 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read and recorded by William Coon, September 2006. Trifles by Susan Glasspole Cast of Characters George Henderson, County Attorney Henry Peters, Sheriff Lewis Hale, A Neighboring Farmer Mrs. Peters? Mrs. Hale Seen. The kitchen is the now 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 outside the bread box, a dish towel on the table, other signs of incompleted 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. The sheriff unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove is 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 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 talk 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. Well, I said to Harry that I didn't know 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 were 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 rocking back and forth. She had her apron in her hand and was kind of pleading 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 pleading at her apron. Well, I was surprised. She didn't ask me to come up to the stove or to sit 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 of dull like. Ain't he home? I said. Yes, says she. He's home. Then why can't I see him? I asked her, out of patience. Because he's dead, says she. Dead, says I? She just nodded her head, not getting a bit excited, but rocking 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, what did he die of? He died of a rope around his neck, says she, and just went on pleading 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. Hail. Well, my first thought was to get that rope off. It looked— stops, his face twitches. But Harry, he went up to him and says, 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 business-like, and she stopped pleading of her apron. I don't know, she says. You don't know, says Harry? No, says she. Weren't you sleeping in the bed with him, says Harry? Yes, says she. But I was on the inside. Somebody slipped the rope around his neck and strangled him, and you didn't wake up, says Harry? I didn't wake up, she said after him. We must have 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? Hail. 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 don't know, 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 away, sticky. County attorney. Here's a nice mess. The women draw nearer. Mrs. Peters to the other woman. Oh, that's her fruit. It did freeze. To the lawyer. She worried about that when it turned so cold. She said the fire'd go out and her jars would break. Sheriff. Well, you can't beat the woman. Held for murder and worrying 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 a 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 dipper full of water from the pail, and pouring it into a basin, washes 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 Dixon County farmhouses which do not have such roller towels. He gives it a pull to expose its 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 in 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 their 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 home-making instinct. Mrs. Hale. Well, I don't know his right head, 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 would be any cheerfuler 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 will be all right. She was to take in some clothes for her, you know, and a few little things. But then 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 criticizing. 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 of a towel that covers a pan. She had bread set. Stand still. Mrs. Hale eyes fixed on a loaf of bread beside the bread-box, which is on a low shelf at the other side of the room. Moves 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 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 has 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 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 into the other room. I appear, 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. Right was close. I think maybe that's why she kept so much to herself. She didn't even belong to the lady's 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 many 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. Opened the stair door and looks. Yes, here it is. Quickly shuts door leading up stairs. 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 in 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 saying 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 was 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 up to here, makes a move as it to finish work, then turns and looks at loaf of bread outside the bread box, drops towel, in that voice of coming back to familiar things. Wonder how they are finding things upstairs. I hope she had it a little more red up up 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 her. Mrs. Peters. But Mrs. Hale, the law is the law. Mrs. Hale. I suppose Tiz, 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, goes to hang it on hook at back of room, stands looking at the under part of 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 a log cabin pattern. Pretty, isn't it? I wonder if she was going to quilt it or just knot it. Footsteps have been heard coming down the stairs. The sheriff enters 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. I don't know if there's anything so strange or taken 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 a 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. 