THE FIRST CRUSADE.
(A hall in a Baron's Castle in the year 1189. The Lady Joanna and her two daughters, Eleanor and Maude, are embroidering a 
large red cross on a white banner.)
Lady Joanna: Eleanor, you are idling. We shall never have the banner done.
Eleanor: Oh, no, Mother dear. I am sewing as fast as I can.
Lady Joanna; Idling ! And thinking of that worthless young Geoffrey de Barres, I'll be bound. 
Fortunately, I have
persuaded your father to take him on this stupid crusade.
Eleanor: He wanted to go, Mother.
Lady Joanna: Your father didn't  want  to  take him. But rather there than here, I said. And if he 
doesn't come back
Eleanor: He will come back.
Lady Joanna: He shan't marry you if he does, miss, so don't let me see you growing thin and pale, 
whilst all the men
are running about fighting infidels and enjoying themselves.
Maude: Why is the crusade stupid, Mother?
Lady Joanna: Of course it's stupid. Just stirring up trouble. But it will give your father something to do.

ELEANOR AND MAUDE.

Maude: Mother-supposing Father doesn't come back ?
Lady Joanna: Your father always comes back. Smaller stitches, Maude!
Maude: Yes, Mother.
Eleanor: I can't see what's wrong with Geoffrey de Barres. If he's brave enough to go on a 
crusade -  
Lady Joanna: He wasn't brave enough to come and ask my permission before taking you hawking last Thursday.
 (Baron Eustace de Mornay comes in, followed by a young squire, Geoffrey de Barres, who goes over
to talk to Eleanor.)
Eustace: Ah, there you are, my dear. Is everything ready? The banner finished, eh?
Maude: Nearly, Father.
Lady Joanna: Eustace, why did you bring that young man here? You know Eleanor's head's full of him 
already.
Eustace: My dear, if he's going to be my squire, I can't leave him at the gate. And besides, we're 
off in five minutes.
Lady Joanna: Five minutes!
Eleanor: Five minutes!
Eustace: It's only for three years. Well be back again in no time.
Eleanor: Three years! Promise me, Geoffrey, you'll come back safely.
Geoffrey: I promise. And my every thought will be of you.
Lady Joanna: Rubbish! You'll forget all about her before you've crossed the channel.
Geoffrey: No!
Eustace: If this wind doesn't drop, you will.
Eleanor: Father, you won't let him go into danger!
Lady Joanna: Danger! They're going to have a very amusing time in an exceptionally nice climate, 
whilst we stay here in foggy England. 
Geoffrey: We're going to fight for the Holy Sepulchre!
Eustace: Of course we are. You really do take a very extraordinary view, my dear. (A trumpet call is 
heard outside.) Ah, we must be off. The
horses are saddled. That means they are waiting for us.
Eleanor: No! Not yet!
Lady Joanna: Eleanor! Really I don't know what young girls are coming to. When I was young
Eleanor: There weren't any crusades when you were young.
Servant (entering): My lord.
Eustace: I know. We're coming. I heard the trumpet.
Servant: The trumpet was for the King, my lord.
Eustace: The King! What King?
Servant: King Richard, my lord. He's dismounting in the courtyard.
Eustace (looking out of the window): He's right. My dear, did you lower the money down the well in a bucket?
Lady Joanna: Yes!
Eustace: That's right. Richard's a good fighter, but he doesn't mind how he raises the money, especially for a crusade.
Lady Joanna: Will he want entertainment here?
Eustace: I hope not. When Fitzwarren entertained him, he had to eat black bread and cheese for six 
months
afterwards. I must go down and greet him.. He's quick tempered and if he isn't met -  (He hurries out followed by Geoffrey.)
 To think of Richard Coeur de Lion here!
 Lady Joanna: A great honour-as long as he doesn't propose to stay. That would be most inconsiderate.
Maude: Why, Mother!
Lady Joanna: You heard what your father said. King Richard eats enough for ten men and drinks enough 
for twenty.
And he's always got
scores of other men with him who are worse. We'd be eaten out of the place. Eleanor, put the banner there, over those two chairs. 
We must let the King see that we've done our share towards the holy 
crusade.
Maude: You said the crusade was stupid, Mother.
 Lady Joanna: Hush, child! What nonsense! (King Richard enters, followed by de Mornay and
Geoffrey, and two or three knights. Richard is big, hearty and noisy.)
Richard: Ah! A domestic scene! We shall miss this sort of thing, de Mornay.
Eustace: My lady wife, my liege. (Lady Joanna curtsies and kisses the King's hand.)
Richard: Can you spare your lord to me for three years, eh?
Lady Joanna: Willingly, my liege.
Richard: Eh? Ha! You hear that, de Mornay? And these young ladies?
Lady Joanna: My daughters, my liege. Eleanor and Maude. (They curtsy.)
Richard: Very charming. I don't know how you can leave them, de Mornay.
Lady Joanna: Oh, my liege, for the great and glorious crusade, no sacrifice is too great.
Richard: You're right; no sacrifice is too great. We've had a contribution from you, I think, de 
Mornay?  Eustace: Yes,
my liege. Every penny I could raise.
Richard: You've nothing else? No silver goblets - gold plate - anything of that kind?
Eustace: Such things --- in my poor castle, my liege!
Richard: You may have overlooked them. Gilbert -and you, de Boeuf - have a look round. My lord would be sorry if he had 
forgotten any treasures that might have helped so holy a cause Wouldn't you, de Mornay ?
Eustace: Assuredly, my liege.
(Two of the knights go off.)
Lady Joanna: Everything we have, my liege, we have given. We shall eat meagrely until my lord's 
return.
Richard: So shall we. A handful of figs under a palm-tree, eh, de Mornay? Soldiers' fare. Ah! A 
banner. And worked by
fair hands, I'll warrant.
Maude: My sister and I have worked it, my liege.

KNIGHT, RICHARD, LADY JOANNA, GEOFFREY, EUSTACE DE MORNAY.

