Short Plays

of the soul, Signor. And I do not pity your soul: you have a wicked soul. But you have pretty teeth. Ferruccio The toothache lasted a week; but the agony of my soul was too dreadful to last five minutes: I should have died of it if it could have kept its grip of me. But you helped me out of it. Giulia I, Signor! Ferruccio Yes: you. If you had pitied me: if you had been less inexorable than death itself, I should have broken down and cried and begged for mercy. But now I have come up against something hard: something real: something that does not care for me. I see now the truth of my excellent uncle’s opinion that I was a spoilt cub. When I wanted anything I threatened men or ran crying to women; and they gave it to me. I dreamed and romanced: imagining things as I wanted them, not as they really are. There is nothing like a good look into the face of death: close up: right on you: for showing you how little you really believe and how little you really are. A priest said to me once, “In your last hour everything will fall away from you except your religion.” But I have lived through my last hour; and my religion was the first thing that fell away from me. When I was forced at last to believe in grim death I knew at last what belief was, and that I had never believed in anything before: I had only flattered myself with pretty stories, and sheltered myself behind Mumbo Jumbo, as a soldier will shelter himself from arrows behind a clump of thistles that only hide the shooters from him. When I believe in everything that is real as I believed for that moment in death, then I shall be a man at last. I have tasted the water of life from the cup of death; and it may be now that my real life began with this he holds up the rosary and will end with the triple crown or the heretic’s fire: I care not which. Springing to his feet. Come out, then, dog of a bandit, and fight a man who has found his soul. Squarcio appears at the door, sword in hand. Ferruccio leaps at him and strikes him full in the chest with his dagger. Squarcio puts back his left foot to brace himself against the shock. The dagger snaps as if it had struck a stone wall. Giulia Quick, Sandro. Sandro, who has come stealing round the corner of the inn with a fishing net, casts it over Ferruccio, and draws it tight. Squarcio Your Excellency will excuse my shirt of mail. A good home blow, nevertheless, Excellency. Sandro Your Excellency will excuse my net: it is a little damp. Ferruccio Well, what now? Accidental drowning, I suppose. Sandro Eh, Excellency, it is such a pity to throw a good fish back into the water when once you have got him safe in your net. My Giulietta: hold the net for me. Giulia Taking the net and twisting it in her hands to draw it tighter round him. I have you very fast now, Signorino, like a little bird in a cage. Ferruccio You have my body, Giulia. My soul is free. Giulia Is it, Signor? I think Saint Barbara has got that in her net too. She has turned your jest into earnest. Sandro It is indeed true, sir, that those who come under the special protection of God and the Saints are always a little mad; and this makes us think it very unlucky to kill a madman. And since from what Father Squarcio and I overheard, it is clear that your Excellency, though a very wise and reasonable young gentleman in a general way, is somewhat cracked on the subject of the soul and so forth, we have resolved to see that no harm comes to your Excellency. Ferruccio As you please. My life is only a drop falling from the vanishing clouds to the everlasting sea, from finite to infinite, and itself part of the infinite. Sandro Impressed. Your Excellency speaks like a crazy but very holy book. Heaven forbid that we should raise a hand against you! But your Excellency will notice that this good action will cost us thirty crowns. Ferruccio Is it not worth it? Sandro Doubtless, doubtless. It will in fact save us the price of certain masses which we should otherwise have had said for the souls of certain persons who⁠—ahem! Well, no matter. But we think it dangerous and unbecoming that a nobleman like your Excellency should travel without a retinue, and unarmed; for your dagger is unfortunately broken, Excellency. If you would therefore have the condescension to accept Father Squarcio as your man-at-arms⁠—your servant in all but the name, to save his nobility⁠—he will go with you to any town in which you will feel safe from His Eminence the Cardinal, and will leave it to your Excellency’s graciousness as to whether his magnanimous conduct will not then deserve some trifling present: say a wedding gift for my Giulietta. Ferruccio Good: the man I tried to slay will save me from being slain. Who would have thought Saint Barbara so full of irony! Sandro And if the offer your Excellency was good enough to make in respect of Giulietta still stands⁠— Squarcio Rascal: have you then no soul? Sandro I am a poor man, Excellency: I cannot afford these luxuries of the rich. Ferruccio There is a certain painter will presently make a great picture of St. Barbara; and Giulia will be his model. He will pay her well. Giulia: release the bird. It is time for it to fly. She takes the net from his shoulders.

The Showing-Up of Blanco Posnet

A Sermon in Crude Melodrama

Preface

The Censorship

This little play is really a religious tract in dramatic form. If our silly censorship would permit its performance,