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. Just pulling out a stitch or two that's not sewed very good. Threading a needle. Bad sewing always makes 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 what 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 if 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 suppose 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 awfully 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 sewing. But I tell you what I do wish, Mrs. Peters. I wish I had come over sometimes when she was here. I, 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 have come. I stayed away because it weren't cheerful. And that's why I ought to have come. I've never liked this place. Maybe because it's down in a hollow and you don't see the road. I don't know 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 ride 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 eyes falling on the cage. I should think she would have 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 in 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 if 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. Could 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. What a pretty box! Looks like something somebody would give you. Maybe her scissors 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. Oh, Mrs. Peters, it's— Mrs. Peters bends closer. Mrs. Peters, it's the bird. Mrs. Hale jumping up. But Mrs. Peters, look at it. It's neck. Look at its neck. It's all other side too. Mrs. Peters. Somebody rung 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 is one turning from serious things to little pleasantries. Well, ladies, have you decided whether she was going to quilt it or not it? Mrs. Peters. We think she was going to— Not it. County attorney. Well, that's interesting, I'm sure. Seeing the birdcage. 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 in 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 if afraid of 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 box. Mrs. Peters in a whisper. When I was a girl, my kitten, there was a boy took a hatchet and before my eyes and before I could get there— covers her face an instant. If 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. I wonder how it would seem never to have 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. There was an awful thing that 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 rusts on the birdcage. Mrs. Peters with rising voice. We don't know who killed him. We don't know. Mrs. Hale, 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 choir 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 of fruit reaches out for it. If I was you, I wouldn't tell her her fruit was gone. Tell her it ain't. Tell her it's all right. Take this in to 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 downstairs, 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 were some definite thing, something to show, something to make a story about—a thing that would connect up with the 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 not satisfied that we can't do better. Sheriff. Do you want to see what Mrs. Peters is going to take in? The lawyer 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 in here a minute, George. We ought to take a look at these windows. County Attorney scoffingly. Oh, windows! Sheriff. We'll be right out, Mr. Hale. Hale goes outside. The sheriff follows the county attorney 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's 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. 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 Not It, Mr. Henderson. Curtain. End of Trifles by Susan Glassbull. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read and recorded by Betsy Bush. Marquette, Michigan. December, 2006. War Brides. A Play in One Act by Marion Craig Wentworth. Cast. Headwig. Amelia. Mother. Hoffman. Mina. Arno. Hertz. Time. Present. Place. A war-ridden country. The war brides were cheered with enthusiasm and the churches were crowded when the wedding parties spoke the ceremony in concert. Press clipping. Scene. A room in a peasant's cottage in a war-ridden country. A large fireplace at the right. Near it a high-backed settle. On the left a heavy oak table and benches. Woven mats on the floor. A door at left leads into a bedroom. In the corner a cupboard. At the back a wide window with scarlet geraniums and an open door. A few firearms are stacked near the fireplace. There is an air of homely color and neatness about the room. Through the open door may be seen women stacking grain. Others go by carrying huge baskets of grapes or loads of wood. And gradually it penetrates the mind that all these workers are women, aristocrats and peasants side by side. Now and then a bugle blows or a drum beats in the distance. A squad of soldiers marches quickly by. There is everywhere the tense atmosphere of unusual circumstance, the anxiety and excitement of war. Amelia, a slight flax-inhered girl of nineteen, comes in. She brushes off the hay with which she is covered and goes to packing a bag with a secret but determined air. The mother passes the window and appears in the doorway. She is old and work-worn, but sturdy and stoical. Now she carries a heavy load of wood and is weary. She casts a sharp eye at Amelia. Mother, what are you doing, girl? Amelia starts and puts the bag in the cupboard. Who's going away? They haven't sent for Arno. Amelia, no. Mother sighs and drops her load on the hearth. Is the hay all in? Amelia. Yes, I put in the last load. All the big work on our place is done, and so... looks at her mother and hesitates. Her mother begins to chop the wood into kindling. I'll do that, mother. Mother. Let be, girl. It