Lady Joanna: Sweet children. I let them help me. It is little that we poor women can do for the holy crusade.
Richard: Your jewellery, of course
Lady Joanna: It is pledged. To fit out my lord's men-at-arms.
 Richard: Yes, of course. But in this holy cause nothing must be held back. Within a year-less 
perhaps-we shall be
in Jerusalem itself!
Lady Joanna:  May your arms prosper, my liege.
Richard: With heaven-and your good wishes - on our side, they will. Come, de Mornay.
Lady Joanna: My liege, you will grace our poor board at meat before you ride I
Richard: Meat ? Ah!
Lady Joanna: Of course, we have given so much already that we have little left with which to buy 
food. But such as it
is
Richard: No, no. A stirrup cup. Nothing more. (The two knights return.) Well?
1st Knight There isn't a squire's ransom in the castle, my liege.
Richard: You are a true man, de Mornay. If all the baronage had your honesty we should sail for the 
East in better
heart. Come.
(Eleanor kneels at Richard's feet.)
Eleanor: My liege! A boon, a boon of your gracious pleasure before you ride, my liege.
Richard: I've never refused one yet to so pretty a suppliant.
Eleanor: Here is one, my liege, who is riding with you to the Holy Land.
Richard: Then, he's my comrade-in-arms. What of him ?
Eleanor: That he may ride as my affianced husband, my liege.
Richard: Why not? A gallant crusader willing to venture his life for the cross.  Your lady mother 
would welcome such
a son-in-law with open arms. If she wouldn't, she's no true subject of mine. Eh, lady?
Lady Joanna: My liege I - I  have been hoping for the match for - for years.
Richard: Then  it has Our royal blessing. (Geoffrey kneels before him.) When we come back, we'll see 
you married in our own presence, and whosoever tries to prevent it will have to settle with Coeur de Lion.
Geoffrey: My liege! My thanks
Richard: Prove them by your deeds. Come, de Mornay. Farewell, madam. And farewell to you, pretty one. 
Have no
fear. My sword shall be between your lover and danger. (Richard strides out followed by the knights. 
Eustace goes to
his wife.)
Eustace: I must go. The King
Lady Joanna: Did you hear ? That brazen hussy-! When I - 
Eustace: Tell me when I come back, my love.
(He hurries out. Geoffrey takes Eleanor in his arms.)
Lady Joanna: As for you - I said as for you two!
Eleanor (taking no notice of her mother): Goodbye, my dear! (Geoffrey hurries out.)
Lady Joanna: Well! If you think that this ridiculous arrangement - 
Eleanor: Be careful, Mother. King Richard may still be within hearing.
Lady Joanna (lowering her voice): This stupid crusade upsets the whole place, what with - 
Eleanor: Oh! They've forgotten the banner! (She picks up the banner and runs out.)
Lady Joanna: Eleanor! Eleanor! Come here!
Maude: She can't hear you.
Lady  Joanna: As for you, Maude, go to your room at once.
Maude: I've done nothing.
Lady Joanna: No, and I'll see you don't! For three years!
(Maude turns to go out, and Lady Joanna follows her, as trumpets sound outside.)
-From "A Dramatic History of England," by  L. Du GARDE PEACH. (University of London Press.) Abridged.

THE PRINTED WORD.
A room in Westminster Abbey. Two apprentices, John and Richard, are carrying in unbound folios and piling them on a table.
John: Has it stopped raining?
Richard: It's turning to snow. I like snow.
John: You don't have to go all the way over the fields from Westminster to London in the dark. You 
can lose yourself if you're not careful. Do you think we shall finish early to-day?
Richard: You'd better ask Master Caxton.
John: He'd go on all night and never notice the time. Tell me, do you think it will ever come to
anything? Printing, I mean.
Richard: You never know. If people want
books, it might.
John: What people?
Richard: People that can read, of course.
John: There aren't enough of them.
Richard: There will be - if there are more books. John: I don't see that. Most people haven't got the time.
Richard: Master Caxton says there will come a time when everybody in England can read.
John: He's mad.
Richard: You'd better not let him hear you say so. Hush! here he is.
Caxton (entering): Are all the folios ready?
Richard: They're all here, Master Caxton.
Caxton: Good. One hundred, two hundred, and  two score. Do you know how long it would have
taken to make two hundred and two score copies of the " Sayings of the Philosophers" by hand?
Richard: Many years, sir.
Caxton: Many years and the labour of many men and even then, no two copies would have been alike. What do you want?
John: Please, Master Caxton, may we go now? Caxton: Go? No, you can't go. You're always wanting to 
go, boy.
John: It's snowing, sir.
Caxton: A vile climate! Which of you set up the thirteenth page? Eh? Which of you was it?
John: I did, sir.
Caxton: And now you want to go! Look at this, boy - look at it. (Caxton spreads a sheet of paper and, 
taking John by the ear, makes him look at it.)
John: Please, Master. You're hurting me.
Caxton: Is that good setting? Or that? The first book ever to be printed in England, and you must 
spoil it by your slovenly setting.
John: I didn't mean to do it, Master.
Caxton: Must I always see to everything myself? I've a good mind to make you stay here and set page 
thirteen all over again. If it were not for the labour of printing it,
and the waste of paper.
(Lord Arundel comes in.)
Arundel: Master Caxton?
Caxton: My name, my lord.
Arundel: You must forgive me, Master Caxton I am a man curious by nature as well as a lover of books. I have heard that here in 
Westminster you have a new art, a
new way of making books. Is that so ?
Caxton: I am at a loss to know how you heard of it, my lord, but it is certainly true.
Arundel: Then I haven't come in vain. May I see one of these new books, Master Caxton ?
Caxton: You may do more than that, my lord - you may even buy one.
Arundel: These books of yours are for sale?
Caxton: By the hundred, my lord.
Arundel: The hundred?
Caxton: That is the whole purpose of this new art. A hundred, or even a thousand, copies of a  book may 
be made almost as easily as now a man
copies one.
Arundel: There would be little point in making
a thousand copies of any book, Master Caxton.
Caxton: I agree, my lord. But a day may come when a thousand may not be enough.
Arundel: Such a thing is not very likely, Master Caxton.

