The Project Gutenberg eBook ofShenandoah : A Military ComedyThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Shenandoah : A Military ComedyAuthor: Bronson HowardEditor: Montrose Jonas MosesRelease date: July 28, 2004 [eBook #13039]Most recently updated: December 15, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHENANDOAH : A MILITARY COMEDY ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Shenandoah : A Military ComedyAuthor: Bronson HowardEditor: Montrose Jonas MosesRelease date: July 28, 2004 [eBook #13039]Most recently updated: December 15, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Title: Shenandoah : A Military Comedy
Author: Bronson HowardEditor: Montrose Jonas Moses
Author: Bronson Howard
Editor: Montrose Jonas Moses
Release date: July 28, 2004 [eBook #13039]Most recently updated: December 15, 2020
Language: English
Credits: Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHENANDOAH : A MILITARY COMEDY ***
Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: BRONSON HOWARD]
(1842-1908)
The present Editor has just read through some of the vivacious correspondence of Bronson Howard—a sheaf of letters sent by him to Brander Matthews during a long intercourse. The time thus spent brings sharply to mind the salient qualities of the man—his nobility of character, his soundness of mind, his graciousness of manner, and his thorough understanding of the dramatic tools of his day and generation. To know Bronson Howard was to be treated to just that human quality which he put into even his hastily penned notes—and, as in conversation with him, so in his letters there are repeated flashes of sage comment and of good native wit. Not too often can we make the plea for the gathering and preserving of such material. Autobiography, after all, is what biography ought to be—it is the live portrait by the side of which a mere appreciative sketch fades. I have looked through the "Memorial" volume to Bronson Howard, issued by the American Dramatists Club (1910), and read the well-tempered estimates, the random reminiscences. But these do not recall the Bronson Howard known to me, as to so many others—who gleams so charmingly in this correspondence. Bronson Howard's plays may not last—"Fantine," "Saratoga," "Diamonds," "Moorcraft," "Lillian's Last Love"—these are mere names in theatre history, and they are very out of date on the printed page. "The Banker's Daughter," "Old Love Letters" and "Hurricanes" would scarcely revive, so changed our comedy treatment, so differently psychologized our emotion. Not many years ago the managerial expedient was resorted to of re-vamping "The Henrietta"—but its spirit would not behave in new-fangled style, and the magic of Robson and Crane was broken. In the American drama's groping for "society" comedy, one might put "Saratoga," and even "Aristocracy," in advance of Mrs. Mowatt's "Fashion" and Mrs. Bateman's "Self;" in the evolution of domestic problems, "Young Mrs. Winthrop" is interesting as an early breaker of American soil. But one can hardly say that, either for the theatre or for the library, Bronson Howard is a permanent factor. Yet his influence on the theatre is permanent; his moral force is something that should be perpetuated. Whatever he said on subjects pertaining to his craft—his comments on play-making most especially,—was illuminating and judicious. I have been privileged to read the comments sent by him to Professor Matthews during the period of their collaboration together over "Peter Stuyvesant;" they are practical suggestions, revealing the peculiar way in which a dramatist's mind shapes material for a three hours' traffic of the stage—the willingness to sacrifice situation, expression—any detail, in fact, that clogs the action. Through the years of their acquaintance, Howard and Matthews were continually wrangling good-naturedly about the relation of drama to literature. Apropos of an article by Matthews inThe Forum, Howard once wrote:
I note that you regard the 'divorce' of the drama from literature as unfortunate. I think the divorce should be made absolute and final; that the Drama should no more be wedded to literature, on one hand, than it is to the art of painting on the other, or to music or mechanical science. Rather, perhaps, I should say, we should recognize poligamy for the Drama; and all the arts, with literature, its Harem. Literature may be Chief Sultana—but not too jealous. She is always claiming too large a share of her master's attention, and turning up her nose at the rest. I have felt this so strongly, at times, as to warmly deny that I was a 'literary man', insisting on being a 'dramatist'.
Then, in the same note, he adds in pencil: "Saw 'Ghosts' last night.Great work of art! Ibsen a brute, personally, for writing it."
In one of the "Stuyvesant" communications, Howard is calculating on the cumulative value of interest; and he analyzes it in this mathematical way:
So far as the important act is concerned, I have felt that this part of it was the hardest part of the problem before us. We were certain of a good beginning of the act and a good, rapid, dramatic end; but the middle and body of it I felt needed much attention to make the act substantial and satisfactory. To tell the truth, I was quietly worrying a bit over this part of the play, while you were expressing your anxiety about the 2nd act—which never bothered me. Theremustbe 2nd acts and theremustbe last acts—audiences resign themselves to them; but 3rd acts—in 4 and 5 act plays—they insist on, andwillhave them good. The only exception is where you astonish them with a good 2nd act—then they'll take their siesta in the 3rd—and wake up for the 4th.
This psychological time-table shows how calculating the dramatist has to be, how precise in his framework, how sparing of his number of words. In another note, Howard says:
This would leave the acts squeezed "dry", about as follows:—Act I, 35 minutes; Act 2, 30; Act 3, 45; Act 4, 20—total, 130—2 hrs., 10 min., curtain up: entr'acts, 25 min. Total—2 hrs., 35 min.—8:20 to 10:55.
There are a thousand extraneous considerations bothering a play that never enter into the evolution of any other form of art. After seeing W.H. Crane, who played "Peter Stuyvesant" when it was given, Howard writes Matthews of the wisdom shown by the actor in his criticism of "points" to be changed and strengthened in the manuscript.
"A good actor," he declares, "whom I always regard as an original creator in art—beginning at the point where the dramatist's pen stops—approaches a subject from such a radically different direction that we writers cannot study his impressions too carefully in revising our work." Sometimes, conventions seized the humourous side of Howard. From England, around 1883, he wrote, "Methinks there is danger in the feeling expressed about 'local colouring.' English managers would put the Garden of Eden in Devonshire, if you adapted Paradise Lost for them—and insist on giving Adam an eye-glass and a title."
