony ! Would you had the greatness to appreciate your own little- ness. (As he pauses, the group, led by Culp, moves toward him. Their muttered threats precede them. Brandt stands his ground, and suddenly reaches back of him. His hand comes up with an open razor in it. At sight of it the crowd halts) 21 Brandt (In terrible coolness) Back, all of you. I'm not through yet. I haven't told you all. (They stand around him sullenly) It is about myself. You think of me merely as "Dave" Brandt, the Stranger, a gruff, quiet, hard-working barber. (He pauses a moment and pours out the words almost in a sob) Did you ever hear of Joseph Brandon? I am Joseph Brandon — the Brandon you knew years ago. Yes, gentlemen, I have returned. (At the words a shadow crosses Prost's face; Tyran and Loof show sudden nervousness; Dowd's umbrella clatters to the floor; Culp's face goes ashen) You know the story well — better than I could repeat it. It is engraved in your hearts. You, Culp, your face is gray with your fear; you, who by the chicaneries of your profession, robbed me of a home I had slaved for for years. Not a soul in the town but knew, but you beat me craftily and I was helpless. And then my wife turned against me. I suppose you don't know why, Dowd? You and your damned hypocrisies killed the woman, and left me the shell, the parasite, the slave to convention. Her pride couldn't stand the loss of our home, and she left me. And Dan, my boy (His voice becomes almost tearful. Prost starts and opens his mouth to speak) Never mind, Prost, you can't alter it now. He had the soul of the writer, the heart of the genius; and you materialized him for your own profit, and turned his talent into the gutters of literature. I did not know till too late, but you knew, and it is written red in your heart. There is a separate hell for you for that. Tyran (Boldly) But I — you cannot hold me for any of your 22 misfortunes, Brandon; your case was a hard one, but my record is clear with the town. Brandt It was your son, Tyran, that made my daughter a prostitute. Loof will tell you. {Tyran' s face whitens, as the crowd shudders its surprise) Each of you killed for me something that makes life worth the living. That is the story, gentlemen, engraved with the scarlet letters that each of you wears unwillingly. It was here in this town years ago — I have lost the count — that you broke me and made me a thing of scorn. It was you that made me the derelict; but derelicts sometimes return, (His face goes livid; his body trembles. He lifts the razor above him; the group shudders and moves back) I would kill you all now, but you are institutions ; and you can't kill institutions. You can only wear them away in the long years of time. And there is but one means — truth. Remember my words. For them you would stone me to death, poison me with hate. That light is in your eyes now, but I will cheat you. And remember this — this one fact — for your hate of truth is the weakest link in the rotten chain you call civilization, but wiser men know as barbarism — re- member this — engrave it in your hearts, brand it in your souls, that civilization does not always advance. (He pauses, and with a movement of lightning quick- ness lifts the razor and slashes his throat viciously. He falls. Someone in the crowd shrieks — it is Dowd. Culp, with Tyran and Loof at his elbow, advances in awe to where the body of the dying man lies. Prost hurries to the door to call aid. He opens the door and stands looking out. It is still raining.) 23