Part 27

No ... no, he will not come. Well, I have naught To do but pluck from me my bitter heart, And live without it.

[_Re-enter DICKON with a tankard and a cup. He sets them down on a small table; this he pushes towards THE PLAYER, who turns at the noise._]

So...? Is it for me?

DICKON. Ay, on the score! I had good sight o' the bear. Look, here's a sprig was stuck on him with pitch;--

[_Rubbing the sprig on his sleeve._]

I caught it up,--from Lambeth marsh, belike. Such grow there, and I've seen thee cherish such.

THE PLAYER. Give us thy posy.

[_He comes back to the fire and sits in the chair near by. DICKON gets out the iron lantern from the corner._]

DICKON. Hey! It wants a light.

[_THE PLAYER seems to listen once more, his face turned towards the door. He lifts his hand as if to hush DICKON, lets it fall, and looks back at the fire. DICKON regards him with shy curiosity and draws nearer._]

DICKON. Thou wilt be always minding of the fire ... Wilt thou not?

THE PLAYER. Ay.

DICKON. It likes me, too.

THE PLAYER. So?

DICKON. Ay.... I would I knew what thou art thinking on When thou dost mind the fire....

THE PLAYER. Wouldst thou?

DICKON. Ay.

[_Sound of footsteps outside. A group approaches the door._]

Oh, here he is, come back!

THE PLAYER [_rising with passionate eagerness_]. Brave lad--brave lad!

DICKON [_singing_]. _Hang out your lanthorns, trim your lights To save your days from knavish nights!_

[_He plunges, with his lantern, through the doorway, stumbling against WAT BURROW, who enters, a sorry figure, the worse for wear._]

WAT [_sourly_]. Be the times soft, that you must try to cleave Way through my ribs as tho' I was the moon?-- And you the man-wi-'the-lanthorn, or his dog?-- You bean!...

[_Exit DICKON. WAT shambles in and sees THE PLAYER._]

What, you sir, here?

THE PLAYER. Ay, here, good Wat.

[_While WAT crosses to the table and gets himself a chair, THE PLAYER looks at him as if with a new consciousness of the surroundings. After a time he sits as before. Re-enter DICKON and curls up on the floor, at his feet._]

WAT. O give me comfort, sir. This cursed day,-- A wry, damned ... noisome.... Ay, poor Nick, poor Nick! He's all to mend--Poor Nick! He's sorely maimed, More than we'd baited him with forty dogs. 'Od's body! Said I not, sir, he would fight? Never before had he, in leading-chain, Walked out to take the air and show his parts.... 'Went to his noddle like some greenest gull's That's new come up to town.... The prentices Squeaking along like Bedlam, he breaks loose And prances me a hey,--I dancing counter! Then such a cawing 'mongst the women! Next, The chain did clatter and enrage him more;-- You would 'a' sworn a bear grew on each link, And after each a prentice with a cudgel,-- Leaving him scarce an eye! So, howling all, We run a pretty pace ... and Nick, poor Nick, He catches on a useless, stumbling fry That needed not be born,--and bites into him. And then ... the Constable ... And now, no show!

THE PLAYER. Poor Wat!... Thou wentest scattering misadventure Like comfits from thy horn of plenty, Wat.

WAT. Ay, thank your worship. You be best to comfort.

[_He pours a mug of ale._]

No show to-morrow! Minnow Constable.... I'm a jack-rabbit strung up by my heels For every knave to pinch as he goes by! Alas, poor Nick, bear Nick ... oh, think on Nick.

THE PLAYER. With all his fortunes darkened for a day,-- And the eye o' his reason, sweet intelligencer, Under a beggarly patch.... I pledge thee, Nick.

WAT. Oh, you have seen hard times, sir, with us all. Your eyes lack luster, too, this day. What say you? No jesting.... What? I've heard of marvels there In the New Country. There would be a knop-hole For thee and me. There be few Constables And such unhallowed fry.... An thou wouldst lay Thy wit to mine--what is't we could not do? Wilt turn't about?

