Wendy Wasserstein (1950- )　　　
The Man in a Case
LIST OF CHARACTERS　
BYELINKOV & VARINKA　
SCENE: A small garden in the village of Mironitsk, in 1898 (Byelinkov is facing. Enter Varinka out of breath. )

BYELINKOV. You are ten minutes late.
VARINKA. The most amazing thing happened on my way over here. You know the woman who runs the grocery store down the road. She wears a black wig during the week, and a blond wig on Saturday nights. And she has the daughter who married an engineer in Moscow who is doing very well thank you and is living, God bless them, in a three-room apartment. But he really is the most boring man in the world: All he talks about is his future and his station in life. Well, she heard we were to be married and she gave me this basket of apricots to give to you.
BYELINKOV. That is a most amazing thing!
　
VARINKA. She said to me, Varinka, you are marrying the most honorable man in the entire village. In this village he is the only man fit to speak with my son-in-law.
　
BYELINKOV. I don't care for apricots. They give me hives.
VARINKA. I can return them. I'm sure if I told her they give you hives she would give me a basket, of raisins or a cake.
　
BYELINKOV. I don't know this woman or her pompous son-in-law. Why would she give me her cakes?
VARINKA. She adores you!
BYELINKOV. She is emotionally loose.
VARINKA. She adores you by reputation. Everyone adores you by reputation. I tell everyone I am to marry Byelinkov, the finest teacher in the country.
BYELINKOV. You tell them this?
　
　　VARINKA. If they don't tell me first.
　
　　BYELINKOV. Pride can be an imperfect value. .
　
　　VARINKA. It isn't pride. It is the truth. You are a great man!
　
　　BYELINKOV. I am the master of Greek and Latin at a local school at the end of the village of Mironitski.
　　　
　　( Varinka kisses him. )
　

　　VARINKA. And I am to be the master of Greek and Latin's wife!
　
　 　BYELINKOV. Being married requires a great deal of responsibility. I hope I am able to provide you with all that a married man must properly provide a wife.
　
　　VARINKA. We will be very happy.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. Happiness is for children. We are entering into a social contract, an amicable agreement to provide us with a secure and satisfying future.
　
　　VARINKA. You are so sweet! You are the sweetest man in the world!
　
　　BYELINKOV. I'm a man set in his ways who saw a chance to provide himself with a small challenge.
　
　 　VARINKA. Look at you! Look at you! Your sweet round spectacles, your dear collar always starched, always raised, your perfectly pressed pants always creasing at right angles perpendicular to the floor, and my most favorite part, the sweet little galoshes, rain or shine, just in case. My Byelinkov, never taken by surprise. Except by me.
　
　　BYELINKOV. You speak about me as. if I were your pet.
　
　　VARINKA. You are my pet! My little school mouse.
　
　　BYELINKOV. A mouse?
　
　　VARINKA. My sweetest dancing bear with galoshes, my little stale babka. "
　
　　BYELINKOV. A stale babka? (Note: cake with almonds and raisins.)
　
　　VARINKA. I am not Pushkin.(Note: Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), Russian poet.)
　
　　BYELINKOV (laughs.) That depends what you think of Pushkin.
　
　　VARINKA. You're smiling. I knew I could make you smile to day.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. I am a responsible man. Every day I have for breakfast black bread, fruit, hot tea, and every day I smile three times. I am halfway into my translation of the Aeneid (note: Latin epic poem by the Roman poet Virgil (70-19B.C.) from classical Greek hexameter into Russian alexandrines. In twenty yeas I have never been late to school: l am a responsible man, but no dancing bear.
　
　　VARINKA. Dance with me.
　
　　BYELINKOV. Now? It is nearly four weeks before the wedding!
　
　　VARINKA. It's a beautiful afternoon. We are in your garden. The roses are in full bloom.
　
　　BYELINKOV. The roses have beetles.
　
　　VARINKA. Dance with me!
　
　　BYELINKOV. You are a demanding woman.
　
　　VARINKA. You chose me. And right. And left. And turn. And right. And left.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. And turn. Give me your hand. You dance like a school mouse. It's a beautiful afternoon! We are in my," garden. The roses are in full bloom! And turn. And turn.
　
　　　　(Twirls Varinka around.)
　
　　VARINKA. I am the luckiest woman!
　
　　
　
　　(Byelinkov stops dancing.)
　
　　
　
　　Why are you stopping?
　
　　BYELINKOV. To place a lilac in your hair. Every year on this day I will place a lilac in your hair.
　
　　VARINKA. Will you remember?
　
　 　BYELINKOV. I will write it down. (Takes a notebook from his pocket.) Dear Byelinkov, don't forget the day a young lady, your bride, entered your garden, your peace, and danced on the roses. On that day every year you are to place a lilac in her hair.
　
　　VARINKA. I love you.
　
　　BYELINKOV. It is convenient we met.
　
　　VARINKA. I love you.
　
　　BYELINKOV. You are a girl.
　
　　VARINKA. I am thirty.
　
　　BYELINKOV. But you think like a girl. That is an attractive attribute.
　
　　VARINKA. Do you love me?
　
　　BYELINKOV. We've never spoken about housekeeping.
　
　 　VARINKA. I am an excellent housekeeper. I kept house for my family on the farm in Gadyatchsky. I can make a beetroot soup with tomatoes and aubergines which is so nice. Awfully awfully nice.
　
　　BYELINKOV. You are fond of expletives.
　
　　VARINKA. My beet soup, sir, is excellent!
　
　 　BYELINKOV. Please don' t be cross. I too am an excellent housekeeper. I have a place for everything in the house. A shelf for each pot, a cubby for every spoon, a folder for favorite recipes. I have cooked for myself for twenty years. Though my beet soup is not outstanding, it is suffcient.
　
　　VARINKA. I'm sure it's very good.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. No. It is awfully, awfully not. What I am outstanding in, however, what gives me greatest pleasure, is preserving those things, which are left over. I wrap each tomato slice I haven't used in a wet cloth and place it in the coolest corner of the house. I have had my shoes for seven years because I wrap them in the galoshes you are so fond of. And every night before I go to sleep I wrap my bed in quilts and curtains so I never catch a draft.
　
　　VARINKA. You sleep with curtains on your bed?
　
　　BYELINKOV. I like to keep warm.
　
　　VARINKA. I will make you a new quilt.
　
　　BYELINKOV. No. No new quilt. That would be hazardous.
　
　　VARINKA. It is hazardous to sleep under curtains.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. Varinka, I don't like change very much. If one works out the arithmetic, the final fraction of improvement is at best less than an eighth of value over the total damage caused by disruption. I never thought of marrying till I saw your eyes dancing among the familiar faces at the headmaster's tea. I assumed I would grow old preserved like those, which are left over, wrapped suitably in my case of curtains and quilts.
　
　 　VARINKA. Byelinkov, I want us to have dinners with friends and summer country visits. I want people to say, "Have you spent time with Varinka and Byelinkov? He is so happy now that they are married. She is just what lie needed."
　
　　BYELINKOV. You have already brought me some happiness.But I never was a sad man. Don't ever think I thought I was a sad man.
　
　 　VARINKA. My sweetest darling, you can be whatever you want! If you are sad, they'll say she talks all the time, and he is softspoken and kind.
　
　　BYELINKOV. And if I am difficult?
　
　 　VARINKA. Oh, they'll say he is difficult because he is highly intelligent. All great men are difficult. Look at Lermontov, Tchaikovsky, Peter the Great.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. Ivan the Terrible.(Note: Mikhail Lennoatov (1814-1841),poet and novelist; Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893), eotnposer; Peter the Great (1672-1725) and Ivan the Terrible (1530-1584), oars credited with making Russia a great European power.)
　
　　VARINKA. Yes, him too.
　
　　BYELINKOV. Why are you marrying me? I am none of these things.
　
　　VARINKA. To me you are.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. You have imagined this. You have constructed an elaborate romance for yourself. Perhaps you are the great one. You are the one with the great imagination.
　
　 　VARINKA. Byelinkov, I am a pretty girl of thirty. You' re right, I am not a woman. I have not made myself into a woman because I do not deserve that honor. Until I came to this town to visit my brother I lived on my family's farm. As the years passed I became younger and younger in fear that I would never marry. And it wasn' t that I wasn't pretty enough or sweet enough, it was just that no man ever looked at me and saw a wife. I was not the woman who would be there when he came home. Until I met you I thought I would lie all my life and say I never married because I never met a man I loved. I will love you, Byelinkov. And I will help you to love me. We deserve the life everyone else has. We deserve not to be different.
　
　　BYELINKOV. Yes. We are the same as everyone else.
　
　　VARINKA. Tell me you love me.
　
　　BYELINKOV. I love you.
　
　　VARINKA (takes his hands.) We will be very happy. I am very strong. (Pauses. ) It is time for tea.
　
　　BYELINKOV. It is too early for tea. Tea is at half past the hour.
　
　　VARINKA. Do you have heavy cream? It will be awfully nice with apricots.
　
　　BYELINKOV. Heavy cream is too rich for teatime.
　
　 　VARINKA. But today is special. Today you placed a lilac in my hair. Write in your note pad. Every year we will celebrate with apricots and heavy cream. I will go to my brother's house and get some.
　
　　BYELINKOV. But your brother's house is a mile from here.
　
　　VARINKA. Today it is much shorter. Today my brother gave me his bicycle to ride. I will be back very soon.
　
　　BYELINKOV. You rode to my house by bicycle! Did anyone see you!
　
　 　VARINKA. Of course. I had such fun. I told you I saw the grocery store lady with the son-in-law who is doing very well thank you in Moscow, and the headmaster's wife.
　
　　BYELINKOV. You saw the headmaster's wife!
　
　　VARINKA. She smiled at me.
　
　　BYELINKOV. Did she laugh or smile?
　
　 　VARINKA. She laughed a little. She said, "My dear, you are very progressive to ride a bicycle." She said you and your fiance Byelinkov must ride together sometime. I wonder if he'll take off his galoshes when he rides a bicycle.
　
　　BYELINKOV. She said that?
　
　　VARINKA. She adores you, We had a good giggle.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. A woman can be arrested for riding a bicycle. That is not progressive, it is a premeditated revolutionary act. Your brother must be awfully, awfully careful on behalf of your behavior. He has been careless-oh so care-less-in giving you the bicycle.
　
　　VARINKA. Dearest Byelinkov, you are wrapping yourself under curtains and quilts! I made friends on the bicycle.
　
　　BYELINKOV. You saw more than the headmaster's wife and the idiot grocery woman.
　
　　VARINKA. She is not an idiot.
　
　　BYELINKOV. She is a potato-Vending, sausage-armed fool!
　
　　VARINKA. Shhh! My school mouse. Shhh!
　
　　BYELINKOV. What other friends did you make on this bicycle?
　
　　VARINKA. I saw students from my brother' s classes. They waved and shouted, 0Anthropos in love! Anthropos in 'love!!"
　
　　BYELINKOV. Where is that bicycle?
　
　　VARINKA. I left it outside the gate. Where are you going?
　
　　BYELINKOV (muttering as he exits.) Anthropos in love, an thropos in love.
　
　　VARINKA. They were cheering me on. Careful, you'll trample the roses.
　
　 　BYELINKOV (returning with the bicycle.) Anthropos is the Greek singular for man. Anthropos in love translates as the Greek and Latin master in love. Of course they cheered you. Their instructor, who teaches them the discipline and contained beauty of the classics, is in love with a sprite on a bicycle. It is a good giggle, isn't it? A very good giggle! I am returning this bicycle to your brother.
　
　　VARINKA. But it is teatime.
　
　　BYELINKOV. Today we will not' have tea.
　
　　VARINKA. But you will have to walk back a mile.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. I have my galoshes on. (Gets on the bicycle.), Varinka, we deserve not to be different. (Begins to pedal. The bicycle doesn't move. )
　
　　VARINKA. Put the kickstand up.
　
　　BYELINKOV. I beg your pardon.
　
　　VARINKA (giggling.) Byelinkov, to make the bicycle move; you must put the kickstand up.
　　　
　　(Byelinkov puts it up and awkwardly falls off the bicycle as it.moves. )
　
　　　
　
　　(Laughing.) Ha ha ha. My little school mouse. You. look so funny! You are the sweetest dearest man in the world. Ha ha ha!,
　　　
　　(Pause.)
　
　　
　
　　BYELINKOV. Please help me up. I'm afraid my galosh is caught.
　
　 　VARINKA (trying not to laugh. ) .Your galosh is caught! (Explodes in laughter again.) Oh, you are so funny! I do love you so. (Helps Byelinkov up.) You were right, my pet, as always. We don't need heavy cream for tea. The fraction of improvement isn' t worth the damage caused by the disruption.
　
　 　BYELINKOV. Varinka, it is still too early for tea. I must complete two stanzas of my translation before late afternoon. That is my regular schedule.
　
　　VARINKA. Then I will watch while you work.
　
　　BYELINKOV. No. You had a good giggle. That is enough.
　
　　VARINKA. Then while you work I will work too. I will make lists of guests for our wedding.
　
　　BYELINKOV. I can concentrate only when I am alone in my house. Please take your bicycle home to your brother.
　
　　VARINKA. But I don't want to leave, you. You look so sad.
　
　　BYELINKOV. I never was a sad man. Don't ever think I was a sad man.
　
　　VARINKA. Byelinkov, it's a beautiful day, we are in your garden. The roses are in bloom.
　
　　BYELINKOV: Allow me to help you on to your bicycle.(Takes,Varinka's hand as she gets on the bike. )
　
　VARINKA. You are such a gentleman. We will be very happy.
