The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd, by
D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
Title: The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd
A Drama in Three Acts
Author: D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence
Release Date: November 2, 2017 [EBook #55877]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WIDOWING OF MRS. HOLROYD ***
Produced by Karin Spence, Mary Glenn Krause, MFR and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS
BY
D. H. LAWRENCE
LONDON
DUCKWORTH & CO.
3, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W. C.
1914
COPYRIGHT 1914 BY
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS
NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A
| PAGE | |
|---|---|
| Introduction | vii |
| The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd | 1 |
D H. Lawrence is one of the most significant of the new generation of writers just beginning to appear in England. One of their chief marks is that they seem to step forward full-grown, without a history to account for their maturity. Another characteristic is that they frequently spring from social layers which in the past had to remain largely voiceless. And finally, they have all in their blood what their elders had to acquire painfully: that is, an evolutionary conception of life.
Three years ago the author of "The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd" was wholly unknown, having not yet published a single work. To-day he has to his credit three novels—"The White Peacock," "The Trespasser" and "Sons and Lovers"—a collection of verse entitled "Love Poems," and the play contained in this volume. All of these works, but in particular the play and the latest novel, prove their author a man gifted with a strikingly original vision, a keen sense of beauty, an equally keen sense of verbal values, and a sincerity, which makes him see and tell the truth where even the most audacious used to falter in the past. Flaubert himself was hardly less free from the old curse of sentimentalizing compromise—and yet this young writer knows how to tell the utmost truth with a daintiness that puts offence out of the question.
He was born twenty-seven years ago in a coal-miner's cottage at the little colliery town of Eastwood, on the border line between Nottingham and Derbyshire. The home was poor, yet not without certain aspirations and refinements. It was the mother who held it together, who saved it from a still more abject poverty, and who filled it with a spirit that made it possible for the boy—her youngest son—to keep alive the gifts still slumbering undiscovered within him. In "Sons and Lovers" we get the picture of just such a home and such a mother, and it seems safe to conclude that the novel in question is in many ways autobiographical.
At the age of twelve the boy won a County Council Scholarship—and came near having to give it up because he found that the fifteen pounds a year conferred by it would barely pay the fees at the Nottingham High School and the railway fares to that city. But his mother's determination and self-sacrifice carried him safely past the seemingly impossible. At sixteen he left school to earn his living as a clerk. Illness saved him from that uncongenial fate. Instead he became a teacher, having charge of a class of colliers' boys in one of those rough, old-fashioned British schools where all the classes used to fight against one another within a single large room. Before the classes convened in the morning, at eight o'clock, he himself received instruction from the head-master; at night he continued his studies in the little kitchen at home, where all the rest of the family were wont to fore gather. At nineteen he found himself, to his own and everybody else's astonishment, the first on the list of the King's Scholarship examination, and from that on he was, to use his own words, "considered clever." But the lack of[ix] twenty pounds needed in a lump sum to pay the entrance fee at the training college for teachers made it impossible for him to make use of the gained advantage.
Two years later, however, he succeeded in matriculating at the Nottingham Day Training College. But by that time the creative impulse had already begun to stir within him, aided by an early love affair, and so he wrote poems and worked at his first novel when he should have been studying. At twenty-three he left the college and went to London to teach school, to study French and German, and to write. At twenty-five he had his first novel—"The White Peacock"—accepted and printed. But the death of his mother only a month before that event made his victory seem useless and joyless. After the publication of his second novel, in 1912, he became able to give up teaching in order to devote himself entirely to his art. Out of that leisure—and perhaps also out of the sorrow caused by the loss of her who until then had been the mainspring of his life—came "Sons and Lovers" and "The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd."
What has struck me most deeply in these two works—apart from their splendid craftsmanship—is their psychological penetration, so closely paralleling the most recent conclusions of the world's leading thinkers. In the hands of this writer, barely emerged out of obscurity, sex becomes almost a new thing. Not only the relationship between man and woman, but also that of mother and child is laid bare in a new light which startles—or even shocks—but which nevertheless compels acceptance. One might think that Mr. Lawrence had carefully studied and employed the very latest theories of such men as Freud, for instance, and[x] yet it is a pretty safe bet that most of his studies have been carried on in his own soul, within his own memories. Thus it is proved once more that what the student gropingly reasons out for abstract formulation is flashed upon the poetic dreamer in terms of living reality.