[_Leans towards him in cordial confidence._]

Nay, you there, sirrah boy, Leave us together; as 'tis said in the play, 'Come, leave us, Boy!'

[_DICKON does not move. He gives a sigh and leans his head against THE PLAYER's knee, his arms around his legs. He sleeps. THE PLAYER gazes sternly into the fire, while WAT rambles on, growing drowsy._]

WAT. The cub there snores good counsel. When all's done, What a bubble is ambition!... When all's done.... What's yet to do?... Why, sleep.... Yet even now I was on fire to see myself and you Off for the Colony with Raleigh's men. I've been beholden to 'ee.... Why, for thee I could make shift to suffer plays o' Thursday. Thou'rt the best man among them, o' my word. There's other trades and crafts and qualities Could serve ... an thou wouldst lay thy wit to mine. Us two!... us two!...

THE PLAYER [_apart, to the fire_]. "Fair, kind, and true."...

WAT. ... Poor Nick!

[_He nods over his ale. There is muffled noise in the taproom. Someone opens the door a second, letting in a stave of a song, then slams the door shut. THE PLAYER, who has turned, gloomily, starts to rise. DICKON moves in his sleep, sighs heavily, and settles his cheek against THE PLAYER's shoes. THE PLAYER looks down for a moment. Then he sits again, looking now at the fire, now at the boy, whose hair he touches._]

THE PLAYER. So, heavy-head. You bid me think my thought Twice over; keep me by, a heavy heart, As ballast for thy dream. Well, I will watch ... Like slandered Providence. Nay, I'll not be The prop to fail thy trust untenderly, After a troubled day.... Nay, rest you here.

[THE CURTAIN.]

THE LITTLE MAN[54]

By JOHN GALSWORTHY

[Footnote 54: From _The Little Man and Other Satires_; copyright, 1915, by Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the publishers. Acting rights, professional and amateur, reserved to the author in care of the publisher.]

"Close by the Greek temples at Paestum there are violets that seem redder, and sweeter, than any ever seen--as though they have sprung up out of the footprints of some old pagan goddess; but under the April sun, in a Devonshire lane, the little blue scentless violets capture every bit as much of the spring." Affection for the West country that was the home of John Galsworthy's ancestors heightens the glamour of this enchanting bit of writing from one of his essays. As he himself has said, the Galsworthys have been in Devonshire as far back as records go--"since the flood of Saxons at all events." He was born, though, at Coombe in Surrey in 1867. From 1881 to 1886, he was at Harrow where he did well at work and games. He was graduated with an honor degree in law from New College, Oxford, in 1889. Following his father's example, he took up the law and was called to the bar (Lincoln's Inn) in 1890. "I read," he says, "in various chambers, practised almost not at all, and disliked my profession thoroughly."

For nearly two years thereafter, Galsworthy traveled, visiting among other places, Russia, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the Fiji Islands, and South Africa. On a sailing-ship plying between Adelaide and the Cape he met and made a friend of the novelist, Joseph Conrad, then still a sailor. Galsworthy was soon to become a writer himself, publishing his first novel in 1899. Since that date he has written novels, plays, essays, and verse that have made him famous.[55] Through his writings he has become a great social force. In this respect his influence resembles that of Charles Dickens. He has made people who read his books or see his plays acted think about the justice or injustice of institutions commonly accepted without a question. The presentation of his play _Justice_ (1909), moved the Home Secretary of the day, Winston Churchill, to put into effect several important reforms affecting the English prison system.

[Footnote 55: For a short bibliography, see Sheila Kaye-Smith, _John Galsworthy_, London, 1916.]

