Waken, Christian children,
Up, and let us sing,
With glad voice, the praises
Of our new-born King.
Come, nor fear to seek Him,
Children though we be;
Once He said of children,
"Let them come to Me."
In a manger lowly,
Sleeps the Heavenly Child;
O'er Him fondly bendeth
Mary, Mother mild.
Haste we then to welcome,
With a joyous lay,
Christ, the King of Glory,
Born for us to-day.
(There are additional verses, and this hymn is to be found in various collections. A slightly different version is in Eleanor Smith's "Songs for Little Children," Part I.)
Nathan [without]. Can't we come now, Mother?
Mother. One moment, children!
Patience. It grows light, Mother. I'm afeared. Mustn't we hasten?
Mother. Presently, presently! Is all ready, Roger?
Myles. Yes, every candle.
Mother [going to door (L.)]. Come, now!
[Enter Nathan, Patience, and Prudence
(L.), the girls singing first verse of their
song.
Patience [breaking off]. Oh, Mother!
Nathan. How beautiful!
Prudence. Oh, Mother, it feels like a dream!
Mother [bending over her and leading her near]. It is no dream, little daughter. Come near and see.
[Prudence timidly touches one branch with
her finger.
Prudence [turning quickly and looking up to her Mother]. Oh! it is real!
Myles. Of course it is real. A real Christmas Tree.
Roger [folding his arms]. Now I feel like a real Englishman!
Nathan. Is this like the boughs thee remembers when thee was a little girl, Mother?
Mother. As much like as I could make it, Nathan. Except that I like this one even better.
Patience. Oh, see the pretty presents! Oh, did Eaglefeather make these lovely baskets for us?
Myles. Yes, and that's why he wouldn't let thee see what he was working on.
Nathan. But where is Eaglefeather, Myles?
Roger. We can't think where he is. He didn't come back last night.
Patience. Oh, I don't want him to miss it!
Myles. Hark! [A bob-white is heard without.] That's his whistle now.
Mother. Open cautiously, Myles.
[Myles and Roger open door a little and
close it as soon as the Indian has slipped
through. Patience and Prudence run
to draw him to the tree.
Patience. See, Eaglefeather! Just see our Christmas Tree!
Prudence. Isn't it beautiful, Eaglefeather?
Indian. Beautiful! Eaglefeather think like many stars! [Points to candles, then touches something shining.] Like sun shining on snow fields.
Myles. Now, Mother, can't we sing our carol?
Mother. Yes, Myles, and then it will be more than ever like Old England.
[All sing "Come Ye Lofty." At the end of
second verse a sound of great knocking,
shouting, and calls of "Open! Open!
Mistress Goodspeede." Patience and
Prudence hide behind their Mother,
Nathan stands at her side, Myles and
Roger seize sticks, and Eaglefeather
draws a small tomahawk.
Patience and Prudence. 'Tis Indians!
Roger. 'Tis no Indians, 'tis the colonists!
Myles. They've found us out!
[Noise continues.
Turner and Porter. Open! open there!
Mistress Wells. I see the light——
Desire Porter. It shines through the cracks here——
Dominie Cobb. Verily none need hope to conceal evil!
Turner [knocking louder]. Open! open!
Mistress Porter. Shut in like wolves——
Gershom. Yea—like wolves in a cage——
Reuben. I told thee the window was covered.
Jared. Mayhap the house is afire!
Elder Hopkins. Hold, friends! [Silence without.] Mistress Goodspeede, in the name of the Governor I command you to open for us!
Roger [looking to his Mother]. Must I, Mother?
Mother [huskily]. Open for them, Roger.
[Roger opens the door and all but Gilbert
Appleton press in. Chorus of scandalized
exclamations, "Oh, oh!"
Porter. What is the meaning of this, woman?
Dominie Cobb. Do not attempt to deceive us!
Turner. Answer.
Mistress Wells. She hath not a word to say for herself.
Mistress Porter. Ah! we always knew she was not one of the elect!
Reuben. And they have even one of the hateful savages with them!
Gershom. Who would harbor the wretches?
Desire [pulling her mother's sleeve]. But, Mother, see how pretty it all is!
Priscilla. Oh, the beautiful tree! And gifts, too!
Jane. I would it were my little tree. Doesn't thee wish so, Desire?
Dominie Cobb. Dost see, woman, how swiftly thy ungodly example doth work to corrupt these wenches?
Mistress Porter. Silence, Desire! [She and Mistress Wells try to hustle the children out of sight of the tree.]
Elder Hopkins. Speak, woman, and tell us the meaning of this.
Patience [timidly]. Please, sir, 'tis—'tis—'tis a Christmas Tree!
Porter. We knew it!
Turner. Aye, my son Reuben hath told us. He heard them speaking of it not a week since.
Porter. And Gershom, too—they have kept good watch upon these evil-doers.
Myles [angrily, to Reuben]. So thou wast listening at the window. Sneak!
Reuben [blustering]. And may not the King's subject walk upon the King's highway, Sir Cocksparrow?
Roger [shaking his fist at boys]. Methinks 'twill take the King's soldiers to protect thee when once we catch thee——
Gershom. We'll show thee, thou blusterer, if we be not as free as thou!