Howard was above all an American; he was always emphasizing his nationality; and this largely because the English managers changed "Saratoga" to "Brighton," and "The Banker's Daughter" to "The Old Love and the New." I doubt whether he relished William Archer's inclusion of him in a volume of "English Dramatists of To-day," even though that critic's excuse was that he "may be said to occupy a place among English dramatists somewhat similar to that occupied by Mr. Henry James among English novelists." Howard was quick to assert his Americanism, and to his home town he wrote a letter from London, in 1884, disclaiming the accusation that he was hiding his local inheritance behind a French technique and a protracted stay abroad on business. He married an English woman—the sister of the late Sir Charles Wyndham—and it was due to the latter that several of his plays were transplanted and that Howard planned collaboration with Sir Charles Young. But Howard was part of American life—born of the middle West, and shouldering a gun during the Civil War to guard the Canadian border near Detroit against a possible sympathetic uprising for the Confederacy. Besides which—a fact which makes the title of "Dean of the American Drama" a legitimate insignia,—when, in 1870, he stood firm against the prejudices of A.M. Palmer and Lester Wallack, shown toward "home industry," he was maintaining the right of the American dramatist. He was always preaching the American spirit, always analyzing American character, always watching and encouraging American thought.
Howard was a scholar, with a sense of the fitness of things, as a dramatist should have. Evidently, during the collaboration with Professor Matthews on "Stuyvesant," discussion must have arisen as to the form of English "New Amsterdamers," under Knickerbocker rule, would use. For it called forth one of Howard's breezy but exact comments, as follows:
A few more words about the "English" question: As I said, it seems to me, academical correctness, among the higher characters, will give a prim, old-fashioned tone: andyoucan look after this, as all my own work has been in the opposite direction in art. I have given it no thought in writing this piece, so far.
I would suggest the following special points to be on the alert for, even in thebestpresent-day use of English:—some words are absolutely correct, now, yet based on events or movements in history since 1660. An evident illustration is the word "boulevard" for a wide street or road; so "avenue," in same sense, is New Yorkese and London imitation—even imitated from us, I imagine, in Paris: this would give a nineteenth century tone; while an "avenue lined with trees in a bowery" would not. Don't understand that I am telling you things. I'm only illustrating—to let you know what especial things in language I hope you will keep your eye on. Of courseAnnekecouldn't be "electrified"—but you may find many less evident blunders than that would be. She might be shocked, but couldn't "receive a shock." We need free colloquial slang and common expressions; but while "get out" seems all right fromStuyvesanttoBogardus, forBarryto say "Skedadle" would put him in the 87th New York Vols., 1861-64. Yet I doubt whether we have any more classic and revered slang than that word.
The evident ease, yet thoroughness, with which Mr. Howard prepared for his many tasks, is seen in his extended reading among Civil War records, before writing "Shenandoah." The same "knowledge" sense must have been a constant incentive to Professor Matthews, in the preparation of "Peter Stuyvesant."
"The manual of arms," Howard declares, "is simplygreat. I think we can get the muskets pointed atBarketin about 4 or 5 orders, however; taking the more picturesque ones, so far as may be possible. I went over the [State] librarian's letter with a nephew with the most modern of military training: and as I was at a military school in 1860—just two centuries after our period—we had fun together. Even with an old muzzle loader—Scott's Tactics—it was "Load and fire in ten motions,"nowantiquated with the breech-loaders of to-day. The same operation, in 1662, required 28 motions, as we counted. By the bye, did I tell you that I found the flint-lock invented (in Spain) in 1625—and it "soon" spread over Europe? I felt, however, that the intervening 37 years would hardly have carried it to New Amsterdam; especially as the colony was neglected in such matters."
From these excerpts it is apparent that Howard had no delusions regarding the "work" side of the theatre; he was continually insisting that dramatic art was dependent upon theartisanaspects which underlay it. This he maintained, especially in contradiction to fictional theories upheld by the adherents of W.D. Howells.
One often asks why a man, thus so serious and thorough in his approach toward life, should have been so transitorily mannered in his plays, and the reason may be in the veryartisancharacter of his work. Mr. Howard delivered a lecture before the Shakespeare Society of Harvard University, at Sanders Theatre, in 1886 (later given, 1889, before the Nineteenth Century Club, in New York), and he called it "The Autobiography of a Play." In the course of it, he illustrated how, in his own play, called "Lillian's Last Love," in 1873, which one year later became "The Banker's Daughter," he had to obey certain unfailing laws of dramatic construction during the alterations and re-writing. He never stated a requirement he was not himself willing to abide by. When he instructed the Harvard students, he was merely elucidating his own theatre education. "Submit yourselves truly and unconditionally," he admonished, "to the laws of dramatic truth, so far as you can discover them by honest mental exertion and observation. Do not mistake any mere defiance of these laws for originality. You might as well show your originality by defying the law of gravitation." Mr. Howard was not one to pose as the oracle of a new technique; in this essay he merely stated sincerely his experience in a craft, as a clinical lecturer demonstrates certain established methods of treatment.
In his plays, vivacity and quick humour are the distinguishing characteristics. Like his contemporary workers, he was alive to topics of the hour, but, unlike them, he looked ahead, and so, as I have stated in my "The American Dramatist," one can find profit in contrasting his "Baron Rudolph" with Charles Klein's "Daughters of Men," his "The Henrietta" with Klein's "The Lion and Mouse," and his "The Young Mrs. Winthrop" with Alfred Sutro's "The Walls of Jericho." He was an ardent reader of plays, as his library—bequeathed to the American Dramatists Club, which he founded—bears witness. The fact is, he studied Restoration drama as closely as he did the modern French stage. How often he had to defend himself in the press from the accusation of plagiarism, merely because he was complying with the stage conventions of the moment!
It is unfortunate that his note-books are not available. But luckily he wrote an article at one time which shows his method of thrashing out the moral matrix of a scenario himself. It is called "Old Dry Ink." Howard's irony slayed the vulgar, but, because in some quarters his irony was not liked, he was criticized for his vulgarities. Archer, for example, early laid this defect to the influence of the Wyndham policy, in London, of courting blatant immorality in plays for the stage.
Howard's femininity, in comparison with Fitch's, was equally as observant; it was not as literarily brilliant in its "small talk." But though the effervescent chatter, handled with increasing dexterity by him, is now old-fashioned, "Old Dry Ink" shows that the scenes in his plays were not merely cleverly arrived at, but were philosophically digested. How different the dialogue from the notes!
This article was written in 1906; it conveys many impressions of early feminine struggles for political independence. The fact is, Mr. Howard often expressed his disappointment over the showing women made in the creative arts, and that he was not willing to let the bars down in his own profession is indicated by the fact that, during his life-time, women dramatists were not admitted as members into the club he founded.
