(Feeling his arm and looking at him.)
H’m. Well. Now lads. On this paper
are the following questions addressed
specially to you as you are between
nineteen and forty-five. Question A.
Have you volunteered for military service
beyond New Zealand as a member of an
Expeditionary Force in connection with
the present war? If so, have you been
accepted for service or rejected?
All Three.
No. No, Boss. No.
Re. Off.
Well, Question B. If you have not
volunteered for service, are you, being a
single man without dependants, willing to
become a member of an Expeditionary
Force? or (2) Are you—? By the way,
let’s settle that first. Are you all single
men?
All Three.
Yes. Yes. Yes, sir.
Re. Off.
Then I needn’t read the alternative
questions. Are you willing to become
members of an Expeditionary Force?
All Three.
Yes.
Re. Off.
That’s right, lads. Now I’ll be honest
with you, and tell you that all the law
asks of you is to sign copies of this paper
and send them in—you will get them
officially in a few days maybe—but that’s
not what I’m here for, to get from you a
mere scrap of paper with a promise for
the future on it. I’m here to get you
yourselves, lads, now. That’s better fitted
to a Briton than to write his name on a
bit of paper, and to go back to his ordinary
job! He that puts his hand to the plough
and turns back—you know what it says in
the Bible. You lads, and I, have got
acquainted this afternoon, and I know
you’re not that kind.
All Three.
No! We are not! We’ll come now,
right now!
Robert.
(Taking a step forward.) I’ll come at once.
That’s square. (Looking at Loveday
and smiling.) Can you fit me out in
khaki right now, Officer?
Re. Off.
The doctor’ll have to examine you (indicating
one of the men with him) and
you’ll have to take the oath.
Robert.
Yes, yes. Surely you have an extra
uniform handy!
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) It’s very irregular, sir. We’ll
see later, step aside.
Gordon.
Now me.
Re. Off.
(Examines him more carefully. Speaking
kindly.) Step across to me, sir.
(Gordon tries to conceal his limp as much as
possible, but of course fails.)
Re. Off.
(Shaking his head.) No good, sir. Why,
you’re lame!
Gordon.
Hardly at all. And I’m strong! I’ve
never been ill. I can ride day and night
in the saddle. I’d join the mounted rifles!
Re. Off.
Not a bit of good, sir.
Gordon.
(Unbelieving.) I’m the right age. I’m
strong. I can ride like a cow-boy. I can
shoot better than my brother.
Robert.
That’s so.
Re. Off.
Your bit is not at the front.
Loveday.
Oh, officer. Is it impossible? It is such
a trifling limp.
(Gordon looks acutely distressed but smiles
bravely and very gratefully at Loveday.)
Re. Off.
Not a bit more good than if you was to
ask, Missy.
Gordon.
(Half stammering in his eagerness.) You
must take me, somehow or other. You
must. I can shoot. I never miss my
aim! What is the good of coming here
and rousing us all up with your talk of
soldiering if you won’t take the best shot
in the place?
Re. Off.
(Kindly.) You’ll do no fighting, sir.
Gordon.
(Overcome.) Curse the tree that staked
me! Curse the fools that didn’t heal me
square!
(There is an awkward silence. He flings up to
Nora, who is a little apart from the rest,
his eyes blazing.)
Gordon.
Nora, what do you say? Aren’t I fit to go?
Nora.
(Calmly.) Of course not, Gordon. I can’t
think how you could have expected—
Gordon.
(Wildly.) Now I see why you never
loved me! You’ve teased me often
enough. I’ve made love like a man, but
to you, to you I was never a man! I see
it now. You all think me useless. You
don’t look on me as a man!
(A tense pause, Loveday and Robert look
rather awkwardly distressed.)
Nora.
(Somewhat cowed.) Don’t be silly.
Robert.
I say, old chap, don’t take it so hard.
Gordon.
Wouldn’t you take it hard if both your
country and the woman you love told you
plainly you were mere useless rubbish?
Loveday.
(Pitifully.) Perhaps you will find a still
greater thing to do for your country. It
is not only fighters she needs.
Gordon.