[Turner and Porter seize Reuben and
Gershom and draw them back.
Mother [sternly, touching Roger's shoulder]. Peace, Roger and Myles. Is this the Christmas spirit we talked of but now?
Elder Hopkins [severely]. Woman, dost thou forget that we fled from England for this very cause, that we might escape and save our children from just such sinful folly as this? How darest thou, with these baubles and fripperies, bring temptation into our very midst? I know of no punishment too severe for such evil examples! Not the ducking-stool, nor the stocks, nor even banishment itself—— [Shakes his finger threateningly, at the same time going a step nearer to her. Enter Gilbert Appleton, remaining in background.]
Eaglefeather [springing before Mistress Delight with lifted tomahawk]. Stop! stop! No hurt good Squaw. Listen! Me tell. Me Eaglefeather. Father big chief—Bald Eagle. She good, kind squaw. Take Eaglefeather in, feed, make warm, make hurt foot well. Teach Eaglefeather be good Indian. Eaglefeather go home camp. All braves say "This night go burn village." Eaglefeather find Bald Eagle. Say, "Not burn village. Good people. Indian's friend. Good squaw. Kind to Eaglefeather." Bald Eagle listen. Eaglefeather tell about Tree. Say this Christmas Day. Good Day. Nobody hurt nobody. Bald Eagle listen. Say tell braves. Not let braves burn village. Now, now! Not hurt kind squaw! [Folds his arms proudly.]
Gilbert Appleton [coming forward]. Every word the lad says is true, sir!
All. Gilbert Appleton! What does he mean! How does thee know?
Gilbert. Because I was there. Good friends and neighbors, you all know that I, Gilbert Appleton, have been much among the savages. I know their speech, and their ways. Bald Eagle's tribe have always seemed friendly, but two days ago, when I was hunting with my match-lock near their camp, they made a prisoner of me and kept me there until just now. What Eaglefeather here hath told you is true. They would have burned the village if he had not begged the chief for the sake of Mistress Delight's great kindness to spare it. Good neighbors, 'tis my belief that this little Christmas tree hath saved us all! [During his story all hang upon his words, drawing close and shuddering at the thought of a massacre, and sighing with relief at the end.]
All. Strange! Wonderful! Did'st ever hear the like!
Gilbert. And, furthermore, the savages, who meant to make me guide them by the quickest way into our village, were moved to set me free at midnight and I have but now made my way back to you!
Turner. Unheard-of forbearance!
Dominie Cobb. Can we credit our ears!
Mistress Wells. 'Tis like a miracle!
Mistress Delight. 'Tis not so strange, either. We do not, we cannot know how much power even a very little good will and friendliness may have. I but thought to make my children happy, and because I loved my dear home in Old England I told them of customs there.
Prudence. Mother, I would like to tell the good Elder something.
Patience [aside]. He will only say thou art a forward wench, Prudence.
Prudence. Will he, Mother? Will he frown and say, "Children should be seen and not heard"?
Elder Hopkins. Nay, my little maid. I will listen gladly.
[Prudence goes to him and puts her hands
in his.
Prudence [earnestly]. We didn't think it could be wrong, good Elder. Mother said it was the Lord's birthday, and we couldn't help being glad about that, could we? And Mother taught us a song about it.
Elder Hopkins. Then will you sing it for us, little maids?
[Prudence and Patience, hand in hand,
sing their carol once more, while Myles
and Roger go to Reuben Turner and
Gershom Porter and in pantomime apologize
and shake hands with them.
Mistress Porter. Good friends, these little maids and their song do touch my heart.
Turner. Truly, when we sought to bring truth and righteousness to the new land, I fear we were forgetting charity.
Jared. Was Christmas like this in Old England?
Jane. My Mother would never tell me of it.
Priscilla. I would it were so here!
Patience. Mother made the tree for us, but we'd like to give you all something from it. May we, Mother?
Mother. We will gladly share it if the good Elder will forgive any harm we may have done.
Elder Hopkins. Mistress Delight, I have been thinking that perhaps we have grown over hard and stern.
[Unhindered now, the children
draw close to the little tree.
Deacon Porter. There was much that was good in the old ways, after all.
Elder Hopkins. I will take a sprig in memory of the happy Christmases in Old England.
Mistress Wells. Perhaps we may e'en keep what was good in the old ways here in this New England. I'll take a bit of green, too.
All the others. And I, too. And I!
Mistress Delight. For the sake of the happy Christmases of old, and the homes we left, and more than all for the sake of the very first Christmas Day of all, let us sing one of the dear old carols we have loved so long.
Elder Hopkins. Willingly, Mistress Delight.
[All sing "Come Ye Lofty,"[25] and while singing
come forward and take bits of green
from the Tree, which Gilbert Appleton,
Reuben Turner, and Roger cut for
them.
CURTAIN
Grown people, whose parts are taken by boys and girls from seventeen to twenty, and children, are dressed alike—men and boys in knee-trousers, coats with square white collars and cuffs, large belt- and shoe-buckles, broad-brimmed felt hats, with crowns high and flat. If the costumes are to be fully carried out, all should wear wigs, cropped round. Or they may be worn by the Elders only.
