Since this play was written prior to 1923, it is in the public domain.
The original typewritten copy is in the Howard Gotlieb Archive of Boston
University. Except for the photos
of Rathbone and the Liverpool Scottish above, the photos on this page are generic first world war
photos. Here, then, is Rathbone's play, entitled Dawn:
| SCENE: |
A barn—somewhere in Occupied France
during the German retreat of the Autumn of 1918. A large shapeless
heap of straw is vaguely outlined by moonlight which shines in upon it
through a shattered roof. The barndoor at the back is open but barely
discernible in the semi-darkness. (NOTE: A curtain or flats may be
used with the barndoor set in to either, as everything is in heavy
shadow, almost in darkness with the exception of a little light from
outside the door and plenty of light coming straight down onto the
heap of straw. It is not necessary to use a practical roof. And so
production can be cheap, but effective.) |
| TIME: |
Just before dawn. An August morning,
1918. |
| CHARACTERS: |
Marguerite — about twenty-five years old.
Pierre, her father — about sixty.
Manfred — a German soldier, about seventeen or eighteen. |
| |
 (At the rise of the curtain there are
discovered Marguerite and her father. Marguerite is lying on the
straw, partially covered with an old blanket. Her father sits beside
her, and a little down-stage from her. His knees are drawn up, and he
clasps them with his hands. His head rests on his knees. He is
absolutely motionless, and might be asleep but that his eyes are open
and stare out into the darkness before them.Distant intermittent
shelling and machine-gun fire are insistent through the first part of
the Scene, and may be used where dramatically valuable during the
remainder of the Scene.
Hold the silent opening as long as dramatically possible. Then
suddenly in the barndoor there appears a figure. It breathes heavily.
After a swift look back into the night it lurches forward and falls
upon the heap of straw. It is Manfred. He is fair, with blue eyes
— a
boy, with only a few months' active service to his credit.) |
| MANFRED: |
Oh, Christ, don't let them find me!
—
Don't let them find me — |
| |
(He cries like a child. Marguerite turns
her head, and listens, otherwise she makes no movement. Pierre
continues to stare before him. Manfred's crying becomes stifled
—
followed by several short sharp gasps.) |
| MARGUERITE: |
Who is it? |
| |
(Pierre does not answer, but after a
slight pause, he rises. It is but a step to the shuddering body of
Manfred. He stands over the boy, reflectively.) |
 |
| PIERRE: |
Hun! |
| MARGUERITE: |
Wounded? |
| |
(Marguerite cannot see Manfred. He has
stopped crying now. His terrified, tear-stained face looks up into
Pierre's.) |
| MANFRED: |
Are you alone? ... Why don't you answer
me? ... Are you alone? (Pierre nods his head in the
affirmative.)
If anyone comes here and asks for me, say
you don't know anything about it or I'll kill you — I swear to God I
will! |
| PIERRE: |
Say I don't know anything about what? |
| MANFRED: |
About me — about there being anybody
here but you. |
| PIERRE: |
Who are you? |
| MANFRED: |
What do you mean? |
_small.jpg) |
| PIERRE: |
I mean — what are you doing here? |
| MANFRED: |
Getting lost. |
| PIERRE: |
Lost? |
| MANFRED: |
Yes, for ever I hope. |
| |
(A long pause before Pierre continues.) |
| PIERRE: |
Where is your regiment? |
| MANFRED: |
I don't know. |
| PIERRE: |
And you don't wish to know
— is that it? |
| MANFRED: |
Yes — oh God, it's too horrible
— if
only I could forget. |
| |
(He starts crying again, like a child
remembering a bad dream. Pierre watches him.) |
| PIERRE: |
 Get up! — Get up!(Pierre kicks the boy. He stops crying
and looks up.)
Get up!
(Manfred rises slowly; they stand facing
each other.)