(His lips quivering.) You are kind. But,
oh God!—
(He goes toward shelter away from the OTHERS
and aimlessly unfolds the blankets, folds
them up again, and re-arranges the pile;
opens them out and re-folds them, and so on.
Meanwhile, the Recruiting Officer has
quietly asked questions of the 2nd Shepherd,
whose answers are satisfactory.
Loveday looks from one to the other, then sits
brooding, glancing pitifully at Gordon
from time to time.
While this is going on, the Recruiting
Officer takes Robert and the 2nd
Shepherd out, followed by the men with
him, leaving Nora, 1st Shepherd, Roto
and Varlie in a group. Loveday a
little apart.)
Roto.
(Grumbling, to 1st Shepherd.) You
have a black heart, you Pakeha tutua.
1st Shep.
Trying to lie about your age? You are
older than I am.
Roto.
Why not lie about your age, too?
1st Shep.
What would become of the sheep if I went
off? Are the sheep to die on the hills
because the Germans are scurvy dogs?
And the best lot of sheep we have had, too,
since I’ve been on the station!
Nora.
When will you black fellows learn not to
tell lies? What is the good of telling lies
any way, when you are always found out?
Roto.
I wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t wagged
his tongue! And to tell a bit of a lie so to
give your life, that’s no lie.
Varlie.
Ah, Miss Nora, don’t try to stamp out
necessary lying. The world would be in a
queer way if none of us told lies once in a
way. I’ll wager you this patent button
hook you tell lies yourself now and then.
Little ones!
Nora.
(Smiling.) Oh, well—when I say I’m glad
to see you, for instance, that’s not a lie.
It doesn’t take you in!
Varlie.
Freeze on to the button hook, Miss Nora.
I’ve won my wager. It is only sixpence.
Nora.
(Tosses it back to him.) What are you
dreaming about, Loveday?
Loveday.
Before ever I met you all—for months
past—I have been thinking about Gordon’s
problem. What is one who cannot fight
to do for our country?
Nora.
Save, as you said yourself.
Loveday.
It isn’t only fighting and saving the nation’s
needs. It needs thinking. Wouldn’t it
be splendid to see a man’s strength and
his brains put into thinking that might
save thousands of lives in the time to come.
Varlie.
People who talk about thinking are
generally fools. The wise man thinks his
hardest how to conceal what he is thinking.
Loveday.
(Swiftly and scornfully.) That’s a worldly
man, whose thoughts are grasping. I was
dreaming of a man whose thoughts would
be gifts.
Varlie.
Thoughts are pretty cheap gifts.
Loveday.
Is there anything we possess that did not
grow from a thought? Isn’t the freedom
in your country the result of the thought
of the men who framed your Constitution?
Isn’t all law, all order, all happiness,
thought, or the results of it?
Varlie.
Huh! That’s too deep for me.
Nora.
(Reproving.) You are such a dreamer,
Loveday. It’s so woolly to dream, stop it.
Loveday.
My dreams are beginning to clear. If no
one had ever thought, we would be savages
still. All human beings would be tearing
out each other’s eyes, always.
Varlie.
Yep. But talking about my thoughts is
not my job. (Yawning.) I must be
getting along. When are those fellows
going to start?
(Sounds of cheering and laughter and trampling
without. Robert comes swaggering on in
a Khaki uniform with hat jauntily tilted.
He is followed by the 2nd Shepherd with
Badge and Armlet. Recruiting Officer
and his MEN follow, grinning. The group
round the fire start up. All crowd round
Robert shouting, admiring and patting
him on the back. Robert goes up to
Loveday and salutes her, she smiles at
him cheerily.)
Loveday.
Bravo! How fine you look!
(She looks past him however, to where Gordon
is wistfully watching the group, and
mastering himself to come forward. She
smiles very sweetly and encouragingly at
Gordon. The sky slowly takes on sunset
tints.)
Nora.
(To Robert.) Give me one of your
buttons. I’ll wear it.
Robert.
(Putting her off, with forced gaiety.) With
the officer looking? Shame on you!
Nora.
(To Recruiting Officer.) A man
who’s enlisted is allowed to give away one
button, isn’t he?
