<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page89" name="page89"></SPAN>[89]</span></p>
<div><SPAN name="h2H_4_0045" id="h2H_4_0045"></SPAN></div>
<h3> <big>DIES ILLA: A BIRD OF A MASQUE</big> </h3>
<p class="center">
Being a Collaboration by Percy Mackaye,<br/>
Isabel Fiske Conant and Josephine<br/>
Preston Peabody.</p>
<div style="height: 2em;"><br/><br/></div>
<p class="center">
<big>DRAMATIS PERSONÆ</big></p>
<div class="cast-list">
<p><span class="sc">The Grackle</span> (who does not appear at all)</p>
<p><span class="sc">The Spirit of the Rejection Slip</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">The Spirit of Modern Poetry</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Chorus of Elderly Ladies Who Appreciate Poetry</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Chorus of Correspondence, Kindergarten, Grammar,
High-School and College Classes in Verse-Writing</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Chorus of Young Men Running Poetry Magazines</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Chorus of Poetry Critics</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Chorus of Assorted Culture-Hounds</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">The Person Responsible for the Poetic Renaissance in America</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">The Non-Poetry Writing Public (Composed of two citizens
who have never learned to read or write)</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Semi-Choruses of Magazine Editors and Book-Publishers</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">Até, Goddess of Discord</span></p>
<p><span class="sc">The Muse</span></p>
<div style="height: 2em;"><br/><br/></div>
<p><span class="sc">Time</span>: <i>Next year.</i> <span class="sc">Place</span>: <i>Everywhere.</i> <span class="sc">Scene</span>: <i>A level stretch of monotony.</i></p>
</div>
<div style="height: 2em;"><br/><br/></div>
<p><small class="sc">THE SPIRIT OF THE REJECTION SLIP</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>Entering despairingly</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Alas—in vain! Yet I have barred the way </p>
<p class="i2"> As best I might, that this great horror fall </p>
<p class="i2"> Not on the world. <i>Returned with many thanks</i> </p>
<p class="i2"> <i>And not because of lack of merit,</i> I </p>
<p class="i2">
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page90" name="page90"></SPAN>[90]</span>
Have said to twenty million poets ... nay ... </p>
<p class="i2"> Profane it not, that word ... to twenty million </p>
<p class="i2"> Persons who wasted stamps and typewriting </p>
<p class="i2"> And midnight oil, to add unto the world </p>
<p class="i2"> More Bunk.... In vain—in vain! </p>
<p class="i2"> <span class="dir-i">(<i>She sinks down sobbing.</i>)</span> </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>From right and left of stage enter Semi-Choruses Magazine Editors and
Book Publishers, tearing their hair rhythmically.</i>)</p>
<p><small class="sc">SEMI-CHORUS OF EDITORS</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> We have mailed their poems back </p>
<p class="i2"> To every man and woman-jack </p>
<p class="i2"> Who weigh the postman down </p>
<p class="i2"> From country and from town; </p>
<p class="i2"> But all in vain, in vain, </p>
<p class="i2"> They mail them in again! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">SEMI-CHORUS OF PUBLISHERS</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Though we've sent them flying, </p>
<p class="i2"> We are nearly dying, </p>
<p class="i2"> From the books of poetry </p>
<p class="i2"> Sent by people unto we; </p>
<p class="i2"> In vain we keep them off our shelves, </p>
<p class="i2"> They go and publish them themselves! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page91" name="page91"></SPAN>[91]</span></p>
<p><small class="sc">SPIRIT OF THE REJECTION SLIPS</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> All, bravely have ye toiled, my masters, aye, </p>
<p class="i2"> And I've toiled with you.... All in vain, in vain— </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>Enter, with a proud consciousness of duty well done, the Chorus of
Correspondence, Kindergarten, Grammar, High-School and College Classes
for Writing Verse. They sing Joyously</i>)</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> The Day has come that we adore, </p>
<p class="i2"> The Day we've all been working for, </p>
<p class="i2"> Now babies in their bassinets </p>
<p class="i2"> And military school cadets, </p>
<p class="i2"> And chambermaids in each hotel </p>
<p class="i2"> And folks in slums who cannot spell, </p>
<p class="i2"> Professors, butchers, clergymen, </p>
<p class="i2"> And every one, have grabbed a pen: </p>
<p class="i2"> The Day has come—tra la, tra lee— </p>
<p class="i2"> <i>Everybody</i> writes poetry! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>They do a Symbolic Dance with Typewriters, during which enters the
Chorus of Young Men who Run Poetry Magazines. These put on horn-rimmed
spectacles and chant earnestly as follows</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page92" name="page92"></SPAN>[92]</span></p>
<p><small class="sc">CHORUS OF YOUNG MEN WHO RUN POETRY MAGAZINES</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> We're very careful what we put in; </p>
<p class="i2"> This magazine is of highest grade; </p>
<p class="i2"> If it doesn't appeal to our personal taste </p>
<p class="i2"> There's no use sending it, we're afraid; </p>
<p class="i2"> We don't like Shelley, we don't like Keats, </p>
<p class="i2"> We don't like poets who're tactlessly dead; </p>
<p class="i2"> If you write like us there will be no fuss— </p>