Another thing that has impressed me is the aspect in which Mr. Lawrence presents the home life of those hitherto submerged classes which are now at last reaching out for a full share in the general social and cultural inheritance. He writes of that life, not only with a knowledge obtained at first hand, but with a sympathy that scorns any apologetic phrase-mongering. Having read him, one feels inclined to conclude, in spite of all conflicting testimony, that the slum is not a location, but a state of mind, and that everywhere, on all levels, the individual soul may create around itself an atmosphere expressive of its ideals. A book like "Sons and Lovers" ought to go far to prove that most of the qualities held peculiar to the best portion of the "ruling classes" are nothing but the typical marks of normal humanity.
Edwin Björkman.
THE WIDOWING OF MRS. HOLROYD
Mrs. Holroyd
Holroyd
Blackmore
Jack Holroyd
Minnie Holroyd
Grandmother
Rigley
Clara
Laura
Manager
Two Miners
The kitchen of a miner's small cottage. On the left is the fireplace, with a deep, full red fire. At the back is a white-curtained window, and beside it the outer door of the room. On the right, two white wooden stairs intrude into the kitchen below the closed stair foot door. On the left, another door.
The room is furnished with a chintz-backed sofa under the window, a glass-knobbed painted dresser on the right, and in the centre, toward the fire, a table with a red and blue check tablecloth. On one side of the hearth is a wooden rocking-chair, on the other an armchair of round staves. An unlighted copper-shaded lamp hangs from the raftered ceiling. It is dark twilight, with the room full of warm fireglow. A woman enters from the outer door. As she leaves the door open behind her, the colliery rail can be seen not far from the threshold, and, away back, the headstocks of a pit.
The woman is tall and voluptuously built. She carries a basket heaped full of washing, which she has just taken from the clotheslines outside. Setting down the basket heavily, she feels among the clothes.[4] She lifts out a white heap of sheets and other linen, setting it on the table; then she takes a woollen shirt in her hand.
MRS. HOLROYD (aloud, to herself)
You know they're not dry even now, though it's been as fine as it has. (She spreads the shirt on the back of her rocking-chair, which she turns to the fire)
VOICE (calling from outside)
Well, have you got them dry?
[Mrs. Holroyd starts up, turns and flings her hand in the direction of the open door, where appears a man in blue overalls, swarfed and greased. He carries a dinner-basket.
MRS. HOLROYD
You—you—I don't know what to call you! The idea of shouting at me like that—like the Evil One out of the darkness!
BLACKMORE
I ought to have remembered your tender nerves. Shall I come in?
MRS. HOLROYD
No—not for your impudence. But you're late, aren't you?
BLACKMORE
It's only just gone six. We electricians, you know, we're the gentlemen on a mine: ours is gentlemen's work. But I'll bet Charles Holroyd was home before four.
MRS. HOLROYD (bitterly)
Ay, and gone again before five.
BLACKMORE
But mine's a lad's job, and I do nothing!—Where's he gone?
MRS. HOLROYD (contemptuously)
Dunno! He'd got a game on somewhere—toffed himself up to the nines, and skedaddled off as brisk as a turkey-cock. (She smirks in front of the mirror hanging on the chimney-piece, in imitation of a man brushing his hair and moustache and admiring himself)
BLACKMORE
Though turkey-cocks aren't brisk as a rule. Children playing?
MRS. HOLROYD (recovering herself, coldly)
Yes. And they ought to be in. (She continues placing the flannel garments before the fire, on the fender and on chair-backs, till the stove is hedged in with a steaming fence; then she takes a sheet in a bundle from the table, and going up to Blackmore, who stands watching her, says) Here, take hold, and help me fold it.
BLACKMORE
I shall swarf it up.