The reader is referred to two other articles by Mr. Howard—one, "Trash on the Stage," included in the "Memorial" volume; the other, on "The American Drama," which is reproduced here, because, written in 1906, and published in a now obsolete newspaper magazine, it is difficult of procuring, and stands, possibly, for Mr. Howard's final perspective of a native drama he did so much to make known as native.
The most national of Howard's plays is "Shenandoah;" it is chosen for the present volume as representative of the military drama, of which there are not many examples, considering the Civil War possibilities for stage effect. Clyde Fitch's "Barbara Frietchie," James A. Herne's "Griffith Davenport," Fyles and Belasco's "The Girl I Left Behind Me," Gillette's "Secret Service," and William DeMille's "The Warrens of Virginia"—a mere sheaf beside the Revolutionary list which might be compiled.
According to one authority, "Shenandoah" was built upon the foundations of a play by Howard, produced at Macauley's Theatre, Louisville, Kentucky. As stated by Professor Matthews, the facts are that Howard took a piece, "Drum Taps," to Lester Wallack; who, true to his English tradition, said that if it was changed in time from the Civil War to the Crimean, he might consider it. It is certain, however, that if the cast of characters, as first given under the management of Montgomery Field, at the old Boston Museum, November 19, 1888, be compared with the program of the New York Star Theatre, September 13, 1889, it will be found that the manuscript must have been considerably altered and shifted, before it reached the shape now offered here as the authentic text. The fact of the matter is, it was not considered a "go" in Boston; we are informed that such managers as Palmer and Henry E. Abbey prophesied dire end for the piece. But Charles Frohman hastened to Boston, on the advice of his brother, Daniel, and, giving half-interest in the piece to Al Hayman, he arranged with Field for rights, procured "time" at the Star Theatre with Burnham, and, as is told in "C.F.'s" biography, hastened to Stamford, Connecticut, to talk with Howard. According to this source, he said to the playwright:
"You are a very great dramatist, Mr. Howard, and I am only a theatrical manager, but I think I can see where a possible improvement might be made in the play. For one thing, I think two acts should be merged into one, and I don't think you have made enough out of Sheridan's ride."
The opening night, with General Sherman in the audience, was a memorable occasion. It was the beginning of "C.F.'s" rapid rise to managerial importance, it ushered in the era of numberless road companies playing the same piece, it met with long "runs," and the royalty statements mounted steadily in bulk for Howard. It was the success of the hour.
But "Shenandoah" is undoubtedly conventional; its melodramatic effects are dependent on stage presentment rather than on the printed page. In fact, so much an artisan of the theatre was Mr. Howard that he was always somewhat skeptical of the modern drama in print. When he was persuaded to issue his last piece, "Kate," in book form, he consented to the publisher's masking it as a novel in dialogue, hoping thus, as his prefatory note states, "to carry the imagination directly to scenes of real life and not to the stage." To the last there was a distinction in his mind between literature and the drama. It is since this was written that the play form, nervous and quick, even in its printed shape, has become widely accepted.
"Shenandoah" is a play of pictorial effects and swiftly changing sentiment. Were there a national repertory, this would be included among the plays, not because of its literary quality, but because of the spirit to be drawn from its situations, framed expressly for the stage, and because of its pictures, dependent wholly upon stage accessory. It is an actable play, and most of our prominent actors, coming out of the period of the late 80's, had training in it.
by
In considering the present standing of the American drama, compared with the time when there was little or nothing worthy of the name, the one significant fact has been the gradual growth of a body of men engaged in writing plays. Up to the time I started in 1870, American plays had been written only sporadically here and there by men and women who never met each other, who had no personal acquaintance of any kind, no sympathies, no exchange of views; in fact, no means of building up such a body of thought in connection with their art as is necessary to form what is called a school.
In what we now style Broadway productions the late Augustin Daly stood absolutely alone, seeing no other future for his own dramatic works except by his own presentation of them. Except for Daly, I was practically alone; but he offered me the same opportunity and promise for the future that he had given to himself. From him developed a school of managers willing and eager to produce American plays on American subjects. Other writers began to drop into the profession; but still they seldom met, and it was not until about 1890 that they suddenly discovered themselves as a body of dramatists. This was at a private supper given at the Lotos Club to the veteran playwright Charles Gaylor, who far antedated Daly himself. To the astonishment of those making the list of guests for that supper, upward of fifty men writing in America who produced plays were professionally entitled to invitations, and thirty-five were actually present at the supper. A toast to seven women writers not present was also honoured.
This was the origin of the American Dramatists Club. The moment these men began to know each other personally, the process of intellectual attrition began, which will probably result eventually in a strong school. That supper took place only sixteen years ago; so we are yet only in the beginning of the great movement. Incidentally, it is also necessarily the beginning of a school of dramatic criticism of that art. It is difficult to suppose that a body of critics, merely learned in the dramatic art of Europe, can be regarded as forming a school of America.
To go to Paris to finish your education in dramatic art, and return to New York and make comments on what you see in the theatre, is not to be an American dramatic critic, nor does it tend in any way to found a school of American dramatic criticism. The same is true of the man who remains in New York and gets his knowledge of the drama from reading foreign newspapers and books.
I stated in a former article in this magazine, "First Nights in London and New York," that is was only within the last twenty-five or thirty years that a comparison between the cities and the conditions had become possible, for the reason that prior to that time there was really no American drama. There were a few American plays, and their first productions did not assume the least importance as social events. As far as any comparison is possible between the early American dramatists (I mean the first of the dramatists who were the starting point in the later '60's and early '70's) and those of the present day, I think of only two important points. There was one advantage in each case. The earlier dramatists had their choice of many great typical American characters, such as represented inSolon Shingle, Colonel Sellers, Joshua Whitcomb, Bardwell Slote, Mose, Davy Crockett, Pudd'nhead Wilson,and many others.
This advantage was similar in a small way to the tremendous advantage that the earliest Greek dramatists had in treating the elemental emotions; on the other hand, we earlier writers in America were liable to many errors, some of them actually childish, which the young dramatist of to-day, in constant association with his fellow playwrights, and placing his work almost in daily comparison with theirs, could not commit. To do so a man would have to be a much greater fool than were any of us; and the general improvement in the technical work of plays by young dramatists now, even plays that are essentially weak and which fail, is decided encouragement and satisfaction to one of my age who can look back over the whole movement.
The American dramatist of to-day, without those great and specially prominent American characters who stood, as it were, ready to go on the stage, has come to make a closer study of American society than his predecessors did. They are keen also in seizing strikingly marked new types in American life as they developed before the public from decade to decade.