　
　BYELINKOV. You are very strong. Good day, Varinka.
　　　
( Varinka pedals off-Byelinkov, alone in the garden, takes out his pad and rips up the note about the lilac, strews it over the garden, then carefully picks up each piece of paper and places them all in a small envelope as lights fade to black. )
　　　
Questions:
　
1. What scene in the play do you think is funny? And why is it funny? Can you formulate a theory of comedy based on this episode?
　
2: At the end of the play Byelinkov, tears up the note but then collects the pieces. What do you interpret these actions to mean?
Wendy Wasserstein (1950 -)

Drama Wendy Wasserstein (American; b. 1950)

		Drama
		Chapter 17 The Elements of Drama
		Susan Glaspell, Trifles
		Chapter 18 Tragedy
		John Millington Synge, Riders to the Sea
		Chapter 19 Comedy
		Wendy Wasserstein, The Man in a Case
		Formalist (or New) Criticism
		Marxist (or Sociological) Criticism
		Structuralism
		Post-structuralism
		Deconstructionist Criticism
		Psychoanalytical Criticism
		Reader-Response Criticism
		Feminist (Gender) Criticism
		Mythic and Archetypal Criticism
		Critical Approaches to Literature
		Fictional Terms
		Poetic Terms
		Dramatic Terms
		Bibliography
	Chapter 17 The Elements of Drama
		The word drama is derived from the Greek word dran, which means "to do" or "to act " Although "drama' is often used as a synonym for "play," the word drama can also refer to a group of plays, such as Elizabethan drama, or to all plays collectively.
		Types of Drama
		Aristotle divided all drama into tragedy and comedy. Tragedy involves the downfall of a hero or heroine; it begins in prosperity and ends in adversity. Comedy describes the reformation of a group of people or a society; it begins in adversity and resolves in prosperity. To a much fuller definition of tragedy and comedy, see the next two chapters.
		Pure forms of tragedy and comedy have rarely appeared in modern drama; most British and American plays offer some mixture of the two forms. That is, tragedies may include witty and humorous scenes, and comedies often deal with serious and threatening problems. When the patterns and emotions are mixed, the play is called a tragicomedy, a term commonly used to refer to plays that offer a mixture of tragic and comic effects. In many ways, tragicomedy is the dominant form of twentieth-century drama.
		Other forms of drama that have to do with tragedy and comedy include farce, melodrama, and social drama. Farce is a wildly comic play that uses highly improbable situations, stereotyped characters, extravagant exaggeration, and violent horseplay, frequently with satiric intent. Charlie Chaplin' s film comedy Modern Times is a good example of farce. Melodrama, originated from early nineteenth century France, is a debased form of tragedy with a happy ending. Featuring stock characters such as the noble hero, the long-suffering heroine, and the cold-blooded, hard-hearted villain, the drama emphasizes sensational incident at the expense of character development. By the early twentieth century motion pictures had become the most popular vehicle for melodramas; later television also became a popular medium for the form. Social drama, sometimes called problem plays, evolved in the nineteenth century and dominated the stage through the early part of the twentieth century. This type of drama stresses the social world, with emphasis on the individual's place in the society of his or her time. Examples of social drama are Susan Glaspell's Trifles and Arther Miller's Death of a Salesman.
		One further distinction will be helpful in the exploration of drama. Full-length plays are dramas that usually contain three or five separate acts (as in Hamlet). Such plays provide for complete and in-depth development of character, conflict, and idea. Shorter dramas, however, do not permit extensive development because they are by definition more limited and confined. One-act plays, (such as Before Breakfast ) flows smoothly from episode to episode without a break. If we consider parallels with fiction, the full-length play is analogous to the novel, while the one-act play is like the short story.
		Given all these terms and types, we should keep in mind that classification is not the goal of reading plays. It is less important to identify A as a comedy or B as a melodramatic tragedy than it is to feel and understand the experiences and ideas that each play offers us.
		The Basic Elements of Dramatic Literature
		Aristotle identifies six components of drama: plot, character, language, spectacle, thought, and song. Although modern drama cannot be judged exclusively on the basis of those six aspects, yet his list illustrates the continuity of dramatic elements and techniques. .
		Plot, Action, and Conflict
		Handbooks on the drama often suggest that a plot (arrangement of happenings or a planned sequence of interrelated actions) should have a rising action, a climax, and a falling action. This sort of plot can be diagrammed as a pyramid, the tension rising through complications, or crisis, to a climax, at which point the fate of the protagonist (chief character) is firmly established; the climax is the apex, and the tension slackens as we witness the denouement (unknotting). Such a plot structure, according to the German critic Gustav Freytag, can be further illustrated as follows:
		1. Exposition or Introduction
		2. Complication and Development
		3. Climax or Crisis
		4.Falling Action, Catastrophe
		5.Resolution or Denouement
		In the stage of the exposition, we receive essential background information; we meet the characters; we are introduced to what happened before the curtain rose and even the conflicts. In Hamlet, fot example, the conversations of Barnardo, Marcellus, and Horatio provide critical information.
		In the second stage, the complication, the conflicts grow heated and the plot becomes more involved. Complication leads into climax, the turning point of the play, the moment when tension reaches its greatest height. In the third stage the hero or heroine often faces a crucial decision or chooses a course of action that determines the outcome of the play. In Trifles, for instance, the climax occurs when Mrs. Peters finds herself torn between her desire to save Minnie and her duty to the law.
		The pyramid begins its downward slope in stage four, the catastrophe. The catastrophe (not to be confused without modern use of the term to mean "disaster") refers to the moment of revelation when all the pieces fall into place. It is often caused by the discovery of certain information that has been unknown to most of the characters up to that instant. During the final stage, the resolution, conflicts are resolved. ( knots are untied. )
		But it must be remembered that this five-stage structure is only generally applicable, fot not all plays follow the pattern precisely as outlined. The pattern is merely a model to explain plot.
		Character
		Many of the types of characters that populate prose fiction are also found in drama. In drama as in fiction, for instance, we find both round characters and flat characters. The round characters are fully developed and usually undergo some change in the course of the play; flat characters, on the other hand, tend to be undeveloped and unchanging. Characters in full-length plays are usually round while those in one-act plays tend to be flat. Characters in drama can also be considered either static---that is, fixed and unchanging- -or dynamic-- that is, growing and developing. Flat characters are usually static; round characters are often dynamic.
		Because drama depends on conflict as fully as does prose fiction, we also find protagonists and antagonists in plays. The protagonist is usually the character we identify with and cheer on; the antagonist opposes the protagonist and is often the villain of the piece. In O' Neill's Before Breakfast, for example, Alfred Rowland is the protagonist and his wife the antagonist; their relationship forms the central conflict of the play.
		Dramatic characters may be realistic, nonrealistic, symbolic and stereotyped. Realistic characters are normally accurate imitations of individualized men and women; they are provided with backgrounds, personalities, desires, motivations, and thoughts. Nonrealistic characters are usually not provided with such individualizing touches; they are often undeveloped. Symbolic characters represent an idea, a way of life, moral values, or some other abstraction. Stereotyped characters represent generalized racial or social traits repeated as typical from work to work, with no individualizing traits.
		The major difference between characters in prose fiction and characters in drama lies in the way they are unfolded. Playwrights do not have the freedom to tell us directly about a character, as fiction writers do. We learn about characters in play by paying attention to their words and actions, by listening to what other characters say about them, and by watching what other characters do to them. Finally, we arrive at our own judgment or understanding of characters.
		Point of View
		Point of view in drama is strikingly different from that in prose fiction. Playwrights usually employ the dramatic point of view in which we receive only the information communicated by the character. The method is characterized by complete objectivity in description of characters and scenes and in reporting of action and speech. The playwright does not overly guide us toward any conclusions. Thus, we draw conclusions from all the details presented in the play.
		Setting
		Setting in drama serves to place the action in a specific time and place and to help create the appropriate mood. The setting is usually the first thing we see on the stage. In Trifles, for example, the first thing we see is a Nebraska farm kitchen, complete with stove, sink, and unwashed dishes. Besides employing settings to establish a specific time and place, playwrights also use settings to convey information about characters. In Before Breakfast, for instance, 0'Neill uses the single stage setting to tell the reader a great deal about the characters and their lives. The Rowland's apartment in Greenwich Village, a part of New York City that was a traditional gathering place for artists, writers and actors, defines their status, their relationship and their way of Liffe.
		Diction, Style and Language
		Words give plays their emotional impact and meaning. Most of what we learn about characters, relationships and conflict in drama is conveyed through language. The language must be appropriate for the play in which it is spoken; it must fit the time, the place, and the characters. This sense of appropriateness is called decorum.
		The words and rhetorical devices spoken in a play delineate character, emotion, and theme, much as they do in prose fiction. Dramatists can employ words that have wide-ranging connotations, as with the words trifle and knot in Glaspell' s play Trifles. Dramatists also employ accents, dialects, idiom, jargon, or clichés to define character. In short, playwrights have access to every stylistic and rhetorical device of language in their creation of character, conflict, emotion, and ideas.
	Tone
	Tone in drama, as in prose fiction, signifies the way moods and attitudes are created and conveyed. Tone in plays may be conveyed directly to the spectator through voice and movement. Tone may create an atmosphere or mood that dominates a play. In the opening scene of Hamlet, for instance, Shakespeare uses tempo, diction and " tone to build the dominant mood; it is dark, close to midnight, and Francisco carries a torch:
	Barnardo: Who's there?
	Francisco: Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.
	Barnardo: Long live the king!
	Francisco: Barnardo?
	Barnardo: He.
	Notice the short lines, the questions, and the choppy and rapid exchange. The tone of the dialogue is anxious and questioning. The exchange thus suggests nervousness, tension, and insecurity.
	In dealing with tone, one should be careful to distinguish between the tone of an individual character and the playwright's tone that shapes our total response to the play. In Trifles ,for example the tones of some speeches are noted as resentful , apologetic or mild. The play as a whole, however, is predominantly bitter and ironic.
	One of the most common methods employed by playwrights control the tone of a play is dramatic irony-the audience knows more than the characters in a play. In Trifles, one of the characters mockingly dismisses a woman's behavior by noting chat "women are used to worrying about such trifles". The line acquires vast dramatic irony as we watch the women in the play achieve understanding through careful attention to "trifles" that the men ignore.
	Subject and Theme
	Playwrights often write plays with specific ideas about the human condition in mind. The aspects of humanity a playwright explores constitute the subject of a play. Plays may thus be about love, hatred, war, death, ambition or anything else that is part of the human condition. The ideas that the play dramatizes about its subject make up the play's theme or meaning. Thus, a play might explore the idea that love will always find a way or that marriage can be destructive, that pride always leads to disaster, or that grief can be conquered through strength and a commitment to life. Theme is the end result of all the other elements of drama and one of the things we are left to think about after we have read a play. Since theme is created and conveyed through all the other elements of drama, great efforts are sometimes required to identify it.
	Susan Glaspell (1882-1948)
	Trifles
	CAST OF CHARACTERS
	George Henderson, county attorney
	Henry Peters, sheriff
	Lewis Hale, a neighboring farmer '
	Mrs. Peters
	Mrs. Hale
	SCENE.    The kitchen in the nom abandoned farmhouse of JOHN WRIGHT, a gloomy kitchen, and left without having been. put in order---unwashed pans under the sink, .a loaf of bread out- side the bread-box, a dish-towel on the table---other signs of in completed work. At the rear the outer door opens and the SHERIFF comes in followed by the COUNTY ATTORNEY and HALE. The SHERIFF and HALE are men in middle life, the COUNTY ATTORNEY is a young man; all are much bundled up and go at once to the stove. They are followed by the two women-the SHERIFF' S wife first; she is a slight wiry woman, a thin nervous face. MRS. HALE is larger and would ordinarily be called more comfortable looking, but she is disturbed now and looks fearfully about as she enters. The women have come in slowly, and stand close together near the door.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [Rubbing his hands.] This feels good. Come up to the fire, ladies.
	MRS. PETERS. [ After taking a step forward.] I' m not cold.
	SHERIFF. [ Unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove as if to mark the beginning of official business. ] Now, Mr. Hale, before we move things about, you explain to Mr. Henderson just what you saw when you came here yesterday morning.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. By the way, has anything been moved? Are things just as you left them yesterday?
	SHERIFF. [Looking about.] It's just the same. When it dropped below zero last night I thought I' d better send Frank out this morning to make a fire for us---no use getting pneumonia with a big case on, but I told him not to touch anything except the stove ---and you know Frank.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Somebody should have been left here yesterday.
	SHERIFF. Oh---yesterday. When I had to send Frank to Morris Center for that man who went crazy---I want you to know I had my hands full yesterday. I knew you could get back from Omaha by today and as long as I went over everything here myself---
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Well, Mr. Hale, tell just what happened when you came here yesterday morning.
	HALE. Harry and I had started to town with a load of potatoes. We came along the road from my place and as I got here I said," I'm going to see if I can't get John Wright to go in with me on a party telephone.” I spoke to Wright about it once before and he put me off, saying folks talked too much anyway, and all he asked was peace and quiet---I guess you know about how much he talked himself; but I thought maybe if I went to the house and talked about it before his wife, though I said to Harry that I didn' t know as what his wife wanted made much difference to John---
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Let' s talk about that later, Mr. Hale. I do want to talk about that, but tell now just what happened when you got to the house.
