Part 1

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained.

_The_ Passing _of_ Mars

A Modern Morality Play

_By_

MARGUERITE WILKINSON

Author of “In Vivid Gardens” and “By a Western Wayside”

_Once, long ago, a peasant greatly desired to visit his king that he might obtain of him judgment and equity, and perhaps find favor. But he said within himself, “I am a faulty man; a homespun smock will scarce commend me to a king. I will stay at home and let others plead my case.” And when his case was taken before the king, (who was a good and just man) the king said, “Why did he not come himself? Homespun I can forgive if a man bring his soul and stand before me bravely. I will have no dealings with go-betweens.”_

_Here then, is my work, faulty, and plainly clad, but brave enough to go humbly before you who read and think, and by your thinking rule. If it find favor, it can be clothed anew in finer raiment. If judgment and equity prevail against it, surely it is well enough shrouded._

Copyright, 1915, by Marguerite Wilkinson

To the memory of my father, a strong and valiant lover of the soul of man, and to his brave mate my mother

PERSONS OF THE PLAY

MARS, the ancient god of war. SOUL OF MAN, his immortal enemy. CAPITAL, } in cartoon costumes. LABOR, } RELIGION, two personalities. CULT, the bastard brother of RELIGION, a fantastic _poseur_. FLIP, a modern, the sophisticated intellect of large cities. SCIENCE, a strong youth in laboratory costume. POETRY, a serene old bard with a lyre. MUSIC, a fair woman. GLAMOUR, her seducer, wearing tinsel. TRADE, a harlot. THE OLD MOTHER, a plain sibyl of the people. Men, women and children of the fighting nations of Europe in national peasant costumes.

THE SCENE

_The World Field, at harvest time and set of sun. On the right is The World Inn, and, in front of it, on the ground, a prostrate figure, clad in black and bound, SOUL OF MAN. On the left, near the front, are trees and flowers, piles of fruit and vegetables, a wagon load of grain, and, in the foreground, a tangle of vines, in which lies MARS, fast asleep. On the steps of The World Inn sits THE OLD MOTHER watching the women of all nations who are sitting sewing, chatting and tending babies in the center. At the back a road winds across from left to right and young girls are walking up and down with arms around each other’s shoulders, singing and laughing. The melody (“The Happy Farmer”) dies away gradually and a church bell is heard--The Angelus. There is a religious silence lasting for a moment or two._

A WOMAN

The Angelus!

ANOTHER

Already day is gone And gone almost as soon as we began it. So goes it nowadays!

THE OLD MOTHER,

It was not so-- Days did not hurry through sweet hours to joy When I was young, when I was bride and wife!

FIRST WOMAN

Another blessed eventide is come To bring to happy women-folk at last Their weary men, all hungry for their supper.

A CHILD

And some for me. I wants my suppie too!

ANOTHER WOMAN

Well, there’s a plenty. We are neighbors all And what one lacks the others can supply, For all the world will share the harvest feast.

THE OLD MOTHER,

Yea, all the world is here, or will be soon, Save my good mate and my five strapping lads Who were my world and rotted years ago.

THE WOMAN

There, mother, there--forget the old sad past, For all the world is sweet with harvest scent, And we are glad. Come, share with us our joy.

THE OLD MOTHER,

Forget? Forget? Who tells me to forget? A silly chit with everything to learn, A ninny who has lived while life is peace And therefore thinks that peace has always been As it is now. Say, girl, would you forget That man of yours torn from between your breasts And sent to splice with sabres and with shells? Could you forget a baby’s filthy death By plague or famine or infesting flies-- A son’s abasement or a daughter’s rape-- These things could you forget? I never shall. I would be of another race and kind, A woman who remembers what has been, Who knows that some day it may come again----

THE FIRST WOMAN

Poor soul, there--I am sorry. I did not know. We speak but foolishly to soothe a pain Which we have never felt.

THE OLD MOTHER,

Ah, pray that you May never, never know what I have known.

THE WOMAN

Ay, that I will. But come, and share our joy, For there is none to-night to presage woe.

THE OLD MOTHER,

None save myself. My old bones feel the cold-- I sense a sorry blackening of the sun As night comes on, and any heap of fruit, Yes, any wagon load of yellow grain May hide from these old eyes their enemy.