A notable instance is the exploitation by Charles Klein of the present-day captain of industry in "The Lion and the Mouse." The leading character in the play is differentiated on the stage, as in life, from the Wall Street giant of about 1890, as illustrated in one of my own plays, "The Henrietta." Mr. Klein's character of the financial magnate has developed in this country since my active days of playwriting, and the younger dramatist was lying in wait, ready for him, and ready to seize his peculiarities for stage purposes.
Another thing is the fact that our dramatists are doing what our literary men have done, namely, availing themselves of the striking local peculiarities in various parts of the country. A marked illustration of this now before the public is Edward Milton Royle's "Squawman," recently at Wallack's Theatre. The dramatist has caught his picture just in the nick of time, just before the facts of life in the Indian Territory are passing away. He has preserved the picture for us as George W. Cable, the novelist, preserved pictures of Creole life of old New Orleans, made at the last possible moment.
I could go on mentioning many other plays illustrating phases of life and society in America, and there could be no better or more positive proof that a school of American dramatists already exists. This school will undoubtedly continue to improve in the technical quality of its work, exactly as it has done in the past, and probably with more rapidity.
The question has been discussed as to whether we are ever likely to produce an Ibsen or a Shaw, and under what conditions he would be received. As far as concerns what may happen in the future in the way of producing absolutely great dramatists and great plays, using the word 'great' in the international and historical sense, the opinion of anyone on that subject is mere guesswork and absolutely valueless.
The greatest drama in history was produced by Greece about four or five centuries before Christ, and for a few generations afterward. Since Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, Greece has scarcely given us anything. Aristophanes and Menander are of course remembered, but the writers who endeavoured to follow in the footsteps of the masters were of far inferior merit. The Roman Empire existed for nearly two thousand years without producing any drama of its own worthy of the name. The Romans were not a dramatic people. The works of the so-called Latin dramatists, such as those of Plautus and Terence, were mere imitations of the Greek.
France and England had sudden bursts of greatness followed by general mediocrity, with occasional great writers whose advent could not possibly have been predicted by anything in art preceding them. Even the exception to this in France, in the middle of the nineteenth century, was apparently a flash of light that disappeared almost as suddenly as it came. What is the use of posing as a prophet with such a record of the past? Anyone else is at liberty to do so. I would as soon act as harlequin. Was there any wise man in England who, twenty-four hours before that momentous event in April, 1564, could predict that a baby named William Shakespeare would be born the next day? To say that an American dramatist is to appear this year or in a thousand years who will make an epoch is simply ridiculous.
That Ibsen exercised and will exercise great influence on American dramatists there can be little doubt. His skill was no mere accident. He was the most finished development of the French school of the nineteenth century, as well as the most highly artificial individual dramatist of that school. I call it the strictly logical school of dramatic construction. I use the word 'artificial' in its more artistic sense, as opposed to the so-called natural school. His subjects of course were national, and not French. Whether his pessimism was national or personal, I have not been able to discover. It seemed to me that he was a pessimistic man dealing with a nation inclined to pessimism, but that had nothing to do with the technical qualities of the man any more than the national peculiarities of Denmark had to do with Thorvaldsen as a follower of Greek sculpture.
As to the policy of our theatre managers, I confess that they do follow each other; but it is simply because they think the leader they happen to be following has discovered a current of temporary popular taste. The authors have the same interest as the managers, and you will always find them watching the public taste in the same manner.
Occasionally an individual dramatist, and not always the best from a technical point of view, will develop such a strong personal bias as to write on subjects suggested by his own tastes, without any regard to the current of popular wishes. If he is a strong enough man he will become a leader of the public in his dramatic tastes. Sometimes in rare instances he will influence the public so decidedly that he compels the contemporary school of writers to follow him. This has been the case in all periods. I need not mention Shakespeare, as everything said about him is a matter of course.
Take the vile dramatic era of Charles II. Wycherley led the brutes, but Congreve came up and combatted with his brilliant comedies the vileness of the Restoration school, and Hallam says of him that he introduced decency to the stage that afterward drove his own comedies off it. A little after Congreve, the school, so to speak, for we have nothing but the school, was so stupid that it brought forth no great writers, and produced weak, sentimental plays. Then came Goldsmith, who wrote "She Stoops to Conquer" actually as a protest against the feeble sentimentality I have referred to. Richard Brinsley Sheridan was made possible by Goldsmith. We went on after that with a school of old comedies. When we speak of the "old comedies," I am not talking about Beaumont and Fletcher, nor Wycherley, nor Vanbrugh, nor even Congreve, but of the comedy of Goldsmith in the third quarter of the eighteenth century down to Bulwer Lytton's "Money" and Boucicault's "London Assurance," bringing us to about 1840. Then there swung a school of what we call the palmy days of old comedy, and in the '40's it dwindled to nothing, and England and America waited until the early '60's. Then came Tom Robertson with his so-called "tea-cup and saucer" school, which consisted of sententious dialogue, simple situations, conventional characterizations, and threads of plots, until Pinero and Jones put a stop to the Robertson fad.
This proves in my judgment that the school always starts by being shown what the popular taste is, and follows that, until some individual discovery that the popular taste is changed. The tendency of the school is always to become academic and fixed in its ideas—it is the individual who points to the necessary changes. Schools and these special individuals are interdependent.
As to the present comedies in America: in the first place, it is impossible as a rule to decide fully what are the tendencies of a school when one is living in the midst of its activities. There is no marked tendency now; and as far as I can see it is only the occasional man who discovers the tendency of the times. Pinero undoubtedly saw that the public was tired of the "tea-cup and saucer." Probably had he not thought so, he would have gone on in that school.
Undoubtedly more plays are written to order than are written on the mere impulse of authors, independently of popular demand. The "order" play simply represents the popular demand as understood by managers, and the meeting of that demand in each age produces the great mass of any nation's drama. So far from lowering the standard of dramatic writing, it is a necessary impulse in the development of any drama. It is only when the school goes on blindly without seeing a change in the popular taste that the occasional man I have spoken of comes on. When the work of the school is legitimately in line with the public taste, the merely eccentric dramatist is likeLord Dundreary'sbird with a single feather that goes in a corner and flocks all by itself. He may be a strong enough man to attract attention to his individuality, and his plays may be really great in themselves, but his work has little influence on the development of the art. In fact, there is no development of the art except in the line of popular taste. The specially great men mentioned have simply discovered the changes in the popular taste, and to a certain extent perhaps guided it.[A]
[Footnote A: Originally published in "The Sunday Magazine" (New York) for October 7, 1906.]
