Joy in the Morning | Page 4

Americans. One salutes your immortal glory. (_Exit Jean-Baptiste and Angélique_.)

THIRD ACT
_The scene is the same trench in the year 2018. It is eleven o'clock of the same summer morning. Four American schoolgirls, of from fifteen to seventeen years, have been brought to see the trench, a relic of the Great War, in charge of their teacher. The teacher, a worn and elderly person, has imagination, and is stirred, as far as her tired nerves may be, by the heroic story of the old ditch. One of the schoolgirls also has imagination and is also stirred. The other three are "young barbarians at play." Two out of five is possibly a large proportion to be blessed with imagination, but the American race has improved in a hundred years_.
Teacher. This, girls, is an important bit of our sight-seeing. It is the last of the old trenches of the Great War to remain intact in all northern France. It was left untouched out of the reverence of the people of the country for one hundred Americans of the Blankth Regiment, who died here--in this old ditch. The regiment had charged too soon, by a mistaken order, across what was called No-Man's Land, from their own front trench, about (_consults guide-book_)--about thirty-five yards away--that would be near where you see the red poppies so thick in the wheat. They took the trench from the Germans, and were then wiped out partly by artillery fire, partly by a German machine gun which was placed, disguised, at the end of the trench and enfiladed the entire length. Three-quarters of the regiment, over two thousand men, were killed in this battle. Since then the regiment has been known as the "Charging Blankth."
First Schoolgirl. Wouldn't those poppies be lovely on a yellow hat?
Second Schoolgirl. Ssh! The Eye is on you. How awful, Miss Hadley! And were they all killed? Quite a tragedy!
Third Schoolgirl. Not a yellow hat! Stupid! A corn-colored one--just the shade of the grain with the sun on it. Wouldn't it be lovely! When we get back to Paris--
_Fourth Schoolgirl (the one with imagination_). You idiots! You poor kittens!
First Schoolgirl. If we ever do get back to Paris!
Teacher. (Wearily.) Please pay attention. This is one of the world's most sacred spots. It is the scene of a great heroism. It is the place where many of our fellow countrymen laid down their lives. How can you stand on this solemn ground and chatter about hats?
Third Schoolgirl. Well, you see, Miss Hadley, we're fed up with solemn grounds. You can't expect us to go into raptures at this stage over an old ditch. And, to be serious, wouldn't some of those field flowers make a lovely combination for hats? With the French touch, don't you know? You'd be darling in one--so _ingénue!_
Second Schoolgirl. Ssh! She'll kill you. (Three girls turn their backs and stifle a giggle.)
Teacher. Girls, you may be past your youth yourselves one day.
First Schoolgirl. (_Airily._) But we're well preserved so far, Miss Hadley.
Fourth Schoolgirl. (_Has wandered away a few yards. She bends and picks a flower from the ditch. She speaks to herself_.) The flag floated here. There were shells bursting and guns thundering and groans and blood--here. American boys were dying where I stand safe. That's what they did. They made me safe. They kept America free. They made the "world safe for freedom," (She bends and speaks into the ditch.) Boy, you who lay just there in suffering and gave your good life away that long-ago summer day--thank you. You died for us. America remembers. Because of you there will be no more wars, and girls such as we are may wander across battle-fields, and nations are happy and well governed, and kings and masters are gone. You did that, you boys. You lost fifty years of life, but you gained our love forever. Your deaths were not in rain. Good-by, dear, dead boys.
Teacher. (_Calls_). Child, come! We must catch the train.

FOURTH ACT
_The scene is the same trench in the year 2018. It is three o'clock of the afternoon, of the same summer day. A newly married couple have come to see the trench. He is journeying as to a shrine; she has allowed impersonal interests, such as history, to lapse under the influence of love and a trousseau. She is, however, amenable to patriotism, and, her husband applying the match, she takes fire--she also, from the story of the trench_.
He. This must be the place.
She. It is nothing but a ditch filled with flowers.
He. The old trench. (Takes off his hat.)
She. Was it--it was--in the Great War?
He. My dear!
She. You're horrified. But I really--don't know.
He. Don't know? You must.
She. You've gone and married a person who hasn't a glimmer of history. What will you do about it?
He. I'll be brave and