THE WOMAN

(_shrugging her shoulders_)

Well, hide your grief, poor soul, if grieve you must; The men, who look for rest, will soon be home.

THE OLD MOTHER,

But not to me are any comings home, Although I keep The World Inn day by day.... Yet ’tis an ill thing and a sign of trouble For to be weeping when the men come home-- The men, who should find smiles at set of sun, Who should be fed and coddled to their rest, These splendid children, when they come to us. I will make ready. I will dry my tears.

(_Exit The Old Mother into the World Inn. Voices are heard without, coming nearer._)

A WOMAN

The men!

ANOTHER WOMAN

The men!

ANOTHER WOMAN

My husband--there he is!

A CHILD

Here is my daddie! Daddie, gimme a kiss!

(_The men enter in groups of twos and threes with dinner pails and tools. They find their families or greet their sweethearts and most of the happy couples go off down the road together at the left. A few enter The World Inn. There is the rattle of dishes, laughter and good cheer. The sun sinks perceptibly and it grows darker. Enter Capital and Labor, quarreling._)

CAPITAL

The pumpkins here are mine, good fellow, mine! I bought the seed, you know.

LABOR

I broke the earth-- I strove with wind and frost and burning drought To make them grow more golden day by day.

CAPITAL

Tut, tut, man. That is nought. I own the land. You can but work it since I give consent. Small credit that a man does what he must If he would live.

LABOR

I gave my very life.

CAPITAL

(_snapping his fingers_)

What is your life but like a billion more?

(_Enter Flip, costumed as gentleman of fashion_)

FLIP

Are there indeed a billion Labors? If so, they will soon keep you busy, Capital, old top, as busy as you would like to keep them. You may grow thin--O consummation devoutly to be wished! just a little bit off the front--if these chaps keep on giving their lives to your pumpkins. But if there be a billion just alike--

CAPITAL

In all the world there are but few like me!

FLIP

Amen. So be it. Too many yous in one street car would be the hell of a crowd, if you travelled in street cars. And too many yous would be poor company for one another. Wherever one man has a bulge to his stomach, another must find his a siege and a retreat. Well, friends, tell me your troubles, and I will be a judge without the recall and a jury without opinions to settle the case.

LABOR

Both of us love the lady men call Trade.

FLIP

The prettiest of all she-devils, she--

LABOR

And she is pliant ever to his will Who has most power. And we do both contend That power resides in pumpkins--but I claim--

CAPITAL

Of pumpkins we were speaking. Be exact.

(_To Flip_)

He claims them all because he planted them. Could he have planted them without my aid Who pay the wage that buys his daily bread?

LABOR

I furnish you, your bread, O Capital, And cake besides. You do not live on pumpkins! All, all is mine. Without me you would die.

FLIP

Peace, peace. Neither of you could live on pumpkins, nor on power, nor would it suffice for either to have complete possession of his heart’s desire, the harlot Trade. To live on pumpkins--Lord, what a diet! Thick--yellow--mushy--with never a hint of stimulation for the uplift of the soul. We must have souls, nowadays, for it is the thing. They are nearly as common as tuberculosis, and quite as tragic. But those who go awhoring think not deeply of their souls lest they repent. And I would not feed my soul on pumpkin to outwit Capital and appease Labor--no not I. Rather would I turn viticulturist and try the grape cure!

LABOR

Raisins or pumpkins, it is all the same; These things are mine, for I have made them be. I, I deliver earth of what she bears And am chief nurse at Nature’s lying-in.

FLIP

A very shocking nurse I will be bound--to go from the sacredness of Nature’s childbed, to woo Trade--verily, if the wages of sin be death, that would be going from the cradle to the grave!

CAPITAL

(_self-righteously_)

For my part I make no pretense at all!

FLIP

(_slapping Labor on the shoulder_)

Come, Labor, not so seriously, old top. It is not in good form to care so much. We are grown light of touch, to-day, and laugh at bombast. And as for the two of you, a true philosopher would tell you that, if you were a little more glib and smug, and Capital a little more smug and glib, men could scarce estimate the value of the one over the other? And what matters a label if, by accident, or skill, or the lack of it, the one of you can change places, sometimes, with the other? And what matters the ownership if I can so hamper your operations as to take too much toll from both?