	HALE. I didn't hear or see anything; I knocked at the door, and still it was all quiet inside. I knew they must be up, it was past eight o'clock. So I knocked again, and I thought I heard somebody say, "Come in.” I wasn't sure, I'm not sure yet, but I opened the door---this door [Indicating the door by which the two women are still standing.] and there in that rocker--- [Pointing to it.] sat Mrs. Wright. [They all look at the rocker.]
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. What---was she doing?
	HALE. She was rockin' back and forth. She had her apron in her hand and was kind of---pleating it.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. And how did she---look?
	HALE. Well, she looked queer.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. How do you mean---queer?
	HALE. Well, as if she didn't know what she was going to do next. And kind of done up.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. How did she seem to feel about your coming?
	HALE. Why, I don't think she minded-one way or other. She didn't pay much attention. I said, "How do, Mrs. Wright, it's cold, ain't it?" And she said, "Is it?"---and went on kind of pleating at her apron. Well, I was surprised; she didn't ask me to come up to the stove, or to set down; but just sat there, not even looking at me, so I said," I want to see John. "And then she---laughed. I guess you would call it a laugh. I thought of Harry and the team outside, so I said a little sharp: "Can' t I see John?" "No,” she says, kind o'dull like. "Ain't he home?" says I. "Yes, "says she, "he's home." "Then why can't I see him?" I asked her, out of patience. "Cause he's dead, "says she. " Dead?" says 1. She just nodded her head, not getting a bit excited, but rockin' back and forth. "Why---where is he?" says I, not knowing what to say. She just pointed upstairs---like that. [Himself pointing to the room above.] I got up, with the idea of going up there. I walked from there to here---then I says, "Why, what did he die of?" "He died of a rope round his neck, "says she, and just went on pleatin' at her apron. Well, I went out and called Harry. I thought I might---need help. We went upstairs and there he was lying'---
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. I think I'd rather have you go into that upstairs, where you can point it all out. Just go on now with the rest of the story.
	HALE. Well, my first thought was to get that rope off. It looked... [ Stops, his face twitches. ]... but Harry, he went up to him, and he said, "No, he's dead all right, and we'd better not touch anything. So we went back downstairs. She was still sitting that same way. "Has anybody been notified?" I asked. "No," says she, unconcerned. "Who did this, Mrs. Wright?" said Harry. He said it businesslike-and she stopped pleation' of her apron. "I don' t know," she says. "You don't know?" says Harry. "No," says she. "Weren't you sleepin' in the bed with him?" says Harry. "Yes," says she," but I was on the inside. ""Somebody slipped a rope round his neck and strangled him and you didn't wake up?" says Harry." I didn't wake up," she said after him. We must' a looked as if we didn't see how that could be, for after a minute she said," I sleep sound. "Harry was going to ask her more questions but I said maybe we ought to let her tell her story first to the coroner, or the sheriff, so Harry went fast as he could to Rivers' place, where there's a telephone:
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. And what did Mrs. Wright do when she knew that you had. gone for the coroner?
	HALE. She moved from that chair to this one over here [Pointing to a small chair in the corner.] and just sat there with her hands held together and looking down. I got a feeling that I ought to make some conversation, so I said I had come in to see if John wanted to put in a telephone, and at that she started to laugh, and then she stopped and looked at me-scared. [ The COUNTY ATTORNEY, who has had his notebook out, makes a note. ] I dunno, maybe it wasn't scared. I wouldn't like to say it was. Soon Harry got back, and then Dr. Lloyd came, and you, Mr. Peters, and so I guess that's all I know that you don't.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [ Looking around. ] I guess we'll go upstairs first---and then out to the barn and around there.[ To the SHERIFF. ] You're convinced that there was nothing important here---nothing that would point to any motive.
	SHERIFF. Nothing here but kitchen things.
	[The COUNTY ATTORNEY, after again looking around the kitchen, opens the door of a cupboard closet. He gets up on a chair and looks on a shelf. Pulls his hand always sticky . ]
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Here's a nice mess.
	[The women draw nearer.]
	MRS. PETERS. [To the other woman.] Oh, her fruit; it did freeze. [ To the LAWYER. ] She worried about that when it turned so cold. She said the fired go out and her jars would break.
	SHERIFF. Well, can you beat the women! Held for murder and worryin' about her preserves.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. I guess before we' re through she may have something more serious than preserves to worry about.
	HALE. Well, women are used to worrying over trifles.
	[ The two women move a little closer together.]
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [ With the gallantry of a young politician. ] And yet, for all their worries, what would we do without the ladies? [The women do not unbend. He goes to the sink, takes a dipperful of water from the pail and pouring it into a basin, wash his hands. Starts to wipe them on the roller-towel, turns it for a cleaner place. ] Dirty towels! [Kicks his foot against the pans under the sink.] Not much of a housekeeper, would you say, ladies
	MRS. HALE. [Stiffly.] There's a great deal of work to be done on a farm.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. To be sure. And yet [with a little bow to her. ] I know there are some Dickson county farmhouses which do not have such roller towels.
	[ He gives it a pull to expose its full length again. ]
	MRS. HALE. Those towels get dirty awful quick. Men' s hands aren't always as clean as they might be. .
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Ah, loyal to your sex, I see. But you and Mrs. Wright were neighbors. I suppose you were friends, too
	MRS. HALE. [ Shaking her head. ] I've not seen much of
	her late years. I've not been in this house-it's more than a year.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. And why was that? You didn't like her
	MRS. HALE. I liked her all well enough. Farmers' wives have it hands full, Mr. Henderson. And then-
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Yes-?
	MRS. HALE. [Looking about.] It never seemed a very
	cheerful place.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. No---it's not cheerful. I shouldn't
	say she had the homemaking instinct.
	MRS. HALE. Well, I don't know as Wright had, either.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. You mean that they didn't get on very well?
	MRS. HALE. No, I don't mean anything. But I don't think a place'd be any cheerfuller for John Wright's being in it.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. I'd like to talk more of that a little later. I want to get the lay of things upstairs now.
	[He goes to the left , where three steps lead to a stair door. ]
	SHERIFF. I suppose anything Mrs. Peters does' Il be all right. She was to take in some clothes for her, you know, and a few little things. We left in such a hurry yesterday.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Yes, but I would like to see what you take, Mrs. Peters, and keep an eye out for anything that might be of use to us.
	MRS. PETERS. Yes, Mr. Henderson.
	[The women listen to the men's steps on the stairs, then look about the kitchen. ]
	MRS. HALE. I'd hate to have men coming into my kitchen, snooping around and criticising.
	[She arranges the pans under sink which the LAWYER had shoved out of place. ]
	MRS. PETERS. Of course it's no more than their duty.
	MRS. HALE. Duty's all right, but I guess that deputy sheriff that came out to make the fire might have got a little of this on. [Gives the roller towel a pull.] Wish I'd thought of that sooner. Seems mean to talk about her for not having things slicked up when she had to come away in such a hurry.
	MRS. PETERS. [Who has gone to a small table in the left rear corner of the room, and lifted one end o f a. towel that covers a pan.] She had bread set.
	[Stands still.]
	MRS. HALE. [Eyes fixed on a loaf of bread beside the breadbox, which is on a low shelf at the other side of the room. Move slowly toward it. ] She was going to put this in there. [Picks up loaf, then abruptly drops it. In a manner of returning to familiar things.] It's a shame about her fruit. I wonder if it' s all gone. [Gets up on the chair and looks.] I think there's some here that's all right, Mrs. Peters. Yes---here; [Holding it toward the window.] this is cherries, too. [Looking again.] I declare I believe that's the only one. [Gets down, bottle in her hand. Goes to the sink and wipes it off on the outside. ] She'll feel awful bad after all her hard work in the hot weather. I remember the afternoon I put up my cherries last summer.
	[She puts the bottle on the big kitchen table, center of the room. With a sigh, is about to sit down in the rocking-chair. Before she is seated realizes what chair it is; with a slow look at it, steps back. The chair which she has touched rocks back and forth. ]
	MRS. PETERS. Well, I must get those things from the front room closet. [She goes to the door at the right , but after looking into the other room., steps back. ] You coming with me, Mrs. Hale? You could help me carry them.
	[They go in the other room; reappear, MRS. PETERS carrying a dress and skirt, MRS. HALE following with a pair of shoes.]
	MRS. PETERS. My, it's cold in there.
	[ She puts the clothes on the big table and hurries to the stove. ]
	MRS. HALE. [Examining the skirt.] Wright was close. I think maybe that's why she kept so much to herself. She didn't even belong to the Ladies Aid. I suppose she felt she couldn't do her part, and then you don't enjoy things when you feel shabby. She used to wear pretty clothes and be lively, when she was Minnie Foster,. one of the town girls singing in the choir. But that-oh; that was thirty years ago. This all you was to take in?
	MRS. PETERS. She said she wanted an apron. Funny thing to want, for there isn't much to get you dirty in jail, goodness knows. But I suppose just to make her feel. more natural. She said they was in the top drawer in this cupboard. Yes, here. And then her little shawl that always hung behind the door. [Opens stair door and looks. ] Yes, here it is.
	[Quickly shuts door leading upstairs. ]
	MRS. HALE. [Abruptly moving toward her. ] Mrs. Peters?
	MRS. PETERS. Yes, Mrs. Hale?
	MRS. HALE. Do you think she did it?
	MRS. PETERS. [In a frightened voice.] Oh, I don't know.
	MRS. HALE. Well, I don't think she did. Asking for an apron and her little shawl. Worrying about her fruit.
	MRS. PETERS. [Starts to speak, glances up, where footsteps are heard in the room above. In a low voice.] Mr. Peters says it looks bad for her. Mr. Henderson is awful sarcastic in a speech and he'll make fun of her sayin' she didn't wake up.
	MRS. HALE. Well, I guess John Wright didn't wake when they was slipping that rope under his neck.
	MRS. PETERS. No, it's strange. It must have been done awful crafty and still. They say it was such a-funny way to kill a man, rigging it all up like that.
	MRS. HALE. That's just what Mr. Hale said. There was a gun in the house. He says that's what he can't understand.
	MRS. PETERS. Mr. Henderson said coming out that what was needed for the case was a motive; something to show anger, or sudden feeling.
	MRS. HALE. [ Who is standing by the table. ]Well, I don't see any signs of anger around here. [She puts her hand on the dish towel which lies on the table, stands looking down at table, one half of which is clean, the other half messy.] It's wiped to here. [Makes a move as if to finish work, then turns and looks at a loaf of bread outside the breadbox. Drops towel. In that voice o f coming back to familiar things. ]Wonder how they are finding things upstairs. I hope she had it a little more red-up* up ( neat, arranged in order)there. You know, it seems kind of sneaking& Locking her up in town and then coming out here and trying to get her own house to turn against hen!
	MRS. PETERS. But Mrs. Hale, the law is the law.
	MRS. HALE. I s' pose ' tis. [ Unbuttoning her coat. ] Better, loosen up your things, Mrs. Peters. You won't feel them when you go out.
	MRS. PETERS takes off her fur tippet(scarflike garment of fur or wool for the neck and shoulders), goes to hang it on hook at back of room, stands looking at the under part o f the small corner table.
	MRS. PETERS. She was piecing a quilt. [ She brings the large sewing basket and they look at the bright pieces. ]
	MRS. HALE. It's log cabin pattern. Pretty, isn't it? I wonder if she was goin' to quilt it or just knot it? [Footsteps have been heard coming down the stairs. The SHERIFF inters followed by HALE and the COUNTY ATTORNEY. SHERIFF. They wonder if she was going to quilt it or just knot it!]
	[ The men laugh; the women look abashed]
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [ Rubbing his hands over the stove. ] Frank's fire didn't do much up there, did it? Well, let's go out to the barn and get that cleared up.
	[ The men go outside.]
	MRS. HALE. [Resentfully. 11 don't know as there's anything so strange, our takin' up our time with little things while we're waiting for them to get the evidence. [ She sits down at the big table smoothing out a block with decision. ] I don't see as it's anything to laugh about.
	MRS. PETERS. [Apologetically. ]Of course they've got awful important things on their minds. - [ Pulls up a chair and joins Mrs. HALE at the table].
	MRS. HALE. [ Examining another block. I MRS. Peters, look at this one. Here, this is the one she was working on, and look at the sewing! All the rest of it has been so nice and even. And look at this! It's all over the place! Why, it looks as if she didn't know what she was about!
	[After she has said this they look at each other, then start to glance back at the door. After an instant MRS. HALE has pulled at a knot and ripped the sewing].
	MRS. PETERS. Oh, what are you doing, Mrs. Hale?
	MRS. HALE. [Mildly. I Just pulling out a stitch or two that's not sewed very good. [ Threading a needle. ] Bad sewing always made me fidgety.
	MRS. PETERS. [Nervously. ] I don't think we ought to touch things.
	MRS. HALE. I'll just finish up this end. [ Suddenly stopping and leaning forward. ] Mrs. Peters?
	MRS. PETERS. Yes, Mrs. Hale?
	MRS. HALE. What do you suppose she was so nervous about?
	MRS. PETERS. Oh-I don't know. I don't know as she was nervous. I sometimes sew awful queer when I'm just tired. [ MRS. HALE starts to. say something, looks at MRS. PETERS, then goes on sewing. ]Well I must get these things wrapped up. They may be through sooner than we think. [ Putting apron and other things together. ]I wonder where I can find a piece of paper, and string.
	MRS. HALE. In that cupboard, maybe.
