THE
DRAMA CLASS OF TANKAHA, NEVADA
(Written in collaboration with Harriet Calhoun Moss)
Played for the first time on October 23 and 24, 1914, by Mrs. Chas. Atkinson, Mrs. Chas. Hubbard, Mrs. Samuel Chase, Mrs. Howard Shaw, Mrs. Laird Bell, Mrs. Samuel Insull, Miss Evelyn Shaw, Mrs. Arthur Aldis, Mr. Chas. Atkinson, Mr. Dorr Bradley, and Mrs. Henry Hubbard.
THE
DRAMA CLASS OF TANKAHA, NEVADA.
THE PROLOGUE.
Characters:
- Mrs. Bennett, Hostess of the Class for the Day, a recent arrival in Tankaha, young, well-dressed, progressive.
- Mrs. Fessenden, Chairman of the Drama Class, a firm lady, native of Tankaha, with Standards.
- Miss Jennings, Secretary of the Class, unwed and emotional.
- Mrs. Stedman, a Mother, pre-eminently.
- Mrs. Brokmorton, an Aspirant of Culture.
- Miss Fessenden, daughter of Mrs. Fessenden, the Chairman, a young woman struggling under difficulties towards Modernity.
- Mrs. Bennett’s Maid.
Characters of the Play within the Play:
| Paolo | Mr. Algernon Manning |
| Anna, his wife | Miss Sibyl Carrington |
| Mario, his brother | Mr. Emil Konrad |
| Maddelena, an old family servant | Miss Frances Nellis |
(Taken by members of a theatrical company playing a week’s engagement at the Tankaha Opera House.)
Scene: The sitting-room of the hostess of the day—Mrs. Bennett. A tastefully furnished apartment, modern; at left (from audience) a desk or writing-table; at right a sofa; back, a fireplace; entrance at R. and L.; a few books, photographs, flowers, etc.
When the curtain rises Mrs. Bennett, with the Maid, is discovered completing the arrangements to receive the Drama Class. She puts a small table with paper and pencil in the middle of the room and counts six seats, three on each side, glances at the clock. Mrs. and Miss Fessenden enter; usual greetings.
Mrs. Bennett.
How do you do! How do you do! I can’t help feeling a little nervous, entertaining the class for the first time—a new-comer, you know.
Mrs. Fessenden.
[Taking off things.]
Oh, no need; no need.
Mrs. Bennett.
But you’re all so clever, you seem to know just how to look up everything. Now I—[She breaks off to greet new-comers, Miss Jennings and Mrs. Stedman.] How do you do! How do you do! Do take off your things, etc., etc. [Bustle of taking off wraps, which maid takes away while Mrs. Bennett speaks to Mrs. Fessenden.]
Mrs. Bennett.
Madam Chairman, you’ve no idea the trouble I’ve had trying to find out about Giacosa for the class today. There wasn’t anything about him or by him to be found in Tankaha. At the library they said the only Italian writer that they had was Longfellow’s translation of Dante. They told me one of the members of the Board of Trustees had once wanted to buy some of D’Annunzio’s plays, but as his resignation was sent in immediately after making the proposal, nothing had been done. [Mrs. Brokmorton enters.] Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Brokmorton? [Glances around.] I think we are all here, Madam Chairman.
MRS. STEDMAN: THERE IS A FAR MORE IMPORTANT REASON FOR BREVITY THAN CONSTRUCTION. EVEN A ONE-ACT PLAY MAY BE ONE ACT TOO LONG
Mrs. Fessenden.
[Taking the Chair and picking up gavel.]
Will the meeting please come to order? We will listen to the minutes of the previous meeting.
[Miss Jennings rises and clears her throat.]
Miss Jennings.
[Reading.]
The Drama and Poetry Class of Tankaha Culture Club met on Tuesday, January 10th, at the residence of Mrs. Brokmorton, Mrs. Fessenden, the Chairman, presiding. The minutes of the previous meeting were read and approved, then followed the program for the day, subject, Omar Khayyam, essayist, Mrs. Brokmorton. The paper thoughtfully considered the work of the Persian poet from the standpoint of its influence in the home. Discussion followed:
Mrs. Stedman said that whereas she appreciated the beauty of many of the lines and was glad the Drama Class had chosen it as a subject, she thought it would be unwise to place this poem in the hands of young people.
