CHAPTER NINE"FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD''
A DRAMA OF THE GREAT WAR
Act I: In the Manner of Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews
Act 2: In the Manner of Eugene O'Neill
A Parody Outline of History | ||
9. CHAPTER NINE
"FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD''
A DRAMA OF THE GREAT WAR
Act I: In the Manner of Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews
Act 2: In the Manner of Eugene O'Neill
ACT ONE
(Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews)
SCENE I
A principal street of an American city in the spring of 1918.At the rear of the stage, representing the opposite sidewalk of the street, are gathered many people come to bid farewell to the boys of the Blankth regiment who are soon to march past on their way to France.
On this arch is the inscription "For the Freedom of the World.''
At the rising of the curtain, distant march music is heard (off stage, right); this constantly grows louder during the ensuing dialogue which takes place between three elderly women crowded together at the edge of the sidewalk. These women, although, before the war, of different stations in social rank, are now united, as are all mothers in the Allied countries, by the glorious badge which each proudly wears pinned over her heart—the service star.
The Professor's Wife—
I hear them coming.
The Street-cleaner's Wife—
So do I. I hope my boy Pat sees me.
The Pawnbroker's Wife—
I told my Jean where to look.
The approaching music and the cheering of
Enter (right) the regimental band playing the "Stars and Stripes Forever.'' They march through the arch and exit left. Following them comes the flag, at the sight of which all the male spectators (young boys and men too old to fight) remove their hats. After the colors come the troops, splendid clean faced fellows, in whose eyes shines the light of civilization's ideals, in whose ears rings the never forgettable cry of heroic France and brave little Belgium. The boys are marching four abreast, with a firm determined step; it is as though each man were saying to himself "They shall not pass.''
After the first few squads have marched through the arch and off left, the command is issued off-stage "Company—HALT.'' A young lieutenant repeats this order to his men, and the column comes to a stop. The men stand at attention until given the command "Rest'', when they relax and a murmur of conversation arises from the ranks, in which
As the column halts, the three service star mothers rush out from the curb and embrace their sons who happen to be in this company. At the same time a very attractive girl runs up to the young lieutenant.
The Lieutenant—
Ellen!
His Fiancée—
John!
The Professor's Son
The Streetcleaner's Son
The Pawnbroker's Son
Mother!
The Professor's Wife
The Streetcleaner's Wife
The Pawnbroker's Wife
My Boy!
Voice off stage—
Company—Atten SHUN!
The farewells are said, the men come to attention.
Voice off stage—
Forward—MARCH!
The Lieutenant—
(Pointing with his sword to the inscription on the arch)—
Forward— for the Freedom of the World— MARCH.
SCENE 2
Three months later.A section of an American front line trench now occupied by the Blankth regiment.
It is early morning and the three soldiers mentioned in Scene 1 are conversing together for perhaps the last time, for soon they are to be given the chance which every American man desires more than anything in the world —the opportunity to go "over the top''.
The Professor's Son—
Well fellows, in a few minutes we shall be able to show the people at home that their boys are not cowards when the fate of civilization is at stake.
The Pawnbroker's Son—
Here's a newspaper clipping mother sent me. It's from a speech made the other day in Congress.
(He reads)"And we and our children —and our children's children will never
The Streetcleaner's Son—
That makes a fellow feel pretty good inside, doesn't it? It makes me glad I'm doing my bit—and after the war I hope the ideals which have inspired us all will make us better citizens in a better world.
The Professor's Son—
Not only will we be better citizens—not only will the torch of liberty shine more brightly—but also each one of us will go back to his job with a deeper vision.
The Pawnbroker's Son—
That's right I am a musician—a pianist, you know—and I hope that after the war I shall be able to tell America, through my music, of the glory of this holy cause.
The Professor's Son—
I didn't know you were a pianist.
The Pawnbroker's Son—
Yes—ever since I was a boy—I have had no other interest. My father tried to make me go into his
The Streetcleaner's Son—
And gladly making, too, for it is easy to give up all, as did Joan of Arc, for France. Attention, men! here comes one of our officers.
The three stand at attention.
Enter the Lieutenant.