keeps me from worrying. Get a bite to eat. What were you doing with that bag? Who were you packing it for? Amelia, with downcast eyes. Myself. Mother, anxious. What for? Amelia. Sit down, mother, and be still while I tell you, pushes her mother into a chair. Mother starts. Is there any news? Quick, tell me. Amelia. Not since yesterday. Only they say Franz is at the front. We don't know where Emil and Otto are, and there's been a battle, but... Mother, murmurs with eyes closed. My boys, my boys. Amelia. Don't, mother, they may come back. A cheer is heard. Mother, starting. What's that? Amelia, running to the door and looking out. They are cheering the war brides, that's all. Mother. Aye, there's been another wedding ceremony. Amelia. Yes. Mother. How many war brides today? Amelia. Ten they said. Mother, nodding. Aye, that is good. Has anyone asked you, Amelia? Amelia looks embarrassed. Someone should ask you. You are a good-looking girl. Amelia in a low voice. Hans Hofmann asked me last night. Mother. The young and handsome lieutenant. You are lucky. You said yes. Amelia shakes her head. No. Mother. Ah, well. Amelia. I hardly know him. I've only spoken to him once before. Oh, mother, that isn't what I want to do. Mother. What did you tell him? Amelia timidly. That I was going away to join the Red Cross. Mother. Amelia. Amelia. He didn't believe me. He kissed me and I ran away. Mother. The Red Cross. Amelia, eagerly. Yes, that is what I was going to tell you just now. That is why I was packing the bag. Gets it. I-I want to go. I want to go to-night. I can't stand this waiting. Mother. You leave me too. Amelia. I want to go to the front with Franz and Otto and Emil. To nurse them, to take care of them if they are wounded and all the others. Let me, mother. I too must do something for my country. The grapes are plucked and the hay is stacked. Hedwig is gathering the wheat. You can spare me. I have been dreaming of it day and night. Mother, setting her lips decisively. No, Amelia. Amelia. Oh, mother, why? Mother. You must help me with Hedwig. I can't manage her alone. Amelia. Hedwig. Mother. She is strange. She broods. Haven't you noticed? Amelia. Well, yes, but I thought she was worrying about Franz. She adores him. And any day she may hear that he is killed. It's the waiting that's so awful. Mother. But it's more than the waiting with Hedwig. You will help Franz more by staying home to take care of his wife, Amelia, especially now. Amelia puzzled. Now. Mother goes to her work basket. Hedwig has told you nothing? Amelia. No. Mother. She is a strange girl. She asked me to keep it a secret. I don't know why, but now I think you should know. See? Very proudly. She holds up the tiny baby garments she is knitting. Amelia pleased and astonished. So Franz and Hedwig. Mother nods. For their child, in six months now. My first grandchild, Amelia. Franz's boy, perhaps. I shall hear a little one's voice in this house again. Amelia. Uncertainly, as she looks at the little things. Still, I want to go. Mother, firmly. We must take care of Hedwig, Amelia. She is to be a mother. That is our first duty. It is our only hope of an heir if you won't marry soon. And if, if the boys don't come back. Amelia. Arno is left. Mother. Ah, but they'll be calling him next. It is his birthday to-day, too, poor lad. He's on the jump to be off. I see him gone, too. God knows I may never see one of them again. I sit here in the long evenings and think how death may take my boys. Even this minute they may be breathing their last. And then I knit this baby sock and think of the precious little life that's coming. It's my only comfort, Amelia. Nothing must happen now. Amelia, with a touch of impatience. What's the matter with Hedwig? Mother. I don't know what it is. She acts as if she didn't want to bring her child into the world. She talks wild. I tell you I must have that child, Amelia. I cannot live else. Hedwig frightens me. The other night I found her sitting on the edge of her bed, staring, when she should have been asleep. As if she saw visions and whispering, I will send a message to the Emperor. What message? I had to shake her out of it. She refuses to make a thing for her baby. Says, wait till I see what they do to Franz. It's unnatural. Amelia. I can't understand her. I never could. I always thought it was because she was a factory town girl. Mother. Anything should happen to Franz in the state she's in now. Hedwig might go out of her mind entirely. So you had best stay by, Amelia. We must keep a close eye on her. There is a knock at the door. Who's that? Amelia looks out of the windows and then whispers. It's Hans Hoffman. The knock is repeated. Mother. Open girl, don't stand there. Enter Hoffman, gay, familiar, inclined to stoutness, but good-looking, accustomed to having the women bow down to him. Hoffman to Amelia. Aha! You gave me the slip yesterday. Amelia. My mother. Hoffman nodding. Good day, mother. She curtsies. Coming closer to Amelia. Where did you run to? Here, she as good as promised me she would wed me today, mother, and then... Amelia. Oh, no. Hoffman. Yes, you did. You let me kiss you. Amelia, taken aback. Oh, sir. Hoffman. And when I got to the church square today, no bride for Hans Hoffman. Well, I must say, they had the laugh on me. For I had told them I had found the girl for me, the prettiest bride of the lot. But to-morrow. Amelia. I can't. Hoffman, taking hold of her. Oh, yes, you can. I won't bother you long. I'm off to the front any day now. Come, promise me. What do you say, mother? Mother, slowly. I should like to see her wed. Hoffman. There! Amelia, shrinking from both him