Re. Off.
(Smiling.) One—only one—to the girl
he loves.
Nora.
(Invitingly.) Now, Robert, you hear!
(Gordon overhears this and waits eagerly for
Robert’s answer.)
Robert.
(Laughs and comically struts.) Don’t
shear my feathers off me yet!
Nora.
(To Varlie.) Men are vain.
Varlie.
Take one of my buttons! (Holds out his
coat.)
Nora.
(Eyes flashing.) When you’re in khaki!
Gordon.
(Pulling himself together, holds out his
hand to Robert, speaks huskily.) Good
luck, old chap, the best of luck!
(Loveday looks proudly at Gordon.)
Robert.
(Claps Gordon’s shoulder with his free
hand.) Keep the station going till I come
back, sonny.
Gordon.
I will, Robert.
Robert.
If I come back!
Nora.
(Excitedly.) Of course you will. You’ll
come back with a V.C., won’t he, lads?
All.
Of course. He’s just the make of a hero.
Hurrah! Bravo!
(All crowd round him shouting and singing
snatches of “Rule Britannia, God Save the
King,” etc.
The sunset is crimson by now.)
Robert.
Look at the sky! Come, we must be
getting back.
(All follow him, marching, waving branches,
etc., singing, “See the Conquering hero
comes.” The rest troop off, but Robert
turns and goes up to Loveday who is
lingering and keeps her apart.)
Robert.
Wait a minute, won’t you?
Loveday.
Yes? Of course, what is it?
Robert.
(Shyly.) I say, I—won’t you—(he takes
out his jack knife and cuts off a button,
offering it to her) I say, won’t you, won’t
you wear it, just to bring me luck?
Loveday.
(Hesitates.) Oh—I—
Robert.
Of course I don’t mean—to—to bother you
in any way. I mean it only in—in friendship!
Just to bring me luck. Do! There’s
nothing in it—nothing silly—like what they
said.
Loveday.
(Smiling, very charmingly.) Shall I sew
it on again for you?
Robert.
Oh! If you won’t have it—you may sew
it on if I may keep my coat on while you
are doing it!
Loveday.
Very well. Heroes have to be humoured,
I suppose. Come along, it’s getting late!
(They follow the others, as she is going off she
looks back and sends a compassionate glance
towards Gordon.
The sky rapidly darkens. Gordon stays
behind, waits till they are all out of sight,
then he throws himself face down on the
ground, clenching his hands and moving as
though in pain. The bell bird’s clear sweet
note is heard. He lies in silence then
groans aloud.)
Gordon.
To both my country and the woman I
love, I’m not a man. I’m lumber—useless
lumber! Nora! Nora!
(Gordon crouches in despair. The stage is
now dusky, a pale moon shows. Softly,
without any noise, between the trunks of
two tall trees appears behind him the upper
part of a white figure, with the forehead
and head half covered by a floating white
veil; the face is tender and grave, the eyes
glowing as if inspired. In the shadowy
light the figure looks like a vision. Gordon
does not recognise that it is Loveday. He
slowly, as if mesmerised, rises on to his
knees. There is a sweet low call of the bell
bird far away. Stillness for a moment.
Loveday stands silent between the trees.)
Gordon.
(Still half kneeling, speaking in awed
tones.) You are a spirit?
(Loveday is quite still.)
Gordon.
You are the goddess of the woods come to
me in my pain! Tell me, you beautiful,
you wonderful—tell me, what have I to do?
Speak to me, speak to me!
(Loveday does not move; in a soft, penetrating
voice, she intones, like a chant.)
Loveday.
The bodies of men that can fight are
mown down like the grass.
The body of one young man, even if he
is a prince among men cannot slay
more than a hundred of his enemies.
But by thought a man’s brain might
conceive of a way to kill or to save
hundreds of thousands.
Now is the time for a Briton to arise
who can slay with his great thought
all the enemies of the future.
Now is the time for one to bring forth a
noble plan, so that all the treacherous
aggressors shall be for ever disarmed
and the peaceful nations be for ever
free from fear of onslaught.
(She draws the veil across her face, takes a step
back into the dusk and vanishes.)