	MRS. PETERS. [Looking in cupboard. ]Why, here's a bird- cage. [Holds it up. ]Did she have a bird, Mrs. Hale? MRS. HALE. Why, I don't know whether she did or not-- I've not been here for so long. There was a man around last year selling canaries cheap, but I don't know as she took one; maybe she did. She used to sing real pretty herself. -
	MRS. PETERS. [ Glancing around. ] Seems funny to think of a bird here. But she must have had one, or why would she have a cage? I wonder what happened to it.
	MRS. HALE. I s' pose maybe the cat got it.
	MRS. PETERS. No, she didn't have a cat. She's got that feeling some people have about cats-being afraid of them. My cat got] in her room and she was real upset and asked me to take it out.
	MRS. HALE. My sister Bessie was like that. Queer, ain't it?
	MRS. PETERS. [ Examining the cage. ] Why, look at this door. It's broke. One hinge is pulled apart.
	MRS. HALE. [ Looking too. ] Looks as if someone must have been rough with it.
	MRS. PETERS. Why, yes.
	[ She brings the cage forward and puts it on the table.]
	MRS. HALE. I wish if they' re going to find any evidence they'd be about it. I don't like this place.
	MRS. PETERS. But I'm awful glad you came with me, Mrs. Hale. It would be lonesome for me sitting here alone.
	MRS. HALE. It would, wouldn't it? [Dropping her serving. But I tell you what I do wish, Mrs. Peters. I wish I_ had come over sometimes when she was here. [Looking around the room. ]- wish I had.
	MRS. PETERS. But of course you were awful busy, Mrs. Hale-your house and your children. MRS. HALE. I could've come. I stayed away because it weren't cheerful-and that's why I ought to have come. I-I've never liked this place. Maybe because it's down in a hollow and you don't see the road. I dunno what it is, but it's a lonesome place and always was. I wish I had come over to see Minnie Foster sometimes. I can see now -
	[Shakes her head. ]
	MRS. PETERS. Well, you mustn't reproach yourself, Mrs. Hale. Somehow we just don't see how it is with other folks until- something comes up.
	MRS. HALE. Not having children makes less work-but it makes a quiet house, and Wright out to work all day, and no company when he did come in. Did you know John Wright, Mrs. Peters?
	MRS. PETERS. Not to know him; I've seen him in town. They say he was a good man.
	MRS. HALE. Yes-good; he didn't drink, and kept his word as well as most, I guess, and paid his debts. But he was a hard man,
	Mrs. Peters: Just to. pass the time of day with him-[ Shivers. ] Like a raw wind that gets to the bone: [Pauses, her eye falling an the cage. ] I should think she would' a wanted a bird. But what do you suppose went with it? -
	MRS. PETERS.. I don't know, unless it got sick and died. [ She reaches over and swings the broken door, swings it again, both women watch it. ] ,
	MRS. HALE. You weren't raised... round here,. were you? [MRS. PETERS shakes her head. ] You didn't know-her?
	MRS. PETERS. Not till they brought her yesterday:
	MRS. HALE, She-come to think of it, she was kind of like a bird herself-real sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and-fluttery. How-she-did-change. [ Silence; then as i ] struck by a happy thought and relieved to get back to everyday things. ] Tell you what, Mrs. Peters, why don't you take the quilt in with you? It might take up her mind.
	MRS. PETERS. Why, I think that's a real nice idea, Mrs. - Hale. There couldn't possibly be any objection to it,. could there? Now, just what would I take? I wonder if her patches are in here- and her things.
	[They look in the sewing basket. ]
	MRS. HALE. Here's some red. I expect this has got sewing things in it. [ Brings out a fancy box. I What a pretty box. Looks like something somebody would give you-Maybeherscissors are in here. [Opens box. Suddenly puts her hand to her nose. ] Why-[ MRS. PETERS bends nearer, then turns her face away. ] There's something wrapped up in this piece of silk.
	MRS. PETERS. Why, this isn't her scissors.
	MRS. HALE. (Lifting the silk. j Oh, Mrs. Peters-its-
	[ MRS . PETERS bends closer. ]
	MRS. PETERS. It's the bird:
	MRS. HALE. [Jumping up.] I But, Mrs. Peters-look at it! Its neck! Look. at its neck! It's all-other side to. -
	MRS. PETERS. Somebody-wrung-its-neck. [ Their eyes meet. A look of growing comprehension, of horror. Steps are heard outside. MRS. HALE slips box under quilt pieces, and sinks into her chair. Enter SHERIFF and COUNTY ATTORNEY. MRS. PETERS rises].
	COUNTY ATTORNEY [As one turning from serious things to little pleasantries.] Well ladies, have you decided whether she was going to quilt it or knot it?
	MRS. PETERS. We think she was going to-knot it.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Well, that's interesting, I'm sure. [Seeing the bird-cage. ]Has the bird flown?
	MRS. HALE. [ Putting more quilt pieces over the box. ] We think the-cat got it.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [Preoccupied. ] Is there a cat? [MRS. HALE glances in a quick covert way at MRS. PETERS. ]
	MRS. PETERS. Well, not now. They're superstitious, you know. They leave.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [ TO SHERIFF PETERS, continuing an interrupted conversation. ] No sign at all of anyone having come from the outside. Their own rope. Now let's go up again and go over it' piece by piece. [ They start upstairs. ] It would have to have been someone who knew just the-
	[MRS. PETERS sits down. The two women sit there not looking at one another, but as if peering into something and at the same time holding back. When they talk now it is in the manner of feeling their way over strange ground, as i f afraid o f what they are saying, but as if they cannot help saying it. ]
	MRS. HALE. She liked the bird. She was going to bury it in that pretty boa.
	MRS. PETERS. [In a whisper. ]When I was a girl-my kit- ten-there was a boy took a hatchet, and before my eyes-and be- fore I could get there-[Covers her face an instant. lf they hadn't held me back I would have-(Catches herself, looks upstairs where steps are heard, falters weakly ]-hurt him.
	MRS .HALE. [With a slow look around her. ] wonder how it would seem never to have had any children around. [Pause. ]No, Wright wouldn't like the bird-a thing that sang-She used to sing. He killed that, too. -
	MRS. PETERS. [ Moving uneasily. ] We don' t know who killed the bird. .
	MRS. HALE. I knew John Wright.
	MRS. PETERS. It was an awful thing was done in this house that night, Mrs. Hale. Killing a man while he slept, slipping a rope around his neck that choked the life out of him.
	MRS. HALE. His neck. Choked the life out of him. [Her hand goes out and rests on the bird-cage. ]
	MRS. PETERS. [With rising voice. ] We don't know who killed him. We don't know.
	MRS: HALE. L Her own feeling not interrupted. ] If there'd been years and years of nothing, then a bird to sing to you, it would be awful-still, after the bird was still.
	MRS. PETERS. [ Something within her speaking. ] I know what stillness is. When we homesteaded in Dakota, and my first baby died-after he was two years old, and me with no other then-
	MRS. HALE. [ Moving. ] How soon do you suppose they'll be through, looking for the evidence?
	MRS. PETERS. I know what stillness is. [Pulling herself back. ]The law has got to punish crime, Mrs. Hale.
	MRS; HALE. [Not as if answering that. ]I. wish you'd seen Minnie Foster when she wore a white dress with blue ribbons and stood up there in the chair and sang. [A look around the room. ] Oh, I.. wish I'd. come over here once in a while! .That was a crime! That was a crime! Who's going to punish that?
	MRS. PETERS. [Looking upstairs. ] We mustn't-take on
	MRS. HALE: I might have known she needed help! I know how things can be-for women. I tell you, it's queer, Mrs.: Peters. We live close together and we-live far apart. We all. go through the same things-it's all just a different kind of the same thing. [Brushes her eyes, noticing the bottle o f fruit, reaches out for it. ] If I were you I wouldn't tell. her her fruit was. gone. Tell her it ain't. Tell her it's all right. Take this into prove it to her. She-she may never know whether it was broke or not.
	MRS. PETERS. [ Takes. the bottle, looks about for something to wrap it in; takes petticoat from the clothes brought from the other room, very nervously begins winding this around the bottle. In a false voice. ] My, it' s a good thing the men couldn’t hear us. Wouldn't they just. laugh! Getting. all stirred.. up over. a little thing like a-dead canary. As if that could have anything to do with- with-wouldn't they laugh
	[ The men are heard coming down stairs. ]
	MRS. HALE. [ Under her breath. ] Maybe they would-maybe they wouldn't.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. No, Peters, it's all perfectly clear except a reason for doing- it: But .you know juries when it comes to women. If there was some definite thing. Something to show-some- thing to make a story about-a thing that would connect ,up with this strange way of doing it-.
	[The women's eyes meet for an instant: Enter HALE from outer door.]
	HALE. Well, I've got the team around. Pretty cold out there.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. I'm going to stay here a while by myself. [ To the SHERIFF. ]You can send Frank out for me, can't you? I want to go over everything. I' m nor satisfied that we can't do better.
	SHERIFF. Do you want to see what Mrs. Peters is going to take in?
	[ The COUNTY ATTORNEY goes to the table, picks up the apron, laughs.]
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. Oh; I guess they're not very dangerous things the ladies have picked out.[ Moves a few things about, disturbing the quilt pieces which cover the box. Steps back. ]No, Mrs. Peters doesn't need supervising: For that matter, a Sheriff's wife is married to the law. Ever think of it that way ,Mrs. Peters? MRS. PETERS. Not-just that way.
	SHERIFF. [ Chuckling. ] Married to the law. [ Moves toward the other room. ] I just. want you to come here in. a minute, George. We ought to. take a look at these windows.
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [Scaffingly.] Oh, windows!
	SHERIFF. We'll be right out, Mr. Hale.
	[ HALE goes outside. The SHERIFF follows the COUNTY ATTOR- NEY into the other room. Then MRS. HALE rises, hands tight together, looking intensely at MRS. PETERS , whose eyes make a slow turn, finally meeting MRS. HALE' s. A moment MRS. HALE holds her, then her own eyes point the way to where the box is concealed. Suddenly MRS. PETERS throws back quilt pieces and tries to put the box in the bag she is wearing. It is too big. She opens box, starts to take bird out, cannot touch it, goes to pieces, stands there helpless. Sound of a knob turning in the other room. MRS. HALE snatches the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. Enter COUNTY ATTORNEY and SHERIFF].
	COUNTY ATTORNEY. [ Facetiously]. I Well, Henry, at least we found out that she was not going to quilt it. She was going to what is it you call it, ladies?
	MRS. HALE. [ Her hand against her pocket. ]We call it-knot it, Mr. Henderson.
	CURTAIN
	Questions:
	1. How does the setting described in the first stage direction alert you that something has gone wrong at the Wright farts and how does it help us to understand Mrs. Wright's deed? ,'
	2. How does the first entrance of the characters begin to establish a distinction between the men and women in the play? What attitudes toward women do the Sheriff and the County Attorney express? How do Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Peters react .' to these sentiments?
	3. What is the crisis of the play and where does it occur? 4. To what does the title of this play refer? To what extent is the word ironic? How does this irony help shape the play's meaning?
	5. What is the central conflict? How and when is it resolved? How does the resolution help establish the play's themes?
	Eugene O' Neill (1888-1953)
	Before Breakfast
	CHARACTERS
	Mrs. Rowland, The Wife
	Mr. Alfred Rowland, The Husband
	SCENE. A small room serving both as kitchen and dining room in a fat on Christopher Street, New York City. In the rear, to the right, a door leading to the outer hallway. On the left of the door- way , a sink, and a two-burner gas stove. Over the stove, and extending to the left wall, a wooden closet for dishes, etc. On the left, two windows looking out on a fare escape where several potted plants are dying of neglect. Before the windows, a table covered with oilcloth. Two cane-bottomed chairs are placed by the table. Another stands against the wall to the right of door in the rear. n the right wall, rear, a doorway leading into a bedroom. Farther forward, different articles of a man's and a woman's clothing are hung on pegs. A clothes line is strung from the left corner, rear, to the right wall, forward. It is about eight-thirty in the morning of a fine, sunshiny day in the early fall. Mrs. Rowland enters from the bedroom, yawning, her hands still busy putting the finishing touches on a slovenly toilet by sticking hairpins into her hair which is bunched up in a drab-colored mass on top of her round head. She is of medium height and inclined to a shapeless stoutness, accentuated by her formless blue ,dress, shabby and worn. Her face is characterless, with small regular features and eyes of a nondescript blue. There is a pinched expression about her eyes and nose and her weak, spiteful mouth. She is in her early twenties but looks much older. She comes to the middle of the room and yawns, stretching her arms to their full length. Her drowsy eyes stare about the room with the irritated look o f one to whom a long sleep has not been along rest. She goes wearily to the clothes hanging on the right and takes an apron from a hook. She ties it about her waist, giving vent to an exasperated "damn" when the knot fails to obey her clumsy fingers. Finally gets it tied and goes slowly to the gas stove and lights one burner. She fills the coffee pot at the sink and sets it over the flame. Then slumps down into a chair by the table and puts a hand over her fore- head as if she were suffering from headache. Suddenly her face brightens as though she had remembered something, and she casts a quick glance at the dish closet ; then looks sharply at the bedroom door and listens intently for a moment or so.