<p class="i2"> That's the best of verse, when the last word's said.... <span class="dir-i">(<i>Bursting irrepressibly into youthful enthusiasm, and dashing their horn spectacles to the ground</i>)</span> </p>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Yale! Yale! Yale! </p>
<p class="i2"> Our Poetry! </p>
<p class="i2"> Fine Poetry! </p>
<p class="i2"> Nobody Else's Poetry! </p>
<p class="i2"> Raw! Raw! Raw! Raw! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>Enter, modestly, the Person Responsible for the Poetic Renaissance in
America. There are four of him—or her, as the case may be—Miss Monroe,
Miss Rittenhouse, Mrs. Stork, Mr. Braithwaite. The Person stands in a
row and recites in unison:</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page93" name="page93"></SPAN>[93]</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> I've made Poetry </p>
<p class="i4"> What it is today; </p>
<p class="i2"> Or ... at least ... </p>
<p class="i4"> That's what people say: </p>
<p class="i2"> Earnest-minded effort </p>
<p class="i4"> Never can be hid; </p>
<p class="i2"> The Others think They did it— </p>
<p class="i4"> But—I—Did! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">SPIRIT OF THE REJECTION SLIP, EDITORS AND PUBLISHERS</small>, <span class="dir-i">(<i>faintly:</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> You <i>did</i>? <span class="dir-i">(<i>They rush out.</i>)</span> </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">PERSON RESPONSIBLE</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>still modestly</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Well, so they say— </p>
<p class="i2"> But I have to go away. </p>
<p class="i2"> I'm due at a lecture </p>
<p class="i2"> I give at three today. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>The Person goes out in single file, looking at its watch. As it does so,
there enters a pale and dishevelled girl in Greek robes. It is the Muse.</i>)</p>
<p><small class="sc">MUSE</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> In Mount Olympus we have heard a noise and crying </p>
<p class="i2"> As swine that in deep agony are dying, </p>
<p class="i2"> A voice of tom-cats wailing, </p>
<p class="i2"> A never failing </p>
<p class="i2">
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page94" name="page94"></SPAN>[94]</span>
Thud as of rolling logs: </p>
<p class="i2"> A chattering like frogs, </p>
<p class="i2"> And all this noise, unceasing, thunderous, </p>
<p class="i2"> Making a horrible fuss, </p>
<p class="i2"> Cries out upon my name. </p>
<p class="i2"> Oh, what am I, the Muse and giver of Fame, </p>
<p class="i2"> So to be mocked and humbled by this use? </p>
<p class="i2"> I—I, the Muse! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>Enter Spirit of Modern Poetry, a lady with bobbed hair, clad lightly in
horn glasses and a sex-complex.</i>)</p>
<p><small class="sc">SPIRIT OF MODERN POETRY</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> You're behind the times; quite narrow, </p>
<p class="i2"> Don't you want </p>
<p class="i2"> Culture for the masses? </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">MUSE</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> No; I am Greek; we never did. </p>
<p class="i2"> Besides, it <i>isn't</i> culture. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">CHORUS OF ELDERLY LADIES WHO APPRECIATE POETRY</small>, <span class="dir-i">(<i>trotting by two by two on their way to a lecture, pause.</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Oh, how narrow! Oh, how shocking! </p>
<p class="i2"> She's no Muse! She must be mocking! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page95" name="page95"></SPAN>[95]</span></p>
<p><small class="sc">MUSE</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>sternly, having lost her temper by this time</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> I am a goddess. Trifle not with me. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">ELDERLY LADIES</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>with resolute tolerance</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> She <i>looks</i> like a pupil of Isadora Duncan, </p>
<p class="i2"> But she says she's a goddess; what folly we'd be sunk in </p>
<p class="i2"> To believe a word she says; she needs broad'ning, we conjecture— </p>
<p class="i2"> My dear, come with us to Miss Rittenhouse's lecture! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">MUSE</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>lifting her arms angrily</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Até, my sister! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">ATÉ</small>, <span class="dir-i">(<i>behind the scenes</i>)</span> I come!</p>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>Enter from one side, Band of Poets—very large—with lyres and wreaths
put on over their regular clothes. From the other side, a chorus of
Poetry Critics. At their end steals Até, Goddess of Discord, disguised
as a Critic by means of horn glasses and a Cane. The Poets do not see
her—or anything but themselves, indeed. They sing obliviously</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page96" name="page96"></SPAN>[96]</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> My maiden aunt in Keokuk </p>
<p class="i4"> She writes free verse like anything; </p>
<p class="i2"> My great-grandmother is in luck, </p>
<p class="i4"> She's sold her three-piece work on Spring; </p>
<p class="i2"> My mother does Poetic Plays, </p>
<p class="i4"> My dad does rhymes while signing checks, </p>
<p class="i2"> And my flapper sister—we wouldn't have missed her— </p>
<p class="i4"> She's writing an epic on Sin and Sex— </p>
<p class="i2"> The world's as perfect as it can be, </p>