Women and girls wear plain dark-colored dresses, with rather full skirts, the children's as long as their mothers'. White kerchiefs, capes, and hoods, of dark colors with bright scarlet or gray-blue linings. The hoods are large and loose, with the edge turned back, giving color about the face. Mistress Delight, Patience, and Prudence wear white caps instead of the hoods.
Pictures of Puritan costumes are easily found in the Perry or Brown collections.
These costumes are best made of canton or outing flannel. Buckles can be made of cardboard and covered with silver paper, or cut from tin.
Indian. Suit made of tan canton flannel, fringed at edge of coat, sleeves, and trousers, with a band of fringe up and down arms and legs. He wears moccasins, beads, and a feather head-dress on his black wig. He carries bow and arrows, and a wooden tomahawk. A quiver can be made of a good-sized mailing-tube. He must have Indian make-up.
Hunter’s dress is more like the Indian's than like the colonist's, but he does not wear his hair long, and his suit should be trimmed with furs, not fringe. Fur cap with tail hanging down at back. He carries an old gun, not a bow.
Mistress Delight's children range from Roger, twelve years old, down to little Prudence, five. The Indian is a boy of Roger's age. The hunter, sixteen or seventeen.
The little Christmas tree should be a very "homemade" one. Strings of popcorn and cranberries, spools and balls covered with bright paper, may be used for decorations, Indian baskets, and such toys as the little Puritans might have made, or any little quaint and old-fashioned trinkets to carry out this idea. Only white candles should be used, and these fastened on in the simplest and most unobtrusive manner.
The singing of the old psalm should be made as doleful and droning, even nasal, as possible. It can be sung to the Scotch tune of "Windsor," which is to be found in most hymn-books. The number of verses used may be determined by the amusement and applause of the audience. The boys who sing it must on no account allow themselves to laugh.
The charm and picturesqueness of the stage will be greatly enhanced if quaint old-time household articles can be borrowed or manufactured for properties—bellows, lantern, candlesticks, andirons, an old foot-stove—above all, a warming-pan, which the mother fills at the fire and carries out when she takes the younger children to bed. The dishes and platter so much admired by Patience should be rather conspicuously ugly.
Finally, a word in regard to the old-time English. When the play was first given it was feared that the children would find it a stumbling-block, and that it would have to be dropped. Quite the reverse proved to be the case, however, and the children all gave their lines with delightful naturalness and evident enjoyment. This has been equally true of other groups of children by whom the play has since been given. They show no awkwardness in the use of the old forms, but seem to feel that it carries them out of the everyday, and makes danger and adventure real to them.
IN THREE ACTS
| The Abbot | } | The Brethren of the Convent. | ||
| Father Anselmus | } | |||
| Father Gregory | } | |||
| Father Ambrose, the Leech | } | |||
| Father Sebastian | } | |||
| Father Felix | } | |||
| Father Hilarion, in charge of the comic toys | } | |||
| The Prince. | ||||
| Courtier. | ||||
| Court Lady. | ||||
| Geoffrey, 1st Page. | ||||
| Humphrey, 2nd Page. | ||||
| Peter | } | Village children. | ||
| Rosalia, Peter's Little Sister | } | |||
| Gilbert, the Carpenter's Apprentice | } | |||
| Robin, the Forester's son | } | |||
| Walter, the Miller's boy | } | |||
| Annetta | } | |||
| Marianna | } | |||
| Mistress Spinning | } | Village mother and child. | ||
| Peggy Spinning | } | |||
| Mistress Longlane | } | From a distant village. | ||
| Dolly Longlane | } | |||
| Peter’s Father. | ||||
| Peter’s Mother. | ||||
The Prince
Peter and the Prince
From a story by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman.[26]
Time: The 10th of April.
Scene: Country road leading by the Convent. R., an angle of the Convent Wall. On it a large sign trimmed with evergreens, "Wanted, by the Christmas Monks, two good boys to assist in garden work. Applicants will be examined by Fathers Anselmus and Gregory, on April 8th, 9th, and 10th." Enter (R.) Mistress Longlane and Dolly, wearily, as if at the end of a long journey. Mistress Longlane carries a large basket. Dolly hangs back.
Mistress Longlane [rather crossly]. Now, Dolly Longlane, what with your stopping to gather flowers by the roadside, or to watch the clouds, or to listen to the birds in the hedges, we'll never reach our journey's end. Make haste, now!
Dolly [tearfully]. But, Mother, it's such a long, long way, and I'm so tired.
Mistress Longlane [relenting]. So you are, poor lamb. Well, a few moments can't make a very great difference, so sit ye down on the basket and take a rest. [Puts basket down (L.), and seats Dolly on it, wipes her own face, straightens her bonnet, and then looks about her. Sees sign, at which she glances indifferently, then with interest, at last with amazement. Reads through, then takes out spectacles and reads again.]
Mistress Longlane. Now, what may be the meaning of this?
Dolly. What is it, Mother?
Mistress Longlane [reads sign to Dolly]. The Christmas Monks? What manner of men are the Christmas Monks? Here comes some good dame from the village. I'll make bold to ask.