CAPITAL

(_sulky and bewildered_)

I do but set my label on my own--

LABOR

A dollar sign on earth and sea and sky!

FLIP

A dollar sign is a good thing anywhere. I’d wear it over all the sense I have. And, were I to fill your place, Capital, I should be content with dollar signs and labels, and not dispute with poor Labor about his pumpkin pie. I would even give him more than one slice if he wanted it. He would then think himself rich, and lapse into content for an aeon or two. And surely there is more than one way of winning a lady?

LABOR

Be silent, Flip; I do not like your wit. This is The World Field that I till and sow And woo and threaten, and at last, coerce, Until it is the wife of my command To bear me children of my days of toil. Shall I be cheated of these children, then, With smiling face and showy courtesy? I tell you no. For I am grown too strong-- And I am wiser than I used to be-- I could make garbage of his flabby paunch And beat his brains to swill!

FLIP

(_with mock alarm, running to left and calling_)

Trade! Trade! you jade--Come here and see your precious lovers fight....

(_Enter Trade, disdainfully, glancing first at Capital and then at Labor_)

CAPITAL

I claimed the pumpkins all for you, my dear.

LABOR

(_with less gallantry_)

What is not his no decent man can claim.

TRADE

(_laughing immoderately_)

Pumpkins? Who cares for pumpkins? No--not I. I only mentioned them to keep you busy, For I can hardly settle with you yet, Nor judge the better lover of the twain. For, at this time, great kings take thought for me-- Princes and leaders of the people crave My kindness--and myself. You two must wait.

LABOR

Know then it was not all for you I spoke, But for a principle--for that I fight.

(_Labor turns up his sleeves, clenches his fist and takes a stride or two toward Capital, who is frightened and blows a whistle in alarm. Enter Religion from The World Inn, a little man in black, carrying a book, who trots up to Capital as to a master. Capital pinions his two arms and holds Religion in front of him. Labor laughs roughly and begins to pull off his shirt._)

LABOR

Come, Flip, your wit is all too deep for me, But, if Religion is to second him, I would depend on you in my good cause. Come, help me strip and then, a fight, a fight!

FLIP

(_Hesitates, goes to help him, speaks gently._)

A fight is a noisy affair, Labor, and wakes many sleepers. There is one over in the corner who should not on any account be disturbed. For, once wakened, he is hard to quiet.

LABOR

You speak too late--come--help--my shirt is tight!

FLIP

(_seizing the shirt, gives one tug and then withdraws in haste, holding his nose._)

You are too sweaty, Labor. Sorry, old top, but I can’t stand it. Muscles are a rare thing nowadays, and I would like to see yours, since you are not afraid to waken that old fear under the vines. And these modern epics are amusing, wherein Achilles carries a dinner pail and Ulysses turns syndicalist. But, if I must act as a second and pull off men’s shirts, commend me to a man who has money enough to buy soap and time for a bath, and that, though he were not half so good to look upon.

LABOR

(_outraged, and flinging his shirt at Flip_)

Take you my sweat upon your silly face And stand aside to watch me fight alone....

CAPITAL

(_Retreating and holding Religion in front of himself_)

Preach me a gospel to this fighting fool, A pretty gospel of The Prince of Peace, Religion, you whom I have paid and kept.

RELIGION

(_Trying to command himself and speaking hurriedly_)

I will, I will--but wait. For I must think-- The Word has not the weight that once it had. Come, Labor, my good man, what is amiss? Come, come, no fighting--that is very wrong.... Be meek and humble as the good book says!

LABOR

I loved the good book and its precepts well In the old days when first my faith in you Kept me from fighting save at your behest And for your sake. I listened to you, then. You were the Light and in your way I walked, Loving and dreaming; but the dreams are gone Like your old stature, fervency and power. Sermons in livery I will not heed, A flunkey’s stale rebuke I do abhor! A bought man cannot teach the strong and free-- My soul is pure, and will not brook your touch!

FLIP

His soul? Where is it, I wonder? They always talk about them, but where are they? Two dunderheads and an adlepate trying to make righteousness out of their own inclinations by converse about souls! bah!

