One-Act Plays Part 44

Although in this collection, Brighouse is represented by _Maid of France_, a play with no local Lancashire coloring, first given on July 16, 1917, in London, not Manchester (it was later produced at the Greenwich Village Theatre in New York, beginning April 18, 1918), he has up to the present time written seven plays about Lancashire. He has been particularly successful in one-act drama; _Lonesome Like_, _The Price of Coal_, and _Spring in Bloomsbury_ have been popular here and in England. B. Iden Payne, who directed productions at the Gaiety Theatre for some time, says: "In all Harold Brighouse's plays there is in the acting more laughter than one would expect from the reading." A number of Brighouse's plays have been published; in the introduction to the latest volume,[36] he writes: "In another age than ours play-books were a favorite, if not the only form of light reading....

The reader mentally producing a play from the book in his hand looks through a magic cas.e.m.e.nt at what he gloriously will instead of through a proscenium arch at the handiwork of a mere human producer." This playwright's att.i.tude toward the reading of plays, with its appeal to the imagination, is one justification for a collection like the present one.

[Footnote 36: Harold Brighouse, _Three Lancashire Plays_, London and New York, 1920. There is a bibliographical note at the end.]

Brighouse is himself a Manchester man, having been born in Eccles, a suburb, on July 26, 1882. He was educated at the Manchester Grammar School. Until 1913 he was engaged in business, carrying on his literary work at the same time, but in that year he gave himself up exclusively to writing. Besides plays, he has written fiction and criticism. During the Great War, he was attached to the Intelligence Staff of the Air Ministry.

MAID OF FRANCE

CHARACTERS

JEANNE D'ARC.

BLANCHE, _a flower-girl._ PAUL, _a French Poilu._ FRED, _an English Tommy._ GERALD SOAMES, _an English lieutenant._

_THE SCENE represents one side of a square in a French town on Christmas Eve, 1916. The buildings shown have suffered from German sh.e.l.ls, except the church in the center which stands immune, protected, as it were, by the statue of Jeanne d'Arc which stands on a pedestal, surrounded by steps in front of it. The church is lighted up within for the midnight ma.s.s, but it is its side which presents itself to one's view, so that the ingoing worshipers are not seen. The statue is of the Maid in her armor. It is nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and the lighting, which should not be too realistically obscure, suggests faint moonlight._

_PAUL, a French private in war-worn uniform, stands by the steps, gazing adoringly at the statue. He is a charmingly simple, credulous man, in peace a peasant. To him there enters from the right, BLANCHE, a flower-girl, in a cloak, with a basket of flowers. In face and figure, BLANCHE must resemble the statue. She is a pert, impudent, extremely self-possessed saleswoman, burning, however, with the fierce light of French patriotism which, almost in spite of herself, is apt to get the better of her. Ready as she is to trade upon PAUL's mystic reverence for the Maid, familiarity with the statue has not bred contempt in her. She stops by PAUL, offering her flowers with a cajoling smile._

BLANCHE. Will you buy a flower, monsieur?

PAUL. Flower, mademoiselle? You can sell flowers at this hour when it is nearly midnight?

BLANCHE. There is moonlight, and I have a smile, monsieur. It is my smile which sells the flowers. Does not monsieur agree that it is irresistible?

PAUL [_uneasily_]. Mademoiselle has charm.

BLANCHE. And I have charms for you. My flowers. Will you not buy a flower, monsieur, and I will pin it to your uniform where it will draw all the ladies' eyes to you when you promenade on the boulevard?

PAUL. I do not promenade. I stay here.

BLANCHE. Here in the Square where it is dull and lonely? But on the boulevards are lights, monsieur, and gaiety, and people promenade because to-night is Christmas Eve.

PAUL. Mademoiselle, you're kind. Will you be kind to me and tell me something?

BLANCHE. What can I tell?

PAUL. I am only a peasant and I do not know many things. But you live in the town and you must know. They say, mademoiselle, they have told me, that there are miracles on Christmas Eve.

BLANCHE. Did you believe them?

PAUL. I did not know. I only hoped.

BLANCHE. What did you hope?

PAUL [_very earnestly_]. I have been told that stone can speak on Christmas Eve. And I want, oh, mademoiselle, I want to hear the blessed voice of our glorious Maid.

BLANCHE. Monsieur has sentiment.

PAUL [_pleadingly_]. You think that she will speak to me?

BLANCHE [_dropping all banter_]. Monsieur, she speaks in stone to all of us. She stands erect, serene, like the unconquerable spirit of France and cries defiance at the Boche. They sent their sh.e.l.ls like hail and ground our homes to powder and made a desolation of our streets, but they could not touch the statue of the Maid nor the church she guards.

PAUL. And she speaks! She speaks!

BLANCHE. She is the soul of France, monsieur, defying tyranny, invincible and unafraid. She is a message to each one of us. As the sh.e.l.ls fell all around and could not harm her, so must we stand unshaken for the France we love. She speaks of freedom and deliverance.

PAUL. And she will speak to me?

BLANCHE [_pityingly as she sees how literally he has taken her_].

Perhaps.

PAUL. What must I do, mademoiselle, to hear her voice?

BLANCHE [_seeing in this too good an opportunity for selling a flower_]. Will you not buy a flower for the Maid? They come from far away, from the South where there is always sun, and so they are not cheap. But, for a franc, you may have one lily of Lorraine to put upon the statue of the Maid.

PAUL. A lily of Lorraine!

BLANCHE [_showing a flower, then taking it back tantalizingly_]. See, monsieur! How could she refuse to speak to you if you gave her that?

PAUL. It is the way to make her speak! [_Puts out hand for the flower and then draws back._ ] But a franc! And I have nothing but one sou.

BLANCHE. One sou! When flowers are so dear, and have to come so far!

Mon dieu, monsieur, but you have had a thirsty day if a sou is all that you have left from the wineshops.

PAUL. I did not spend it there, mademoiselle. I gave it to the church, this church where is the statue of our Maid.

BLANCHE [_only half scoffing_]. Monsieur is devout.

PAUL. Not always, mademoiselle. But I was born at Domremy where she was born and I have always adored our sainted Maid who died for France. Perhaps because of that, perhaps without the flower, Jeanne will speak to me at midnight when they say the statues come to life.

BLANCHE [_touched_]. Monsieur, I do not know. Perhaps she will. But see, here is a lily of Lorraine which I give you for the Maid. Put it upon her statue and perhaps it will awaken her to speech.

PAUL. Mademoiselle! [_Taking the flower._] How can I thank you?

BLANCHE. I also am a maid of France, monsieur. You are a soldier and you fight for France. But I must sell my flowers now. Perhaps, when I have sold them, I will come again to see if Jeanne has spoken.

PAUL. You think she will?

BLANCHE. Monsieur, have faith. All things are possible on Christmas Eve. [_She moves L. PAUL goes to the statue and puts the lily on its breast._]

BLANCHE. Holy Virgin, the lies I've told! What simplicity! But Jeanne might. She might. [_Exit BLANCHE L. PAUL stands, watching. An English lieutenant, GERALD SOAMES, enters R., carrying a small wreath of evergreens. He is awkward and self-conscious and stops short when he sees PAUL, annoyed in the English way at being found out in an act of sentiment. By consequence, the little ceremony he had proposed falls short of the impressiveness he designed for it._]

GERALD. O Lord, there's a fellow there. Er--[_PAUL salutes._]

Oh--er--c'est ici la statue de Jeanne d'Arc, n'est-ce pas?