[Enter Mistress Spinning, with little
Peggy (L.).
Mistress Longlane [courtesying]. Good morrow, Mistress. Have you a moment to spare for a stranger in the country?
Mistress Spinning [courtesying]. Yes, indeed, Mistress, and right gladly. Make your manners, Peggy.
[Peggy courtesies first to Mistress Longlane
and then to Dolly, who rises from
the basket and courtesies, too.
Mistress Longlane. Why, Mistress, I am minded to ask the meaning of this strange sign that hangs upon the wall.
Mistress Spinning. Oh, you must indeed be a stranger in the land if you have never heard of the Christmas Monks. If you have come to make your home in our village, you'll soon learn, I'll warrant me, that this is the home of the Christmas Monks who keep the gardens in which all the Christmas toys are grown.
Mistress Longlane. The Christmas toys!
Dolly. Why, I thought Santa Claus brought them all.
Mistress Spinning. So he does, my dear. He takes them to the children, of course, but this is the garden where he comes to load his sleigh.
Mistress Longlane. You don't say!
Peggy [shaking her finger]. You never can see inside, but that garden is just full of toys. Oh, don't you wish we could peep in! [Both children run in search of holes or cracks, stretch their arms towards the top, and stand on tiptoe, vainly, finally coming back to listen to the conversation of their mothers.]
Mistress Spinning. Yes, the Christmas Monks have a wonderful garden with beds for rocking-horses, beds for dolls, beds for drums, and picture-books and skates and balls. They do say so, that is; of course, I've never seen the inside. And the seeds are just the tiniest bits of dolls and drums and balls, and the rest of it. So little that you can hardly see them at all.
Mistress Longlane. What do the Monks do?
Mistress Spinning. Why, they plant the seeds, and take care of the garden, and see that the toys are all ripe and ready for good old Santa Claus by Christmas time.
Peggy. And that's not all, Mother. They have turkey and plum pudding every day in the year! [Hugs herself.]
Dolly. Oh, my!
Peggy. And it says "Merry Christmas" over the gate.
Mistress Spinning. Yes, and every morning they file into the chapel and sing a Christmas carol, and every evening they ring a Christmas chime.
Peggy. And they have wax candles in all the windows every night.
Mistress Longlane. Why, it's like Christmas every day in the year!
Dolly. Aren't you glad we've come to live in this village, Mother? [Clasps her hands.]
Mistress Longlane. That I am, my dear. Why, it's enough to make one laugh just to hear of it.
Mistress Spinning. That it is, Mistress. You're quite right. The Christmas Monks are so full of the Christmas spirit that it lasts them all the year round, and they just go about putting heart into them that get sad and discouraged. But I think I see some of the children coming for the examination.
Mistress Longlane. Ah! Yes. That's to take place this afternoon?
Mistress Spinning. Yes, this is the last afternoon of it. The good Fathers have already held two examinations and, will you believe it? [Coming closer and speaking very impressively.] They haven't found two boys who are good enough yet, though they've examined hundreds.
[Enter Annetta and Marianna, talking together.
Annetta. Oh, Marianna, don't you wonder whom the good Fathers will choose?
Marianna. Yes, indeed, I do, Annetta. Why, there aren't very many more boys to examine.
Annetta. No, nearly all the boys in the kingdom have tried.
Marianna. But they're all naughty in some way or other.
Annetta. Oh, don't you wish it was two girls the Fathers wanted?
Marianna. Oh, don't I! Ssh! Here comes Peter with his little sister Rosalia.
[Enter Peter and Rosalia.
Peter. Here are some flowers I picked for you, sister.
Rosalia. Thank you, Peter.
Peter. See, sister, that's the sign, and the Monks come right here to examine the boys.
Rosalia. Oh, Peter, I wish they'd take you to work in the Christmas garden!
Peter. There isn't much chance of that, I'm afraid. But, come, sister, I'd better take you home. You might get hurt in the crowd. [Exit (L.), Peter bowing politely as he passes the women.]
Annetta. Marianna, why wouldn't Peter try?
Marianna. He's going to try to-day, I believe. He wouldn't before because he is so modest.
Annetta. But he's the very best boy in the village, and so good to his parents and his little lame sister!
[Enter Gilbert, Robin, and Walter; all
stand, hands in pockets, before the sign, and
read it in silence.
Gilbert. I wish we had been examined yesterday. I hate not to know about it.
Robin. Well, perhaps we'll have a better chance to-day.
Walter. Yes, there aren't so many of us to choose from.
Gilbert. I suppose the boys that get in there can have all the tops and balls they want.
Robin. Every day in the year.
Walter. Why, all you'd have to do would be to pick them!
Mistress Longlane [looking out L.]. Why, what's this coming down the road?
Mistress Spinning. Why, mercy on us, 'tis the Prince. He must be coming to try the examination.
Children [in hushed voices, crowding to see, peeping over each other's shoulders]. The Prince! The Prince! The Prince!
[Enter Courtier.
Courtier [with an impatient gesture]. Ssh—ssh—ssh! Out of the way there! Make way for his Royal Highness!