_The Little Man_, no less a socializing agency in its way, was produced in New York at Maxine Elliott's Theatre in February, 1917, as a curtain raiser to G. K. Chesterton's play, Magic. The part of the Little Man himself was taken by O. P. Heggie, one of the most intelligent and distinguished actors on the English-speaking stage. J. Ranken Towse, reviewing the performance for the Saturday Magazine of the _New York Evening Post_, on February 17, 1917, wrote: "Another entertainment of notable excellence is that provided by the double bill at Maxine Elliott's Theatre, consisting of Galsworthy's _The Little Man_ and Chesterton's _Magic_. Here are two plays of diverse character and superior quality, in which some highly intelligent and artistic acting is done by Mr. O. P. Heggie. Some sensitive reviewers have found cause of offense in Mr. Galsworthy's somewhat fanciful American, but the dramatist has been equally disrespectful in his handling of Germans, Dutch, and English. The value and significance of the piece, of course, are to be looked for, not in its broad humors--which are largely conventional--but in the ethical and moral lesson and profound social philosophy which they suggest and illustrate." It is hard to sympathize with the "sensitive reviewers," though to the native ear, to be sure, the utterances of the American lack verisimilitude. The author of _The Little Man_ has even been humorously reproached with using the speech of Deadwood Dick for his model.

The play was also given quite recently, during the season of 1920-21, as part of the repertory at the Everyman Theatre in London. On the programs invariably appears the note which is prefixed also to this as to every printed version. It explains carefully that this play was written before the days of the Great War. This note bespeaks the playwright's perfect detachment which is, as has been said, "an artistic device, not a matter of divine indifference." Yet the satire does seem to be directed, incidentally at least, against certain familiar national characteristics, for it is the humanity of the Little Man, whose mixed ancestry is described by the American as being "a bit streaky," that puts to shame the various types of human arrogance and indifference with which he is surrounded.

THE LITTLE MAN[56]

[Footnote 56: AUTHOR'S NOTE

Since it is just possible that someone may think _The Little Man_ has a deep, dark reference to the war, it may be as well to state that this whimsey was written in October, 1913.]

_SCENE I.--Afternoon, on the departure platform of an Austrian railway station. At several little tables outside the buffet persons are taking refreshment, served by a pale young waiter. On a seat against the wall of the buffet a woman of lowly station is sitting beside two large bundles, on one of which she has placed her baby, swathed in a black shawl._

WAITER [_approaching a table whereat sit an English traveler and his wife_]. Zwei Kaffee?

ENGLISHMAN [_paying_]. Thanks. [_To his wife, in an Oxford voice._] Sugar?

ENGLISHWOMAN [_in a Cambridge voice_]. One.

AMERICAN TRAVELER [_with field-glasses and a pocket camera--from another table_]. Waiter, I'd like to have you get my eggs. I've been sitting here quite a while.

WAITER. Yes, sare.

GERMAN TRAVELER. Kellner, bezahlen! [_His voice is, like his mustache, stiff and brushed up at the ends. His figure also is stiff and his hair a little gray; clearly once, if not now, a colonel._]

WAITER. Komm' gleich! [_The baby on the bundle wails. The mother takes it up to soothe it. A young, red-cheeked Dutchman at the fourth table stops eating and laughs._]

AMERICAN. My eggs! Get a wiggle on you!

WAITER. Yes, sare. [_He rapidly recedes. A LITTLE MAN in a soft hat is seen to the right of the tables. He stands a moment looking after the hurrying waiter, then seats himself at the fifth table._]

ENGLISHMAN [_looking at his watch_]. Ten minutes more.

ENGLISHWOMAN. Bother!

AMERICAN [_addressing them_]. 'Pears as if they'd a prejudice against eggs here, anyway. [_The English look at him, but do not speak._]

GERMAN [_in creditable English_]. In these places man can get nothing. [_The WAITER comes flying back with a compote for the DUTCH YOUTH, who pays._]

GERMAN. Kellner, bezahlen!

WAITER. Eine Krone sechzig. [_The GERMAN pays._]

AMERICAN [_rising, and taking out his watch--blandly_]. See here! If I don't get my eggs before this watch ticks twenty, there'll be another waiter in heaven.