Lord Arundel 		Caxton

Caxton: Richard, bring the first bound copy of the "Sayings of the Philosophers." (Richard goes out.)
John: If you please, Master Caxton - 
Caxton: What is it, boy?
John: May I go home now, Master?
Caxton: Be seen as little as possible, boy, and heard not at all. With such poor help as this wretched boy, my lord, it is possible to 
make hundreds of books, each one a
perfect, or nearly perfect, copy.
Arundel: That, Master Caxton, is a miracle, even in Westminster Abbey!
John: It's snowing, Master, and - 
Caxton: Get out of my sight, boy. Ungrateful, miserable, slipshod, careless!
(John runs out in alarm, colliding with Richard.) Richard: Here is the volume, Master. And here are 
also two holy
fathers of the Abbey who wish to - 
Caxton: Let them come in. Let them come in. (Father Ambrose and Father Aloysius enter.)
F. Ambrose: Good Master Caxton, by your leave we are come to see something of this new wonder of the 
making of
books. Here in the Abbey twenty lay brothers copy the scriptures under my instruction, but the work 
is slow.
Caxton: I will lighten their labours for them. Here is a book made by myself and two boys.
Arundel: One of whom was of little help, I'll warrant.
F. Ambrose: Two boys. But this would be a labour of many months for a man.
F. Aloysius: See the even character of the lettering!
Arundel: A good line, and even, Master Caxton.
F. Ambrose: A fine black ink.
Arundel: This is one copy, but you spoke of  hundreds.
Caxton: There are others, my lord. They only wait to be bound, and each is an exact copy of this. 
F. Ambrose: Is it possible?
Caxton: Take any one of them and see.
(Father Ambrose takes one of the unbound copies  and opens it.)
Arundel: The very same, even to the line and margin and the spacing of the words. This is a wonder indeed, Master Caxton.
Caxton: It would be a wonder if it were not the same, my lord, seeing that it is printed from the 
same types.
F. Aloysius: Printed? Types?  Caxton: Each letter is separate. Here is one. Look at it closely, my 
lord.  Arundel: The
letter G - backwards.  Caxton: That is a type cut, as you see, from
wood. Arundel: But backwards? Wait - I see. When it is pressed upon the paper, the image is reversed. 
Caxton: Exactly.

Ambrose 	Apprentices  		Father Aloysius

F. Ambrose: But surely the labour of finding and pressing each letter upon a hundred sheets would be as great as writing by hand.
Caxton: If it were done in that way. But there many hundreds of such types. Boy, bring a forme of 
type, ready set.
(Richard goes out.)
F. Ambrose: Even then I do not understand.
Caxton: The types are put together to make a
page, and at one impress the whole page is copied.
Arundel: I see - simple but ingenious.
(Richard returns with a square forme.)
Caxton: Here is a page-line by line set in type.
F. Ambrose: But still-the labour of cutting all those letters - 
Caxton: They are cut once and for always.
When this Page is printed the types may be  rearranged to form the next page-and the next
and so on, until you have your book.
Arundel: And the making of the copies?
Caxton: That is the printing, my lord. Ink is spread upon the types - a  sheet of paper is placed 
so - and even pressure
is applied in a press - and the imprint of the types is on the paper.
F. Ambrose: The whole page?
Caxton: The whole page-and in the work of a minute.
F. Ambrose: Wonderful indeed.
F. Aloysius: Wonderful - yes. But for whom will you make these books?
Caxton: For any who will buy them.
F. Aloysius: Then you will lose your labour, Master Caxton. More books are made now than can be 
bought by those
who can afford their price
Caxton: That is because the price is too high The price of a printed book will be so cheap that any man with a few shillings will 
be able to afford it.
F. Aloysius: Truly a new wonder, but there is danger in it.
Arundel: Danger?
F. Aloysius: The danger of the spreading of heresies by these new books. Now that books are few, and few 
can read
them there is no danger But such an art as this might flood the country with sheets against the 
Church and the State.
Arundel: But if only few can read them
F. Aloysius: They will learn. Master Caxton, destroy your types!
Caxton: Destroy them?
F. Aloysius: Destroy them before they destroy Church and State!
Arundel: You take too gloomy a view, holy Father.
F. Aloysius: I know men's minds, my son. They will be more quick to use this new thing for evil for good.
Caxton: We must take that risk, holy Father. This art is widely known-in Cologne, in Brussels, in Amsterdam. It has come to 
stay.
F. Aloysius: Then is content gone from the world.
Arundel: Say, rather, a new pleasure has come into 
it. Master Caxton, you have to-day begun
something that may alter the minds of men and the destinies of kingdoms. It is something larger than even you or I can guess 
New learning-new
thought - 
F. Aloysius: New heresy!
Arundel: It may be. But that is the price the world must pay.
F. Aloysius: The price is too great.
Arundel: That is for the world to find out. Master Caxton, one more favour. May we see how this  new art is practised?
Caxton: If you wish. The press is here - in this room. Come this way, my lord, and you, good
Father - 
Caxton and the others go out. Richard remains. After a moment John enters cautiously.)
Richard: I thought you'd gone.
John: How could I go? I wish I'd been bound apprentice to a wheelwright.
Richard: Why?
John: I shouldn't have had to walk home from Westminster to London through the snow. Printing! What's the good of it?
Richard: That's what the holy Father said.
John: He was right. Printing! Books! I shall run away to sea to-morrow.
Caxton (off stage): Richard! Boy!
Richard: Come on! (They go off.)
-From "A Dramatic History of England," by   L. DU GARDE PEACH. (University of
 London Press.)

IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE.
A room in a fashionable London house about 1712. Mrs. Moffat is looking at 
a copy of the "Spectator." Sally, a servant, knocks and enters.
Sally: If you please, may I have the tea, ma'am?
Mrs. Moffat: I'll give it to you now. Let me see, there will be Mr. Addison 
and Mr. Steele, Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, Sir
George Tracey and Lady Tracey, Mr. Winstanly, myself, and possibly others. 
Eight or ten, possibly twelve.
(She unlocks a tea caddy and measures out the tea.)
Mrs. Moffat: Be very careful with it, Sally.
Sally: Yes, ma'am.
(A door bell rings.)
Mrs. Moffat: There's the door bell, Show the ladies and gentlemen in here 
as they arrive.
Sally: Yes, ma'am.
(Sally goes out, and almost immediately announces Mr. and Mrs. Hammond.)
Mrs. Hammond: My dear madam! Really, I feared we should never get here at 
all. The streets are in a shocking
state.
Mrs. Moffat: But surely you had your chair?
Mrs. Hammond: Would you believe it, madam! The two men that always carry my 
chair - quite incapable! Gin, of course.
Mr. Hammond: They say the consumption of gin in England has gone up by more 
than a million gallons in the last twenty years.
Mrs. Hammond: And my chairmen have had most of it by the looks of them. Fortunately, I had
my umbrella.
Mrs. Moffat: You have an umbrella!
Mr. Hammond: She has, madam,  and insists
upon carrying it about the streets. A ridiculous fashion! But there, it 
won't last.
Mrs. Hammond: I must show it to you. The most useful contrivance in the 
world ! My husband despises it, but I've
told him the time will come when men will carry umbrellas.
Mr. Hammond: Never! How is a man to defend himself or his wig with an 
umbrella in his hand ?
Mrs. Hammond: Would you believe it! My husband and I were driving in a 
coach only yesterday, when a man cut a
hole in the leather back of the coach!
Mr. Hammond: Yes, the scoundrel! And put his hand through to steal my 
periwig! Fortunately, I caught hold of his
hand, and held it until the coachman went round and secured him. We called 
the Watch, and he's safely lodged in gaol.
Mrs. Moffat: I declare I should have swooned, the streets of London are no 
longer safe. If it isn't some thief or
scoundrel, it's those terrible Mohocks.
Mr. Hammond: You're right, madam. A scandal of our time! Young ruffians! Of 
good family, too. One of them, they tell
me, the son of the Bishop of Salisbury.
Mrs. Hammond: Only the other day a lady of quality was taken by them from 
her chair, placed in a barrel, and rolled
from top to bottom of Ludgate Hill.
Mrs. Moffat: But surely, can nothing be done?
Mr. Hammond: What is to be done? They go about in bands of ten or a score, at 
night, and they always begin their
evening by driving the Watch from the  streets. For my part, madam, if I 
am going to the play or on a visit at night,
I go armed as if for a war.
Mrs. Moffat: Perhaps if they were exposed in the Spectator, some good 
might come of it. Mr. Addison himself
has promised to look in and take a dish of tea with us this afternoon.
Mr. Hammond: It will need more than the attentions of the Spectator to rid 
London of the Mohocks, madam. A
regiment of foot and the common hangman are what I should prescribe.
Mrs. Moffat: But surely if the dear Queen knew
Mrs. Hammond: The dear Queen is too busy overeating to bother about the 
condition of London.
(Sally announces Sir George and Lady Tracey.)
Mrs. Moffat: Dear Lady Tracey, this is indeed kind. Oh, you have one of 
the new hoods!
Lady Tracey: Oh, 'tis nothing, madam. Quite old, I assure you. I've already 
had it nearly a week.
Mrs. Moffat: But surely they are all the rage.
Lady Tracey: I'm afraid so. I declare, I shall have to find something new.
Everybody is wearing them.
 Mrs. Hammond: But it becomes you extremely, dear Lady Tracey.
Lady Tracey: It is well enough. But they tell me there is a hat newly come 
from Paris
Mrs. Moffat: Oh, tell us, dear Lady Tracey! (The ladies gather round her.)
Mr. Hammond: Marlborough's  done for, I hear, Sir George.
Sir George: And time, too! He may be a good general, he may have won a few twopenny ha'penny victories over the French - 
Mr. Hammond: Malplaquet, Blenheim !
Sir George: Quite so.  But he couldn't fight the politicians at home.
Mr. Hammond: A little matter of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds which 
had gone into the wrong pocket, so they
say.
Sir George: At least. It was proved that Marlborough has had sixty thousand from the army contractors, as well as a percentage 
on all the money he persuaded his 
Whig friends to lend to the Emperor Joseph.
Mr. Hammond: One must expect a general to feather his own nest.
Sir George: There is moderation in all things, sir. Marlborough overdid 
it. A few thousands here or there, yes. But this was downright robbery of the nation.
(Sally announces Mr. Addison.)

LADY TRACEY AND MRS. MOFFATT.

Mrs. Moffat: Dear Mr. Addison. We were this moment  speaking of you!
Mr. Addison: I declare, my ears were burning, madam. Your servant, 
ladies. Gentlemen, your very humble.
Lady Tracey: Humble! Why everybody knows that the whole town trembles 
before Mr. Addison.
Mr. Addison: I protest, madam.
Mrs. Hammond: How true! No one knows when they may find themselves 
pilloried in the Spectator.
Mrs. Moffat: We have just seen your advertisement. (Laughing.) The most 
impertinent thing!
Mr. Addison: Ladies, you overwhelm me! I assure you I do nothing but for 
your own good.
Sir George: Advertisement? What advertisement ?
Mrs. Hammond: Listen to this. " All ladies who come to church in the 
new-fashioned hoods are desired to be there
before divine service begins, lest they divert the attention of the congregation." There! What have you to say to that ?
Mr. Addison: A compliment, madam. When you ladies take our poor attention 
from our religious duties, you imperil
our souls as well as our hearts.
Sir George: I agree with you, sir. Of all the stupid fashions
Lady Tracey: Your views on the fashion are not edifying, Sir George. The 
poor man even objects to my umbrella!
Mr. Hammond: You are right, sir. Of all the idiotic
Mrs. Hammond: There is no need to say any more. Dear Lady Tracey, what is 
one to do with these husbands! We
devise the newest fashions to please them, and this is all the thanks we 
get. Mr. Addison, has the Spectator no
advice to give?
Mr. Addison: As for that, madam, you must ask Mr. Steele. He is the 
authority on the ladies, not I.
Lady Tracey: Mr. Steele is as big an enemy of the fashion as you are, 
sir. Indeed, it, was his observations on the
new bonnet that made me determined to wear one.
Mr. Addison: Mr. Steele has a fine discernment, madam.
(Sally announces Mr. Steele.)
Mrs. Moffat: Dear Mr. Steele, you are come just in time.
Mr. Addison. Give me your support, Dick. I vow I'm in need of it.
Mr. Steele: Madam, your most devoted servant. But what have I done ?
Mrs. Hammond: You and this ungrateful wretch have attacked our new bonnets. 
And in print, too!
Mr. Steele: As to that, madam, our friend Mr. Spectator endeavours to do a 
service to the town by exposing extravagance wherever he finds it.