[Stands aside, bowing. Enter Prince, his
cloak held by two pages, followed by the
Court Lady, by whom the Courtier
takes his place. Villagers fall back, courtesying
and bowing. Prince stands with
folded arms and haughty air reading sign
and looking about him. Pause.
Prince. Well, I see no Monks. Am I to be kept waiting here all day?
Courtier [bowing low]. Your Highness, the hour set has not yet——
Prince [interrupting angrily]. I say I will not be kept waiting. What will my father the king say when he hears I have been kept standing in the highway with a rabble of common peasant children?
Court Lady. Oh, your Highness, condescend to have a little patience!
Prince [more angrily]. I will not have patience. Patience is not a virtue for Kings and Princes. [Taps his foot on the ground.]
Court Lady [nervously looking up the road]. Oh, but think of something else—think of—think what a pleasant day it is!
Prince [scowling prodigiously]. Pleasant day, indeed!
Courtier. Here they come, your Highness!
Court Lady [full of relief]. Oh, yes! Here they come. Here they come!
[Enter Fathers Anselmus and Gregory
(R.), followed by Sebastian and Felix;
at same time enter Peter (L.). Monks
walk with hands clasped before them. Villagers
all doff caps, bow, and courtesy.
Even the Prince is awed into respect. The
Fathers look about smilingly.
Gregory. Well, well, Brother Anselmus, there seems quite a goodly number awaiting us to-day.
Anselm [rubbing his hands]. Yes, Brother Gregory. I trust we shall discover the right boys at last. Let me see. [Looks about, aside.] I suppose we should examine his Royal Highness first?
Gregory. Truly, my Brother. Let us commit no breach of etiquette.
Anselm. Your Highness! [Monks bow very slightly. Prince and attendants advance a little.] How old are you?
Courtier [haughtily]. His Royal Highness has just completed his eleventh year.
Gregory. Indeed! And is he a good boy, as boys go?
Court Lady. "As boys go," indeed! Why, his Royal Highness is not to be mentioned in the same day with common boys!
Anselm. Oh! Then you are not like other boys?
Courtier and Court Lady [bowing to Prince]. A wonderful child, your worships!
Gregory. Then he doesn't often do anything wrong?
Courtier. Wrong? Oh, never, your worship!
Court Lady. He never did a wrong thing in all his sweet life. [Clasps hands and casts up her eyes.]
Anselm. Is he diligent? What about his lessons?
Courtier. He doesn't need to study.
Court Lady. A most brilliant intellect!
Gregory. Well, well, well, Anselmus, I think we must try this paragon. [They put their heads together.]
Geoffrey, 1st Page. He just smashes his toys!
Humphrey, 2nd Page. And he beats his dogs!
Courtier and Court Lady. Horrors! [They turn and each boxes the ear of the nearest page.]
Geoffrey. And when he's angry he kicks and screams!
Humphrey. And he won't mind even the King, his father!
[Courtier and Court Lady each clap a hand
over a Page's mouth.
Courtier [aside to Lady]. Such disrespect!
Court Lady [aside to Courtier]. Such indiscretion!
Anselm. Your Royal Highness is accepted. Now, Brother Gregory, we will continue the examination. First boy!
[The Prince and his train fall back slightly.
Gilbert steps forward.
Gregory. Your name?
Gilbert. Gilbert, the Carpenter's apprentice.
Anselm. Are you a good boy?
Gilbert [doubtfully]. I guess so, sir.
Gregory. Do you always speak the truth, Gilbert?
Gilbert [stammering]. W-w-w-well, nearly always.
Anselm. Tut-tut-tut! That won't do at all. Always speak the truth, my boy. I am afraid we can't take you. Next.
[Gilbert steps back, hanging his head. Robin
comes forward.
Gregory. Name?
Robin [in a small, frightened voice]. Robin, the Forester's son.
Anselm. Don't be afraid, Robin. So you are the Forester's son. Ah-h! Hum, hum-m-m! Are you kind to animals, Robin?
Robin. Oh, yes, sir. My father teaches me to be good to them always.
[Gregory bends over and whispers to Anselm.
Anselm. Robin, answer me truthfully. Did you ever rob a bird's nest?
[Robin hangs his head and works his toes
about.
Anselm. Did you do this?
Robin [rubbing his eyes]. Yes, Father, I did.
Gregory. Too bad, too bad. Now I am sorry to hear this.
Anselm. So am I, Gregory, but you see it won't do!
[Robin goes to stand by Gilbert, still rubbing
his eyes.
Gregory. Next boy. [Walter steps forward.] Name?
Walter. I am Walter, the Miller's boy, and I help my father in the mill.
Anselm. That is right, Walter; we approve of that.
Gregory. You are diligent in the mill. How about lessons?
Walter. Well—I go to school——
Anselm. Are you at the head of your class?
Walter. N-n-n-no, sir.
Anselm. Second, then?
Walter. N-n-no, sir.
Gregory. Well, well, where are you, then? At the foot?
Walter. Y-y-yes, sir.
Anselm. Tut-tut! [Shakes his head.] What a pity! Are there any more boys, Gregory?