and the idea. But I don't know you well enough yet. Hoffman. Well, look me over. Don't you think I am good enough for her, mother? Besides, we can't stop to think on such things now, Amelia. It is war time. This is an emergency measure. And then I'm a soldier, like to die for my country. That ought to count for something. A good deal, I should say. If you love your country, and you do, don't you, Amelia? Amelia. Oh, yes. Hoffman. Well, then, we can get married and get acquainted afterward. Amelia faintly. I wanted to be a nurse. Hoffman. Nonsense. Pretty girls like you should marry. The priests and the generals have commanded it. It's for the fatherland. Aught she not to wed me, mother? Mother nodding impersonally. Aye, it is for the fatherland, they ask it. Hoffman. Of course, it is your patriotic duty, Amelia. You're funny. All the young women are tickled at the chance. But you are the one I have picked out, and I am going to have you. Now there is a good girl promise. A hub above voices and a cheer are heard outside. Enter Mina, flushed pretty, light-headed. Amelia. Mina. Mina holding out her hand. Amelia, see, my wedding ring. Amelia, iron. Mina triumphantly. Yes, a war bride. Amelia. You? Mina. That's what I am. Whirling gaily about. Hoffman shaking her hand. Good for you, congratulations. Mina. Didn't you hear them cheer? That was for me. Hoffman. There's patriotism for you, Amelia. Amelia. When were you married, Mina? Mina. Just now. There were ten of us. We all answered in chorus. It was fun, just like a theater. Then the priest made a speech, and the burgamaster and the captain. The people cheered, and then our husbands had to go to drill for an hour. Oh, I never was so thrilled. It was grand. They told us all we were the true patriots. Hoffman. Hurrah! And so you are. Mina. Our names will go down in history, honored by a whole people, they said. They are all carried away by Mina's enthusiasm. Even Amelia warms up. Amelia. But whom did you marry, Mina? Mina. Heinrich Berg. Amelia, dubious. That loafer? Mina. He's all right. He's a soldier now. Why, he may be a hero fighting for the fatherland, and that makes a lot of difference, Amelia. Hoffman. What did I tell you? Mina. I probably wouldn't have picked him out in peace times, but it is different now. He only asked me last night. Of course he may get killed. They said we'd have a widow's pension fund, us and our children, forever and ever if the boys didn't come back. So you see, I won't be out anything. Anyway, it's for the country. We'll be famous as war brides. Even the name sounds glorious, doesn't it? War bride. Isn't that fine? Hoffman. Here's a little lady who will hear herself called that tomorrow. Take Amelia's hand. Mina, clapping her hands. Amelia, a war bride too. Good. Hoffman. You'll be proud to hear her called that, won't you, mother? Give us your blessing. Mina. I'd rather be a wife or a widow any day than be an old maid and to be a war bride. Oh. Amelia is blushing and tremulous. Mother, with a faraway look. It is for the fatherland, Amelia. Aye, aye. The masters have said so. It is the will and judgment of those higher than us. They are wise. Our country will need children. Aye. Say yes, my daughter. You will not say no when your country bids you. It is your emperor, your country who asks more than Hans Hoffman. Amelia, impressed, and questions herself to see if her patriotism is strong enough to stand the test, while Hoffman, charmed by Amelia's gentleness, is moved by more personal feeling. Hoffman, kissing Amelia on both cheeks. There, it's all settled. A faint cheer is heard without. Tomorrow they will cheer you like that. And when I go, I shall have a bride to wave me goodbye instead of— Enter, headwig. She stands in the doorway, looking out on the distant crowds. She is tall, well-built, and carries herself proudly. Strong, intelligent features, but pale. Her eyes are large with anxiety. She has soft, wavy black hair. An inward flame seems to be consuming her. The sounds continue in the distance. Cheering, disputing, mingled with far bugle calls and marching feet. Headwig contemptuously. Ha! The sound startles the others. They turn. All. Headwig! Headwig, still in the doorway, looking out. Warbrides. Mina, pertly. You're a warbride yourself, Headwig. Headwig turns quickly, locates Mina, almost springs at her. Don't you dare call me a warbride. My ring is gold, see? Seizes Mina's hand, and then throws it from her. Not iron like yours. Mina, boldly taunting. They even call you the first warbride. Headwig, furious, towering over her, her hand on her shoulder. Say why, why? Mina, weakening. Because you were the first one to be married when the war broke out. Headwig, both hands on her shoulders. Because the government commanded? Because they bribed me with the promise of a widow's pension? Tell the truth. Mina faintly. No, let me go. Headwig. So, and how long had Franz and I been engaged? Now say. Mina, beginning to be frightened. Two years. Headwig, flinging her off. Of course, everybody knows it. Every village this side the river knew we were to be married this summer. We've dreamed and worked for nothing else all these months. It had nothing to do with the war, our love, our marriage. So you see, I am no warbride. Walks scornfully away, not like you anyway. They all stare at her, Hoffman, stepping forward indignantly. I don't know why you should have this contempt for our warbrides and speak like that. Headwig sits down, half turned away. She shrugs her shoulders and her lips curl in a little smile. Hoffman. They are coming to the rescue of their country, saving it. Else it will