I am a Frenchman. You are a Hun. I am
old, you are young. But I am not too old to kill you, nor you too
young to die. |
| |
(A long pause.) |
| MANFRED: |
You must be mad to talk like that. |
| |
(Pierre shakes his head.) |
| PIERRE: |
If you live you will go home again one
day, and the beast in you will procreate more beasts to ravish France
again. |
| MANFRED: |
No, no — you're wrong! It will never be
like this again, never, never. We should all go mad ... quite mad. |
| PIERRE: |
You would forget, and your children would
never know. And when the little beasts grew into big beasts the spirit
of your Fatherland would make them hungry for revenge. |
| MANFRED: |
Revenge? |
| PIERRE: |
Yes, revenge for your defeat. Although my
home is completely destroyed, and my wife lies buried beneath its
ruins; though my fields are poisoned and pockmarked by your shells so
that no living thing will grow in them, my loss is not as great as
yours. Because you and yours have put back the right course of things
by a hundred years. |
| MANFRED: |
Don't look at me like that! Oh, for God's
sake, don't. I couldn't help it. I didn't want to go. They made me.
What was I to do? What could any of us do? We didn't start it. What
has being French or German got to do with it, when boys, just boys,
stand up and shoot each other to death? |
| |
(Manfred breaks down again and cries
hopelessly. Outside is heard the tramp of marching men. Manfred stops
crying and listens intently. There is a mad fear in his eyes. Pierre
is listening too. After a moment's pause, he moves noiselessly to the
barndoor and looks out. The steady, heavy tread of marching feet
continues.) |
| PIERRE: |
Every step you take leaves the earth
behind you free to breathe again — you filth! |
| |
(From where Manfred now is he can see
Marguerite. Their eyes meet. Marguerite's eyes are filled with an
inexpressible suffering. Slowly the suggestion of a smile creeps over
her face; she beckons Manfred to come to her. He moves toward her,
never taking his eyes from hers. He crouches beside her, their faces
almost touching. She raises a hand, touches his face; then gently
strokes back his hair.) |
| MARGUERITE: |
Poor boy! — I
understand. |
| MANFRED: |
Who are you? |
 |
| MARGUERITE: |
His daughter. |
| MANFRED: |
How strange. |
| MARGUERITE: |
Poor little boy. |
| MANFRED: |
Are you ill? |
| |
(Marguerite shakes her head in the
negative.) |
| MARGUERITE: |
Just a little weak, that's all. A few
nights ago I bore a son — my father killed him. My lover was a
German, like you. May I tell you about it?
— It might help us both. |
| PIERRE: |
(Still at his place by the door) More
beasts. Some of them can hardly drag one foot after the other. Better
hurry, beast, or you will all be buried under French soil, and that
would be too bad! (He chuckles) (Then with a change of thought) ...
Too bad! — 20
— 30
— 40 — 60
— Sixty graves where there should be
an acre of barley sown next spring. Hurry!
— hurry!
— hurry!
—
hurry beasts! |
| |
(She speaks quite slowly, as if searching
for the words, and is a little wondrous at how much they mean to her
as she finds them.) |
| MARGUERITE: |
I didn't think of him as being German. He
thought, and talked and looked just like most of the men that I had
known before all this. — Frenchmen and English, too. Only his smile
was a little different, and something of me was his and something of
him was mine before we ever met, and that made him different from all
the rest so that I knew that I loved him and that he loved me.
— It's
a little more than a year ago now. His regiment was stationed near us
for a time — springtime, it was. I would slip out when father was
asleep and meet him in the orchard. It was strangely beautiful
— like
as if God was there with us. Before summer came he was gone. But
later, last winter, he came back again, just when the pain of thinking
of him had grown so that I would hardly dare to remember his dear
face. It was then he loved me most and that I belonged to him. |
 |
| MANFRED: |
Where is he now? |
| MARGUERITE: |
Asleep — somewhere out there. |
| MANFRED: |
Oh, how cruel! |
| MARGUERITE: |
Our home was destroyed soon after the war
began. My mother is buried beneath it. Then father and I came here to
live, and it was here that I knew him. |
| MANFRED: |
Here? |
| MARGUERITE: |
There was a house once adjoining this
barn. Some of your officers took it for quarters; so one day my father
burned it to the ground. They never knew who did it or they would have
killed him. |
| PIERRE: |
(Still at the door, looking out.) Flames
— leaping into the air
— hungrily,
— how they burn those houses on
the ridge. Tongues of flame screaming to God for vengeance. But God
won't hear them. He's asleep. |
| MARGUERITE: |
If my boy had lived, he would have looked
like you — his hair was yellow silk, and his eyes were blue like
robin's eggs. |
| |
(A long pause) |
| MARGUERITE: |
Where is your home? |
| MANFRED: |
Near Coblenz. |
 |
| MARGUERITE: |
And your mother? |
| MANFRED: |
She is dead. |
| MARGUERITE: |
Are there no more to your family? |
| MANFRED: |
Only a brother. But he was killed last
week. |
| MARGUERITE: |
Poor boy — poor little boy! |
| MANFRED: |
What am I going to do? |
| MARGUERITE: |
I don't know yet
— are you so very much
afraid? |
| MANFRED: |
I could never go back
— never! |
| MARGUERITE: |
And if the war ends
— soon. |
| MANFRED: |
I could never forget. |
| MARGUERITE: |
You think so now, but later perhaps
— |
| MANFRED: |
Never — never!