[Walter crooks his elbow over his eyes and
stands by Robin.
Gregory. One boy, Brother Anselmus.
Anselm. Ah! yes. I have seen this boy before, I think. Isn't this boy named Peter?
Peter. Yes, sir.
Mistress Spinning [coming suddenly forward and courtesying]. And a better boy never lived, your reverence, if you'll excuse me for mentioning it.
Anselmus. Certainly, Dame, certainly. We shall be very glad to hear what you know about Peter.
Mistress Spinning. It's just this I know, sir. He's a good, hard-working, honest boy, sir, and very obedient to his parents.
Peggy. He takes good care of his little sister——
Marianna. And he never teases little girls——
Annetta. And he's at the head of his class in school——
Gilbert. And the teacher likes him——
Robin. So do all the boys——
Walter. So does everybody in town!
Gregory. Well, well, Brother Anselmus, it does seem as if we had found a good boy at last, doesn't it?
Anselm. Yes, Brother Gregory, this is surely the right boy for us. And now that Peter and the Prince are accepted, let us return to our Convent and resume our exercises there. Come, boys.
[Children all clap loudly. Monks form a procession,
Peter falls in behind, and the
Prince gives his hand haughtily to be
kissed by his attendants, then struts after.
Exeunt, the Monks chanting.
CURTAIN
Time: One week before Christmas.
Scene: Inside the garden. At back, the wall. Against it (R.), the Doll bed. Left, small trees with toys. Down Center and across Front, garden paths. Prince and Peter in Monks' robes and sandals. Prince sitting idly on a wheelbarrow. Peter working with rake in the Doll bed. Tools, watering can, etc., scattered about.
Prince [crossly]. Well, I don't see how you can stand this place, Peter. I've had more than enough—I'm just sick of it, I am.
Peter [still working], I'm sorry, your Highness.
Prince. Yes, that's what you always say. I wish you would stop that everlasting work and come here and tell me why you're sorry? Why in the world do you keep on working and working? I believe you like it. Come here, I tell you!
[Peter comes forward and leans on rake to
talk with him.
Peter. Well, your Highness?
Prince. That's right, Peter. Now you just tell me what you like about it so awfully much.
Peter. Why, your Highness, you know I'm a poor boy and I've always had to work. This is such pretty work—it's just like play. And I never really had enough to eat until I came here to live. I tell you it's horrid to be hungry! Then the good Fathers are so kind, and I love the Christmas carols and the chimes—why, I think it's a beautiful place, your Highness. Don't you like to watch the toys grow?
Prince. Oh, they grow so slow. I expected to have a bushelful of new toys every month, and not one have I had yet. And these stingy old Monks say that I can only have my usual Christmas share, anyway, and I mayn't pick them myself, either. I never saw such a stupid place to stay, in all my life. I want to have my velvet tunic on and go home to the palace and ride on my white pony with the silver tail, and hear them all tell me how charming I am. [His words become nearly a wail, and he rubs his fists in his eyes.]
Peter [patting him sympathetically on the shoulder]. Never mind, your Highness. It's pretty nearly Christmas now, and in a few days the toys will be ready to pick. Come along, and I'll help you to water those tin soldiers over there—you didn't get that done, did you?
Prince [jumps up angrily and stamps his foot]. No, and I won't do it, either. As for you, Peter, you're tame. If you had a grain of spirit you'd hate it just as much as I do. There! [Runs off angrily (L.). Peter looks after him, shakes his head, gathers tools together neatly, takes up watering-can, and exit (R.). Enter Prince.]
Prince [looking after Peter]. There he goes now to water those horrid soldiers. I'd like to melt them all down to lumps of lead—I would! And Peter—he's enough to drive me crazy. I won't stay here a bit longer, so I won't. I'll get that ladder out of the tool house and get over the wall and go home. [Starts off.] But I'll take some Christmas presents with me, I know! [Exit (L.). Enter (R.) Sebastian, Felix, Anselm, and Gregory.]
Anselm. Well, Brethren, we have every cause to rejoice in the fine flourishing condition of our garden. Peter has kept the beds wonderfully clear of weeds.
Gregory. Yes, and I think I may say that our garden has never been so fine as this year. It was a happy day for us when we found Peter.
Felix. Indeed it was. How neatly he keeps the garden paths raked.
Anselm. And what a good disposition the child has!
Felix. Always ready and willing——
Sebastian [who has stood at one side with folded arms and dejected countenance]. Peter. Peter. Peter. But what of the Prince?
Anselm. Alas, yes. You are right, Brother Sebastian. What of the Prince?
Gregory. Oh, I'm not utterly hopeless of the Prince, my Brethren.
Sebastian. Brother Gregory is always over-hopeful.
Felix. It is my solemn opinion, Brethren, that the Prince is the very worst boy in the Kingdom.
Anselm. Oh, no, Brother Felix!
Sebastian. I say he is! Think of the first day, when we gave him Noah's ark seed to sow, and he went into a passion because it wasn't gold-watch seed! [The Monks nod regretfully.] We set him a penance to kneel on dried pease in the chapel all afternoon. And hasn't it been so every other day in the year since?