Miss Fessenden said she thought young people should be allowed to read beautiful literature, no matter what the subject.
Mrs. Bennett thought the philosophy inconclusive, quoting the line “But evermore, came out by the same door wherein I went.”
Mrs. Brokmorton, the essayist, said the more she had studied the beautiful quatrains the more she had been convinced that it was extremely difficult for us in America to appreciate and understand the poet’s point of view.
Mrs. Fessenden, the Chairman, said it did not surprise her that the poem was sad, when the poet evidently had no religious faith. She then announced the subject of the next meeting—a paper on the Italian dramatist Giacosa, by Mrs. Bennett, the meeting to be held at the home of the essayist of the day on January 24th. On motion the meeting adjourned.
Mrs. Fessenden.
If there are no objections the minutes will stand approved. They are approved. Are you ready, Mrs. Bennett?
Mrs. Bennett.
[Rising.]
Madam Chairman, I started to tell you that I found it very difficult to ascertain anything about Giacosa in Tankaha. Yesterday I learned that one of the members of the company now playing at the Opera House knew of a play by Giacosa. I called on her at the hotel with the result that I have a surprise for you. Four of the members of the company are going to give us this afternoon a short play by Giacosa called “Sacred Ground” right here in this room. [She stops and looks around for encouragement. Stir of excitement and surprise in the class. Mrs. Bennett hurries on to explain.] They said they didn’t need any scenery, and told me how to arrange the room. We are to go into the dining-room. I thought it was much nicer than writing a paper on an author I didn’t know anything about.
[Mrs. Fessenden and Mrs. Stedman both glance protectingly at Miss Fessenden.]
Mrs. Fessenden.
That is very interesting, a surprise indeed. Do you—er—know anything about the play? It would have been wiser, perhaps, to consult—
Miss Fessenden.
Oh, mamma, it’s such a nice plan! [To Mrs. Bennett.] Are they here now? Right here in this house? The actors and actresses?
Mrs. Bennett.
Yes, they are waiting up-stairs.
Mrs. Fessenden.
Well, I suppose it is all right, quite a surprise— [She rises, as do they all.]
Mrs. Bennett.
Now please sit there near the doorway.
[The ladies step down in front, off stage, some a little dubiously, Miss Fessenden and Miss Jennings enthusiastically.]
Mrs. Bennett.
Minnie! [The Maid enters.] Here, quickly, help me move these things the way I showed you. [They move chairs off, tables back, etc.]
[The Maid disappears. Mrs. Bennett steps down and joins others.]
Play follows—“Sacred Ground.”
The story is briefly as follows: Anna has remained true to Paolo, her husband, in spite of her love for the latter’s cousin Luciano, who has committed suicide just before the play opens, because of her resistance. Paolo discovers the reason for Luciano’s death through Anna’s letters which he finds on the body and reads. He tries to probe to the depths of his wife’s soul. She warns him to desist, finally cries out that she loved Luciano, and ends by leaving Paolo.[2]
EPILOGUE.
After the Giacosa play Anna, Paolo, Mario and Maddelena come out to bow to the applause of the Drama Class. The ladies step up on the stage again. Miss Jennings is sniffling; Mrs. Bennett and Miss Fessenden rush up enthusiastically, the others more slowly. Mrs. Fessenden has paper and pencil in her hand. Mrs. Bennett introduces the players—“Miss Jennings, Mr. Algernon Manning, Miss Sibyl Carrington, Mrs. Fessenden, our Chairman,” etc. Congratulations and general flutter.
Miss Carrington.
You’re very kind. Pleasure to play to you! Such a sympathetic audience! So comprehending! It was nothing to “put it over” to you! [Turns to Mr. Manning, snuggling up to him.] Poor darling! I do treat you atrociously, don’t I? But you know I don’t mean it! [Affectionate business between “Anna” and “Paolo” as they disappear.]
Mrs. Fessenden.
[Through her lorgnons.]
Are they man and wife?
Mrs. Bennett.
I think that—well— Perhaps they’re—they’re engaged—
Mrs. Fessenden.