— I have seen too much.
It's horrible — horrible. Sleeping or waking there is no peace from
these things that I have seen. |
| |
(He shudders, hiding his face in his
hands.) |
| MARGUERITE: |
Please — please, won't you help me? |
| MANFRED: |
Oh, God, if I only could! |
| |
(Marguerite holds him now so that his
head rests on her breast. She strokes his hair.) |
| MARGUERITE: |
Try to think you have been dreaming. If
only you could sleep — then when you woke these things would have
passed. I remember when I was a child how much the night frightened
me, and how foolish my fears seemed the next morning. Don't you
understand? For you the night is over. In a short while now the French
soldiers will be here. |
| MANFRED: |
They will not kill me? |
| MARGUERITE: |
No. You will be a prisoner of war. Then,
before long, the war will be over and you will go home again. |
| PIERRE: |
Never. |
| |
(Pierre stands close beside them. He has
moved slowly toward them during the latter part of their conversation.
Manfred slowly turns his head, and looks up at Pierre.) |
| MANFRED: |
What did you say? |
| PIERRE: |
Outside there is large hole. I dug it
with my own hands for German trash. It's not yet filled. But you will
make it full. |
| MARGUERITE: |
Father! |
| PIERRE: |
Be quiet! |
| MANFRED: |
(He rises to his feet, white with
terror.) You couldn't mean
— you couldn't
— |
| PIERRE: |
For years I have been waiting to kill
you! Your blood shall be my sacrifice to the poor earth you have
destroyed. |
| MANFRED: |
But I — I
— no
— no! — no! |
| |
(Suddenly, with a wild scream, Manfred
leaps at Pierre, who, well prepared, strikes the boy a terrific blow
which fells him to the ground. There is a brief pause. Then Pierre
moves towards Manfred. Manfred draws a gun and covers Pierre.) |
| MANFRED: |
Stop! For God's sake, stop! |
| |
(Pierre pauses as he sees the guns.) |
| PIERRE: |
You fool! — Put your gun away
— it will
do you no good to kill me. |
| MANFRED: |
Don't move! |
| |
(Marguerite is watching them. She is
paralyzed with fear. She tries to move but cannot.) |
| PIERRE: |
 I will do it more swiftly than the
soldiers would do it when they come.(A long pause)
Well — well
— what do you say?
(Like two animals, their eyes are
riveted, one upon the other.)
It is only a matter of time and
— oh,
well, I can wait. |
| |
(There is a dead silence. Then,
imperceptibly at first, but growing louder and louder as they come
nearer, can be hear the tramp of marching men singing the
Marseillaise. At last they reach the barn. A sharp command, and they
stop. Pierre starts to laugh — a low triumphant, fateful laugh.) |
| MANFRED: |
(He hisses the words.) Stop that, you
fool! — Stop laughing
— do you hear me? Stop!
— Stop!
— Stop! |
| |
(His last "Stop" is a cry that is almost
lost in Pierre's laughter, and is only climaxed by the sharp crack of
Manfred's gun as he fires it at Pierre. There is a slight groan from
Pierre; he sinks in a huddled mass to the ground. For a moment there
is absolute silence again. It is broken by the sound of soldiers
running towards the barn; then a voice outside:) |
| VOICE: |
It came from over here. Probably someone
in the barn. Quick! Where's the door? |
| |
(Manfred stands motionless, his eyes
staring out of his head, his body rigid. Marguerite tries to move
towards him but sinks back helplessly.) |
| MARGUERITE: |
Poor boy — poor little boy! |
| |
There is a hammering on the barndoor,
which Pierre had closed and bolted when he left it. The butt of a
rifle crashes through the rotten wood, and a voice commands OPEN!
Open! The curtain falls. |
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