Anselm [soothingly]. Yes, Brother Sebastian, I fear it has. [Cheerfully.] But, then, you know, this has come hardest on you—hasn't it, my Brethren? For, you see, the Prince exhausted our list of penances so soon and you have had to remain in solitary confinement in your cell in order that you might invent new penances for him. Hasn't it been too hard for poor Brother Sebastian, Brethren?
Gregory. Yes, yes, poor fellow, he looks quite thin and worn.
Felix. And to think how we were deceived in that boy! How his people praised him!
Sebastian [gloomily]. I fear his Royal relatives are sadly deceived in him.
Gregory. But let us think of pleasanter subjects, for I have hopes that the softening influences of the Christmas season will do great things for our misguided young friend. Let us give our minds to the contemplation of the Doll bed. How lovely the little creatures are!
Felix. And how they will delight the hearts of the little girls.
Anselm. Why, why, why, what is this? Here is a vacant place!
Gregory. Oh, yes, Brother, that doll didn't come up. I noticed the place long ago.
Felix. And so did I, but I neglected to speak of it.
Gregory [to Anselm, who continues to shake his head over the missing doll]. Come, come, Brother, let us be glad that such cases are rare. Now, my Brethren, we will go on with our inspection. [They move towards exit, then, looking back, discover Sebastian still in gloomy revery. Felix goes back, puts an arm across his shoulder, and guides him gently after the others.]
Gregory. Poor fellow! Poor fellow! [Exeunt slowly (R.). Enter (L.) Rosalia.]
Rosalia [looking about with delight]. Oh, the lovely dollies. [Examines them.] And there comes Peter! [Enter Peter (R.). Rosalia goes to meet him.] Peter! Peter!
Peter [amazed]. Oh, you darling! How in the world did you get in here?
Rosalia. I just crept in behind one of the Monks. I saw him going along the street, and I ran after him, and when he opened the big gates I just crept in. Here I am, Peter!
Peter [worried]. Well, I don't see what I am going to do with you, now you are here. I can't let you out again, and I don't know whatever the Monks would say!
Rosalia. Oh, I know! I'll stay out here in the garden. I'll sleep in one of those beautiful dolly-cradles over there, and you can bring me something to eat.
Peter. But the Monks come out very often to look over the garden, and they'll be sure to find you.
Rosalia. No, I'll hide. Oh, Peter, see that place where there isn't any dolly?
Peter. Yes, that doll didn't come up.
Rosalia. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll just stand here in her place and nobody can tell the difference. [Steps into place among dolls.]
Peter. Well, I suppose you can do that. [Looks at her and shakes his head anxiously.] Of course, I'm glad as glad can be to see you, but I'm afraid the Monks wouldn't like it. Now I must go and put away my tools. Be very quiet, sister. [Exit Peter (L.), coming back to see if Rosalia is safe. Waves his hand to her. Exit. A pause in which Rosalia looks about her, feels the curls of the doll next her, etc., etc. Enter Prince (L.), carrying small ladder twined with green, and a huge basket of toys. Goes to wall, places ladder, tries its firmness, and begins to climb, finding much difficulty with basket. Rosalia watches furtively with much interest and excitement.]
Prince [at top of wall]. Now, if I can just get down on the other side. [Works cautiously but ineffectually to get the basket over. Looks over wall joyfully.] Oh, I see some of my father's people riding by! I'll get them to help. [Waves hand frantically.] My lord! My lord! Hither! [Voices beyond wall: "The Prince!" "The Prince!" "His Royal Highness!" "Make haste, your Highness! have a care!" At which the Prince contrives to fall over the wall, dropping the basket inside.]
Prince [without]. Oh, I'm not hurt! Let us get away! Hasten, my lords, hasten! [Voices die away in the distance.]
Rosalia [horrified]. What a naughty boy! [Enter Peter (L.).] Oh, Peter, the Prince has run away.
Peter [hurriedly examining ladder, etc.]. Run away? [Mounts ladder and looks over wall.] He surely has! There he goes on the horse with that gentleman! [Watching, thoughtfully.] I was afraid he would try that! But this ladder [getting down] has always been kept locked up. Oh, too bad,—most of the toys are broken. [Gathers them up and takes ladder.] Keep very still, sister. I must put these away and tell the Abbot and the other Fathers what has happened. [Exit (L.). Enter Anselmus (R.), walking up and down the path, hands behind him in deep thought. Takes turn near Rosalia, notices her, starts, bends down to look closer, puts on spectacles, and gazes with astonishment.]
Anselm. Why, what is this! Hoc credam! I thought that wax doll didn't come up. Can my eyes deceive me? Non verum est! There is a doll here—and what a doll! On crutches and in poor homely gear! [Puts out a hand to touch her.]
Rosalia [starting]. Oh! [Anselm starts so violently that his wreath falls off in the path.]
Anselm [gasps, trying to recover himself]. It is a miracle! The little girl is alive! Parva puella viva est. I must summon the Abbot and the Brethren at once. We will pick her and pay her the honors she is entitled to. [Picks up wreath, settles it distractedly upon his head, and hurries to path (R.), where he motions to someone without.]