1841
* * * * *
Evenings at 7:45 and Wednesday and Saturday Afternoon at 2.
* * * * *
Written Expressly for the Boston Museum byBRONSON HOWARD, ESQ.
Author of THE HENRIETTA, THE BANKER'S DAUGHTER, YOUNG MRS. WINTHROP,ONE OF OUR GIRLS, OLD LOVE LETTER, ETC.
COL. JOHN HAVERILL, Mr. THOS. L. COLEMANLIEUT. KERCHIVAL WEST, Mr. JOHN B. MASON [Transcribers note: some unreadable text here]LIEUT. ROB'T ELLINGHAM, Mr. CHAS. J. BELLFRANK HAVERILL, Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORTEDW. THORNTON, a Southerner "by choice," Mr. WILLIS GRANGERMRS. HAVERILL Miss ANNIE M. CLARKEGERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, a Southern girl, Miss VIOLA ALLENMADELINE WEST, a Northern girl, Miss HELEN DAYNE
MAJ. GEN. FRANCIS BUCKTHORN, Commander of theNineteenth Army Corps Mr. C. LESLIE ALLENBRIG. GEN. HAVERILL, { Officers } Mr. THOS. L. COLEMANCOL. KERCHIVAL WEST, { of } Mr. JOHN B. MASONCAPT. HEARTSEASE, { Sheridan's } Mr. HENRY M. PITTLIEUT. FRANK BEDLOE, { Cavalry } Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORTSERGEANT BARKET, Mr. GEO. W. WILSONCOL. ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia C.S.A., Mr. CHAS. J. BELLCAPT. THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A., Mr. WILLIS GRANGERLIEUT. HARDWICK, Surgeon, C.S.A., Mr. GEORGE BLAKECORPORAL DUNN, Mr. JAMES NOLANCAPT. LOCKWOOD, Signal Officer Mr. HERBERT PATTEEBENSON, {Cavalrymen } Mr. C.B. ABBEWILKINS, { } Mr. HENRY MACDONNALIEUTENANTS, {Cavalry} MR. H.P. WHITTEMORE{Infantry} Mr. THOS. FRANCISMRS. HAVERILL, Miss ANNIE M. CLARKEGERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, Miss VIOLA ALLENMADELINE WEST, Miss HELEN DAYNEJENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A., Miss MIRIAM O'LEARYMRS. EDITH HAVERILL, Miss GRACE ATWELLOLD MARGERY Miss KATE RYANJANNETTE Miss HARDING
There will be no intermission between Acts THIRD and FOURTH
[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.]
Charleston Harbor in 1861
After the ball. Residence of the Ellinghams.
The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at which the attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered in the gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment as a spectacle.—NICOLAY,Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I.
"I shall open fire in one hour."—BEAUREGARD'Slast message toMAJOR ANDERSON.Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861.
The Ellingham Homestead in Virginia
When the Union Army under Gen. Sheridan and the Confederate Army under Gen. Early were encamped at Cedar Creek, almost twenty miles south of Winchester, there was a Confederate signal station on Three Top Mountain, overlooking both camps; [Transcriber's note: Unreadable] another, near the summit of North Mountain, on the opposite side of the valley.—Official Records and Maps.
ACTS THIRD and FOURTH
No Intermission between these Acts.
The Shenandoah Valley. Night and Morning. Three Top mountain.
[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.]
While the two armies lay opposite each other, General Sheridan was called to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was taken by our own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station on Three Top Mountain.—POND,Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI.
On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely by surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. The men who escaped capture fled to the river. Gordon burst suddenly upon the left flank.—POND,supra.
Washington, 1826. Residence of Gen. Buckthorn.
From Gen. Grant's Memoirs.
"I feel that we are on the eve of a great era when there is to be great harmony between the Federal and Confederate."
* * * * *
The Orchestra, under the direction of MR. GEORGE PURDY, will perform the following selections:—
1. Overture—Le Caïd Ambroise Thomas2. Waltz—Ruby Royal Louis Gregh3. Selection—War Songs Arr. by George PurdyIntroducing the following selections: Kingdom Coming, WhenThis Cruel War Is Over, Babylon Is Fallen, [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text], The VacantChair, Tramp, Tramp, Johnny Comes Marching, Who Will Care ForMother Now? Tenting on the Old Camp Ground, Rally Round theFlag.4. [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text]5. March—[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text]
* * * * *
* * * * *
SEATS SECURED TWO WEEKS IN ADVANCE DURINGTHE [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] OF SHENANDOAH.
* * * * *
ByBRONSON HOWARD
Reprinted from a privately printed edition, by permission of theSociety of American Dramatists and Composers, from a copy furnishedby Samuel French. It is here to be noted that the Society of AmericanDramatists and Composers reserves all rights in "Shenandoah."
First produced at the Star Theatre, New York City, September 9, 1889.
GENERAL HAVERILL }Officers of{ Wilton Lackaye.COLONEL KERCHIVAL WEST }Sheridan's { Henry Miller.CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE }Cavalry { Morton Selton.LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE } { G.W. Bailey.
MAJOR-GENERAL FRANCIS BUCKTHORN,Commander of the 19th Army Corps Harry Harwood.
SERGEANT BARKET James O. Barrows.
COLONEL ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia Lucius Henderson.
CAPTAIN THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A. John E. Kellard.
LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS Harry Thorn.
LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY Geo. Maxwell.
MRS. CONSTANCE HAVERILL Dorothy Dorr.
GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM Viola Allen.
MADELINE WEST Nanette Comstock.
JENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A. Effie Shannon.
MRS. EDITH HAVERILL Alice B. Haines.
HARDWICK (SURGEON) W.L. Dennison.
CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD, U.S. Signal Corps C.C. Brandt.
CORPORAL DUNN W.J. Cummings.
BENSON Wm. Barnes.
OLD MARGERY Mrs. Haslam.
JANNETTE Esther Drew.
HAVERILL.—Act I. Full Evening Dress.—Acts 2 and 3. Uniform of Brigadier-General, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active Service, rough and war-worn.—Act 4. Civil Costume, Prince Albert, &c.
KERCHIVAL WEST.—Act I. Full Evening Dress.—Acts 2 and 3. Uniform of Colonel of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864 (with cloak in Act 3). Active Service, rough and war-worn.—Act 4. Travelling.
CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE.—Act 2. Uniform of Captain of Cavalry, 1864; as neat and precise as is consistent with Active Service.—Act 4. Afternoon; Civil.
LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE.—Act 2. Lieutenant of Cavalry, 1864; Active Service. He must have a full beard.—Act 3. Same, disarranged for wounded man on stretcher.
GENERAL BUCKTHORN.—Acts 2 and 3. Major-General, 1864. ActiveService.—Act 3. Same.—Act 4. Civil. Afternoon.
SERGEANT BARKET.—Acts 2 and 3. Sergeant of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864.Active Service.—Act 4. Plain undress uniform, sacque or jacket.
ROBERT ELLINGHAM.—Act I. Full Evening Dress.—Act 2. ConfederateColonel: Infantry, 1864. Active Service.—Act 4. Citizen; afternoon.Prince Albert (Gray).
EDWARD THORNTON.—Act I. Riding, but not present English Cut.—Act 2. First, Confederate Captain of Cavalry. Active Service. Second costume, same, in shirt sleeves and without hat or cap.
HARDWICK.—Uniform of Confederate Surgeon, 1864. Active Service.
CORPORAL DUNN.—Uniform of rank, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. ActiveService.
BENSON.—Uniform of 2nd Corporal, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. ActiveService.
LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY.—Uniform of rank, U.S. Vol., 1864. ActiveService.
MRS. HAVERILL.—Act I. Full evening ball dress.—Act 4. Mourning, but not too deep.
GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM.—Act I. Riding habit.—Act 2. First costume, afternoon at home; simple enough for the South during war. Second costume, picturesque and not conventional dress and hat for riding.—Act 3. First costume of Act 2, or similar.—Act 4. Neat travelling costume.
MADELINE WEST.—Act I. Full evening ball dress.—Act 2. Pretty afternoon costume.—Act 3. Same or walking.—Act 4. Afternoon costume at home.
JENNY BUCKTHORN.—Act 2. Pretty afternoon costume, with military cut, trimmings and general air.—Act 3. Same.—Act 4. Afternoon costume at home.
MRS. EDITH HAVERILL.—Young widow's costume.
OLD MARGERY.—Neat old family servant.
JANNETTE.—Young servant.
In ACT I, just before the opening of the war, HAVERILL is a Colonel in the Regular Army. KERCHIVAL WEST and ROBERT ELLINGHAM are Lieutenants in his regiment, having been classmates at West Point.
The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at which the attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered in the gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment as a spectacle.—NICOLAY,Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I.
"I shall open fire in one hour."—BEAUREGARD'Slast message toMAJORANDERSON.Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861.
The Union Army, under General Sheridan, and the Confederate Army, under General Early, were encamped facing each other about twenty miles south of Winchester, on Cedar Creek. * * * General Sheridan was called to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was taken by our own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station on Three Top Mountain.—POND,Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI.
On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely by surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. Gordon burst suddenly upon the left flank. The men who escaped capture streamed through the camps along the road to Winchester.—POND,supra.
Far away in the rear was heard cheer after cheer.—Three Years in theSixth Corps.
I feel that we are on the eve of a new era, when there is to be great harmony between the Federal and Confederate.—GEN. GRANT'SMemoirs.
DISCOVERED,As the curtain risesKERCHIVAL WESTis sitting in a chair, his feet extended and his head thrown back, a handkerchief over his face. ROBERT ELLINGHAMstrolls in on veranda, beyond window, smoking. He looks right, starts and moves to window; leans against the upper side of the window and looks across.
ELLINGHAM. Kerchival!
KERCHIVAL. [Under handkerchief.] Eh? H'm!
ELLINGHAM. Can you sleep at a time like this? My own nerves are on fire.
KERCHIVAL. Fire? Oh—yes—I remember. Any more fire-works, Bob?
ELLINGHAM. A signal rocket from one of the batteries, now and then. [Goes up beyond window. KERCHIVALarouses himself, taking handkerchief from his eyes.
KERCHIVAL. What a preposterous hour to be up. The ball was over an hour ago, all the guests are gone, and it's nearly four o'clock. [Looks at his watch.] Exactly ten minutes of four. [Takes out a cigar..] Our Southern friends assure us that General Beauregard is to open fire on Fort Sumter this morning. I don't believe it. [Lighting cigar and rising, crosses and looks out through window.] There lies the old fort—solemn and grim as ever, and the flagstaff stands above it, like a warning finger. If they do fire upon it—[Shutting his teeth for a moment and looking down at the cigar in his hand.]—the echo of that first shot will be heard above their graves, and heaven knows how many of our own, also; but the flag will still float!—over the graves of both sides.
[ELLINGHAMenters up centre and comes down.]
Are you Southerners all mad, Robert?
ELLINGHAM. Are you Northerners all blind? [KERCHIVALsits.] We Virginians would prevent a war if we could. But your people in the North do not believe that one is coming. You do not understand the determined frenzy of my fellow-Southerners. Look! [Pointing.] Do you see the lights of the city, over the water? The inhabitants of Charleston are gathering, even now, in the gray, morning twilight, to witness the long-promised bombardment of Fort Sumter. It is to be a gala day for them. They have talked and dreamed of nothing else for weeks. The preparations have become a part of their social life—of their amusement—their gayeties. This very night at the ball—here—in the house of my own relatives—what was their talk? What were the jests they laughed at? Sumter! War! Ladies were betting bonbons that the United States would not dare to fire a shot in return, and pinning ribbons on the breasts of their "heroes." There was a signal rocket from one of the forts, and the young men who were dancing here left their partners standing on the floor to return to the batteries—as if it were the night before another Waterloo. The ladies themselves hurried away to watch the "spectacle" from their own verandas. You won't see the truth! I tell you, Kerchival, a war between the North and South is inevitable!
KERCHIVAL. And if it does come, you Virginians will join the rest.
ELLINGHAM. Our State will be the battle-ground, I fear. But every loyal son of Virginia will follow her flag. It is our religion!
KERCHIVAL. My State is New York. If New York should go against the old flag, New York might go to the devil. That is my religion.
ELLINGHAM. So differently have we been taught what the word "patriotism" means!
KERCHIVAL. You and I are officers in the same regiment of the United States Regular Army, Robert; we were classmates at West Point, and we have fought side by side on the plains. You saved my scalp once; I'd have to wear a wig, now, if you hadn't. I say, old boy, are we to be enemies?