SOUL OF MAN

Yet, where men are, I am--yes, even here!

(_All look about and show that their attention has been arrested, but no one sees Soul of Man, nor discovers where the voice comes from._)

LABOR

(_to Religion_)

Strip off that livery and get you gone. Because of faith that once I felt in you I cannot strike you now. But, O beware! For _he_ must meet me face to face alone.

RELIGION

(_Struggling to free himself from Capital and escape_)

If they would only listen to me, now--

FLIP

But they will not, Blackcoat, no. I can make men behave a few minutes at a time because I amuse them. One would think your derivative graces almost funny enough to serve the same purpose. But men do not want _you_ to be funny. They would have you large and majestic, and to-day you do not seem big enough to enforce attention from any but an audience of corpses. These two, Labor and Capital, are not corpses, but red-blooded men, having given themselves over to the same ha----fair lady, Trade. Unless you can regain your lost stature your day is over, Blackcoat, over. But do your best, for we still need you.

RELIGION

Then will I call my bastard brother Cult, To help me out and to abate this strife-- O Cult, come hither, I have need of you.

(_Enter Cult in fantastic costume, carrying a crystal into which he gazes. He walks slowly, with an air of craft and mystery, and speaks in a droning monotone._)

CULT

Abracadabra--someone spoke my name-- The aura that I wear about me shivered As if for vocal contact. I am here.

(_While Cult is speaking Trade comes slyly forward from the back, where she has been sitting, watching in disdainful amusement, and gradually draws nearer to the sleeping Mars._)

RELIGION

(_to Cult_)

Brother, I need you here to stop a fight; Labor and Capital--

CULT

Hush--I know all. I sense a mystery hidden in the brush-- I feel, feel, feel, who am so sensitive. I will look through my crystal till I find it, And when I find it, that will stop the fight!

FLIP

Abracadabra! He would look through a crystal to find what is hidden in brush and pumpkins.

(_Trade seats herself on the shield of Mars and lights a cigarette_)

LABOR

Enough of nonsense. I am not a child That I should swallow all this mystic mush. If old Religion were what once he seemed, He never would have called on you, O Cult.

(_Labor takes a step toward Capital again, and Religion makes a gesture of appeal to Flip._)

FLIP

Blackcoat, there is no use. There is but one enemy who can drain them of their feverish passions and so reconcile them, the same who lies sleeping under the brush in the corner. He has slept long, and while he has been sleeping, women have indulged their husbands and borne too many children, and the world is full to overflowing; men have indulged their families in new luxuries of all kinds. All fear temperance as they fear death, for, like death it curbs desire. The Soul of Man, of whom we constantly hear, has not yet made himself conspicuous, although the women’s clubs claim to know all about him. But, if the enemy should awaken--

(_Mars stirs in his sleep_)

CULT

(_Looking in another direction through his crystal_)

I see it in my glass that he is dead--

(_Trade, leaning over Mars, and glancing back at the others maliciously, drops her cigarette on Mars and awakens him. Mars sits up and looks about._)

CULT

(_without seeing Mars and going off at right_)

By all the initiates, my aura feels The pressure of the knowledge of his death Who was the olden enemy. I know all....

(_Mars rises and shakes his spear. Exeunt all the others, Capital and Labor in alarm, Religion timidly, Flip with a philosopher’s shrug, Trade laughing contemptuously._)

(_The sky grows dark and Mars strides up and down, singing or chanting and shaking his spear._)

MARS

Long have I slept, but now have I awakened, I, mighty Mars, the lover of the arrow, I, mighty Mars, the giver of the sabre, I, mighty Mars, the maker of the shrapnel, Monarch of heroes, gallantry and death.

I am a spirit of man’s body gendered, And, in the race, I am for everlasting, Calling mankind from home and task and kindred, Making men mad with foaming blood-delight. Kings I have kissed, with Victory and solace; Kings I have ruined. Who can stand beside me? Who is strong to quell me? Let him show his face?

Long have I slept, while Trade, the busy harlot, Kept her delights for Capital and Labor; Now let the whirr of singing mills be silent! Now let the factory whistles hush their voices! Now let the harvests in the fields be rotted! Now let the shops be shut, the churches empty, That I may fill them with my sick and dying-- Mine is dominion over day and night.