	MRS. ROWLAND. [In a low voice. ]Alfred! Alfred! [ There is no answer from the next room and she continues suspiciously in a .louder tone. ]You needn't pretend you're asleep. [There is no reply to this from the bedroom, and reassured, she gets up from her chair and tiptoes cautiously to the dish closet. She slowly opens one door, taking great care to make no noise; and slides out, from their hiding place behind the dishes, a bottle of Gordon gin and a glass: In doing so she disturbs the top dish , which rattles a little. At this sound she starts guiltily and looks with sulky defiance at the doorway to. the next room.] [Her voice trembling: ]Alfred! [After a pause, during which she listens for any sound, she takes the glass and pours out a large drink and gulps it down ; then hastily returns the bottle and glass to their hiding place. She closes the closet door with the same care as she had opened it, and heaving a great sign o f relief, sinks down into her chair again. The large dose of alcohol she has taken has an almost immediate effect. Her features be- come more animated , she seems to gather energy , and she looks at the bedroom door with a hard, vindictive smile on her lips. Her eyes glance quickly about the room and are fixed on a man's coat and vest which hang from a hook at right. She moves stealthily over to the open doorway and stands there, out o f sight of anyone inside, listening for any movement.]
	[Calling in a half-whisper. ] Alfred!
	[Again there is no reply. With a swift movement she takes the coat and vest from the hook and returns with them to her chair. She sits down and takes the various articles out of each pocket but quickly puts them back again. At last , in the inside pocket o f the vest , she finds a letter.]
	[Looking at the handwriting-slowly to herself. I Hmm! I knew it. [ She opens the letter and reads it. At first her expression is one o f hatred and rage, but as she goes on to the end it changes to one of triumphant malignity. She remains in deep thought for a moment, staring before her , the letter in her hands ,-a cruel smile on her lips. Then she puts the letter back in the pocket of the vest , and still careful not to awaken the sleeper, hangs the clothes up again on the same hook , and goes to the bedroom door and looks in. ] [In a loud , shrill voice. ]Alfred! [ still louder. ] Alfred! [ There is a muffed , yawning groan from the next room. ]Don't you think it's about time you got up? Do you want to stay in bed all day? [Turning around and coming back to her chair. ] Not that I've got any doubts about your being lazy enough to stay in bed for- ever. [ She sits down and looks out of the window, irritably. ]Good- ness knows what time it is. We haven't even got any way of telling the time since you pawned your watch like a fool. The last valuable thing we had, and you knew it. It's been nothing but pawn, pawn, pawn, with you-anything to put off getting a job, anything to get out of going to work like a man. [ She taps the floor with her foot nervously ,biting her lips].
	[After a short pause. j Alfred! Get up, do you hear me? I want to make that bed before I go out. I'm sick of having this place in a. continual muss on your account. [ With a certain vindictive satisfaction.] Not that we'll be here long unless you manage to get some money some place. Heaven knows I do my part-and more-going out to sew every day while you play the gentleman and loaf around bar rooms with that good-for-nothing lot of artists from the Square.
	[A short pause during which she plays nervously with a cup and saucer on the table.]
	And where are you going to get money, I'd like to know? The rent's due this week and you know what the landlord is. He won't let us stay a minute over our time. You say you can' t get a job. That's a lie and .you know it. You never even look for one. All you do is moon around all day writing silly poetry and stories that no one will buy-and no wonder they won't. I notice I can always get a position, such as it is; and it's only that which keeps us from starving to death. [Gets up and goes. over to the stove-looks into the coffee pot to see if the water is boiling; then comes back and sits down again].
	You'll have to get money today some place. I can't do it all, and I won't do it all. You've got to come to your senses. You've got to beg, borrow, or steal it some wheres. [ With a contemptuous laugh.] But where, I'd like to know? You're too proud to beg, and you've borrowed the limit, and you haven't the nerve to steal. [After a pause-getting up angrily]. Aren' t you up yet, for heaven's sake? It's just like you to go to sleep again, or pretend to.' [She goes to the bedroom door and looks in.] Oh, you are up. Well, it's about time. You needn't look at me like that: Your airs don't fool me a bit any more. I know you too. well-better than you think .I do-you and your goings-on. [ Turning away from the door-mean. ingly. ] I .know a lot of things, my dear. Never mind what I know, now. I'll tell you before I go, you needn't worry. [ She comes to the middle of the room and stands there., frowning. ]
	[Irritably. ] Hmm! I suppose I might as well get breakfast ready-not that there' s anything much to get. [ Questioningly. ] Unless you have: some money? [She pauses for an answer from the next room which does not come. ] Foolish question! [ She gives a short, hard laugh. ]I ought to know you better than that by this time: When you left here in such a huff last night I knew what would happen. You can't be trusted for a second. A nice condition you came: home in! The fight we had was only an excuse for you to make a. beast of yourself. What was the use pawning your watch if all you wanted with the money was to waste it in buying drink? [ Goes over to the dash closet and takes out plates, cups, etc: , while she is talking]
	Hurry up! It don' t take long to get breakfast these days, thanks to you. All we got this morning is bread and butter. and coffee; and you wouldn't even have that if it wasn't for me sewing my fingers off. [ She slams the loaf of bread on the table with a bang. ]
	The bread's stale. I hope you'll like it. You don't deserve any , better, but I don't see why 1. should suffer:
	[Going over to the stove. The coffee'll be ready in ammute; and you needn't expect me to wait for you.]
	[Suddenly with great anger.] What on earth are you doing all this time? [ She goes over to the door and looks in. ] Well, you're al- most dressed at. any rate. I expected to find you back in bed. That'd be just like you. How awful you. look this morning! Forheaven's sake, shave! You're disgusting! You. look like., a tramp. No wonder no one will give. you a job. I don. t blame them-when you don't even look halfway decent. [She goes to the stove. ]There's plenty of hot water. right here. You've got no excuse. [Gets a bowl and fours some of the water from the coffee pot into it.] Here.
	[He reaches his hand into the room for it. It is a sensitive hand with slender fingers. It trembles and some of the water spills on the floor. ]
	[Tauntingly] Look at your hand tremble! You'd better give up drinking. You can’t stand it. It's just your kind that get, the D. T. 's. That would be the last straw! [Looking down at the . floor. ]Look at the mess.. you' ve made of this floor-cigarette butts and ashes all over the place. Why can't you put them on a plate? No, you wouldn't be considerate enough to do that. You never think of me. You don't have to sweep the room and that's all you care about:
	[ Takes the broom and commences to sweep viciously, , raising a cloud of dust. From the inner room comes the sound of a razor being stropped. ]
	[Sweeping. ] Hurry up! It must be nearly time for me to go. If I'm late I'm liable to lose my position, and then I couldn't support you any longer. [As an afterthought she adds sarcastically. ] And then you' d have to go to work or something dreadful like that. [Sweeping under the table.]What I want to know is whether you're going to look for a job today or not. You know your family won't help us any more. They've had enough of you, too. [After a mo- men’s silent sweeping. ]I'm about sick of all this life. I have a good notion to go home, if I wasn't too proud to let them know what a failure you've been-you, the millionaire Rowland's only son, the Harvard graduate, the poet, the catch of the town-Huh! [ With bitterness. ] There wouldn't be many of them now envy my catch if they knew the truth. What has our marriage been, I'd like to know? Even before your millionaire father died owing every one in the world money, you certainly never wasted any of your time on your wife. I suppose you thought I'd ought to be glad you were honorable enough to marry me-after getting me into trouble. You were ashamed of me with your fine friends because my father's only a grocer, that's what you were. At least he's honest, which is more than any one could say about yours. [ She is sweeping steadily toward the door. Leans on her broom for a moment.]
	You hoped every one would think you'd been forced to marry me, and pity you, didn’t you? You didn’t hesitate much about telling me you loved me, and making me believe your lies, before it happened, did you? You made me think you didn't want your father to buy me off as he tried to do. I know better now. I haven't lived with you all this time for nothing. [Somberly] It's lucky the poor thing was born dead, after all. What a father you' d. have. been!
	[ Is silent, brooding moodily for a moment-then she continues with a sort of savage joy. ]
	But I'm not the only one who's got you to thank for being unhappy. There's one other, at least, and she can't hope to marry you now. [She puts her head into the next room.]How about Helen? [She starts back from the doorway , half frightened. ]
	Don't look at me that way! Yes, I read her letter. What about it? I got a right to. I'm your wife. And I know all there is to know, so don't lie. You needn't stare at me so. You can't bully me with your superior airs any longer. Only for me you'd be going without breakfast this very morning. [ She sets the broom back in the corner whiningly. ]You never did have any gratitude for what I've done. [ She comes to the stove and puts the coffee into the pot. ]The coffee's ready. I'm not going to wait for you. [ She sits down in her chair again. ]
	[After a pause-puts her hand to her head-fretfully.] My head aches so this morning. It's a shame I've got to go to work in a stuffy room all day in my condition. And I wouldn't if you were half a man. By rights I ought to be lying on my back instead of you. You know how sick I've been this last year; and yet you object when I take a little something to keep up my spirits. You even didn't want me to take that tonic I got at the drug store. [ With a hard laugh. ] I know you'd be glad to have me dead and out of your way; then you'd be free to run after all these silly girls that think you're such a wonderful, misunderstood person-this Helen and the others. [There is a sharp exclamation of pain from the next room. ]      [With satisfaction.] There! I knew you'd cut yourself. It'll be a lesson to you. You know you oughtn't to be running around nights drinking with your nerves in such an awful shape.[ She goes to the door and looks in].
	What makes you so pale? What are you staring at yourself in the mirror that way for? For goodness sake, wipe that blood off your face! [ With a shudder. ] It's horrible. [ In relieved tones.] There, that's better. I never could stand the sight of blood.[ She shrinks back from the door a little. ] You better give up trying and go to a barber shop. Your hand shakes dreadfully. Why do you stare at me like that? [She turns away from the door. ]Are you still mad at me about that letter? [Defiantly. ] Well, I had the right to read it. I'm your wife. [ She comes to the chair and sits down again. After a pause.]
	I knew all the time you were running around with someone. Your lame excuses about spending the time at the library didn't fool me. Who is this Helen, anyway? One of those artists? Or does she write poetry, too? Her letter sounds that way. I'll bet she told you your things were the best ever, and you believed her, like a fool. Is she young and pretty? I was young and pretty, too, when you fooled me with your fine, poetic talk; but life with you would soon wear anyone down. What I've been through!
	[Goes over and takes the coffee off the stove.] I Breakfast is ready. [ With a contemptuous glance. ] Breakfast! [ Pours out a cup of coffee for herself and puts the pot on the table. ]Your coffee'll be cold What are you doing-still shaving, for heaven's sake? You'd better give it up. One of these mornings you'll give yourself a serious cut. [ She cuts off bread and butters it. During the following speeches she eats and sips her coffee.]
	I'll have to run as soon as I've finished eating. One of us has got to .work; [ Angrily]. I Are you going to look for a job today. or aren't you? I should think some of your fine friends would help you, if they really think you're so much. But I guess they just like to hear you talk: [ Sits in silence for a moment.]
	I'm sorry for this Helen, whoever she is. Haven't you got any feelings for other people? What will her family say? I see she mentions them in her letter. What is she going to do-have the child-or go to one of those doctors? That's a nice thing, I must say. Where can she get the money? Is she rich? [ She wails for some answers to this volley of questions. ]
	Hmm! You won't tell me anything about her, will you? Much I care. Come to think of it, I'm not so sorry for her after all. She knew what she was doing. She isn't any schoolgirl, like I was, from the looks of her letter. Does she know you're married? Of course, she must. All your friends know about your unhappy marriage. I know they pity you, but they don't know, my side of it. They'd talk different if they did.
	[Too busy eating to go on for a second or so.]
	This Helen must be a fine one, if she knew you were married. What does she expect,. then? That I'll divorce you and let her marry you? Does she think I'm crazy enough for that-after all you've made me go through? I guess not! And you can't get a divorce from me and you know it. No one can say I've ever done anything wrong. [Drinks the last of her cup of coffee.]
	She deserves to suffer, that's all I can say. I'll tell you what I think; I think your Helen is no better than a common street-walker, that's what I think. [ There is a stifled groan o f pain from the next room. ] -
	Did you cut yourself again? Serves you right. [ Gets up and takes off her apron . ] Well, I' ve got to run along. [ Peevishly ] This is a fine life for me to be leading! I won't stand for your loafing any longer. [ Something catches her ear and she pauses and listens intently. ] There! You've overturned the water all over everything. Don' t say you haven' t. I can hear it dripping on the floor. [A vague expression of fear comes over her face. ]Alfred! Why don't you answer me? [ She moves slowly toward the room. There is the noise o f a chair being overturned and something crashes heavily to the floor. She stands, trembling with fright. ]
	Alfred! Alfred! Answer me! What is it you knocked over? Are you still drunk? [ Unable to stand the tension a second longer she rushes to the door of the bedroom. ]  Alfred!  [She stands in the doorway looking down at the floor of the inner room, transfixed with horror: Then she shrieks wildly and runs to the other door, unlocks it and frenziedly pulls it open, and runs shrieking madly into the outer hallway. ]
	[The curtain falls]
	Questions:
	1. What does the setting tell you about the Rowlands?
	2. How does Mrs. Rowland treat Alfred? What tone does she use in speaking to him? What does she complain about? What does she accuse Alfred of being and doing?
	3. What is Mrs. Rowland's attitude toward Helen? How does she treat her husband's feelings for Helen? What does this suggest about the Rowlands' marriage?
	4. Where is the crisis of the play? Which character comes to a crisis? What actions and descriptions indicate that the character and play have reached a crisis?
	5. Mrs. Rowland precipitates the catastrophe of this play with her discussion of Alfred' s affair with Helen. What do we learn about Helen? What pushes Alfred over. the edge? What is the catastrophe?