MRS. HOLROYD (snatching back the sheet)
Oh, you're as tiresome as everybody else.
BLACKMORE (putting down his basket and moving to door on right)
Well, I can soon wash my hands.
MRS. HOLROYD (ceasing to flap and fold pillowcases)
That roller-towel's ever so dirty. I'll get you another. (She goes to a drawer in the dresser, and then back toward the scullery, where is a sound of water)
BLACKMORE
Why, bless my life, I'm a lot dirtier than the towel. I don't want another.
MRS. HOLROYD (going into the scullery)
Here you are.
BLACKMORE (softly, now she is near him)
Why did you trouble now? Pride, you know, pride, nothing else.
MRS. HOLROYD (also playful)
It's nothing but decency.
BLACKMORE (softly)
Pride, pride, pride!
[A child of eight suddenly appears in the doorway.
JACK
Oo, how dark!
MRS. HOLROYD (hurrying agitated into the kitchen)
Why, where have you been—what have you been doing now?
JACK (surprised)
Why—I've only been out to play.
MRS. HOLROYD (still sharply)
And where's Minnie?
[A little girl of six appears by the door.
MINNIE
I'm here, mam, and what do you think—?
MRS. HOLROYD (softening, as she recovers equanimity)
Well, and what should I think?
JACK
Oh, yes, mam—you know my father—?
MRS. HOLROYD (ironically)
I should hope so.
MINNIE
We saw him dancing, mam, with a paper bonnet.
MRS. HOLROYD
What—?
JACK
There's some women at "New Inn," what's come from Nottingham—
MINNIE
An' he's dancin' with the pink one.
JACK
Shut up our Minnie. An' they've got paper bonnets on—
MINNIE
All colors, mam!
JACK (getting angry)
Shut up our Minnie! An' my dad's dancing with her.
MINNIE
With the pink-bonnet one, mam.
JACK
Up in the club-room over the bar.
MINNIE
An' she's a lot littler than him, mam.
JACK (piteously)
Shut up our Minnie—An' you can see 'em go past the window, 'cause there isn't no curtains up, an' my father's got the pink bonnet one—
MINNIE
An' there's a piano, mam—
JACK
An' lots of folks outside watchin', lookin' at my dad! He can dance, can't he, mam?
MRS. HOLROYD (she has been lighting the lamp, and holds the lamp-glass)
And who else is there?
MINNIE
Some more men—an' all the women with paper bonnets on.
JACK
There's about ten, I should think, an' they say they came in a brake from Nottingham.
[Mrs. Holroyd, trying to replace the lamp-glass over the flame, lets it drop on the floor with a smash.
JACK
There, now—now we 'll have to have a candle.
BLACKMORE (appearing in the scullery doorway with the towel) What's that—the lamp-glass?
JACK
I never knowed Mr. Blackmore was here.
BLACKMORE (to Mrs. Holroyd)
Have you got another?
MRS. HOLROYD
No. (There is silence for a moment) We can manage with a candle for to-night.
BLACKMORE (stepping forward and blowing out the smoky flame) I'll see if I can't get you one from the pit. I shan't be a minute.
MRS. HOLROYD
Don't—don't bother—I don't want you to.
[He, however, unscrews the burner and goes.
MINNIE
Did Mr. Blackmore come for tea, mam?
MRS. HOLROYD
No; he's had no tea.
JACK
I bet he's hungry. Can I have some bread?
MRS. HOLROYD (she stands a lighted candle on the table) Yes, and you can get your boots off to go to bed.
JACK
It's not seven o'clock yet.
MRS. HOLROYD
It doesn't matter.
MINNIE
What do they wear paper bonnets for, mam?
MRS. HOLROYD
Because they're brazen hussies.
JACK
I saw them having a glass of beer.
MRS. HOLROYD
A nice crew!
JACK
They say they are old pals of Mrs. Meakins. You could hear her screaming o' laughin', an' my dad says: "He-ah, missis—here—a dog's-nose for the Dachess—hopin' it'll smell samthing"—What's a dog's-nose?