Night is at hand, and, in The World Inn feasting Sitteth mankind, while I am keeping vigil. Such blood is rich--the sweeter for my drinking-- Yea, I am avid of the fat of babies-- None will I have but such as are the strongest-- Cleanest and truest, proudest, richest, bravest-- (Never a weakling can abide my presence For I am Mars, and speak the word of death) Lo! I will call my servants to my colors-- One deed of fury licks a world to ashes-- Bright, blasting winds sweep over croft and hearthside Leaving life dead. Who comes to challenge me?

SOUL OF MAN

I challenge you, O Mars, though straitly bound. Lo! I shall break with love your ugly power.

MARS

A slave who would defy his conqueror! Why, I did bind you with resistless chains Long centuries ago when earth was young.

SOUL OF MAN

I have grown strong since then.

MARS

Not strong enough. For I have wakened from my years of rest As zealous as a child to play his game, And you, not I, shall feel the limits of time Grow thin and sag and break beneath your form, Letting you fall into annihilation Through crackling fringes of what might have been.

SOUL OF MAN

You rave, O Mars. What ravels with my weight Would break with yours, and yet this ancient stuff, This fibre of the human race is strong. You have most straitly bound, who cannot slay, That I might work the less in your long sleep, You, drunk with blood of lovers, satiate With rape of many women! Yet men grow And love you less than when your sleep began....

(_He struggles to free himself from his bonds, fails, in the attempt, falls forward on his face, groans. Mars laughs._)

MARS

Now I have need of my good servant, Science. Ho! Science!

(_Enter Science in the costume of the laboratory with a test tube in his hand._)

SCIENCE

Yes, mighty Mars, I am here.

MARS

Science, once more I have great need of you. I want the howitzers of Titan gods, And mad torpedoes mightier than of old, And airy fleets to rend the dizzy Heavens, Zeppelins and lighter craft, ill-omened birds To prey upon the towns that lie below; And I want wicked, wondrous submarines, Sly, devilish monsters of the deeps unknown, And battle cruisers ruinous and grim. Make me a ration that will keep men strong The longer for their task of blood and tears, Which is my game, my spectacle, my joy. And find me doctors, apt with splintered bones, And keen to cut the rotten flesh from sound, And to sew bodies up like burlap sacks That they may keep their contents still secure. What say you, Science, will you serve me still?

SCIENCE

You know I am a neutral servant, Mars, To whomsoever can command my laws. I have not much emotion for a choice. Yet, were I free, to-day, I would say no; For I have great discoveries at heart And great experiments have undertaken Which yet may bring milleniums to men, Which must be interrupted if I yield. Therefore I would return to my own task, And yet, if Capital and Labor will it, I must obey you. I must do your will.

MARS

Labor and Capital!

(_Enter Labor and Capital, still sullen_)

I must have war; Capital you must fight to save your own In every separate nation where you dwell. You, Labor, in all lands that you call home, Must fight to guard it, and acquit you well.

LABOR

I like it not at all!

CAPITAL

No more do I!

LABOR

I wanted Trade, and peace.

CAPITAL

And I the same.

LABOR

And we had questions of our own to settle, This Capital and I. Not yet, old Mars!

MARS

Ay, now. Why Capital, you have grown so great You can work wonders over all the world. Have you no pride, O Labor? Such a hero, With such great shoulders and such stalwart thighs, With such swart manhood and such virile temper, Meseems should hear my mandate with more joy. For both of you can learn the way of fighting And better settle your own private quarrel For lessons stern that I alone can teach you.

(_Labor and Capital turn toward each other and take a step or two away from Mars. They are muttering and murmuring together as Flip enters._)

FLIP

May Heaven have mercy on the sheepskin degree I cribbed for in college! What say the sages? A common fear unites foes of long standing. And here, verily, are Labor and Capital discoursing earnestly together like young brides on the subject of biscuits. Are you, then, the cause of their peace, O Mars?

MARS

Well asked. Indeed they are too much afraid To seem like men. Men used to be more bold When I was young. When earth was young with me They were not cowards--

LABOR AND CAPITAL

(_wheeling about angrily_)

Nor are we cowards today!

FLIP