The Lieutenant—
Well, men, do you feel ready?
The Three—
More than ready, sir—eager.
The Lieutenant—Brave men!
(To the Professor's Son)
Come here a minute, Keating. I have something to ask you before we go over the top.
The Professor's Son and the Lieutenant go to one side.
The Lieutenant—
(To the other two in a kindly manner)
—At ease!
The Streetcleaner's Son—
Thank you, sir.
They relax from their rigid posture of "attention''.
The Lieutenant—
(To the Professor's Son)
— Keating, when we "go over'', we—may —never come back, you know. And I want to ask a favor of you. I am engaged—to a girl back home—here is her picture
(he draws a photograph from his inner breast pocket and shows it to the Professor's Son.)The Professor's Son—
She is beautiful, Sir.
The Lieutenant—
(Putting the photograph
—Yes very beautiful.
And(dropping his eyes)
—I love
her. If—if I should "go west'' I want
you to write her and tell her that my last
thoughts were of my country and—her.
We are to be married—after the war—if
(suddenly clearing his throat)
. Her
name is Ellen Radcliff—here, I'll write
the address down for you.
He does so, and hands the slip of paper to the Professor's Son, who discreetly turns away.
The Lieutenant—
(Brusquely)
—That's all, Keating.
A bugle sounds.
The Lieutenant—
Attention men! At the next bugle call you go over the top—remember that you are Americans and that Americans know how to fight and die in the cause of liberty and for the freedom of the world.
The Three Soldiers—
We are ready to make the supreme sacrifice if need be.
The bugle sounds.
The Lieutenant—
(Climbing up the ladder to the top of the trench)
—Follow me, men—
The Three Soldiers—
(Climbing up after him)
—Lafayette—we come, though poppies bloom in Flanders field.
They go "over the top''.
SCENE 3
A section of a Hun trench a minute later. Two Hun soldiers are conversing together; another Hun is reading a copy of Nietzsche.First Hun Soldier—
And then we cut the hands off all the little children—oh it was wonderful.
Second Hun Soldier—
I wish I had been there.
A Hun Lieutenant rushes in.
The Hun Lieutenant—
(Kicking the three men and brandishing his revolver)
— Swine—wake up—here come the Americans.
The three spring to their feet and seize their guns. At the top of the trench appears the American lieutenant, closely followed by the three soldiers.
The American Lieutenant—
(Coolly)
—We come to avenge the sinking of the Lusitania.
The Hun Lieutenant—
Hoch der Kaiser! Might is stronger than right!
He treacherously tries to shoot the American but the Professor's Son disarms him with his bayonet. The three Hun soldiers offer a show of resistance.
The Streetcleaner's Son—
(To first Hun soldier)
—Your hands are unclean with the murder of innocent women and children.
First Hun Soldier—
(Dropping his gun)
— Kamerad!
The Pawnbroker's Son—
(To the other Hun soldiers)
—Prussianism has destroyed the Germany of Bach and Beethoven and you fellows know it, too.
Second and third Hun Soldiers—
(Dropping their guns)
—Kamerad!
The American Lieutenant—
Men—you have kept the faith. I am proud of you. Forward!
An explosion (not too loud to annoy the audience) is heard off stage right.
(Sinking to the ground)
Fellows, I'm afraid they've got me.
The Streetcleaner's Son—
What a shame!
The Lieutenant—
Is there anything we can do to ease the pain?
The Professor's Son—
(Weakening rapidly)
No—go on, boys, carry the—banner of —civilization's ideals—forward—without me—Tell mother I'm glad—I did— my bit—for the freedom—of the world —fellows, the only—thing—I regret—is that I won't—be able to be with you— when you—go back—to enjoy the gratitude—of America—good-bye, fellows, may you drink—to the full—the rewards of a grateful nation.
He dies. The others regretfully leave him behind as they push on after the fleeing Huns.
The stage is slowly darkened—the noise of battle dies away.
CURTAIN
TWO YEARS PASS
ACT TWO
(Eugene O'Neill)
SCENE I
The bedroom of a bachelor apartment in New York City in the Fall of 1920.There is about the room an air of neglect, as though the occupant did not particularly give a damn whether he slept in this room or in hell. This is evidenced in a general way by the absence of any attempts at decoration and by the presence of dirty laundry and unopened letters scattered about the room.