ELLINGHAM. [Laying his hand over his shoulder.] My dear old comrade, whatever else comes, our friendship shall be unbroken!
KERCHIVAL. Bob! [Looking up at him.] I only hope that we shall never meet in battle!
ELLINGHAM. In battle? [Stepping down front.] The idea is horrible!
KERCHIVAL. [Rising and crossing to him.] My dear old comrade, one of us will be wrong in this great fight, but we shall both be honest in it. [Gives hand, ELLINGHAMgrasps it warmly, then turns away.
ELLINGHAM. Colonel Haverill is watching the forts, also; he has been as sad to-night as we have. Next to leaving you, my greatest regret is that I must resign from his regiment.
KERCHIVAL. You are his favourite officer.
ELLINGHAM. Naturally, perhaps; he was my guardian.
EnterHAVERILL.He walks down, stopping centre.
HAVERILL. Kerchival! I secured the necessary passports? to the North yesterday afternoon; this one is yours; I brought it down for you early in the evening. [KERCHIVALtakes paper. Goes to window.] I am ordered direct to Washington at once, and shall start with Mrs. Haverill this forenoon. You will report to Captain Lyon, of the 2d Regiment, in St. Louis. Robert! I have hoped for peace to the last, but it is hoping against hope. I feel certain, now, that the fatal blow will be struck this morning. Our old regiment is already broken up, and you, also, will now resign, I suppose, like nearly all your fellow-Southerners in the service.
ELLINGHAM. You know how sorry I am to leave your command, Colonel!
HAVERILL. I served under your father in Mexico; he left me, at his death, the guardian of you and your sister, Gertrude. Even since you became of age, I have felt that I stood in his place. But you must be your sister's only guardian now. Your father fell in battle, fighting for our common country, but you—
ELLINGHAM. He would have done as I shall do, had he lived. He was aVirginian!
HAVERILL. I am glad, Robert, that he was never called upon to decide between two flags. He never knew but one, and we fought under it together. [Exit.
ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! Something occurred in this house to-night which—which I shouldn't mention under ordinary circumstances, but I—I feel that it may require my further attention, and you, perhaps, can be of service to me. Mrs. Haverill, the wife of the Colonel—
KERCHIVAL. Fainted away in her room.
ELLINGHAM. You know?
KERCHIVAL. I was one of the actors in the little drama.
ELLINGHAM. Indeed!
KERCHIVAL. About half-past nine this evening, while the ladies were dressing for the ball, I was going up-stairs; I heard a quick, sharp cry, sprang forward, found myself at an open door. Mrs. Haverill lay on the floor inside, as if she had just reached the door to cry for help, when she fell. After doing all the unnecessary and useless things I could think of, I rushed out of the room to tell your sister, Gertrude, and my own sister, Madeline, to go and take care of the lady. Within less than twenty minutes afterwards, I saw Mrs. Haverill sail into the drawing-room, a thing of beauty, and with the glow of perfect health on her cheek. It was an immense relief to me when I saw her. Up to that time I had a vague idea that I had committed a murder.
ELLINGHAM. Murder!
KERCHIVAL. M—m. A guilty conscience. Every man, of course, does exactly the wrong thing when a woman faints. When I rushed out of Mrs. Haverill's room, I left my handkerchief soaked with water upon her face. I must ask her for it; it's a silk one. Luckily, the girls got there in time to take it off; she wouldn't have come to if they hadn't. It never occurred to me that she'd need to breathe in my absence. That's all I know about the matter. What troubles you? I suppose every woman has a right to faint whenever she chooses. The scream that I heard was so sharp, quick and intense that—
ELLINGHAM. That the cause must have been a serious one.
KERCHIVAL. Yes! So I thought. It must have been a mouse.
ELLINGHAM. Mr. Edward Thornton has occupied the next room to that ofMrs. Haverill to-night.
KERCHIVAL. [Crosses quickly.] What do you mean?
ELLINGHAM. During the past month or more he has been pressing, not to say insolent, in his attentions to Mrs. Haverill.
KERCHIVAL. I've noticed that myself.
ELLINGHAM. And he is an utterly unscrupulous man; it is no fault of mine that he was asked to be a guest at this house to-night. He came to Charleston, some years ago, from the North, but if there are any vices and passions peculiarly strong in the South, he has carried them all to the extreme. In one of the many scandals connected with Edward Thornton's name, it was more than whispered that he entered a lady's room unexpectedly at night. But, as he killed the lady's husband in a duel a few days afterwards, the scandal dropped.
KERCHIVAL. Of course; the gentleman received ample satisfaction as an outraged husband, and Mr. Thornton apologized, I suppose, to his widow.
ELLINGHAM. He has repeated the adventure.
KERCHIVAL. Do—you—think—that?
ELLINGHAM. I was smoking on the lawn, and glanced up at the window; my eyes may have deceived me, and I must move cautiously in the matter; but it couldn't have been imagination; the shadow of Edward Thornton's face and head appeared upon the curtain.
KERCHIVAL. Whew! The devil!
ELLINGHAM. Just at that moment I, too, heard the stifled scream.
EnterEDWARD THORNTON.
THORNTON. Gentlemen!
ELLINGHAM. Your name was just on my tongue, Mr. Thornton.
THORNTON. I thought I heard it, but you are welcome to it. Miss Gertrude has asked me to ride over to Mrs. Pinckney's with her, to learn if there is any further news from the batteries. I am very glad the time to attack Fort Sumter has come at last!
ELLINGHAM. I do not share your pleasure.
THORNTON. You are a Southern gentleman.
ELLINGHAM. And you are a Northern "gentleman."
THORNTON. A Southerner by choice; I shall join the cause.
ELLINGHAM. We native Southerners will defend our own rights, sir; you may leave them in our keeping. It is my wish, Mr. Thornton, that you do not accompany my sister.
THORNTON. Indeed!
ELLINGHAM. Her groom, alone, will be sufficient.
THORNTON. As you please, sir. Kindly offer my excuses to Miss Gertrude. You and I can chat over the subject later in the day, when we are alone. [Moving up stage.
ELLINGHAM. By all means, and another subject, also, perhaps.
THORNTON. I shall be entirely at your service.
[Exit and down on veranda.
ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, I shall learn the whole truth, if possible, to-day. If it is what I suspect—what I almost know—I will settle with him myself. He has insulted our Colonel's wife and outraged the hospitality of my friends. [Walking right.