WAITER [_flying_]. Komm' gleich!

AMERICAN [_seeking sympathy_]. I'm gettin' kind of mad!

[_The ENGLISHMAN halves his newspaper and hands the advertisement half to his wife. The BABY wails. The MOTHER rocks it. The DUTCH YOUTH stops eating and laughs. The GERMAN lights a cigarette. The LITTLE MAN sits motionless, nursing his hat. The WAITER comes flying back with the eggs and places them before the AMERICAN._]

AMERICAN [_putting away his watch_]. Good! I don't like trouble. How much? [_He pays and eats. The WAITER stands a moment at the edge of the platform and passes his hand across his brow. The LITTLE MAN eyes him and speaks gently._]

LITTLE MAN. Herr Ober! [_The WAITER turns._] Might I have a glass of beer?

WAITER. Yes, sare.

LITTLE MAN. Thank you very much. [_The WAITER goes._]

AMERICAN [_pausing in the deglutition of his eggs--affably_]. Pardon me, sir; I'd like to have you tell me why you called that little bit of a feller "Herr Ober." Reckon you would know what that means? Mr. Head Waiter.

LITTLE MAN. Yes, yes.

AMERICAN. I smile.

LITTLE MAN. Oughtn't I to call him that?

GERMAN [_abruptly_]. Nein--Kellner.

AMERICAN. Why, yes! Just "waiter." [_The ENGLISHWOMAN looks round her paper for a second. The DUTCH YOUTH stops eating and laughs. The LITTLE MAN gazes from face to face and nurses his hat._]

LITTLE MAN. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

GERMAN. Gott!

AMERICAN. In my country we're vurry democratic--but that's quite a proposition.

ENGLISHMAN [_handling coffee-pot, to his wife_]. More?

ENGLISHWOMAN. No, thanks.

GERMAN [_abruptly_]. These fellows--if you treat them in this manner, at once they take liberties. You see, you will not get your beer. [_As he speaks the WAITER returns, bringing the LITTLE MAN's beer, then retires._]

AMERICAN. That 'pears to be one up to democracy. [_To the LITTLE MAN._] I judge you go in for brotherhood?

LITTLE MAN [_startled_]. Oh, no! I never--

AMERICAN. I take considerable stock in Leo Tolstoi myself. Grand man--grand-souled apparatus. But I guess you've got to pinch those waiters some to make 'em skip. [_To the ENGLISH, who have carelessly looked his way for a moment._] You'll appreciate that, the way he acted about my eggs. [_The ENGLISH make faint motions with their chins, and avert their eyes. To the WAITER, who is standing at the door of the buffet._] Waiter! Flash of beer--jump, now!

WAITER. Komm' gleich!

GERMAN. Cigarren!

WAITER. Schoen. [_He disappears._]

AMERICAN [_affably--to the LITTLE MAN_]. Now, if I don't get that flash of beer quicker'n you got yours, I shall admire.

GERMAN [_abruptly_]. Tolstoi is nothing--nichts! No good! Ha?

AMERICAN [_relishing the approach of argument_]. Well, that is a matter of temperament. Now, I'm all for equality. See that poor woman there--vurry humble woman--there she sits among us with her baby. Perhaps you'd like to locate her somewhere else?

GERMAN [_shrugging_]. Tolstoi is sentimentalisch. Nietzsche is the true philosopher, the only one.

AMERICAN. Well, that's quite in the prospectus--vurry stimulating party--old Nietzsch--virgin mind. But give me Leo! [_He turns to the red-cheeked youth._] What do you opine, sir? I guess by your labels, you'll be Dutch. Do they read Tolstoi in your country? [_The DUTCH YOUTH laughs._]

AMERICAN. That is a vurry luminous answer.

GERMAN. Tolstoi is nothing. Man should himself express. He must push--he must be strong.