perish. Headwig bitterly. Ha! Hoffman waxing warmer. They are the saviors of the future. Headwig sadly. The future. Mother softly laying her hand on Headwig's shoulder. Headwig be more respectful. Here Hoffman is a lieutenant. Hoffman. When we are gone, the best of us, what will the country do if it has no children? Headwig. Why didn't you think of that before? Before you started this wicked war. Hoffman. I tell you it is a glory to be a warbride. There. Headwig with a shrug. A breeding machine. They all draw back. Why not call it what it is? Speak the naked truth for once. Hoffman. You'll take that back tomorrow when your sister stands up in the church with me. Headwig starting up. Amelia, marry you? No! Amelia, is this true? Amelia, hesitating, troubled and uncertain. They tell me I must for the fatherland. Headwig. Marry this man whom you scarcely know, whom surely you cannot love. Why, you make a mock of marriage. It isn't that they have tempted you with a widow's pension. It is so tiny, it's next to nothing. Surely you wouldn't yield to that. Amelia frightened. I don't want to go as a nurse, but the priests and the generals, they say we must marry to for the fatherland. Headwig. Hoffman to Headwig. I command you to be silent. Headwig. Not when my sister's happiness is at stake. If you come back, she will have to live with you for the rest of her life. Hoffman. That isn't the question now. We are going away, the best of us, to be shot most likely. Don't you suppose we want to send some part of ourselves into the future, since we cannot live ourselves? There, that's straight and right, too. Headwig nodding slowly. What I said, to breed a soldier for the empire, to restock the land. Fiercely. And for what? For food for the next generation's cannon? No, it is an insult to our womanhood. You violate all that makes marriage sacred. Agitated, she walks about the room. Are we women never to get up out of the dust? You never asked us if we wanted this war, yet you ask us to gather in the crops, cut the wood, keep the world going, drudge and slave and wait and agonize, lose our all and go on bearing more men and more to be shot down? If we breed the men for you, why don't you let us say what is to become of them? Do we want them shot the very breath of our life? Hoffman. It is for the fatherland. Headwig. You use us and use us, dowels, beasts of burden, and you expect us to bear it forever, dumbly, but I won't. I shall cry out till I die, and now you say it almost out loud, go and breed for the empire. War brides, pa! Mina gasps, beginning to be terrified. Hoffman rages, mother gazes with anxious concern. Amelia turns pale. Hoffman. I never would dream of speaking of Amelia like that. She is the sweetest girl I have seen for many a day. Headwig. What will happen to Amelia? Have you thought of that? No. I warrant you haven't. Well, look, a few kisses and sweet words, the excitement of the ceremony, the cheers of the crowds, some days of living together, I won't call it marriage, for Franz and I are the ones who know what real marriage is and how sacred it is. Then what? Before you know it, in order to march, Amelia left to wait for her child. No husband to wait with her, to watch over her. Think of her anxiety if she learns to love you. What kind of child will it be? Look at me. What kind of child would I have, do you think? I can hardly breathe for thinking of my Franz, waiting, never knowing, from minute to minute. From the way I feel, I should think my child would be born mad. I'm that wild with worrying. And then for Amelia to go through the agony alone? No husband to help her through the terrible hour? What solace can the state give then, and after that, if you don't come back? Who is going to earn the bread for her child? Struggle and struggle to feed herself and her child? And the fine, sounding name you trick us with? War bride, Humph. That will all be forgotten then. Only one thing can make it worthwhile, and you know what that is? Love. We'll struggle through fire and water for that, but without it? Gesture. Hoffman, drawing Amelia to him. Don't listen to her, Amelia. Amelia, pushing Hoffman violently from her, runs from the room. No, no, I can't marry you! I won't, I won't! She shuts the door in his face. Headwig triumphantly. She will never be your war bride, Hans Hoffman. Hoffman, suddenly angry. By thunder, I've made a discovery. You're the woman, you're the woman! Headwig. What woman? Hoffman. Yesterday there were twenty war brides. The day before there were nearly thirty. Today there were only ten. There are rumours. Excitedly. I'll report you. They'll find you guilty. I myself can prove it. Headwig. Well? Hoffman. I heard them say at the barracks that someone was talking the women out of marrying. They didn't know who, but they said if they caught her, caught anyone talking as you have just now, daring to question the wisdom of the emperor and his generals, the church too. She'd be guilty of treason. You are working against the emperor, against the fatherland. Here you have done it right before my very eyes. You have taken Amelia right out of my arms. You're the woman who's been upsetting the others and don't you deny it. Headwig. Deny it. I am proud of it. Hoffman. Then the place for you is in jail. Do you know what will be the end of you? Headwig, suddenly far away. Yes, I know. If Franz does not come back. I know. But first, clenching her hands, I must give my message to the emperor. Hoffman, very angry. You will be shot for treason. Headwig, coming back, laughing slightly. Shot? Oh no, Herr Hans, you'd never shoot me. Hoffman, why not? Headwig, do I have to tell