Ladies, the meeting will please come to order for the purpose of discussing the play. [They move quickly the chairs and tables to their former positions, as in the prologue, and take their places.] I think we are agreed as to our indebtedness to the essayist of the day, Mrs. Bennett, for arranging the play. We do not need to pass a formal vote of thanks. Our hostess cannot fail to have seen our evident—er—interest. A discussion of the play is now in order. To facilitate this I have jotted down a few questions which occurred to me during the presentation of this—er—unusual play. Here is the first question. [Reads.] “Is it to be regretted that Giacosa compressed the material for a rare psychological development into the narrow frame of a single act?”
Mrs. Brokmorton.
[Rising.]
Madam Chairman, it seems to me the volcanic character of the problem presented calls for brevity rather than prolixity. The eruption was sudden, torrential, devastating, and does not need, nay, does not permit of elaboration. What would have been gained had we had a preceding act, for instance? Nothing. Had we witnessed the despair and suicide of Luciano the situation would not have been developed more clearly than it was by Paolo’s explanation to Mario about the letters. It seems to me this play is a masterpiece of construction; I consider one act is sufficient.
Mrs. Stedman.
[Rising very slowly.]
There is a far more important reason for brevity than construction. Even a one-act play may be one act too long. For a mixed audience, or for innocent young minds, I should suggest the less the better of this sort of food. [Sits down hard.]
Mrs. Fessenden.
I think that this play is strong mental pabulum for any age! We will consider one act is sufficient. [Picks up paper.] Here is the second question: “Are Paolo’s nature and the quality of his love for Anna above or below those of the average well-bred gentleman of our acquaintance?”
Miss Fessenden.
Well, I don’t think a well-bred gentleman ought to pry like that.
Miss Jennings.
I haven’t any husband, of course, but I should think a husband would want to know whether—
Mrs. Bennett.
But she’d done all she could! She’d been faithful, hadn’t she? She couldn’t help what she felt. What right had he to force her confession?
Mrs. Fessenden.
Let us put the question in another form first. “Should a wife have a secret of any sort from her husband?”
Mrs. Stedman.
[Rising slowly again and commanding attention from her majesty of demeanor.]
Never! A true wife’s mind should be as clear, as transparent as glass, permitting her husband to read every thought. Paolo, the husband, had the right to know!
Mrs. Bennett.
But—but—
Mrs. Stedman.
Paolo had the right!
Mrs. Bennett.
But the question was—
Miss Fessenden.
Yes, yes—whether Paolo— He tormented her—
Mrs. Bennett.
He had no right—
Mrs. Brokmorton.
But let us consider the play as a play. This is a drama class—what matter whether he had or he hadn’t—
Miss Jennings.
It seems to me—
Mrs. Stedman.
When you are considering a play, such questions as these are the first to be dealt with!
[Each interrupted lady mutters the end of her remark, but not so as to prevent the next one’s being heard. An air of excited confusion prevails, no one listening much to what any one says.]
Mrs. Fessenden.
[Rapping.]
Order! We will proceed to the next question. [Reads.] “Do Latin dramatists give greater importance to—er—what is called—sex problems [she brings out the awful word with a distinct effort] than those of Teutonic nations?”
Mrs. Bennett.
[Hopping up and instantly beginning. One or two others try to speak, but vainly.]
Isn’t it a question of attitude rather than importance? The attitude of the Teutonic dramatists, with the exception of Bernard Shaw and his type, is always one of disapproval, implied or expressed, of all passion, whether licit or illicit. They ignore it, or when they can’t ignore it they despise it, whereas the Latin dramatist treats of passion openly and joyously without self-consciousness, as the most exquisite joy—to be grasped whenever and wherever it can be reached. In this instance the author clearly sympathizes with Anna in her regret for her renunciation. Don’t you see his play is a protest against the situation in which she finds herself which obliges her to renounce? We may not agree with the author [somebody exclaims devoutly “I should hope not!”], but we might at least try to understand his point of view?
[She speaks passionately. As she sits down Miss Fessenden, who is on the edge of her chair, all eagerness, claps her hands softly together in scared approbation. There is a general stir of surprise.]
Mrs. Brokmorton.
[Rising.]
You mean, of course, merely understanding the point of view, not sympathizing with it?
Miss Fessenden.
But if you understand it—how can you help sympathizing? If she loved—
Mrs. Fessenden.