AMERICAN. That is so. In Amurrica we believe in virility; we like a man to expand--to cultivate his soul. But we believe in brotherhood too; we're vurry democratic. We draw the line at niggers; but we aspire, we're vurry high-souled. Social barriers and distinctions we've not much use for.

ENGLISHMAN. Do you feel a draught?

ENGLISHWOMAN [_with a shiver of her shoulder toward the AMERICAN_]. I do--rather.

GERMAN. Wait! You are a young people.

AMERICAN. That is so; there are no flies on us. [_To the LITTLE MAN, who has been gazing eagerly from face to face._] Say! I'd like to have you give us your sentiments in relation to the duty of man. [_The LITTLE MAN fidgets, and is about to open his mouth._]

AMERICAN. For example--is it your opinion that we should kill off the weak and diseased, and all that can't jump around?

GERMAN [_nodding_]. Ja, ja! That is coming.

LITTLE MAN [_looking from face to face_]. They might be me. [_The DUTCH YOUTH laughs._]

AMERICAN [_reproving him with a look_]. That's true humility. 'Tisn't grammar. Now, here's a proposition that brings it nearer the bone: Would you step out of your way to help them when it was liable to bring you trouble?

GERMAN. Nein, nein! That is stupid.

LITTLE MAN [_eager but wistful_]. I'm afraid not. Of course one wants to--

GERMAN. Nein, nein! That is stupid! What is the duty?

LITTLE MAN. There was St. Francis d'Assisi and St. Julien l'Hospitalier, and--

AMERICAN. Vurry lofty dispositions. Guess they died of them. [_He rises._] Shake hands, sir--my name is--[_He hands a card._] I am an ice-machine maker. [_He shakes the LITTLE MAN's hand._] I like your sentiments--I feel kind of brotherly. [_Catching sight of the WAITER appearing in the doorway._] Waiter, where to h--ll is that flash of beer?

GERMAN. Cigarren!

WAITER. Komm' gleich! [_He vanishes._]

ENGLISHMAN [_consulting watch_]. Train's late.

ENGLISHWOMAN. Really! Nuisance! [_A station POLICEMAN, very square and uniformed, passes and repasses._]

AMERICAN [_resuming his seat--to the GERMAN_]. Now, we don't have so much of that in Amurrica. Guess we feel more to trust in human nature.

GERMAN. Ah! ha! you will bresently find there is nothing in him but self.

LITTLE MAN [_wistfully_]. Don't you believe in human nature?

AMERICAN. Vurry stimulating question. That invites remark. [_He looks round for opinions. The DUTCH YOUTH laughs._]

ENGLISHMAN [_holding out his half of the paper to his wife_]. Swap! [_His wife swaps._]

GERMAN. In human nature I believe so far as I can see him--no more.

AMERICAN. Now that 'pears to me kind o' blasphemy. I'm vurry idealistic; I believe in heroism. I opine there's not one of us settin' around here that's not a hero--give him the occasion.

LITTLE MAN. Oh! Do you believe that?

AMERICAN. Well! I judge a hero is just a person that'll help another at the expense of himself. That's a vurry simple definition. Take that poor woman there. Well, now, she's a heroine, I guess. She would die for her baby any old time.

GERMAN. Animals will die for their babies. That is nothing.

AMERICAN. Vurry true. I carry it further. I postulate we would all die for that baby if a locomotive was to trundle up right here and try to handle it. I'm an idealist. [_To the GERMAN._] I guess _you_ don't know how good you are. [_As the GERMAN is twisting up the ends of his mustache--to the ENGLISHWOMAN._] I should like to have you express an opinion, ma'am. This is a high subject.

ENGLISHWOMAN. I beg your pardon.

AMERICAN. The English are vurry humanitarian; they have a vurry high sense of duty. So have the Germans, so have the Amurricans. [_To the DUTCH YOUTH._] I judge even in your little country they have that. This is a vurry civilized epoch. It is an epoch of equality and high-toned ideals. [_To the LITTLE MAN._] What is your nationality, sir?