MRS. HOLROYD (giving him a piece of bread and butter)
Don't ask me, child. How should I know?
MINNIE
Would she eat it, mam?
MRS. HOLROYD
Eat what?
MINNIE
Her in the pink bonnet—eat the dog's nose?
MRS. HOLROYD
No, of course not. How should I know what a dog's-nose is?
JACK
I bet he'll never go to work to-morrow, mother—will he?
MRS. HOLROYD
Goodness knows. I'm sick of it—disgracing me. There'll be the whole place cackling this now. They've no sooner finished about him getting taken up for fighting than they begin on this. But I'll put a stop to it some road or other. It's not going on, if I know it: it isn't.
[She stops, hearing footsteps, and Blackmore enters.
BLACKMORE
Here we are then—got one all right.
MINNIE
Did they give it you, Mr. Blackmore?
BLACKMORE
No, I took it.
[He screws on the burner and proceeds to light the lamp. He is a tall, slender, mobile man of twenty-seven, brown-haired, dressed in blue overalls. Jack Holroyd is a big, dark, ruddy, lusty lad. Minnie is also big, but fair.
MINNIE
What do you wear blue trousers for, Mr. Blackmore?
BLACKMORE
They're to keep my other trousers from getting greasy.
MINNIE
Why don't you wear pit-breeches, like dad's?
JACK
'Cause he's a 'lectrician. Could you make me a little injun what would make electric light?
BLACKMORE
I will, some day.
JACK
When?
MINNIE
Why don't you come an' live here?
BLACKMORE (looking swiftly at Mrs. Holroyd)
Nay, you've got your own dad to live here.
MINNIE (plaintively)
Well, you could come as well. Dad shouts when we've gone to bed, an' thumps the table. He wouldn't if you was here.
JACK
He dursn't—
MRS. HOLROYD
Be quiet now, be quiet. Here, Mr. Blackmore. (She again gives him the sheet to fold)
BLACKMORE
Your hands are cold.
MRS. HOLROYD
Are they?—I didn't know.
[Blackmore puts his hand on hers.
MRS. HOLROYD (confusedly, looking aside)
You must want your tea.
BLACKMORE
I'm in no hurry.
MRS. HOLROYD
Selvidge to selvidge. You'll be quite a domestic man, if you go on.
BLACKMORE
Ay.
[They fold the two sheets.
BLACKMORE
They are white, your sheets!
MRS. HOLROYD
But look at the smuts on them—look! This vile hole! I'd never have come to live here, in all the thick of the pit-grime, and lonely, if it hadn't been for him, so that he shouldn't call in a public-house on his road home from work. And now he slinks past on the other side of the railway, and goes down to the New Inn instead of coming in for his dinner. I might as well have stopped in Bestwood.
BLACKMORE
Though I rather like this little place, standing by itself.
MRS. HOLROYD
Jack, can you go and take the stockings in for me? They're on the line just below the pigsty. The prop's near the apple-tree—mind it. Minnie, you take the peg-basket.
MINNIE
Will there be any rats, mam?
MRS. HOLROYD
Rats—no. They'll be frightened when they hear you, if there are.
[The children go out.
BLACKMORE
Poor little beggars!
MRS. HOLROYD
Do you know, this place is fairly alive with rats. They run up that dirty vine in front of the house—I'm always at him to cut it down—and you can hear them at night overhead like a regiment of soldiers tramping. Really, you know, I hate them.
BLACKMORE
Well—a rat is a nasty thing!
MRS. HOLROYD
But I s'll get used to them. I'd give anything to be out of this place.
BLACKMORE
It is rotten, when you're tied to a life you don't like. But I should miss it if you weren't here. When I'm coming down the line to the pit in the morning—it's nearly dark at seven now—I watch the firelight in here—Sometimes I put my hand on the wall outside where the chimney runs up to feel it warm—There isn't much in Bestwood, is there?
MRS. HOLROYD
There's less than nothing if you can't be like the rest of them—as common as they're 'made.