	6. Why is Alfred Rowland kept off stage (except for his hand) and given no dialogue? How does this affect the play?
	7. Alfred Rowland is presented from his wife's point of view. How accurate is this portrait? Is Alfred the man that his wife describes?
Chapter 18 Tragedy
	Tragedy is a drama of a serious and dignified character that typically describes the development of a conflict between the protagonist and a superior force (such as destiny, circumstance, or society) and reaches a sorrowful or disastrous conclusion.
	The origins of the tragic form are Greek. The materials of Greek tragedy were drawn from familiar myths of gods and mortals found in the works of Homer and elsewhere. Prompted by circum- stance or ignorance, the tragic protagonist is confronted in the end by an inexorable fate that ensures an unhappy outcome.
	By the time of Aristotle in the fourth century B. C. tragedy as a form had developed its own characteristics. In his Poetics, Aristotle states that tragedy is "an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in the form of a drama, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions. "(S. H. Butcher, 1932) An analysis of the separate parts of Aristotle's definition of tragedy will help you to be a successful reader. "Serious" indicates that the subject matter must be elevated and that the characters must be important and worth considering. By "complete" Aristotle means that the story must have a beginning, a middle and an end that make a logical, causal, and artistic whole.
	The tragedy must be "in the form of a drama" rather than a narrative. That is, the plot must be acted out rather than told. By "action," Aristotle means the complete process of working out a single motivation from its beginning in activity to its conclusion in the recognition of a truth. In Hamlet, for example, the action grows out of Hamlet's resolution to purify Denmark by avenging the murder of his father. In the course of dramatizing the complete working out of an original motive, the action of a tragedy moves from purpose, through emotion, and finally to recognition.
	Perhaps the most interesting part of Aristotle's description of tragedy is his assertion that tragic drama arouses fear and pity in the spectators and leads to a purgation of these emotions. The pity and fear that the play evokes in us allow us to experience these emotions vicariously in an extreme form. At the end of the tragedy, these emotions have been purged from our psyche, and thus, we are refreshed. The purgation of fear and pity may also be explained more fully with reference to the dramatic structure ( see Chapter 17). Looking at that structure, we see that fear and anxiety are touched most heavily during the tension and uncertainty, leading 'up to the climax, and pity and regret are the major emotions after the climax during the "falling action. "
	Language and Tone in Tragedy
	Just as character and action are important, so also are language and tone. Greek tragedy was always written in verse; Roman tragedy is poetic; English Renaissance and Restoration tragedy is written mostly in blank verse and heroic couplets. (This does not mean that all tragedy before the nineteenth century is written completely in verse. ) Just as tragic protagonists are important and elevated, so also is the language that they speak. Yet, in the twentieth century, tragedy has become a great deal less poetic and elevated, and working-class protagonists have been included. The shift to the common man and woman as the tragic protagonist has led to a con- current shift from poetry to colloquial and conversational dialogue.
	The characters in Miller' s Death of a Salesman , for example, speak idiomatic American English of the 1940's. In a word, modern tragedies have loosened the structure of tragic plots and lowered the level of language. The tone of tragedy is frequently ironic. One of the most important is dramatic irony. In Arther Miller's Death of a Salesman, Willy Loman ( that is, "low man") gains his heroic aura only through being a representative of a specific social development, the emphasis on hustling and hard-selling capitalism which at one time formed a prominent part of what is called the American dream. Loman's isolation in itself is simply ironic: it is the collapse of the dream he embodies that is tragic. ,
	John Millington Synge (1871-1909)
	Riders to the Sea*(The title alludes to a well-known Bible story. After Moses opens a corridor in the sea for the children of Israel to pass through, he obeys the Lord and lets the waters "come again upon the Egyptians, upon their chariots, and upon their horsemen". Then he and the Israelites "sing unto the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously: the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea" (Exodus 14:21-31,15:1-5)
	Characters
	Maurya, an old woman
	Barley, her son
	Cathleen, her daughter
	Nora,a younger daughter.
	Men and Women
	Scene. An Island off the West of Ireland.
	Cottage kitchen, with nets, oil-skins, spinning-wheel, some new boards standing by the wall, etc. Cathleen, a girl of about twenty, finishes kneading cake, and puts it down in the pot- oven by the fire; then wipes her hands, and begins to spin at the wheel. Nora, a young girl, outs her head in at the door.
	Nora (in a low voice) :Where is she?
	Cathleen: She's lying down, God help her, and may be steeping, if she's able.
	Nora comes in softly, and takes a bundle from under her shawl.
	Cathleen (spinning the wheel rapidly): What is it you have?
	Nora: The young priest is after bringing them.( is after bringing them; has just brought them.) " It's a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Done-gal. Cathleen stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen.
	Nora: We're to find out if it's Michael's they are, some time herself will be down looking by the sea. Cathleen :How would they be Michael's, Nora? How would he go the length of that way to the far north?
	Nora: The young priest says he's known the like of it. "If it's Michael's they are," says he, "you can tell yourself he's got a clean burial by the grace of God, and if they're not his, let no one say a word about them, for she'll be get- ting her death," ays he," it crying and lamenting".
	The door which Nora half-closed is blown open by a gust of wind. Cathleen (looking out anxiously) : Did you ask him would he stop Bartley going this day with the .horses to the Galway fair?
	Nora:" I won't stop him, "says he, "but let you 'not be afraid. Herself does be saying prayers half through the night, and the Almighty God won't leave her destitute," says he, "with no son living."
	Cathleen :Is the sea bad by the white rocks, Nora?
	Nora : Middling bad, God help us. There's a great roaring in the west; and it's worse it'll be getting when the tide's turned to the wind.  She goes over to the table with the bundle.  Shall I open it now?
	Cathleen: Maybe she'd wake up on us, and come in before we'd done. (Coming to the table. ) It's a long time we'll be, and the two of us crying.
	Nora(goes to the inner door and listens): She's moving about on the bed. She'll be coming, in a minute.
	Cathleen : Give me the ladder, and I'll put them up in the turf, loft, the way she won't know of them at all, and maybe when the tide turns she'll be going down to see would he be floating from the east. They put the ladder against the gable of the chimney; Cathleen goes up a fern steps and hides, the bundle in the turfloft.
	Maurya comes from the inner room.
	Maurya (looking up at Cathleen and speaking querulously) Isn't it turf enough you have for this day. and evening?
	Cathleen : There's a cake baking at the fire for a short space (throwing down the turf) and Bartley. will want it when the, tide turns if he goes to Connemara. Nora picks up the turf and puts et round the pot-oven.
	Maurya (sitting down on a stool at the fire). He won't go this day with the. wind rising ,from the south .and west. He won't. go this day, for the young. priest will stop him sure- ly.
	Nora :He' 11 not stop him, mother,... and I heard Eamon Simon and Stephen Pheety and Colum Shawn saying he would
	Maurya:Where is he itself?
	Nora : He went down to see would there be another boat sailing in the week, and I'm thinking it won't be long till he's here now, for the tide's turning at the green head, and the hooker's* ( a one-wasted fishing boat)tacking from the east.
	Cathleen :I hear some one passing the big stones.
	Nora ( looking out) : He's coming now, and he in a hurry.
	Bartley (comes in and looks round the room. Speaking sadly and quietly): Where is the bit of new rope, Cathleen, was bought in Connemara?
	Cathleen ( coming down ) : Give it to him; Nora; it's on a nail by the white boards. I hung it up this morning, for the pig
	Nora(giving him a rope): Is that it, Bartley?- Maurya:You'd do right to leave that rope, Bartley, hanging by the boards. (Bartley takes the rope. )It will be wanting in this place. I'm telling you, if Michael is washed up to- morrow morning, or the next morning, or any morning id the week, for it's a deep grave we'll make him by the grace of God.
	Bartley( beginning to work with the rope) : I've no halter the -' way I can ride down on the mare, and I must go now quickly. This is the one boat going for two weeks or be- yond it, and the fair will be a good fair for horses I heard .; them saying below.
	Maurya :It's a hard thing they'll be saying below if the body is washed up, and there's no man in it to make the coffin, and I after giving a big price for the finest white boards you'd find in Connemara.
	She looks round at the boards.
	Bartley :How would it be washed up, and we after looking each day for nine days, and a strong wind blowing a while back from the west and south?
	Maurya: If it wasn't found itself, that wind is raising the sea, and there was a star up against the moon, and it rising in the night. If it was a hundred horses, or a thousand horses you had itself, what is the price of a thousand horses against a son where there is one son only?
	Bartley(working at the halter, to Cathleen) : Let you go down each day, and see the sheep aren't jumping in on the rye, and if the jobber comes you can sell the pig with the black feet if there is a good price going.
	Maurya :How would the like of her get a good price for a pig? Bartley (to Cathleen) :If the west wind holds with the last bit of the moon let you and Nora get up weed enough for anothercock for the kelp*(another pile of seaweed. The islanders harvest the weed to fertilize their sparae roeky soil).. It's hard set we' 11 be from this day with no one in it but one man to work.
	Maurya ;It's hard set we'll be surely the day you're drownd' d with the est. What way will I live and the girls with me, and I an old woman looking for the grave?
	Bartley lays down the halter, takes off his old coat, and puts on a newer one of the same flannel.
	Bartley ( to Nord) :Is she coming to the pier? Nora(looking out): She's passing the green head and letting fall her sails.
	Bartley (getting his purse 'and tobacco) : I'll have half an hour to go down, and you'll see me coming again in two days, or in three days, or maybe in four days if the wind is bad.
	Maurya ( turning round to the fire; and putting her shawl over her head) : Isn't it a hard and cruel man won't hear a word from an old woman; and she holding him from the sea?
	Cathleen: It's the life of young man' to be going on the sea, and who would listen to an old woman with one thing and she saying it over?
	Bartley(taking the halter):I must go now quickly. I'll ride down on the red mare, and the gray -pony' Il run behind me.... The blessing of God on you. He goes out.
	Maurya(crying out as he is in the door) : He's gone now, God spare us, andwe'I1-not see him again. He's gone now, and when the black night is falling I'll have no son left me -. in the world. '
	Cathleen :Why wouldn't you give him your blessing and he' looking round in the door? Isn't it sorrow enough is on every one in this house without your sending him out with an unlucky word behind him, and a hard word in his ear?
	Maurya takes up the tongs and begins raking the fire aimlessly without looking round.
	Nora ( turning towards her) : You' re taking away the turf from the cake.
	Cathleen(crying out):The Son of God forgive us, Nora, we're after forgetting his bit of bread. She comes over to the fire.
	Nora :And it's destroyed he'll be going till dark night, and he after eating nothing since the sun went up.
	Cathleen ( turning the cake out o f the oven) :It's destroyed he'll be, surely. There's no sense left on any person in a house where an old woman will be talking for ever.
	Maurya sways herself on her stool.
	Cathleen(cutting off some of the bread and rolling it in a cloth; to Maurya) : Let you go down now to the spring well and give him this and he passing. You'll see him then and the dark word will be broken, and you can say "God speed you; "the way he'll be easy in his mind.
	Maurya (taking the bread) : Will I be in it as soon as himself?
	Cathleen:If you go now quickly.
	Maurya (standing up unsteadily) :It's hard set. I am to walk.
	Cathleen (looking at her anxiously ) : Give her the stick, Nora, or maybe she'll slip on the big stones.
	Nora :What stick?
	Cathleen: The stick Michael brought from Connemara.
	Maurya( taking a stick Nora gives her) : In the big world the old people do be leaving things after them for their sons and children, but in this place it is the young men do be leaving things behind for them that do be old. She goes out slowly. Nora goes over to the ladder.
	Calhleen : Wait, Nora, may be 'she' d turn back quickly: She' s that sorry, God help her, you wouldn' t know the thing she'd do.
	Nora: Is she gone around by the bush?
	Cathleen (looking out) :She's gone now. Throw it down quickly, for the Lord knows when she'll be out of it again.
	Nora (getting the bundle from the loft ) : The young priest said he'd be passing tomorrow, and we might go down and speak to him below if it's Michael's they are surely.
	Cathleen (taking the bundle) :Did he say what way they were found?
	Nora ( coming down) : "There were two men," says he, "and they rowing round with poteen before the cocks crowed' , and the oar of one of them caught the body, and they passing the black cliffs of the north. "
	Cathleen (trying to open the bundle): Give me a knife, Nora, the strings perished with the salt water, and there' s a black knot on it you wouldn't loosen in a week. Nora(giving her a knife) :I've heard tell it was a long way to sowing -d with pore- ... crowed: transporting moonshine whiskey under cover of darkness. Donegal.
	Cathleen(cutting the string),- It is surely. There was a man in here a while ago-the man sold us that knife-and he said if you set off walking from the rock beyond, it would be seven days you'd be in Donegal.
	Nora: And what time would a man take, and he floating? Cathleen opens the bundle and takes out a bit of a stocking. They look at them eagerly. ,
	Cathleen(in a low voice):The Lord spare us, Nora! isn't it a queer hard thing to say if it's his they are surely?
	Nora :I' 11 get his shirt off the hook the way we can put the one flannel on the other. (She looks through some clothes hanging in the corner. ) It' s not with them, Cathleen, and where will it be?
	Cathleen : I'm thinking Bartley put it on him in the morning, for his own shirt was heavy with the salt in it. ( Pointing to the corner. ) There's a bit of a sleeve was of the same stuff. Give me that and it will do.
	Nora brings it to her and they compare the flannel.
	Cathleen: It's the same stud', Nora; but if it is itself aren't there great rolls of it in the shops of Galway, and isn't it many another man may have a shirt of it as well as Michael himself?