[Interrupting.]
My child! We are getting far from the question [consults paper] which related to Latin and Teutonic dramatists. However, let us drop it and proceed to the next, which is important and timely. [Rapping.] Here is my next question. [Reads.] “Is Anna’s attitude towards her husband absolutely right?” “How is it possible that the love of years should have changed to hate in this brief twenty-four hours?”
Miss Jennings.
She never loved her husband! She loved Luciano. She not only confessed it, she gloried in it. Don’t you remember she said to Paolo, “Couldn’t you see I was longing to tell you?” There was no love to change to hate.
Mrs. Fessenden.
No love? Then why, pray, did she write “I love my husband, I love my husband!”
Miss Jennings.
But when she wrote that she had not broken the fetters, she was struggling. She loved Luciano, she felt herself yielding, she knew danger was near and so she lied to protect herself, can’t you understand?
Mrs. Bennett.
Oh yes, don’t you see? It seems to me so clear—
Miss Fessenden.
Oh, mother, I understand her feeling perfectly! She had been repressed so long! She did not dare tell the truth, so she lied hard!
Miss Jennings.
But don’t you see—
[General confusion—everybody talks at once and excitedly—each one true to type—remarks similar to previous ones. Mrs. Stedman is heard darkly murmuring, “The morals of the youth of Tankaha!”]
Mrs. Fessenden.
[Raps.]
Order! This question does not admit of discussion. She loved her husband. Here is the last question. [Reads.] “When Anna quits the conjugal home for reasons which move us do these reasons also convince us?” Kindly speak one at a time.
Miss Jennings.
They convince me! When love is dead—how could she stay? Don’t you remember those beautiful lines:
Miss Fessenden.
Mother, I will speak! I know she never loved her husband—I know she always loved Luciano. I only wish she had gone to him. It would have been a higher standard of morality. There! [She drops into her chair. Mrs. Fessenden opens her mouth, but finds no words.]
Miss Jennings.
Goodness!
Mrs. Stedman.
[To Mrs. Fessenden.]
That’s—what—comes! Maria Fessenden, didn’t I tell you two years ago not to let her go to Hindle Wakes?
Mrs. Brokmorton.
But what has all this got to do with the discussion of the play as a play? This is a drama class, not a mothers’ meeting.
Mrs. Bennett.
[A good deal scared, as she knows it is her previous remarks that have inspired Miss Fessenden to her outburst.]
To defend and ask comprehension for the attitude of Latin dramatists is a very different thing from—
[As before each lady continues her views, the separate sentences rising as a bugle-note sounds out above an orchestra.]
Mrs. Fessenden.
[Raps.]
Ladies, orderly discussion is impossible unless you speak one at a time. My daughter has uttered an extraordinary statement of her views. I should like to ask each member of the class separately whether she agrees with these views. [Her expression says “dares to agree.”]
Mrs. Brokmorton.
Pardon me, Madam Chairman, but it seems to me your daughter’s views as to whether Anna should have gone with Luciano or not are wholly irrelevant. They do not concern us. They are unimportant. Now, Giacosa—
Mrs. Fessenden.
Pardon me, Mrs. Brokmorton, you may be right technically, but I am a mother first, chairman of this class second. There is a far higher question involved than consideration of a play. I shall put the question to each one! [She fixes Miss Jennings with her eye.] Miss Jennings, do you?
Miss Jennings.
[With a gulp. She has been weeping off and on from the general intensity and the difficulty of keeping her minutes.]
No.
Mrs. Fessenden.
Mrs. Stedman, do you?
Mrs. Stedman.
No!!
Mrs. Fessenden.
Mrs. Brokmorton, do you?
Mrs. Brokmorton.
Of course not; but it doesn’t matter—
Mrs. Bennett.
[Badly scared, feeling she has precipitated the row. She wants to say “No,” and almost does so, then, recalling she must stand by Miss Fessenden, she murmurs:]
I don’t think so.
Mrs. Fessenden.
You don’t think so! That means you agree at heart, but don’t dare say so? Am I right?
Mrs. Bennett.
No, no! Oh, dear!
Mrs. Fessenden.
It would seem the younger generation does not know the meaning of the word S-I-N.
[Hurly-burly begins again.]
Mrs. Fessenden.
Order! Order!