Gordon.
(Exalted and trembling with eagerness.)
Angel! Goddess! Tell me—how—
(She does not return and makes no sound.)
Slowly the Curtain descends.
Act II.
Three or Four months later than Act I.
The Hyde’s Homestead, S. Island, New
Zealand. Left back, one end of the low
homestead with its broad, creeper-covered
verandah abuts on to the garden. A rough
piece of road runs across right back of stage.
Back cloth painted with luxurious vegetation
and vivid blue sky. Mixture of
common English fruit trees and Eucalyptus,
the lily-palm, masses of crimson ratas in
flower.
Gordon Hyde and Loveday discovered
sitting together in garden, down right.
Gordon has a sheaf of papers and writing
pad on his knee, pen in hand. Loveday is
chewing the end of a flower stalk as though
thinking.
Gordon.
(Laying down papers and looking at
Loveday with friendship and admiration
in his eyes, but not love.) It is good of
you coming over so often to help me. I
don’t know what I should have done
without you. The others try to slay with
laughter all my young ideas. I am
indebted to you!
Loveday.
No, no! It has been simply splendid for
me to see you work out these great ideas.
It has been wonderful to watch the little
germ of your conception grow and grow
and take practical shape in your wonderful
brain!
Gordon.
Oh, it is not mine. None of all this
(indicating papers on his knee) is mine.
All my ideas before that day had been
vague and muddled. Now I am only
writing down the ideas that vision, that
goddess gave me.
Loveday.
The practical ideas are yours.
Gordon.
No.
Loveday.
Yes. Indeed they are, I’ve watched you
shaping them.
Gordon.
No. The germ of everything was in that
beautiful message she gave me.
Loveday.
(Looking at him as though acquiescing
tenderly to humour him. He does not see
the look.) Who was it do you think?
Gordon.
A spirit.
Loveday.
(Triumphantly.) There are no spirits
you know—no spirits that talk to living
people. The ideas are your own, your
very own—
Gordon.
Perhaps the Maoris are right. This was
a spirit. It couldn’t have been imagination!
I heard her speak quite clearly.
Her wonderful voice was like music,
thrilling and deep like the songs of birds
in a cool, deep glade.
Loveday.
But you were overwrought. Imagination
plays tricks then.
Gordon.
Yes, I was overwrought. That recruiting
business had amazingly stirred me. But
what she said was so remote from my
misery that I could not have imagined
anything so vital, so full of hope. I felt
shamed, anguished. I felt my manhood
beaten in the dust, by my country, by the
woman I loved.
Loveday.
(Murmurs.) No, no.
Gordon.
Do you know what love is? Have you
ever loved? If not, you could never
understand my shame.
Loveday.
I have never loved—
(His face is averted, she looks at him long and
tenderly.)
until—
Gordon.
Ah, but you—beautiful and radiant as you
are will never know what it is to have love
spurned—as I have.
Loveday.
I’m not—so—sure!
Gordon.
(Eagerly.) Are you not sure that my love
is spurned? Do you think Nora, after
all, may love me?
Loveday.
That’s—that’s not quite what I meant.
But—when—when once Nora sees how the
great world honours you for these ideas (taps
papers on his knee) she will love you, she
must. All women will love you and bless
you—for you will be the saviour of their
sons!
Gordon.
But Nora is so living—so—feminine. I
don’t think dreamy things like ideas
appeal to her. Oh, how well I remember
her as a girl with her golden hair flying!
We three were brought up together, she
and Robert and I. She never cared about
reading, but always played some real game.
Loveday.
As she gets older she will see that ideas
are real. Perhaps, and then—
Gordon.
Wish that for me!
Loveday.
Are you sure you wish it for yourself?
Gordon.
Sure! Wish it for me! There is something
wonderful about you. Your wishes
would bring me luck.
Loveday.
I wish you every, every happiness.
Gordon.
That’s vague. Say, “I wish that Nora
may love you and make you happy.”
Loveday.
I wish that if Nora loves you she may
make you happy.
Gordon.
Ah, if (suddenly looking at her). What’s
the matter with you? Your voice sounds
tired. Are you tired?