The furniture consists of a bed and a bureau; at the foot of the former is a trunk such as was used by American army officers in the recent war.
Although it is three in the morning, the bed is unoccupied. The electric light over the bureau has been left lighted.
The lamp flickers and goes out for a minute;
The angel—
Why the hell weren't you satisfied to stay in heaven?
The Professor's Son—
Well, I just wanted to see my old buddies once more—I want to see them enjoying the gratitude of the world.
The Angel—
Hmmmm—well, this is where your Lieutenant now lives—and I think I hear him coming.
They step behind a curtain. The noise of a key rattling in a lock is heard, then a light flashes on in the next room. The sound of unsteady footsteps—a vase is knocked over— a curse—then enter the Lieutenant.
He sits down on the bed and remains for several minutes, his head in his hands.
The Lieutenant—
God, I'm drunk—
(after a
pause)
—drunk again—well, what of it
—what the hell difference does it make
—get drunk if I want to—sure I will—
get drunk—that's the dope DRUNK—
oh Christ!—
He throws himself on the bed and after lying there a few minutes sits up.
The Lieutenant—
Gotta have another drink— can't go sleep, God damn it—brain too clear—gotta kill brain—that's the dope —kill brain—forget—wipe out past—
He opens the trunk in his search for liquor.
The Lieutenant—
There's that God damn thing—never wanted to see it again— wound stripes on right sleeve, too—hurrah for brave soldier—arm shot off to— to make world safe for democracy—blaa —the god damn hypocrites—democracy hell—arm shot off because I wasn't clever enough to stay out of it—ought to have had sense enough to join the—the ordinance department or—or the Y.M.C.A.
He feels aimlessly through the pockets of the coat. Suddenly, from the inside breast pocket he draws out something—a photograph—
The Lieutenant—
Ellen! Oh God!
He gazes at the picture for a long time.
The Lieutenant—
Yes, Ellen, I should have joined the Y.M.C.A. shouldn't I?—
He tears the picture in two and hurls it into the trunk. Then he sinks onto the bed, sobbing drunkenly. After a few minutes, he walks over to the trunk and picks up one half of the torn picture. He turns it over in his hand and reads the writing on the back.
The Lieutenant
(Reading)
—"I'm waiting for you, dear—when you have done your bit `for the freedom of the world'.''
He smiles, wearily, and reaches down to pick up the other half of the picture. His eye is caught by something shiny; it is his army revolver. He slowly picks it up and looks at it for a long time.
For the freedom of the world—
He quickly opens his top bureau drawer and takes out a box of cartridges. One of these he inserts in a chamber of his revolver.
The Lieutenant—
For the freedom—
He laughs.
As the curtain falls he presses the revolver against his temple and fires.
SCENE 2
A bare room in a boarding house. To the left is a bed, to the right a grand piano—the latter curiously out of keeping with the other cheap furnishings. The room is in partial darkness.The door slowly swings open; the Angel and the Professor's Son enter.
The Angel—
And here you have the room of your friend the Pawnbroker's Son—the musical genius—with a brilliant future.
They hide in a closet, leaving the door partly open.
Enter Jean, the Pawnbroker's Son. He has on a cutaway suit—a relic of his first and last public concert before the war. His shoulders sag dejectedly and his face is drawn and white. He comes in and sits on the bed. A knock— a determined knock—is heard at the door but Jean does not move. The door opens and his landlady—a shrewish, sharp faced woman of 40—appears. He gets up off the bed when he sees her and bows.
I forgot you was deef or I wouldn't have wasted my time hitting my knuckles against your door.
Jean gazes at her.
The Landlady—
Well Mr. Rosen I guess you know why I'm here—it's pay up today or get out.
Jean—
Please write it down—you know I cannot hear a word you say. I suppose it's about the rent.
The landlady takes paper and pencil and writes.
The Landlady—
(Reading over the result of her labor)
—"To-day—is—the—last— day. If you can't pay, you must get out ''
She hands it to Jean and he reads.