Anselm [with excitement]. Hilarion! Brother Hilarion! Hither!
[Enter Hilarion in hot haste.
Hilarion [panting]. Did you call, Brother Anselmus?
Anselm. Summon the holy Father Abbot at once—say to him that it is a matter of importance. [Exit Hilarion, running. Anselmus returns to look at Rosalia again, muttering.] A matter of importance—a matter of importance.
[Enter Abbot and all Monks.
Abbot. At the wax doll bed, did you say, Hilarion? Ah, yes, there is my son Anselmus.
Anselm [coming forward]. Most holy Abbot, behold a miracle. Vide miraculum! Thou wilt remember that there was one wax doll planted which did not come up. Behold! in its place I have found this doll on crutches, which is—alive.
Monks. Alive! Strange! Wonderful!
Abbot. Alive, did you say, Anselmus! Let me see her. [Abbot bends over to see Rosalia. Monks crowd around to see.]
Abbot [rising]. Verum est! It is verily a miracle.
Hilarion. Rather a lame miracle.
Abbot [reprovingly]. My son, I fear the work in which you have been engaged, to wit, taking charge of the funny picture-books and the monkeys and jumping jacks, has rather thrown your mind off its level of sobriety, and caused in you a tendency to make frivolous remarks, unbecoming a Monk.
Ambrose. I am the leech of the Convent. Let me look at the miracle, most holy Abbot.
[All make way for Ambrose.
Abbot. Gladly, my son Ambrose.
Ambrose [examining Rosalia's ankle]. I think I can cure this with my herbs and simples, if your reverence wills that I should try.
Abbot [doubtfully]. But I don't know. I never heard of curing a miracle.
Ambrose. If it is not lawful, my humble power will not suffice to cure it.
Abbot. True. We will take her, then, and thou shalt exercise thy healing art upon her. [Takes Rosalia up in his arms, and leads the way, a Monk picking up the crutches.] We will go on with our Christmas devotions, for which we should now feel all the more zeal.
[Exit Monks (R.), singing. Enter Peter,
darting to place where Rosalia stood, then
to look after the Monks, hands clasped in
anxiety.
CURTAIN
Time: Christmas morning.
Scene: The Convent chapel, decorated with Christmas greens, candles, etc. A picture of the Madonna and Child wreathed in green. On a daïs (back Center), in the Abbot's chair, dressed in white with a wreath on her head, is seated little Rosalia. She sings a simple little Christmas hymn. Enter Peter, with an air of secrecy, sitting down at Rosalia's feet.
Peter. Oh, sister, I feel so miserable!
Rosalia. Why, Peter? I think it is just beautiful!
Peter. Oh, yes, of course it is beautiful, and that's the very worst part of it. I mean, you know, that just because it is so beautiful, and the good Fathers are so very dreadfully kind, that I feel worse than ever. Oh, dear! I'm not saying what I mean a bit, sister, but, you see, I hate not to tell the Fathers the truth about you, and on Christmas day, too. You know they think that you are a live doll, and a miracle, and you're no such thing. You're just Peter's little sister, aren't you, pet? And they have been so kind, and Father Ambrose has made your poor little ankle so nice and well—— So it makes me feel horrid to think we're deceiving them. Why, it's 'most as bad as telling a story.
Rosalia [patting Peter's shoulder]. Poor Peter, I'm so sorry!
Peter. What shall we do about it, sister?
Rosalia. Why, Peter, I'll tell them. They're all so kind, I don't think they will be cross.
Peter. Well, sister, I don't believe they will, either. And it's Christmas day, so I want to be sure to do what is right. And this is right—I am sure of that. Now I must run away; they'll be coming soon. [Exit Peter. Sound of Monks singing in the distance grows louder and louder. Enter Monks, Abbot leading, each bearing a tray full of toys for Rosalia. Half the Monks march to the right, half to the left of her chair. Monks hold out their presents to her.]
Rosalia. Please, I'm not a miracle. I'm only Peter's little sister!
Felix, Ambrose, and Sebastian. Peter!
Anselm, Hilarion, and Gregory. Peter's little sister!
Abbot. Peter? The Peter who works in our garden?
[Enter Peter, standing unnoticed by door.
Rosalia. Yes, Peter's little sister.
[Monks turn, each looking in the eyes of the
one nearest.
Gregory. Surely, here's an opportunity for a whole convent full of Monks to look foolish.
Anselm. Filing up in procession——
Ambrose. With our hands full of gifts——
Sebastian. To offer them to a miracle——
Felix. And then to find out that this miracle——
Hilarion. This famous miracle is nothing but Peter's little sister! [Hilarion doubles up with laughter, but controls himself as the Abbot lifts his hand for order.]
Abbot. My children, harken to me. Haven't I always maintained that there are two ways of looking at anything? If an object is not what we wish it to be in one light, let us see if there is not some other light under which it will surely meet our views. This dear little girl is a little girl and not a doll, that is true. She did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and she is not a miracle in that light. But look at her in another light, and surely she is a miracle—do you not see? Look at her, the darling little girl, isn't the very meaning and sweetness of all Christmas in her loving, trusting, innocent little face?