BLACKMORE
It's a fact—particularly for a woman—But this place is cosy—God love me, I'm sick of lodgings.
MRS. HOLROYD
You'll have to get married—I'm sure there are plenty of nice girls about.
BLACKMORE
Are there? I never see 'em. (He laughs)
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, come, you can't say that.
BLACKMORE
I've not seen a single girl—an unmarried girl—that I should want for more than a fortnight—not one.
MRS. HOLROYD
Perhaps you're very particular.
[She puts her two palms on the table and leans back. He draws near to her, dropping his head.
BLACKMORE
Look here!
[He has put his hand on the table near hers.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, I know you've got nice hands—but you needn't be vain of them.
BLACKMORE
No—it's not that—But don't they seem—(he glances swiftly at her; she turns her head aside; he laughs nervously)—they sort of go well with one another. (He laughs again)
MRS. HOLROYD
They do, rather—
[They stand still, near one another, with bent heads, for a moment. Suddenly she starts up and draws her hand away.
BLACKMORE
Why—what is it?
[She does not answer. The children come in—Jack with an armful of stockings, Minnie with the basket of pegs.
JACK
I believe it's freezing, mother.
MINNIE
Mr. Blackmore, could you shoot a rat an' hit it?
BLACKMORE (laughing)
Shoot the lot of 'em, like a wink.
MRS. HOLROYD
But you've had no tea. What an awful shame to keep you here!
BLACKMORE
Nay, I don't care. It never bothers me.
MRS. HOLROYD
Then you're different from most men.
BLACKMORE
All men aren't alike, you know.
MRS. HOLROYD
But do go and get some tea.
MINNIE (plaintively)
Can't you stop, Mr. Blackmore?
BLACKMORE
Why, Minnie?
MINNIE
So's we're not frightened. Yes, do. Will you?
BLACKMORE
Frightened of what?
MINNIE
'Cause there's noises, an' rats,—an' perhaps dad'll come home and shout.
BLACKMORE
But he'd shout more if I was here.
JACK
He doesn't when my uncle John's here. So you stop, an' perhaps he won't.
BLACKMORE
Don't you like him to shout when you're in bed?
[They do not answer, but look seriously at him.
CURTAIN
The same scene, two hours later. The clothes are folded in little piles on the table and the sofa. Mrs. Holroyd is folding a thick flannel undervest or singlet which her husband wears in the pit and which has just dried on the fender.
MRS. HOLROYD (to herself)
Now thank goodness they're all dried. It's only nine o'clock, so he won't be in for another two hours, the nuisance. (She sits on the sofa, letting her arms hang down in dejection. After a minute or two she jumps up, to begin rudely dropping the piles of washed clothes in the basket) I don't care, I'm not going to let him have it all his way—no! (She weeps a little, fiercely, drying her eyes on the edge of her white apron) Why should I put up with it all?—He can do what he likes. But I don't care, no, I don't—
[She flings down the full clothes-basket, sits suddenly in the rocking-chair, and weeps. There is the sound of coarse, bursting laughter, in vain subdued, and a man's deep guffaws. Footsteps draw near. Suddenly the door opens, and a little, plump, pretty woman of thirty, in a close-fitting dress and a giddy, frilled bonnet of pink paper, stands perkily in the doorway. Mrs. Holroyd springs up: her small, sensitive nose is inflamed with weeping, her eyes are wet and flashing. She fronts the other woman.
CLARA (with a pert smile and a jerk of the head)
Good evenin'!
MRS. HOLROYD
What do you want?
CLARA (she has a Yorkshire accent)
Oh, we've not come beggin'—this is a visit.
[She stuffs her handkerchief in front of her mouth in a little snorting burst of laughter. There is the sound of another woman behind going off into uncontrollable laughter, while a man guffaws.
MRS. HOLROYD (after a moment of impotence—tragically)
What—!
CLARA (faltering slightly, affecting a polite tone)
We thought we'd just call—
[She stuffs her handkerchief in front of her explosive laughter—the other woman shrieks again, beginning high, and running down the scale.