Jean—
But I cannot pay. Next week perhaps I shall get work—
The Landlady—
(Scornfully)
—Yes—Next week maybe I have to sell another liberty bond for seventy dollars what I paid a hundred dollars for, too. No sir I need the money now. Here—
She writes and hands it to him.
Jean
(Reading)
—Sell my piano? But please I cannot do that—yet.
The Landlady—
A lot of good a piano does a deef person like you. That's a good one —
(She laughs harshly).The deef musician—ho ho—with a piano.
Jean—
Madam, I shall pay you surely next week. There has been some delay in my war risk insurance payment. I should think that you would trust a soldier who lost his hearing in the trenches—
The Landlady—
That's old stuff. You soldiers think just because you were unlucky enough to get drafted you can spend the rest of your life patting yourselves on the back. Besides—what good did the
She scribbles emphatically "Either you pay up tonight or out you go.''
Handing this to Jean with a flourish, she exits.
He sits on the bed for a long time.
Finally he glances up at the wall over his bed where hangs a cheap photo frame. In the center is a picture of President Wilson; on one side of this is a crude print of a soldier, on the other side a sailor; above is the inscription "For the Freedom of the World.''
Jean takes down the picture and looks at it. As he replaces it on the wall he sees hanging above it the bayonet which he had carried through the war. He slowly takes the weapon down, runs his fingers along the edge and smiles—a quiet tired smile which does not leave his face during the rest of the scene.
He walks over to the piano and plays the opening chords of the Schumann concerto.
He next writes a note which he folds and places, with the key to the piano, in an envelope. Sealing and addressing the envelope, he places it on the piano. Then, walking over to the bed, he picks up the bayonet, and shutting his eyes for an instant, he steps forward and cuts his throat as the curtain falls.
SCENE 3
Same as Act 1, Scene 1 except for the changes made in the city street by a year or more of peace.The arch across the thoroughfare still stands, although it has become badly discolored and dirty; the inscription "For the Freedom of the World'' is but faintly visible. As the curtain rises workmen are busy at work tearing the arch down.
Enter the Angel and the Professor's Son.
The Angel—
Stand over here, out of the way, and you'll see the last of your cronies— Pat, the Streetcleaner's Son—enjoying the gratitude of the world.
The Professor's Son does not answer.
Enter Pat. He has on an old pair of corduroy trousers, with his brown army shirt, and shoes out at the heel.
He looks as if he had not slept for days
Pat—
Say buddy any chance for a job here?
The Workman—
Hell no. They was fifty
applicants yesterday.(Looking at his
army shirt)
Most of them ex-soldiers like
you. Jobs is mighty scarce.
Pat—
I'll tell the world they are. I'd almost join the army again, except for my wife and kid.
The Workman—
God—don't do it.
Pat—
Why—was you across?
The Workman—
Yes, God damn it—eight months. Next war I'll let somebody else do the fighting.
Pat—
Same here. The wise guys were them that stayed at home and kept their jobs.
The Workman—
I'll say they were.
Pat—
(Growing more excited)
—And while we was over there fighting, nothing was too good for us—"brave boys,'' they said, "we shall never forget what you have done for us.'' Never forget—hell! In
During this speech the work on dismantling the arch has steadily progressed. Suddenly there comes a warning cry—"Look out''—as the supports unexpectedly give way. Pat is too engrossed in his tirade to take heed, and as the center portion of the arch falls it crushes him beneath its weight. After the cloud of dust clears, he is seen lying under the mass. By a curious twist of fate he has been crushed by the portion of the arch bearing the inscription "For the Freedom of the World.'' His eyes open for an instant—he reads, through the mist of approaching death, the words, and he laughs—
For the Freedom of the World—Oh Christ!
His mocking laughter is interrupted by a severe fit of coughing and he sinks back dead.
The Professor's Son—
Oh God—take me somewhere where I can't ever see the world.
The angel—
Come to heaven.
CURTAIN
The End
CHAPTER NINE"FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD''
A DRAMA OF THE GREAT WAR
Act I: In the Manner of Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews
Act 2: In the Manner of Eugene O'Neill
A Parody Outline of History | ||