	Nora ( who has taken up the stocking and counted the stitches, crying out ) : It's Michael, Cathleen, it' s' Michael; God spare his soul, and what will herself say when she hears this story, and Bartley on the sea?
	Cathleen ( taking the stacking): It's a plain stocking. Nora :It's the second one of the third. pair I knitted, and I put up three score stitches, and I dropped four of them.
	Cathleen (counts the stitches) :It's that number is in it. (Crying out. ) Ah, Nora, isn' t it a bitter thing to think of him floating that way to the far north, and no one to keen* him but the black hags that do be flying on the sea?
	Nora (swinging herself round, and throwing out her arms on the clothes ) : And isn' t it a pitiful thing when there is nothing left of a man who was a great rower and fisher, but a bit of an old shirt and a plain stocking?
	Cathleen (after an instant) :Tell me is herself coming, Nora? I hear a little sound on the path.
	Nora (looking out) : She is, Cathleen. She's coming up to the door.
	Cathleen : Put these things away before she'll come in. Maybe it's easier she'll be after giving her blessing to Bartley, and we won't let on we've heard anything the time he's on the sea.
	Nora (helping Cathleen to close the bundle) : We' 11 put them here in the corner. They put them into a hole in the chimney corner. Cathleen goes keen weep and wail. back to the spinning-wheel.
	Nora : Will she see it was crying I was?
	Cathleen :Keep your back to the door the way the light' Il not be on you.
	Nora sits down at the chimney corner, with her back to the door.
	Maurya comes in very slowly, without looking at the girls, and goes over to her stool at the other side of the fire. The cloth with the bread is still in her hand. The girls look at each other, and
	Nora faults to the bundle o f bread.
	Cathleen (after spinning for a moment) : You didn't give him his bit of bread?
	Maurya begins to keen softly, without turning round.
	Cathleen: Did you see him riding down?
	Maurya goes on keening.
	Cathleen (a little impatiently): God forgive you; isn't it a better thing to raise your voice and tell what you seen, than to be making lamentation for a thing that's done? Did you see Bartley, I’m saying to you.
	Maurya( with a weak mice): My heart's broken from this day. '
	Cathleen (as before) :Did you see Bartley?
	Maurya : I seen the fear fullest thing.
	Cathleen ( leaves her wheel and looks out ) : God forgive you; he's riding the mare now over the green head, and the gray pony behind him.
	Maurya (starts , so that her shawl falls back from her head and shows her white tossed hair. With a frightened voice): The gray pony behind him.
	Cathleen ( coming to the fire) : What is it ails you, at all?
	Maurya ( speaking very slowly ) : I' ve seen the fear fullest thing any person has seen, since the day Bride Dara seen the dead man with the child in his arms.
	Cathleen and Nora : Uah.       They crouch down in front of the old woman at the fire.
	Nora: Tell us what it is you seen.
	Maurya: I went down to the. spring well, and I stood there saying a prayer to myself. Then Bartley came along, and he riding on the red mare with the gray pony behind him. (She puts up her hands, as i f to hide something from her eyes. )The Son of God spare us, Noral
	Cathleen : What is it you seen?
	Maurya e I seen Michael himself.
	Cathleen ( speaking softly ) :You did not Mother; it wasn't Michael you seen, for his body is after being found in the Uak exclamation of horror and surprise. far north, and he' s got a clean burial by the grace of God.
	Maurya (a little defiantly) : I' m after seeing him this day, and he riding and galloping. Bartley came first on the red mare; and I tried to say "God speed you," but something - choked the words in my throat. He went by quickly; and "the blessing of God on you," says he, and I could say nothing. I looked up then, and I crying, at the gray pony, and there was Michael upon it-with fine clothes on him, and new shoes on his feet.
	Cathleen (begins to keen) :It's destroyed we are from this day. It's destroyed, surely.
	Nora: Didn't the young priest say the Almighty God wouldn't leave her destitute with no son living?
	Maurya (in a low voice, but clearly) :It's little the like of him knows of the sea... Bartley will be lost now, and let you call in Eamon and make me a good coffin out of the white boards, for I won't live after them .I've had a husband, and a husband's father and six sons in this house-six fine men, though it was a hard birth I had with every one of them and they coming to the world-and some of them were found and some of them were not found, but they're gone now the lot of them... There were Stephen, and Shawn, were lost in the great wind, and found after in the Bay of Gregory of the Golden Mouth, and carried up the two of them of the one plank, and in by that door. She pauses for a moment, the girls start as if t hey heard some- thing through the door that is half open behind them.
	Nora (in a whisper) : Did you hear that, Cathleen? Did you hear a noise in the forth-east?
	Cathleen(in a whisper): There's some one after crying out by the seashore..
	Maurya ( continues without hearing anything ): There was Shiamus and his father, and his own father again, were lost in a dark night, and not a stick or sign was seen of them when the sun went up. There was Patch after was drowned out of a curagh*(a canvas-bottomed boat.) that turned over. I was sitting ' here with Bartley., and he a baby, lying on my two knees, and I seen two women, and three women, and four women coming in, and they crossing themselves, .and not saying a word. I looked out then, and there were men coming after them, and they holding a thing in the half of a red - sail, and water dripping out of it-it was a dry day, No- ra-and leaving a track to the door. She pauses again with her hand stretched out towards the door. It opens softly and old women begin to come in, crossing them- selves on the threshold, and kneeling down' in front o f the stage - with red petticoats over their heads.
	Maurya ( half in a dream, to Cathleen ) : Is it Patch, or
	Michael, or what' is it at all?
	Cathleen: Michael is after being found in the far north, and when he is found there how could he be here in this place?
	Maurya: There does be a power of young men floating round in the sea, and what way would they know if it was Michael they had, or another man like him, for when a man is nine days in the sea, and the wind blowing, it's hard set his own mother would be to say what man was it.
	Cathleen: It's Michael, God spare him, for they're after sending us a bit of his clothes from the far north. She reaches out and hands Maurya the clothes that belonged to Michael. Maurya stands up slowly and takes them in her hand. Nora looks out.
	Nora: They're carrying a thing among them and there's water dripping out of it and leaving a track by the big stones.
	Cathleen(in a whisper to the women who have come in) : Is it Bartley it is? One of the Women: It is surely, God rest his soul. Two younger women come in and pull out the table. Then men carry in the body of Bartley, laid on a plank, with a bit of sail over it ; and lay it on the table.
	Cathleen (to the women, as they are doing so) :What way was he drowned? One o f the Women: The gray pony knocked him into the sea, and he was washed out where there is a great surf on the white rocks.
	Maurya has gone over and knelt down at the head of the table. The women are keening softly and swaying themselves with a slow movement. Cathleen and Nora kneel at the other end o f the table. The men kneel near the door.
	Maurya (raising her head and speaking as i f she did not see the people around her) :They're all gone now, and there isn't anything more the sea can do to me... I'll have no call . now to be up crying and praying when the wind breaks from the south and you can hear the surf is in the east, and the surf is in the west, making a great stir with the two noises, and they hitting one on the other. I'll have no call now to be going down and getting Holy Water in the dark nights after Samhain*(All Saints' Day.) and I won't care what way the sea is when the other women will be keening. ( To No- ra. ) Give me the Holy Water, Nora, there's a small cup still on the dresser.
	Nora gives it to her.
	Maurya(drops Michael's clothes across Bartley's feet, and sprinkles the Holy Water over him.): It isn't that I haven't prayed for you, Bartley, to the Almighty God. It isn't that I haven't said prayers in the dark night till you wouldn't know what I'Id be saying; but it's a great rest .I'll have now, and it's time surely. It's a great rest I'll have now; and great sleeping in the long nights after Samhain, if it's only a bit of wet flour we do have to eat, and maybe a fish that would be stinking.
	She kneels down again, crossing herself, and saying prayers
	under her breath.
	Cathleen ( to an old man) : Maybe yourself and Eamon would make a coffin when the sun rises. We have fine white boards herself bought, God help her, thinking Michael would be found, and I have a new cake you can eat while you'll be working. The Old Man ( looking at the boards ) : Are there nails with them?
	Cathleen: There are not, Colum; we didn't think of the nails.
	Another Man: It's a great wonder she wouldn't think of the nails, and all the coffins she's been made already.
	Cathleen :It's getting old she is, and broken.
	Maurya stands up again very slowly and spreads out the pieces o f Michael ' s clothes beside the body, sprinkling them with the last of the Holy Water.
	Nora (in a whisper to Cathleen):She's quiet now and easy; but the day Michael was drowned you could hear her crying out from this to the spring well. It's fonder she was of Michael, and would any one have thought that?
	Cathleen(slowly and clearly):An old woman will be soon tired with anything she will do, and isn't it nine days herself is after crying and keening, and making great sorrow in the house?
	Maurya( puts the empty cup mouth downwards on the table, and lays her hands together on Bartley's feet):They're all together this time, and the end is come. May the Almighty God have mercy on Bartley's soul, and on Michael's soul, and on the souls of Sheamus and Patch: and Stephen and Shawn (bending her head); and may He have mercy on ' my soul, Nora, and on the soul of every one is left living in the world. She pauses, and the keen rises a little ,more loudly from the ; women, then sinks away.
	Maurya ( continuing) : Michael has a clean burial in the far north, by the grace of the Almighty God. Bartley will have a fine coffin out of the white boards, and a deep grave surely. What more can we want than that? No man at all can be living for ever, and we must be satisfied. She kneels down again and the curtain falls slowly.
	Questions
	1. What is the situation at the start of "Riders to the Sea"? What motivates Cathleen and Nora to hide Michael's clothes from their mother?
	2. What motivates the priest not to interfere with Bartley' s plan to take the horses to the Galway fair?
	3. How does Bartley die? At what is his death fore- shadowed?
	4. Does `Riders to the Sea" have any protagonist? If so, what character has this central role? ,
Chapter 19 Comedy
	Types of Comedy
	Compared with tragedy, comedy is a lighter form of drama that aims primarily to amuse and that ends happily. Comedy is often divided into two varieties-"high" and "low." High comedy relies more on wit and wordplay than on physical action for its humor. Its appeal is predominantly intellectual. Thus, jokes about physical appearances would, for example, be avoided. One technique it employs to appeal to a sophisticated, verbal audience is the use of a brief and witty statement that expresses some truth, as in Oscar Wilde's plays The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) and Lady Windermere' s Fan (1892) "I can resist everything except temptation"; "Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes"; "There is only one thing worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about."
	The opposite of high comedy, low comedy has been called "elemental comedy", in that it is lacking in seriousness of purpose or subtlety of manner and has little intellectual appeal. Some typical features of low comedy are: quarreling, fighting, noisy singing, boasting, clownishness, drunkenness, coarse jesting, scolding and shrewishness. Low comedy places greater emphasis on physical action, sight gags and bawdy jokes and its comic effects do not require much intellect to appreciate.
	Consideration of the form as it actually exists suggests that 354 what might be regarded as different kinds of comedy derive fundamentally from differences in the attitude of authors towards their subjects. When an author's intention is to ridicule, satirical comedy emerges. Satirical comedy is designed to correct social and individual behavior by ridiculing human vices and follies. Moliere and George Bernard Shaw, for instance, have written satirical comedy to expose and thus correct the follies of their ages.
	Progress from troubles to the triumph of love in a happy outcome produces romantic comedy. Romantic comedy aims to entertain and amuse rather than to ridicule and reform. Usually the audience is encouraged to sympathize with the young lovers. Shakespeare perfected the type in the play The Merchant of Venice. Characteristics commonly found include: love as chief motive; an idealized heroine; love subjected to great difficulties; easy reconciliations; happy ending.
	Satire of social convention and within social convention creates the comedy of manners. Such plays are designed to satirize the manners and fashions of a particular social class. One of the greatest exponents of the comedy of manners was Moliere, who satirized the hypocrisy and pretension of seventeenth-century French society.
	Other types of modern and contemporary comedy include ironic comedy, realistic comedy, and comedy of the absurd. All of these have in common a movement away from the happy endings of traditional comedy. Often, the initial problem-either a realistic an absurdist dilemma-remains unsolved at the close of the play. Such comedies, which began to appear in the late nineteenth century, are frequently designed to illustrate the complexities or absurdities of modern life.
	In view of the various kinds of comedies discussed above, you should keep' in mind that comedies are rarely pure forms of one type. High comedies can include crude physical humor, especially with characters from the lower class; low comedies may contain some wit and elegance. Satirical comedies can also deal with the successful efforts of young lovers, and romantic comedies often mock the vices and follies of eccentric characters.
	The Pattern of Comedy
	Comedies begin in adversity; during their exposition, we usually learn that something is wrong. These initial problems can involve thwarted love, eccentric behavior, corruption in society, or a combination of ingredients. As the play moves from exposition to complication, these problems usually get much worse. In comedy, complication is often fueled by confusion, misunderstanding and errors in judgment.
	The climax of a comedy occurs when these confusions reach a peak, choices must be made, and solutions must be found. The catastrophe is frequently a sudden revelation of truth in which some key fact, identity or event is explained to the characters and the audience at the same time. Inmost comedies, the events of the catastrophe resolve the initial problems and allow for the comic resolution of the play, setting things right: new families are formed through marriages, and a healthy social order is established.
	Language in Comedy
	As in other types of drama and literature, language is employed in comedy to delineate and define character, to establish tone and mood, and to express ideas and feelings. In comedies, however, language is also one of the most important vehicles for creating humor. Some comedies are characterized by elegant and witty language, others by bawdy jokes, puns, and inarticulate utterances. Those characters who are skillful with language can use a witty phrase like a knife to satirize their friends and foes, while those who are unskilled with language bungle through a speech with their misuse of words and inadvertent puns. Both types of characters are amusing.