Loveday.
Yes. That’s it. I am a little tired.
Gordon.
We’ll stop the work.
Loveday.
No, no. See. I’ll come here in the
shade. (She moves where he can’t see her
face.) Now read over some of what you
have written, and I’ll listen critically.
Gordon.
(Looks at her for a moment, then reads.)
“The nations shall unite and have a
super-parliament to which they shall all
send a small number of representatives.
This super-parliament shall make International
laws, but it shall chiefly exist to
prevent any nation flying at another’s
throat. If necessary, by force.” (In
another tone.) Flying at another’s throat,
doesn’t seem formal enough, does it?
Loveday.
Perhaps not. Mark it. Go on.
Gordon.
“In order to prevent any murderously-minded
nation flying at another’s throat (in
different tone) as Germany did at Belgium.
That example will never be forgotten.”
Loveday.
Never. But go on.
Gordon.
“In order to prevent for ever,” I’ll add
for ever, shall I?
Loveday.
Yes.
Gordon.
“In order for ever to prevent any murderously-minded
nation flying at another’s
throat, or stealing any of the rights, or
breaking any international law, the super-parliament
shall have behind it the whole
of the armaments of the world.” That’s
good, isn’t it? That’s the point.
Loveday.
Splendid! That’s where your scheme
differs from all the dear crack-brained
pacificists. Have you written out the
clauses by which that is secured?
Gordon.
Yes. (Shuffles the papers.) “The super-parliament
is to have complete control of
all the armies and all the armament
factories in the whole world. Any individual
or group of individuals violating
that monopoly and attempting private
manufacture of armaments shall be subject
to instant death.”
Loveday.
Good!
Gordon.
You are bloodthirsty!
Loveday.
I am only cruel to villains to be kind to
the virtuous. But I’m afraid a really
sneak-dog nation, like—well, like some we
could mention, would have made armaments
secretly and piled them up.
Gordon.
No, no, because—(shuffles the papers.)
Where is it? There is to be a clause
preventing any such hanky-panky.
Loveday.
There is no doubt, that if that is managed
properly, however greedy or treacherous
any individual nation might be, it simply
wouldn’t dare to go to war.
Gordon.
That’s the idea.
Loveday.
And that is a much more practical idea
than that of the pacificists who talk about
voluntary limitation of armaments.
Gordon.
They idealise human nature.
Loveday.
Now your plan compels decent behaviour.
Gordon.
Don’t call it mine. It is all the gift of my
fairy genius of the woods.
Loveday.
(Smiling as though tenderly humouring
him.) Have you seen her again—your
spirit in the woods?
Gordon.
No, only that once.
Loveday.
Well, what you told me of her words then
was just the vague dream of an idea, but
look at all these sheets and sheets of
carefully worked out clauses. All these
actual, practical, useful ideas are yours!
Gordon.
They are not. Though I was dreaming
and longing vaguely for something of the
kind, I’m not big enough actually to have
thought it out.
Loveday.
You are. You are big enough for anything!
Gordon.
Nora doesn’t think so.
Loveday.
(Scornfully.) Nora!
Gordon.
Why are you so keen on making me think
too well of myself?
Loveday.
Not too well.
Gordon.
Why do you trouble that I should even
think well of myself at all?
Loveday.
Because when a man is a man he should
respect himself as one man respects
another.
Gordon.
You are wonderful—women generally try
to make a man feel a worm.
Loveday.
(Hastily.) What I like best about this
splendid scheme of yours is, that even
Germany will have to accept it when it is
proposed to her, because she is all the
while demanding “only her own national
safety,” and pretending she has no aggressive
desires, so she can’t have the face to
refuse to join in—and yet when she does
her militarism will be choked. Nothing
could destroy all militarism more completely
than this!
Gordon.
Yes. And she would give herself away
so utterly if she stood out!
Loveday.
And if she did stand out, she’d—
(Nora, with a basket of fruit on her arm, enters
from road.)
Nora.
(Laughing.) Halloo, you two? At it
again? Settling the affairs of the world
in this remote spot!
Gordon.
Why not? Every spot is remote from
somewhere else.