MRS. HOLROYD
What do you mean?—What do you want here?
CLARA (she bites her lip)
We don't want anything, thanks. We've just called. (She begins to laugh again—so does the other) Well, I don't think much of the manners in this part of the country. (She takes a few hesitating steps into the kitchen)
MRS. HOLROYD (trying to shut the door upon her)
No, you are not coming in.
CLARA (preventing her closing the door)
Dear me, what a to-do! (She struggles with the door. The other woman comes up to help; a man is seen in the background)
LAURA
My word, aren't we good enough to come in?
[Mrs. Holroyd, finding herself confronted by what[18] seems to her excitement a crowd, releases the door and draws back a little—almost in tears of anger.
MRS. HOLROYD
You have no business here. What do you want?
CLARA (putting her bonnet straight and entering in brisk defiance) I tell you we've only come to see you. (She looks round the kitchen, then makes a gesture toward the armchair) Can I sit here? (She plumps herself down) Rest for the weary.
[A woman and a man have followed her into the room. Laura is highly colored, stout, some forty years old, wears a blue paper bonnet, and looks like the landlady of a public-house. Both she and Clara wear much jewellery. Laura is well dressed in a blue cloth dress. Holroyd is a big blond man. His cap is pushed back, and he looks rather tipsy and lawless. He has a heavy blond moustache. His jacket and trousers are black, his vest gray, and he wears a turn down collar with dark bow.
LAURA (sitting down in a chair on right, her hand on her bosom, panting) I've laughed till I feel fair bad.
CLARA
'Aven't you got a drop of nothink to offer us, mester? Come, you are slow. I should 'ave thought a gentleman like you would have been out with the glasses afore we could have got breaths to ask you.
HOLROYD (clumsily)
I dunna believe there's owt in th' 'ouse but a bottle of stout.
CLARA (putting her hand on her stomach)
It feels as if th' kettle's going to boil over.
[She stuffs her handkerchief in front of her mouth, throws back her head, and snorts with laughter, having[19] now regained her confidence. Laura laughs in the last state of exhaustion, her hand on her breast.
HOLROYD
Shall ta ha'e it then?
CLARA
What do you say, Laura—are you having a drop?
LAURA (submissively, and naturally tongue-tied)
Well—I don't mind—I will if you do.
CLARA (recklessly)
I think we'll 'ave a drop, Charlie, an' risk it. It'll 'appen hold the rest down.
[There is a moment of silence, while Holroyd goes into the scullery. Clara surveys the room and the dramatic pose of Mrs. Holroyd curiously.
HOLROYD (suddenly)
Heh! What, come 'ere—!
[There is a smash of pots, and a rat careers out of the scullery. Laura, the first to see it, utters a scream, but is fastened to her chair, unable to move.
CLARA (jumps up to the table, crying)
It's a rat—Oh, save us! (She scrambles up, banging her head on the lamp, which swings violently)
MRS. HOLROYD (who, with a little shriek, jerks her legs up on to the sofa, where she was stiffly reclining, now cries in despairing falsetto, stretching forth her arms) The lamp—mind, the lamp!
[Clara steadies the lamp, and holds her hand to her head.
HOLROYD (coming from the scullery, a bottle of stout in his hand) Where is he?
CLARA
I believe he's gone under the sofa. My, an' he's[20] a thumper, if you like, as big as a rabbit.
[Holroyd advances cautiously toward the sofa.
LAURA (springing suddenly into life)
Hi, hi, let me go—let me go—Don't touch him—Where is he? (She flees and scrambles onto Clara's armchair, catching hold of the latter's skirts)
CLARA
Hang off—do you want to have a body down—Mind, I tell you.
MRS. HOLROYD (bunched up on the sofa, with crossed hands holding her arms, fascinated, watches her husband as he approaches to stoop and attack the rat; she suddenly screams) Don't, he'll fly at you!
HOLROYD
He'll not get a chance.
MRS. HOLROYD
He will, he will—and they're poisonous! (She ends on a very high note. Leaning forward on the sofa as far as she dares, she stretches out her arms to keep back her husband, who is about to kneel and search under the sofa for the rat)
HOLROYD
Come off, I canna see him.