Sally Mr.Addison Sir George  Mr. Steele

Sir George: And he's right, sir. There was never an age more in need of it.
 Mrs. Hammond: If Mr. Spectator would leave us
poor women alone and turn his attention  to  the dreadful Mohocks - 
Mr. Steele: I fear the Mohocks do not read the Spectator, madam.
Mr. Hammond: The whole town is at their mercy. One is almost afraid to 
walk the streets.
Mr. Steele: I came by water. And there's another abuse: I went to the 
wharf and called "Sculls " for a boat with one man, but there wasn't one in sight. A skiff with two rowers drew up. "I called 
sculls," I
said, "not oars." "Sorry, master," he said, " there ain't no sculls 'ere." 
So I had to pay for two men.  It is simply victimization.
Sir George: Ladies, I have a diversion to suggest.
Lady Tracey: What new tedium have you devised now, Sir George! I 
declare, my husband thinks of the oddest
things.
Sir George: This is neither tedious nor odd, madam. How say you to a visit 
to Bedlam in the morning to see the
lunatics?
Lady Tracey: Poor man! He thinks seeing lunatics a diversion for his wife!
Mr. Steele: For my part, I cannot see how any
man could be diverted in such a way.
Mrs. Hammond: Oh, Mr. Steele, you are too severe. The lunatics do the 
oddest things.
 Mr. Steele:  So do we all, madam. The wonder
to me is that the whole world is not behind bars.
Sir George: Come, sir, this lady is right. You are too severe. There is a 
lunatic who imagines himself to be King
Solomon. Many persons of quality go to see him weekly.
Mr. Steele: It is sad, sir, they have not something better to do. We 
should pity these poor creatures, not mock them.
Sir George: I see the company is against me, and if I continue I shall 
find myself in the columns of  the Spectator
as a monster.
Mr. Addison: We will spare you, sir, if you on your part will spare the 
lunatics. 
(Sally enters.)
Mrs. Moffat: We will all spare them, sir, and take a dish of tea to calm 
our feelings. What is it, girl?
Sally: Oh, ma'am - a gentleman
(Mr. Winstanly enters, bleeding and dishevelled, his wig on one side and his 
coat torn.)
Mrs. Moffat: Mr. Winstanly! What has happened?
Mr. Winstanly: You may well ask, madam! The Mohocks, if you please. The 
Mohocks in the Strand itself!
(Exclamations of fear from the ladies. "The Mohocks! " from the men!)
 Mr. Addison: Intolerable!
 Mr. Hammond: We must do something!
 Mr. Steele: What can we do?
Sir George: We will go and look for these scoundrels!
(The ladies scream.)
Lady Tracey: No! If you move one step, Sir George, I shall scream!
Mrs. Hammond: You'll be killed!
Mrs. Moffat: Stop them!
Mr. Addison: Ladies! Gentlemen! This is the year 1712, with our good Queen 
Anne on the throne - and England is a
civilized country. We can safely leave these fellows to the law. They were 
put down before and they will be put down
again. In the meantime
Mrs. Moffat: In the meantime, sir, we will drink a dish of tea.
Mr.. Addison: An excellent suggestion, madam.
Mrs. Moffat: Sally, you will serve the tea.
(They settle themselves in chairs.)
-L. DU GARDE PEACH, in "A dramatic History of England." (Adapted.)