LITTLE MAN. I'm afraid I'm nothing particular. My father was half-English and half-American, and my mother half-German and half-Dutch.

AMERICAN. My! That's a bit streaky, any old way. [_The POLICEMAN passes again._] Now, I don't believe we've much use any more for those gentlemen in buttons, not amongst the civilized peoples. We've grown kind of mild--we don't think of self as we used to do. [_The WAITER has appeared in the doorway._]

GERMAN [_in a voice of thunder_]. Cigarren! Donnerwetter!

AMERICAN [_shaking his fist at the vanishing WAITER_]. That flash of beer!

WAITER. Komm' gleich!

AMERICAN. A little more, and he will join George Washington! I was about to remark when he intruded: The kingdom of Christ nowadays is quite a going concern. The Press is vurry enlightened. We are mighty near to universal brotherhood. The colonel here [_he indicates the GERMAN_], he doesn't know what a lot of stock he holds in that proposition. He is a man of blood and iron, but give him an opportunity to be magnanimous, and he'll be right there. Oh, sir! yes. [_The GERMAN, with a profound mixture of pleasure and cynicism, brushes up the ends of his mustache._]

LITTLE MAN. I wonder. One wants to, but somehow--[_He shakes his head._]

AMERICAN. You seem kind of skeery about that. You've had experience maybe. The flesh is weak. I'm an optimist--I think we're bound to make the devil hum in the near future. I opine we shall occasion a good deal of trouble to that old party. There's about to be a holocaust of selfish interests. We're out for high sacrificial business. The colonel there with old-man Nietzsch--he won't know himself. There's going to be a vurry sacred opportunity. [_As he speaks, the voice of a RAILWAY OFFICIAL is heard in the distance calling out in German. It approaches, and the words become audible._]

GERMAN [_startled_]. Der Teufel! [_He gets up, and seizes the bag beside him. The STATION OFFICIAL has appeared, he stands for a moment casting his commands at the seated group. The DUTCH YOUTH also rises, and takes his coat and hat. The OFFICIAL turns on his heel and retires, still issuing directions._]

ENGLISHMAN. What does he say?

GERMAN. Our drain has come in, de oder platform; only one minute we haf. [_All have risen in a fluster._]

AMERICAN. Now, that's vurry provoking. I won't get that flash of beer. [_There is a general scurry to gather coats and hats and wraps, during which the lowly woman is seen making desperate attempts to deal with her baby and the two large bundles. Quite defeated, she suddenly puts all down, wrings her hands, and cries out: "Herr Jesu! Hilfe!" The flying procession turn their heads at that strange cry._]

AMERICAN. What's that? Help? [_He continues to run. The LITTLE MAN spins round, rushes back, picks up baby and bundle on which it was seated._]

LITTLE MAN. Come along, good woman, come along! [_The woman picks up the other bundle and they run. The WAITER, appearing in the doorway with the bottle of beer, watches with his tired smile._]

_SCENE II.--A second-class compartment of a corridor carriage, in motion. In it are seated the ENGLISHMAN and his wife, opposite each other at the corridor end, she with her face to the engine, he with his back. Both are somewhat protected from the rest of the travelers by newspapers. Next to her sits the GERMAN, and opposite him sits the AMERICAN; next the AMERICAN in one window corner is seated the DUTCH YOUTH; the other window corner is taken by the GERMAN's bag. The silence is only broken by the slight rushing noise of the train's progression and the crackling of the English newspapers._

AMERICAN [_turning to the DUTCH YOUTH_]. Guess I'd like that winder raised; it's kind of chilly after that old run they gave us. [_The DUTCH YOUTH laughs, and goes through the motions of raising the window. The ENGLISH regard the operation with uneasy irritation. The GERMAN opens his bag, which reposes on the corner seat next him, and takes out a book._]