<p class="i2"> Everybody writes Poetry! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">CHORUS OF CRITICS</small>, <span class="dir-i">(<i>chanting yet more loudly:</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> The world's not <i>quite</i> as perfect as it yet might be, </p>
<p class="i2"> Excepting for our brother-critics' poetry! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>The Spirit of Discord now creeps softly out from among the Critics.</i>)</p>
<p><small class="sc">SPIRIT OF DISCORD</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Rash poets, think what you would do— </p>
<p class="i2"> There's nobody left you can read it to! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">POETS</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>aghast</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> We never thought of that! </p>
<p class="i2"> An audience, 'tis flat, </p>
<p class="i2">
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page97" name="page97"></SPAN>[97]</span>
Is our most pressing need, </p>
<p class="i2"> To listen to our screed; </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>Each turns to his neighbor</i>)</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Base scribbler, get thee hence </p>
<p class="i2"> Or be my audience! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Semi-chorus:</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> We want to write ourselves! We'll not! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Semi-chorus:</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> But what <i>you</i> write is merely rot! </p>
<p class="i2"> Hush up and let <i>me</i> read </p>
<p class="i2"> My great, eternal screed! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">ATÉ</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>stealthily</i>)</span> Ha, ha!</p>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>Each Poet now draws a Fountain Pen with a bayonet attached, and kills
the Poet next him, dying himself immediately from the wound of the Poet
on the other side. They fall in neat windrows. There are no Poets left.
Meanwhile the Non-Poetry-Writing Public, two in number, who have been
shooting crap in a corner, rise up at the sound of the fall, take three
paces to the front, and speak:</i>)</p>
<p>What's the use o' poetry, anyhow? <i>I</i> always say, 'if you wanta say
anything you can say it a lot easier in prose.' <i>I</i> never wrote no
poetry, and I get along fine in the hardware business.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page98" name="page98"></SPAN>[98]</span></p>
<p><small class="sc">CHORUS OF CRITICS AND CULTURE-HOUNDS,</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>thrilled:</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Ah, a new Gospel! </p>
<p class="i2"> Let us write Reviews </p>
<p class="i2"> About it! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">THE SPIRIT OF THE REJECTION SLIP</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>entering, and addressing the Editors and Publishers who follow her.</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Now I shall pass from you. My task comes to a close. </p>
<p class="i2"> I wing my hallowed way </p>
<p class="i2"> To the Fool-Killer's Paradise, and there for aye Repose. </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">EDITORS AND PUBLISHERS</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Nay, our great helper, nay! </p>
<p class="i2"> Leave us not yet, our only comforter! </p>
<p class="i2"> We'll need thee still; </p>
<p class="i2"> Folks who write poetry </p>
<p class="i2"> There's naught on earth can kill! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>During this the</i> <small class="sc">CULTURE-HOUNDS</small>, <small class="sc">CRITICS</small>, <i>etc., have clustered round the</i> <small class="sc">NON-POETRY-WRITING
PUBLIC</small>, <i>whispering, urging, and pushing. It rises and scratches its
head in a flattered way, and finally says:</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page99" name="page99"></SPAN>[99]</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> B'gosh, I do believe, </p>
<p class="i2"> Now that you speak of it, I could do just as good </p>
<p class="i2"> As any of those there fool dead fellers could! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>The late Non-Poetry-Writing Public are both immediately invested with
lyres, and wreaths which they put on over their derby hats.</i>)</p>
<p><small class="sc">SEMI-CHORUS OF EDITORS</small> <span class="dir-i">(to Spirit of Rejection Slip)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> You see? Too late! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">SEMI-CHORUS OF PUBLISHERS</small></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Who shall escape o'ermastering tragic fate? </p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="dir-c">
(<i>They go off and sob in two rows in the corners, while the rest of the
Masque, except</i> <small class="sc">ATÉ</small>, <i>who looks at them as if she weren't through yet,
and the</i> <small class="sc">MUSE</small>, <i>form up to do a dance symbolic of One Being Born Every
Minute. They sing:</i>)</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page100" name="page100"></SPAN>[100]</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> The Day has come that we adore, </p>
<p class="i2"> The Day we've all been working for; </p>
<p class="i2"> The Day has come, tra la, tra lee! </p>
<p class="i2"> <i>Everybody</i> writes Poetry! </p>
</div>
</div>
<p><small class="sc">THE MUSE</small> <span class="dir-i">(<i>unnoticed in the background</i>)</span></p>
<div class="poem">
<div class="stanza">
<p class="i2"> Farewell. </p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
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