you stupid? I am a woman. I can get in the crops. I can keep the country going while you are away fighting. Most important, I might give you a soldier for your next army, for the kingdom. Don't you see my value? Laughs strangely. Oh no, you'd never shoot me. Mother, there, there, don't excite her, sir. Headwig, her head in her hands on the table. God, I wish you would shoot me. If you don't give me back my Franz, I have no mind to bring a son into the world for this bloody thing you call war. Hoffman, I am going straight to headquarters to report you. Starts to go. Enter Arno excitedly. He is boyish and fair in his early twenties and looks even younger than he really is. Arno to Hoffman. There's an order to march at once, your regiment! Hoffman, now? Arno, at once, you are wanted. They told me to tell you. Hoffman moves with military precision to the door, then turns to Headwig. Hoffman, I shall take the time to report you. Goes. Mina to Arno. Does Heinrich's regiment go too? Arno. Heinrich who? Mina. Heinrich Berg. Arno. No, tomorrow! Mina, now thoroughly scared, is slinking to the door when Headwig stops her. Headwig. Ha! Little Mina, why do you run so fast? Heinrich does not go until tomorrow. Looks at her thoughtfully. Are you going to be able to fight it through, little Mina, when the hard days come? If you do give the Empire a soldier, will it be any comfort to know you are helping the falling birthrate? Mina shivering. Oh, I'm afraid of you! Headwig. Afraid of the truth you mean? You see it at last in all its brutal bareness. Poor little Mina. She puts her arm around Mina with sudden tenderness. But you need not be afraid of me, little Mina. Oh, no! The trouble with me is I want no more war. Franz is at the war. I'm half mad with dreaming they have killed him. Any moment I may hear. If you loved your man as I do mine, little Mina, you'd understand. Well, go now, and tomorrow say good-bye to your husband of a day. Mina, with a frightened backward glance, runs out the door. Arno, who has been talking in low tones to his mother, now rises. Arno. Well, mother, I haven't much time. She clings to his hand. Headwig starting. Arno! Arno. I am going, too. Get those little things from me, mother, will you? Mother goes to door and calls. Amelia, come! Arno has been called. Amelia comes in. Each in turn embraces him sadly but bravely. Then the mother and sister gather together handkerchiefs, linen, writing pad and pencil, and small necessaries. Arno. I have only a few minutes. Headwig tenderly. Arno, my little brother. Oh, why, why must you go? You seem so young. Arno, I'm a man like the others. Don't forget that, Headwig. Be brave to help me to be brave. They sit on the settle. Headwig sighing. Yes, it cannot be helped. Will you see my friends, Arno? You look so like him today. The day I first saw him in the fields, the day of the factory picnic. It seems long ago. Tell him how happy he made me, and how I loved him. He didn't believe in this war no more than I, yet he had to go. He dreaded lest he meet his friends on the other side. You remember those two young men from across the border? They worked all one winter side by side in the factory with fronds. They went home to join their regiments when the war was let loose on us. He never could stand it, fronds couldn't, if he were ordered to drive his bayonet into them. Gets up, full of emotion that is past expression. Oh, it is too monstrous, and for, for what? Arno, it is our duty. We belong to the Fatherland. I would willingly give my life for my country. Hedwig, I would willingly give mine for peace. Arno, I must go. Goodbye, Hedwig. Hedwig, controlling her emotion as she kisses him. Goodbye, my brave, splendid little brother. Amelia, I may come to the front, too. They embrace tenderly. Mother, strong and quiet, unable to speak, holds his head against her breast for a moment. Fight well, my son. Arno. Yes, mother. He tears himself away. The silent suffering of the mother is pitiful. Her hands are crossed on her breast. Her lips are seen to move in prayer. It is Hedwig who takes her in her arms and comforts her. Hedwig. And this is war, to tear our hearts out like this. Make mother some tea, Amelia, can't you? Amelia prepares the cup of tea for her mother. Mother, after a few moments, composes herself. There, I am right now. I must remember, and you must help me, my daughters. It is for the Fatherland. Hedwig, on her knees by the fire, shakes her head slowly. I wonder, I wonder. Oh, mother, I'm not patient like you. I couldn't stand it, to have a darling little baby and see him grow into a man, and then lose him like this. I'd rather never see the face of my child. Mother, we have them for a little while. I am thankful to God for what I have had. Hedwig, then I must be very wicked. Mother, are you sleeping better now, child? Hedwig. No, I am thinking of Franz. He may be lying there alone on the battlefield with none to help, and I hear longing to put my arms around him. Berries her face on the mother's knees and sobs. Mother, hush, Hedwig, be brave. Take care of yourself. We must see that Franz's child is well-born. Hedwig. If Franz returns, yes, if not, I... gets up impulsively as if to run out of the house. Amelia. Don't you want your tea, Hedwig? Hedwig throws open the door and suddenly confronts a man who apparently was about to enter the house. He is an official, the military head of the town, known as Captain Hertz. He is well along in years, rheumatic, but tremendously self-important. Hertz, stopping Hedwig. Wait one moment. You are the young woman I wish to see. You don't get away from me like that. Hedwig, drawing