THE BLUE BIRD.
STRANGE AND WONDERFUL  PLACES.
THE GARDENS OF HAPPINESS.
[The Blue Bird is the story of the two children of a woodcutter, Tyltyl and Mytyl, who, accompanied 
by the fairy, Light,
go in search of the Blue Bird of Happiness. They visit many strange and wonderful places but without 
success, and it
is only after they return to their humble cottage home that they find the Blue Bird. It is none other than Tyltyl's own pet dove. 
Tyltyl has been given a large diamond, at a turn of which the inside, or soul, of things, the future or the past,
is revealed. In the following scene the children are seeking the Blue Bird in the Gardens of Happiness.] .
 SCENE: A richly decorated hall in the middle of which stands a marvellous table of
 jasper and silver-gilt, laden
 with candle-sticks, glass, gold
 and silver plate, and fabulous
 viands. Round the table the biggest Luxuries of the earth
 sit, eating, drinking, shouting, singing, lolling about,
 or sleeping. They are enormously fat, and red in the
 face, dressed in velvet and brocade, crowned with gold and pearls and precious stones. Tyltyl and Mytyl cling awe-struck to 
Light.
Tyltyl: Who are those fat gentlemen enjoying themselves and eating such a 
lot of good things ?
Light: They are the biggest Luxuries of the earth. It is possible, though 
not very likely, that the Blue Bird may have
strayed among them for a moment.
Mytyl: What lovely cakes they have
Tyltyl: How pleased and happy they look. I believe they have seen us.
(A dozen of the biggest Luxuries come waddling towards the children.)
Light : Have no fear ; they are very affable. They will probably invite you 
to dinner. Do not accept ; do not accept
anything lest you forget your mission.
 Tyltyl: Not even a tiny cake ? They look so
good, so fresh, so thickly iced, covered with candied
fruits, and full of cream ! 
 Light : They are dangerous and would  break
your will. A man should know how to sacrifice
something for his duty. Refuse politely, but firmly.
Here they come.
The Biggest Luxury : How do you do, Tyltyl ?
Tyltyl: Why, do you know me? Who are you?
 The Luxury: I am the Biggest of the luxuries,
the Luxury of Being Rich, and I come to beg you
to honour our endless repast  with your presence.
Allow me to introduce you to the chief luxuries of
this earth. Here is my son-in-law, the Luxury of
Being a Landowner. These are the Luxury of
Drinking when you are not Thirsty, and the Luxury
of Eating when you are not Hungry: - they are
twins and their legs are made of macaroni. Here
are  the Luxury of Knowing Nothing who is as deaf
as a post, and the Luxury of Understanding Nothing
who is as blind as a bat. Here are the Luxury
of Doing Nothing and the Luxury of Sleeping more than Necessary; their hands are made of breadcrumbs and their eyes of peach 
jelly. Lastly, here is Fat Laughter: his
mouth is split from ear to ear and he is irresistible. (Fat Laughter bows, 
writhing and holding his sides.) But come
along! They are beginning the banquet all over again. It is the twelfth 
time since this morning. The revellers are waiting
for you.
Tyltyl: No, thank you very much, Mr. Luxury. I can't come just now. We are 
in a great hurry. We are looking for the
Blue Bird. You don't happen, I suppose, to know where he is hiding? 
The Luxury: The Blue Bird? Wait a bit. Yes, yes, I remember. Someone was telling me about him the other day. He is a bird that 
is not good to eat, I believe. At any rate, he has never figured on our table; but we have plenty of better things. You shall share 
our life, you shall see all we do.
Tyltyl: What do you do?
The Luxury: Why, we occupy ourselves incessantly in doing nothing. We never 
have a moment's rest. We have to
drink, we have to eat, we have to sleep. It's most engrossing. But come, we 
won't hear a refusal. We shall have to
resort to gentle violence. Come, Luxuries, help me. Let us make them happy 
in spite of themselves!
(The Luxuries, uttering cries of joy, drag the
 children , while Pat Laughter seizes Light
 vigorously round the waist.)
Light: Tyltyl, turn the diamond; it is time!
(Tyltyl obeys. The hall and table disappear, revealing a smiling garden of 
blithe peace and serenity. The Luxuries
become visibly deflated like burst bladders, and blink their eyes in the 
strange light. Seeing themselves at last as
they really are, naked, hideous, flabby, and lamentable, they utter cries 
of shame and dismay, and rushing
madly about at last pass into the Cave of the Miseries.)
Tyltyl (watching fleeing Luxuries): Goodness! How ugly they are! Where 
are they going?
Light. I really believe that they have lost their heads. They are going 
to take refuge with the Miseries, where I fear
they will be kept for good.
Tyltyl: Oh, what a beautiful garden! Where are we ?
Light: We have not moved. It is the diamond. We now behold the truth of 
things.
Tyltyl, How beautiful it is! It is just like midsummer. Hallo, it looks 
as though people were coming. (A troop of little
Happinesses, frisking and laughing, run out of the foliage and dance 
around the children, The chief of the little band
goes up to Tyltyl
The Happiness: How do you do, Tyltyl ?
Tyltyl: Another one that knows me! Who are you ?
The Happiness: Don't you recognize me? I wager you don't recognize 
anyone here!
Tyltyl: Why, no! I don't remember having seen any of you.
The Happiness: There, do you hear? He has never seen us!
(All the Happinesses burst out laughing.) Why, my dear Tyltyl, we are 
the only things you do know! We are always
around you. We eat, drink, wake up, breathe, and live with you! You don't 
understand! I am the Chief Happiness of
your home, and all these are the other Happinesses that fill it.
Tyltyl: Then, are there Happinesses in my home?
The Happiness: Are there Happinesses in your home! You little silly, it is 
crammed with Happinesses in every nook
and cranny! We laugh, we sing, we create enough joy to knock down the walls and lift the roof ; but 
do what we may, you see nothing and you
hear nothing. I hope that in future you will be a little more sensible. Let 
me introduce myself first; the Happiness of
Being Well, at your service. I am not the prettiest, but I am the most 
important. Will you know me again? This is the
Happiness of Pure Air, who is also transparent. Here is the Happiness of 
Loving one's Parents, who is clad in grey and is a little sad because no one ever looks 
at him. Here is the Happiness of the Blue
Sky who, of course, is dressed in  blue, and the Happiness of the Forest 
who is clad in green: you will see him
every time you go to the window. Here again is the good Happiness of 
Sunny Hours who is diamond-coloured; and
this is the Happiness of Spring who is bright emerald. But really there are 
too many of them!
I must send word to the great Joys, who are right at the back, near the 
gates of Heaven, and who have not yet heard
of your arrival. I will send the Happiness of Running Barefoot in the Dew 
(who comes forward, capering). Off you go!
(At this moment a sort of little imp in black tights, pushing against 
everybody and uttering inarticulate yells, comes
running up to Tyltyl and frisks about him madly, fillipping his nose, 
pinching him, kicking him, and keeping carefully
out of his reach.)
Tyltyl: Who is this little savage?
The Happiness: A nice thing! It's the Happiness of being Thoroughly 
Naughty, who has escaped from the Cave of the
Miseries again. We don't know where to put him. He gets out from 
everywhere; and the Miseries themselves refuse to
keep him any longer.
(The Happiness of being Thoroughly Naughty goes on teasing Tyltyl, and then 
suddenly bursting with laughter,
disappears without cause, as he came.)
Tyltyl: Is he a little mad?
Light: I do not know; I believe you are like that yourself when you are not 
good. But in the meantime you might ask
about the Blue Bird. It is just possible that the Chief Happiness of your 
home knows where he is.
Tyltyl: Where is he?
The Happiness: He doesn't know where the Blue Bird is!
(All the Happinesses of the Home burst out laughing.)
Tyltyl: No, I do not know. There's nothing to laugh at.
The Happiness: Come, don't be angry and let us be serious. He doesn't know: 
well, what do you expect? He is no more absurd than the majority of men. But Little 
Happiness of Running Barefoot in the Dew
has sent the Great Joys to us.
(Tall and beautiful angelic figures, clad in shimmering dresses come 
slowly forward.)
Tyltyl: How beautiful they are! Why are they not laughing? Are they not 
happy?
Light: It is not when one laughs that one is most happy.
The Happiness: This one in front is the great Joy of Being Just, who 
smiles each time an injustice is repaired. Behind
her is the Joy of Being Good, who is the happiest but the saddest. On the 
right is the Joy of Work Accomplished,
next to the Joy of Thinking. After her, comes the Joy of Understanding, 
who is always looking for her brother, the
Luxury of Understanding Nothing. Here again is the Joy of Seeing what is 
Beautiful, who daily adds a few rays to the
light that reigns amongst us.
Tyltyl: And there, far away in the golden clouds, the one that I can 
hardly see?
The Happiness: That is the Great Joy of Loving, but you are much too 
small to see her altogether. And here also is
the purest Joy of all, the peerless Joy of Maternal Love.
(There is a stir among the Great Joys, who draw nearer with cries of, 
"Light is here! Light! Light!")
The Joy of Understanding: You are Light, and we did not know it, and we 
have been waiting for you for years and
years. We are very happy, but we do not see beyond ourselves. Put aside 
the veils that still conceal from us the last
truths and the last happinesses. See, all my sisters are kneeling at your 
feet. You are our queen and our reward.
Light (drawing her veils closer): Sisters, my beautiful sisters, the hour is not yet come; it will 
strike, perhaps, and I will
return without fear and without shadow. Farewell, while you wait for the day that will soon appear.
Maternal Love: You have been very good to my poor little ones.
Light: I shall always be good to those that love one another.
The Joy of Understanding: Let the last kiss be laid upon my forehead.
(Light kisses her, and when they raise their heads tears are seen standing in their eyes.)
Tyltyl: Why are you crying, Light? Why have they all tears in their eyes?
Light: Hush, dear.
-The Blue Bird, Act IV, Scene IV. (Maeterlinck.) (Abridged and adapted.)