	Wendy Wasserstein (1950- )
	The Man in a Case
	LIST OF CHARACTERS
	BYELINKOV
	VARINKA
	SCENE: A small garden in the village of Mironitsk, in 1898 (Byelinkov is facing. Enter Varinka out of breath. )
	BYELINKOV. You are ten minutes late.
	VARINKA. The most amazing thing happened on my way over here. You know the woman who runs the grocery store down the road. She wears a black wig during the week, and a blond wig on Saturday nights. And she has the daughter who married an engineer in Moscow who is doing very well thank you and is living, God bless them, in a three-room apartment. But he really is the most boring man in the world: All he talks about is his future and his station in life. Well, she heard we were to be married and she gave me this basket of apricots to give to you.
	BYELINKOV. That is a most amazing thing!
	VARINKA. She said to me, Varinka, you are marrying the most honorable man in the entire village. In this village he is the only man fit to speak with my son-in-law.
	BYELINKOV. I don't care for apricots. They give me hives.
	VARINKA. I can return them. I'm sure if I told her they give you hives she would give me a basket, of raisins or a cake.
	BYELINKOV. I don't know this woman or her pompous son-in-law. Why would she give me her cakes?
	VARINKA. She adores you!
	BYELINKOV. She is emotionally loose.
	VARINKA. She adores you by reputation. Everyone adores you by reputation. I tell everyone I am to marry Byelinkov, the finest teacher in the country.
	BYELINKOV. You tell them this?
	VARINKA. If they don't tell me first.
	BYELINKOV. Pride can be an imperfect value. .
	VARINKA. It isn't pride. It is the truth. You are a great man!
	BYELINKOV. I am the master of Greek and Latin at a local school at the end of the village of Mironitski.
	( Varinka kisses him. )
	VARINKA. And I am to be the master of Greek and Latin's wife!
	BYELINKOV. Being married requires a great deal of responsibility. I hope I am able to provide you with all that a married man must properly provide a wife.
	VARINKA. We will be very happy.
	BYELINKOV. Happiness is for children. We are entering into a social contract, an amicable agreement to provide us with a secure and satisfying future.
	VARINKA. You are so sweet! You are the sweetest man in the world!
	BYELINKOV. I'm a man set in his ways who saw a chance to provide himself with a small challenge.
	VARINKA. Look at you! Look at you! Your sweet round spectacles, your dear collar always starched, always raised, your perfectly pressed pants always creasing at right angles perpendicular to the floor, and my most favorite part, the sweet little galoshes, rain or shine, just in case. My Byelinkov, never taken by surprise. Except by me.
	BYELINKOV. You speak about me as. if I were your pet.
	VARINKA. You are my pet! My little school mouse.
	BYELINKOV. A mouse?
	VARINKA. My sweetest dancing bear with galoshes, my little stale babka. "
	BYELINKOV. A stale babka? (Note: cake with almonds and raisins.)
	VARINKA. I am not Pushkin.(Note: Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), Russian poet.)
	BYELINKOV (laughs.) That depends what you think of Pushkin.
	VARINKA. You're smiling. I knew I could make you smile to day.
	BYELINKOV. I am a responsible man. Every day I have for breakfast black bread, fruit, hot tea, and every day I smile three times. I am halfway into my translation of the Aeneid (note: Latin epic poem by the Roman poet Virgil (70-19B.C.) from classical Greek hexameter into Russian alexandrines. In twenty yeas I have never been late to school: l am a responsible man, but no dancing bear.
	VARINKA. Dance with me.
	BYELINKOV. Now? It is nearly four weeks before the wedding!
	VARINKA. It's a beautiful afternoon. We are in your garden. The roses are in full bloom.
	BYELINKOV. The roses have beetles.
	VARINKA. Dance with me!
	BYELINKOV. You are a demanding woman.
	VARINKA. You chose me. And right. And left. And turn. And right. And left.
	BYELINKOV. And turn. Give me your hand. You dance like a school mouse. It's a beautiful afternoon! We are in my," garden. The roses are in full bloom! And turn. And turn.
	(Twirls Varinka around.)
	VARINKA. I am the luckiest woman!
	(Byelinkov stops dancing.)
	Why are you stopping?
	BYELINKOV. To place a lilac in your hair. Every year on this day I will place a lilac in your hair.
	VARINKA. Will you remember?
	BYELINKOV. I will write it down. (Takes a notebook from his pocket.) Dear Byelinkov, don't forget the day a young lady, your bride, entered your garden, your peace, and danced on the roses. On that day every year you are to place a lilac in her hair.
	VARINKA. I love you.
	BYELINKOV. It is convenient we met.
	VARINKA. I love you.
	BYELINKOV. You are a girl.
	VARINKA. I am thirty.
	BYELINKOV. But you think like a girl. That is an attractive attribute.
	VARINKA. Do you love me?
	BYELINKOV. We've never spoken about housekeeping.
	VARINKA. I am an excellent housekeeper. I kept house for my family on the farm in Gadyatchsky. I can make a beetroot soup with tomatoes and aubergines which is so nice. Awfully awfully nice.
	BYELINKOV. You are fond of expletives.
	VARINKA. My beet soup, sir, is excellent!
	BYELINKOV. Please don' t be cross. I too am an excellent housekeeper. I have a place for everything in the house. A shelf for each pot, a cubby for every spoon, a folder for favorite recipes. I have cooked for myself for twenty years. Though my beet soup is not outstanding, it is suffcient.
	VARINKA. I'm sure it's very good.
	BYELINKOV. No. It is awfully, awfully not. What I am outstanding in, however, what gives me greatest pleasure, is preserving those things, which are left over. I wrap each tomato slice I haven't used in a wet cloth and place it in the coolest corner of the house. I have had my shoes for seven years because I wrap them in the galoshes you are so fond of. And every night before I go to sleep I wrap my bed in quilts and curtains so I never catch a draft.
	VARINKA. You sleep with curtains on your bed?
	BYELINKOV. I like to keep warm.
	VARINKA. I will make you a new quilt.
	BYELINKOV. No. No new quilt. That would be hazardous.
	VARINKA. It is hazardous to sleep under curtains.
	BYELINKOV. Varinka, I don't like change very much. If one works out the arithmetic, the final fraction of improvement is at best less than an eighth of value over the total damage caused by disruption. I never thought of marrying till I saw your eyes dancing among the familiar faces at the headmaster's tea. I assumed I would grow old preserved like those, which are left over, wrapped suitably in my case of curtains and quilts.
	VARINKA. Byelinkov, I want us to have dinners with friends and summer country visits. I want people to say, "Have you spent time with Varinka and Byelinkov? He is so happy now that they are married. She is just what lie needed."
	BYELINKOV. You have already brought me some happiness.But I never was a sad man. Don't ever think I thought I was a sad man.
	VARINKA. My sweetest darling, you can be whatever you want! If you are sad, they'll say she talks all the time, and he is softspoken and kind.
	BYELINKOV. And if I am difficult?
	VARINKA. Oh, they'll say he is difficult because he is highly intelligent. All great men are difficult. Look at Lermontov, Tchaikovsky, Peter the Great.
	BYELINKOV. Ivan the Terrible.(Note: Mikhail Lennoatov (1814-1841),poet and novelist; Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893), eotnposer; Peter the Great (1672-1725) and Ivan the Terrible (1530-1584), oars credited with making Russia a great European power.)
	VARINKA. Yes, him too.
	BYELINKOV. Why are you marrying me? I am none of these things.
	VARINKA. To me you are.
	BYELINKOV. You have imagined this. You have constructed an elaborate romance for yourself. Perhaps you are the great one. You are the one with the great imagination.
	VARINKA. Byelinkov, I am a pretty girl of thirty. You' re right, I am not a woman. I have not made myself into a woman because I do not deserve that honor. Until I came to this town to visit my brother I lived on my family's farm. As the years passed I became younger and younger in fear that I would never marry. And it wasn' t that I wasn't pretty enough or sweet enough, it was just that no man ever looked at me and saw a wife. I was not the woman who would be there when he came home. Until I met you I thought I would lie all my life and say I never married because I never met a man I loved. I will love you, Byelinkov. And I will help you to love me. We deserve the life everyone else has. We deserve not to be different.
	BYELINKOV. Yes. We are the same as everyone else.
	VARINKA. Tell me you love me.
	BYELINKOV. I love you.
	VARINKA (takes his hands.) We will be very happy. I am very strong. (Pauses. ) It is time for tea.
	BYELINKOV. It is too early for tea. Tea is at half past the hour.
	VARINKA. Do you have heavy cream? It will be awfully nice with apricots.
	BYELINKOV. Heavy cream is too rich for teatime.
	VARINKA. But today is special. Today you placed a lilac in my hair. Write in your note pad. Every year we will celebrate with apricots and heavy cream. I will go to my brother's house and get some.
	BYELINKOV. But your brother's house is a mile from here.
	VARINKA. Today it is much shorter. Today my brother gave me his bicycle to ride. I will be back very soon.
	BYELINKOV. You rode to my house by bicycle! Did anyone see you!
	VARINKA. Of course. I had such fun. I told you I saw the grocery store lady with the son-in-law who is doing very well thank you in Moscow, and the headmaster's wife.
	BYELINKOV. You saw the headmaster's wife!
	VARINKA. She smiled at me.
	BYELINKOV. Did she laugh or smile?
	VARINKA. She laughed a little. She said, "My dear, you are very progressive to ride a bicycle." She said you and your fiance Byelinkov must ride together sometime. I wonder if he'll take off his galoshes when he rides a bicycle.
	BYELINKOV. She said that?
	VARINKA. She adores you, We had a good giggle.
	BYELINKOV. A woman can be arrested for riding a bicycle. That is not progressive, it is a premeditated revolutionary act. Your brother must be awfully, awfully careful on behalf of your behavior. He has been careless-oh so care-less-in giving you the bicycle.
	VARINKA. Dearest Byelinkov, you are wrapping yourself under curtains and quilts! I made friends on the bicycle.
	BYELINKOV. You saw more than the headmaster's wife and the idiot grocery woman.
	VARINKA. She is not an idiot.
	BYELINKOV. She is a potato-Vending, sausage-armed fool!
	VARINKA. Shhh! My school mouse. Shhh!
	BYELINKOV. What other friends did you make on this bicycle?
	VARINKA. I saw students from my brother' s classes. They waved and shouted, 0Anthropos in love! Anthropos in 'love!!"
	BYELINKOV. Where is that bicycle?
	VARINKA. I left it outside the gate. Where are you going?
	BYELINKOV (muttering as he exits.) Anthropos in love, an thropos in love.
	VARINKA. They were cheering me on. Careful, you'll trample the roses.
	BYELINKOV (returning with the bicycle.) Anthropos is the Greek singular for man. Anthropos in love translates as the Greek and Latin master in love. Of course they cheered you. Their instructor, who teaches them the discipline and contained beauty of the classics, is in love with a sprite on a bicycle. It is a good giggle, isn't it? A very good giggle! I am returning this bicycle to your brother.
	VARINKA. But it is teatime.
	BYELINKOV. Today we will not' have tea.
	VARINKA. But you will have to walk back a mile.
	BYELINKOV. I have my galoshes on. (Gets on the bicycle.), Varinka, we deserve not to be different. (Begins to pedal. The bicycle doesn't move. )
	VARINKA. Put the kickstand up.
	BYELINKOV. I beg your pardon.
	VARINKA (giggling.) Byelinkov, to make the bicycle move; you must put the kickstand up.
	(Byelinkov puts it up and awkwardly falls off the bicycle as it.moves. )
	(Laughing.) Ha ha ha. My little school mouse. You. look so funny! You are the sweetest dearest man in the world. Ha ha ha!,
	(Pause.)
	BYELINKOV. Please help me up. I'm afraid my galosh is caught.
	VARINKA (trying not to laugh. ) .Your galosh is caught! (Explodes in laughter again.) Oh, you are so funny! I do love you so. (Helps Byelinkov up.) You were right, my pet, as always. We don't need heavy cream for tea. The fraction of improvement isn' t worth the damage caused by the disruption.
	BYELINKOV. Varinka, it is still too early for tea. I must complete two stanzas of my translation before late afternoon. That is my regular schedule.
	VARINKA. Then I will watch while you work.
	BYELINKOV. No. You had a good giggle. That is enough.
	VARINKA. Then while you work I will work too. I will make lists of guests for our wedding.
	BYELINKOV. I can concentrate only when I am alone in my house. Please take your bicycle home to your brother.
	VARINKA. But I don't want to leave, you. You look so sad.
	BYELINKOV. I never was a sad man. Don't ever think I was a sad man.
	VARINKA. Byelinkov, it's a beautiful day, we are in your garden. The roses are in bloom.
	BYELINKOV: Allow me to help you on to your bicycle.(Takes,Varinka's hand as she gets on the bike. )
	VARINKA. You are such a gentleman. We will be very happy.
	BYELINKOV. You are very strong. Good day, Varinka.
	( Varinka pedals off-Byelinkov, alone in the garden, takes out his pad and rips up the note about the lilac, strews it over the garden, then carefully picks up each piece of paper and places them all in a small envelope as lights fade to black. )
	Questions:
	1. What scene in the play do you think is funny? And why is it funny? Can you formulate a theory of comedy based on this episode?
	2: At the end of the play Byelinkov, tears up the note but then collects the pieces. What do you interpret these actions to mean?