herself up, moves back a step or two. What is it? Hertz, turning to the old mother. Well, Maria, another son must go. Arno. An honored woman, a noble example to the state. Turns to Amelia. You have lost a very good husband, I understand. Well, you are a foolish girl. As for you, turning to Hedwig and eyeing her critically and severely. I hear pretty bad things. Yes, you have been talking to the women, telling them not to marry, not to multiply. In so doing you are working directly against the government. It is the express request and command that our soldiers about to be called to the front and our young women should marry. You deliberately set yourself in opposition to that command. Are you aware that this is treason? Hedwig. Why are they asking this, Herr Captain? Hertz. Our statesmen are wise. They are thinking of the future state. The nation is fast being depopulated. We must take precautionary measures. We must have men for the future. I warn you that to do or say anything which subverts the plan of the Empire for its own welfare, especially at a time when our national existence is imperil, well, it is treason. Were it not that you are the daughter-in-law of my friend, indicating the mother, I should not take the trouble to warn you but pack you off to jail at once. Not another word from you, you understand? Hedwig calmly, even sweetly, but with fire in her eyes. If I say I will keep quiet, will you promise me something in return? Hertz. What do you mean, quiet? Of course you'll keep quiet, quiet as a tombstone if I have anything to say about it. Hedwig, calm and tense. I mean what I say. I wish to see to it that if we bear you the men for your nation, there shall be no more war. See to it that they shall not go forth to murder and be murdered. That is fair. We will do our part. We always have. Will you do yours? Promise. Hertz. I, I, ridiculous. There will always be war. Hedwig. Then one day we will stop giving you men. Look at mother, four sons torn from her in one month, and none of you ever asked her if she wanted war. You keep us here helpless. We don't want dreadnoughts and armies in fighting, we women. You tear our husbands, our sons from us. You never ask us to help you find a better way. And haven't we anything to say? Hertz. No. War is man's business. Hedwig. Who gives you the men? We women. We bear and rear and agonize. Well, if we are fit for that, we are fit to have a voice in the fate of the men we bear. If we can bring forth the men for the nation, we can sit with you in your councils and shape the destiny of the nation, and say whether it is to war or peace we give the sons we bear. Hertz, chuckling. Sit in the councils. That would be a joke, I see. Mother, she's a little. Touches his forehead suggestively. Sit in the councils with the men and shape the destiny of the nation. Hedwig. Laugh, Herr Captain. But the day will come, and then there will be no more war. No, you will not always keep us here dumb, silent drudges. We will find a way. Hertz, turning to the mother. That is what comes of letting Franz go to the factory town, Maria. That is where he met this girl. Factory towns breed these ideas. To Hedwig. Well, we'll have none of that here. Authoritatively. Another word of this kind of insurrection. Another word to the women of your treason, and you will be locked up and take your just punishment. You remember I had to look out for you in the beginning when you talked against this war. You're a firebrand, and you know how we handled the like of you. Goes to door, turns to the mother. I am sorry you have to have this trouble, Maria, on top of everything else. You don't deserve it. To Hedwig. You have been warned. Look out for yourself. Hedwig is standing rigid, with difficulty repressing the torrent of her feelings. Drums are heard coming nearer, and singing voices of men. Amelia at door. They are passing this way. Hedwig. Wave to Arno. Come, mother. Ah, how quickly they go. The official steps out of the door. There is quick rhythm of marching feet, as the departing regiment passes not very far from the house. There he is. Wave, mother. Goodbye. Goodbye. The women stand in the doorway, waving their sad farewells, smiling bravely. The sounds grow less and less, until there is the usual silence. In another month, in another week, perhaps, all the men will be gone. We will be a village of women, not a man left. She leaves the old mother into the house once more. Hurts in the door. What did you say? Hedwig. Not a man left, I said. Hurts. You forget. I shall be here. Hedwig. You are old. You don't count. They think you are only a woman, Herr Captain. Hurts insulted. You, you! Hedwig. Oh, don't take it badly, sir. You are honored. Is the name of a woman always to be despised? Look out in those fields. Who cleared them and plucked the vineyards clean? You think we are left at home because we are weak? Ah, no. We are strong. That is why. Strong to keep the world going, to keep sacred the greatest things in life. Love and home and work. To remind men of peace. With a quick change. If only you really were a woman, Herr Captain. That you might breed soldiers for the Empire. Your glory would be complete. The old Captain is about to make an angry reply when there is a commotion outside. The words, news from the front, are distinguished growing more distinct. The Captain rushes out. The women are paralyzed with apprehension for a moment. Mother. Amelia, go and see. Hedwig, come here. Hedwig crouches on the floor close to the mother. Her eyes wide with dread. In a few moments Amelia returns, dragging her feet. Woe in her face. And unable to deal the blow which