KERCHIVAL. [Walking left.] I think it ought to be my quarrel. I'm sure I'm mixed up in it enough.
MADELINE. [Without, calling.] Kerchival!
ELLINGHAM. Madeline. [Aside, starting, KERCHIVALlooks across at him sharply.
KERCHIVAL. [Aside.] I distinctly saw Bob give a start when he heard Madeline. Now, what can there be about my sister's voice to make a man jump like that?
GERTRUDE. [Without.] Brother Robert!
KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! [Aside, starting,ELLINGHAMlooks at him sharply.] How the tones of a woman's voice thrill through a man's soul!
EnterMADELINE.
MADELINE. Oh, Kerchival—here you are.
EnterGERTRUDEfrom apartment, in a riding habit, with whip, etc.
GERTRUDE. Robert, dear! [Coming down toROBERT,they converse in dumb show.
MADELINE. Where are your field-glasses? I've been rummaging all through your clothes, and swords, and sashes, and things. I've turned everything in your room upside down.
KERCHIVAL. Have you?
MADELINE. I can't find your glasses anywhere. I want to look at the forts. Another rocket went up just now. [Runs and stands on piazza, looking off right.
KERCHIVAL. A sister has all the privileges of a wife to upset a man's things, without her legal obligation to put them straight again. [Glances atGERTRUDE.] I wish Bob's sister had the same privileges in my room that my own has.
GERTRUDE. Mr. Thornton isn't going with me, you say?
ELLINGHAM. He requested me to offer you his apologies.
KERCHIVAL. May I accompany you? [ELLINGHAMturns to window.
GERTRUDE. My groom, old Pete, will be with me, of course; there's no particular need of anyone else. But you may go along, if you like. I've got my hands full of sugar-plums for Jack. Dear old Jack—he always has his share when we have company. I'm going over to Mrs. Pinckney's to see if she's had any more news from General Beauregard; her son is on the General's staff.
MADELINE. [Looking off right.] There's another rocket from FortJohnson; and it is answered from Fort Moultrie. Ah! [Angrily.]General Beauregard is a bad, wicked man! [Coming down.
GERTRUDE. Oh! Madeline! You are a bad, wicked Northern girl to say such a thing.
MADELINE. Iama Northern girl.
GERTRUDE. And I am a Southern girl. [They face each other.
KERCHIVAL. The war has begun. [Dropping into chair.
ELLINGHAMhas turned from window; he strolls across, watching the girls.
GERTRUDE. General Beauregard is a patriot.
MADELINE. He is a Rebel.
GERTRUDE. So am I.
MADELINE. Gertrude!—You—you—
GERTRUDE. Madeline!—You—
BOTH. O—O-h! [Bursting into tears and rushing into each other's arms, sobbing, then suddenly kissing each other vigorously.
KERCHIVAL. I say, Bob, if the North and South do fight, that will be the end of it.
GERTRUDE. I've got something to say to you, Madeline, dear. [Confidentially and turning with her arms about her waist. The girls sit, talking earnestly.
ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, old boy! There's—there's something I'd like to say to you before we part to-day.
KERCHIVAL. I'd like a word with you, also!
MADELINE. You don't really mean that, Gertrude—with me?
ELLINGHAM. I'm in love with your sister Madeline.
KERCHIVAL. The devil you are!
ELLINGHAM. I never suspected such a thing until last night.
GERTRUDE. Robert was in love with you six weeks ago.
[MADELINEkisses her.
KERCHIVAL.I'vemade a discovery, too, Bob.
MADELINE.I'vegot something to say toyou, Gertrude.
KERCHIVAL. I'm in love withyoursister.
ELLINGHAM. [Astonished.] You are?
MADELINE. Kerchival has been in love with you for the last three months. [GERTRUDEoffers her lips—they kiss.
KERCHIVAL. I fell in love with her the day before yesterday. [The two gentlemen grasp each other's hand warmly.
ELLINGHAM. We understand each other, Kerchival. [He turns up centre, and stops at door.] Miss Madeline, you said just now that you wished to watch the forts. Would you like to walk down to the shore?
MADELINE. Yes! [Rising and going up to him. He takes one of her hands in his own and looks at her earnestly.
ELLINGHAM. This will be the last day that we shall be together for the present. But we shall meet again—sometime—if we both live.
MADELINE. If we both live! You mean—ifyoulive: You must go into this dreadful war, if it comes.
ELLINGHAM. Yes, Madeline, I must. Come, let us watch for our fate.
[Exeunt on veranda.
KERCHIVAL. [Aside.] I must leave Charleston to-day. [Sighs.] Does she love me?
GERTRUDE. I am ready to start, Mr. West, when you are.
KERCHIVAL. Oh! Of course, I forgot. [Rising.] I shall be delighted to ride at your side.
GERTRUDE. At my side! [Rising.] There isn't a horse in America that can keep by the side of my Jack, when I give him his head, and I'm sure to do it. You may follow us. But you can hardly ride in that costume; while you are changing it, I'll give Jack his bonbons. [Turning to window.] There he is, bless him! Pawing the ground, and impatient for me to be on his back. Let him come, Pete. [Holding up bonbons at window]. I love you.
KERCHIVAL. Eh? [Turning suddenly.
GERTRUDE. [Looking at him.] What?
KERCHIVAL. You were saying—
GERTRUDE. Jack! [looking out. The head of a large black horse appears through the window.] You dear old fellow! [Feeds with bonbons.] Jack has been my boy ever since he was a little colt. I brought you up, didn't I, Jack? He's the truest, and kindest, and best of friends; I wouldn't be parted from him for the world, and I'm the only woman he'll allow to be near him.
KERCHIVAL. [Earnestly.] You are the only woman, Miss Gertrude, thatI—
GERTRUDE. Dear Jack!
KERCHIVAL. [Aside.] Jack embarrasses me. He's a third party.
GERTRUDE. There! That will do for the present, Jack. Now go along with Pete! If you are a very good boy, and don't let Lieutenant Kerchival West come within a quarter of a mile of me, after the first three minutes, you shall have some more sugar-plums when we get to Mrs. Pinckney's. [An old negro leads the horse away.GERTRUDElooks around atKERCHIVAL.] You haven't gone to dress yet; we shall be late. Mrs. Pinckney asked a party of friends to witness the bombardment this morning, and breakfast together on the piazza while they are looking at it. We can remain and join them, if you like.