JOAN GAINS PERMISSION.
SCENE: -A fine spring morning in the year 1429 in a sunny stone chamber of a French castle Captain Robert de Baudricourt, a 
handsome military squire, but  with no will of his own, is storming terribly at his steward, a trodden worm, scanty of flesh, scanty 
of hair.
ROBERT: No eggs! No eggs! What do you me man, by no eggs?
STEWARD: Sir, it is not my fault. It is the act of God.
ROBERT: Blasphemy. You tell me there are no eggs; and you blame your Maker for it.
STEWARD: Sir, what can I do? I cannot lay eggs.
ROBERT: Ha! You jest about it.
STEWARD: No sir, no. We all have to go without eggs just as you have, sir. The hens will not lay.
ROBERT: Indeed! Now listen to me, you. Am I Robert, squire of Baudricourt and captain of this castle; or am I a cow-boy?
STEWARD: Oh, sir, you know you are a greater man here than the king himself.
ROBERT: Precisely. And now do you know what you are?
STEWARD: I am nobody, sir, except that I have the honour to be your steward.
ROBERT (driving him to the wall, adjective by adjective): You have not only the honour of being my 
steward, but the
privilege of being the worst, most incompetent, drivelling snivelling, jibbering, jabbering idiot of 
a steward in France. 
STEWARD (cowering on a chest): Yes, sir: to a great man like you I must seem like that.
ROBERT: My fault, I suppose. Eh?
STEWARD: Oh, sir: you always give my most innocent words such a turn.
ROBERT: I will give your neck a turn, if you dare tell me, when I ask you how many eggs there are, that you cannot lay any.
STEWARD: Oh sir , oh sir - 
ROBERT: No: not oh sir, oh sir, but no sir, no sir. My three Barbary hens and the black are the best 
layers in
Champagne. And you come and tell me that there are no eggs! Who stole them ? Tell me that before I 
kick you out
through the castle gate for a liar and a seller of my goods to thieves. The milk was short yesterday, too: do not forget that.
STEWARD: I know , sir. I know only too well. There is no milk; there are no eggs; to-morrow there 
will be nothing.
ROBERT: Nothing! You will steal the lot eh?
STEWARD: No, sir: nobody will steal anything: but there is a spell on us: we are bewitched.
ROBERT: That story is not good enough for me. Robert de Baudricourt burns witches and hangs thieves. 
Go. Bring
me four dozen eggs and two gallons of milk here in this room before noon, or Heaven have mercy on 
your bones! I will
teach you to make a fool of me.
STEWARD: Sir, I tell you there are no eggs. There will be none - not if you were to kill me for it - as long as The Maid is at the 
door. 
ROBERT: The Maid ! What maid? What are you talking about?
STEWARD: The girl from Lorraine, sir. From Domremy.
ROBERT: Thirty thousand thunders! Do you mean to say that that girl, who had the impudence to ask to 
see me two
days ago, and whom I told you to send back to her father with my orders to give her a hiding, is 
here still?
STEWARD: I have told her to go, sir. She won't.
ROBERT: I did not tell you to tell her to go: I told you to throw her out. You have fifty men-at-arms 
and a dozen
lumps of able-bodied servants to carry out my orders. Are they afraid of her?
STEWARD: Sir, sir, you cannot get rid of her by throwing her out. She is weaker than we are: she is 
only a slip of a
girl; but we cannot make her go. Perhaps you could frighten her, sir.
ROBERT: Perhaps, Where is she now?
STEWARD: Down in the courtyard, sir, talking to the soldiers.
ROBERT: She shall talk to me a bit. (He goes to the window and shouts fiercely through it.) Hallo, 
you there!
A GIRL'S VOICE (bright, strong, and rough): Is it me, sir?
ROBERT: Yes, you. Come up here.
(Joan appears in the doorway. She is an able-bodied country girl of seventeen or eighteen, 
respectably dressed in
red, with an uncommon face. She comes eagerly to the table delighted at having penetrated to the 
captain's presence at last. His scowl does not check or frighten her in the least.)
JOAN (bobbing a curtsy): Good morning, captain squire. Captain: you are to give me a horse and armour 
and some
soldiers, and send me to the Dauphin. Those are your orders from my Lord.
ROBERT: Orders from your lord! And who may your lord be? Go back to him, and tell him that I take no 
orders
except from the king.
JOAN: Yes, squire: that is all right. My Lord is the King of Heaven.
ROBERT: Why, the girl's mad. (To the steward): Why didn't you tell me so, you blockhead?
STEWARD: Sir, do not anger her; give her what she wants.
JOAN: They all say I am mad until I talk to them, squire. But you see that it is the will of God that 
you are to do what
He has put into my mind.
ROBERT: It is the will of God that I shall send you back to your father with orders to put you under 
lock and key and
thrash the madness out of you. What have you to say to that?
JOAN: You think you will, squire; but you will find it all coming quite different. You said you would not see me; but here I am.
 ROBERT. Now listen to me. I am going to assert myself. 
 JOAN: Please do, squire. The horse will cost sixteen
francs. It is a good deal of money; but I can save it on
the armour. I can find a soldier's armour that will fit me
well enough. I am very hardy; and I do not need beautiful
armour made to measure like yours. I shall not want many
soldiers: the Dauphin will give me all I need to raise the siege of Orleans.  
ROBERT (flabbergasted): To raise the siege of Orleans!
JOAN: Yes squire: that is what God is sending me to do. Three men have promised to come with me – Polly and Jack and - 
ROBERT: Polly! You impudent baggage,  do you dare to call Squire Bertrand de Poulengey, Polly, to my face?
JOAN: His friends call him so, squire; I did not know he had any other name.
ROBERT (to the steward): Is this true about Monsieur de Poulengey?
STEWARD: Yes , sir, and about Monsieur John of Metz too. They both want to go with her.
ROBERT: Mf! (He goes to the window and shouts into the courtyard.) Hallo ! you there: send Monsieur 
de Poulengey
to me, will you? (He turns to Joan): Get out; and wait in the yard.
JOAN (smiling brightly at him): Right, squire. (She goes out.)
ROBERT (to steward): Go with her, you, you dithering imbecile. Stay within call; and keep your eye on her. I shall have her up 
here again.
STEWARD: Do , do, sir. Think of those hens, the best layers in Champagne; and - 
ROBERT: Think of my boot, and get yourself out of reach of it.
(The steward retreats hastily, meeting in the doorway Poulengey, a quiet, dreamily absent-minded man. 
He salutes
and awaits orders from Robert. The two converse, and Poulengey says that he thinks Joan is something 
of a miracle
and that they should help her in her attempt to save France. He says he is willing to go with her to 
the Dauphin at
Chinon. Robert then calls Joan. She comes in.)
ROBERT: What is your name?
JOAN: They always call me Jenny in Lorraine. Here in France I am Joan. The soldiers call me The Maid. 
My father
sometimes calls himself d'Arc.
ROBERT: Now old are you?
JOAN: Seventeen; so they tell me. It might be nineteen. I don't remember.
ROBERT: What did you mean when you said that St. Catherine and St. Margaret talked to you every day?
JOAN: They do.
ROBERT: What are they like?
JOAN: I will tell you nothing about that; they have not given me leave.
ROBERT: But you actually see them; and they talk to you just as I am talking to you!
JOAN: No; it is quite different. I cannot really tell you; you must not talk to me about my voices.
ROBERT: How do you mean? Voices.
JOAN: I hear voices telling me what to do. They come from God.
ROBERT: They come from your imagination.
JOAN: Of course. That is how the messages of God come to us.
ROBERT: So God says you are to raise the siege of Orleans?
JOAN: And to crown the Dauphin in Rheims Cathedral.
ROBERT  (gasping): Crown the D - ! Gosh!
JOAN: And to make the English leave France.
ROBERT (sarcastic): Anything else?