must fall on the two women. Who stare at her with blanched faces. Amelia, falling at her mother's knee. Mother. Mother, scarcely breathing. Which one? Amelia. All of them. Mother, dazed. All. All my boys. Amelia. Amelia, Otto, be thankful Arno is loved. The mother drops her head against the chair and silently prays. Hedwig creeps near Amelia and holds her face between her hands, looking into her eyes. Hedwig whispering. Franz. Amelia. Franz too. Hedwig lies prostrate on the floor. Their grief is very silent. Terrible because it is so dumb and stoical. The mother is the first to rouse herself. She bends over Hedwig. Mother. Hedwig. Hedwig sobs convulsively. Don't, child. Be careful for the little one's sake. Hedwig sits up. For your child be quiet, be brave. Hedwig. I loved him so, mother. Mother. Yes, he was my boy, my first born. Hedwig. You're first born, and this is the end. She rises up in unutterable wrath and despair. Oh, God! Mother, anxious for her. Promise me you will be careful, Hedwig. For the sake of your child, you're first born. That is to be... Hedwig. My child! For this end? For the empire? The war that is to be? No! Mother hath to herself. He may look like Franz. Hedwig quickly ceases the pistol from the mantel shelf and moves to the bedroom door. Amelia, watching her, sees her do it and cries out in alarm and rushes to take it from her. Amelia in horror. Hedwig, what are you doing? Give it to me. No, you must not. You have too much to live for. Hedwig dazed. To live for? Me? Amelia. Why, yes, you're going to be a mother. Hedwig. Mother? Like her? Looks sadly at the bereaved old mother. Look at her! Poor mother! And they never asked her if she wanted this thing to be. Oh, no! I shall never take it like that. Never. But you are right, Amelia. I have something to do first. Let's Amelia put the pistol away in the cupboard. I must send a message to the emperor. The others are more alarmed for her in this mood than in her grief. You said you were going to the front to be a nurse, Amelia. Can you take this message for me? I might take it myself, perhaps. Amelia hesitating, not knowing what to say or do. Let me give you some tea, Hedwig. Voices are heard outside and the sounds of sorrow. Someone near the house is weeping. A wild look and a fierce resolve light Hedwig's face. Hedwig rushing from the house. I have taken my fronds. Mother, get her back. I feared it. Grief has made her mad. Amelia runs out, a clamor of voices outside. Hedwig can be heard, indistinctly speaking to the women. Finally her voice alone is heard and in a moment she appears, backing into the doorway, still talking to the women. Hedwig, a tragic light in her face and hand uplifted. I shall send a message to the emperor. If ten thousand women send one like it, there will be peace and no more war. Then they will hear our tears. A voice, what is the message? Tell us. Hedwig, soon you will know. Loudly, but I tell you now, don't bear any more children until they promise you there will be no more war. It's suddenly appearing, Amelia follows. I heard you. I declare you under arrest. Come with me. You will be shot for treason. Mother, fearfully, drawing him aside. Don't say that, sir. Wait. Oh, no, you can't do that. She gets out her work-basket and shows him the baby things she has been knitting and glances significantly at Hedwig. A horrid smile comes into the man's face. Hedwig snatches the things and crushes them to her breast as if sacrilege has been committed. Hertz, is this true? You expect? Hedwig, proudly, scornfully. You will not shoot me if I give you a soldier for your empire and your armies and your guns, will you, Herr Captain? Hertz, why and no. Every child counts these times, but we will put you under lock and key. You are a firebrand. I warned you. Come along. Hedwig, you want my child, but still you will not promise me what I asked you. Well, we shall see. Hertz, come along. Hedwig, give me just a moment. I want to send a message to the emperor. Will you take it for me, Herr Captain? Mother signing. Humor her. Hertz, well hurry up. Hedwig sits at table and writes a brief note. Mother whispering. She has lost Franz. She has crazed. Hedwig rising. There, see that it is placed in the hands of the emperor. Gives him the note. Amelia, never be a war bride, Amelia. Kisses her three times. Goodbye, mother, embraces her tenderly. Thank you for these. She gathers the baby things in her hands, crosses the room, pressing a little sock to her lips. As she passes the cupboard, she deftly seizes the pistol and moves into the bedroom. On the threshold she looks over her shoulder. Hedwig, firmly. You may read the message out loud. She disappears into the room, still pressing the little sock to her lips. Hertz reading the note. A message to the emperor. I refuse to bear my child until you promise there shall be no more war. A shot is fired in the bedroom. They rush into the room. The mother stands trembling by the table. Hertz, odd, coming out of the room with the baby things, which he places on the table. Dead. She was mad. I will hush it up, Maria. He tears up Hedwig's message to the emperor and goes out of the house, shaking his head. Amelia is kneeling in the doorway of the bedroom, bending over something and softly crying. The mother slowly gathers up the pieces of Hedwig's message and the baby garments, now dashed with blood, and sitting on the bench holds them tight against her breast, staring straight in front of her. Her lips moving inaudibly. She closes her eyes and rocks to and fro, still muttering and praying. Curtain. End of War Brides, a play in one act by Marion Craig Wentworth.