JOAN HEARS VOICES.

JOAN: Not just at present, thank you, squire.
ROBERT: I suppose you think raising a siege is as easy as chasing a cow out of a meadow. You think 
soldiering is
anybody's job?
JOAN: I do not think it can be very difficult if God is on your side, and you are willing to put your 
life in His hand.
ROBERT: Did you ever see English soldiers fighting?
JOAN: They are only men. God made them just like us, but He gave them their own country and their own 
language;
and it is not His will that they should come into our country and try to speak our language. Our 
soldiers are always
beaten because they are fighting only to save their skins; and the shortest way to save your skin is 
to run away. Our
knights are thinking only of the money they will make in ransoms; but I will teach them to fight that 
the will of God
may be done in France; and then they will drive the poor English before them like sheep. You and Polly will live to see the 
day when there will
not be an English soldier on the soil of France, and there will be but one king there; not the feudal English king, but God's French 
one.
ROBERT: This may be all rot, Polly; but the troops might swallow it, though nothing that we can say seems able to put fight into 
any of them. Even the Dauphin might swallow it. And if she can put fight into him, she can put it into anybody.
POULENGEY: I can see no harm in trying. Can you? And there is something about the girl - 
ROBERT (turning to Joan): Now listen you to me. Your orders are that you are to go to Chinon under 
the escort of
this gentleman and three of his friends.
JOAN (radiant, clapping her hands): Oh, squire! Your head is all circled with light, like a saint's.
 
JOAN RIDING TO CHINON.

POULENGEY: How is she to get into the royal presence? ROBERT (who has looked up for his halo rather apprehensively): I 
don't know; how did she get into my presence? If the Dauphin can keep her out he 
is a better man
than I take him for. I will send her to Chinon; and she can say I sent her. Then let come what may. I 
can do no more.
JOAN: And the dress? I may have a soldier's dress, mayn't I, squire?
ROBERT: Have what you please. I wash my hands of it.
JOAN (wildly excited at her success): Come, Polly. (She dashes out.)
ROBERT: (shaking Poulengey's hand): Good-bye, old man I am taking a big chance. Few other men would have done it. But, as 
you say, there is something about her.
POULENGEY: Yes there is something about her. Good bye.
(He goes out. Robert, still very doubtful whether he has not been made a fool of by a crazy female, 
and a social
inferior to boot, scratches his head and slowly comes back from the door. The steward runs in with a 
basket.)
STEWARD: Sir, sir -  ROBERT: What now ?
STEWARD: The hens are laying like mad, sir. Five dozen eggs!
ROBERT: Then she did come from  God.
-Abridged from "St. Joan," Scene I, by G. B. SHAW. (Constable.)