MRS. HOLROYD
I won't let you; he'll fly at you.
HOLROYD
I'll settle him—
MRS. HOLROYD
Open the door and let him go.
HOLROYD
I shonna. I'll settle him. Shut thy claver. He'll non come anigh thee.
[He kneels down and begins to creep to the sofa. With a great bound, Mrs. Holroyd flies to the door and flings it open. Then she rushes back to the couch.
CLARA
There he goes!
HOLROYD (simultaneously)
Hi!—Ussza! (He flings the bottle of stout out of the door)
LAURA (piteously)
Shut the door, do.
[Holroyd rises, dusting his trousers' knees, and closes the door. Laura heavily descends and drops in the chair.
CLARA
Here, come an' help us down, Charlie. Look at her; she's going off. (Though Laura is still purple red, she sinks back in the chair. Holroyd goes to the table. Clara places her hands on his shoulders and jumps lightly down. Then she pushes Holroyd with her elbow) Look sharp, get a glass of water.
[She unfastens Laura's collar and pulls off the paper bonnet. Mrs. Holroyd sits up, straightens her clothing, and tries to look cold and contemptuous. Holroyd brings a cup of water. Clara sprinkles her friend's face. Laura sighs and sighs again very deeply, then draws herself up painfully.
CLARA (tenderly)
Do you feel any better—shall you have a drink of water? (Laura mournfully shakes her head; Clara turns sharply to Holroyd) She'll 'ave a drop o' something. (Holroyd goes out. Clara meanwhile[22] fans her friend with a handkerchief. Holroyd brings stout. She pours out the stout, smells the glass, smells the bottle—then finally the cork) Eh, mester, it's all of a work—it's had a foisty cork.
[At that instant the stair foot door opens slowly, revealing the children—the girl peering over the boy's shoulder—both in white nightgowns. Everybody starts. Laura gives a little cry, presses her hand on her bosom, and sinks back, gasping.
CLARA (appealing and anxious, to Mrs. Holroyd)
You don't 'appen to 'ave a drop of brandy for her, do you, missis?
[Mrs. Holroyd rises coldly without replying, and goes to the stair foot door where the children stand.
MRS. HOLROYD (sternly, to the children)
Go to bed!
JACK
What's a matter, mother?
MRS. HOLROYD
Never you mind, go to bed!
CLARA (appealingly)
Be quick, missis.
[Mrs. Holroyd, glancing round, sees Laura going purple, and runs past the children upstairs. The boy and girl sit on the lowest stair. Their father goes out of the house, shamefaced. Mrs. Holroyd runs downstairs with a little brandy in a large bottle.
CLARA
Thanks, awfully. (To Laura) Come on, try an' drink a drop, there's a dear.
[They administer brandy to Laura. The children sit watching, open-eyed. The girl stands up to look.
MINNIE (whispering)
I believe it's blue bonnet.
JACK (whispering)
It isn't—she's in a fit.
MINNIE (whispering)
Well, look under th' table—(Jack peers under)—there's 'er bonnet. (Jack creeps forward) Come back, our Jack.
JACK (returns with the bonnet)
It's all made of paper.
MINNIE
Let's have a look—it's stuck together, not sewed.
[She tries it on. Holroyd enters—he looks at the child.
MRS. HOLROYD (sharply, glancing round)
Take that off!
[Minnie hurriedly takes the bonnet from her head. Her father snatches it from her and puts it on the fire.
CLARA
There, you're coming round now, love.
[Mrs. Holroyd turns away. She sees Holroyd's eyes on the brandy-bottle, and immediately removes it, corking it up.
MRS. HOLROYD (to Clara)
You will not need this any more?
CLARA
No, thanks. I'm very much obliged.
MRS. HOLROYD (does not unbend, but speaks coldly to the children) Come, this is no place for you—come back to bed.
MINNIE
No, mam, I don't want to.
MRS. HOLROYD (contralto)
Come along!
MINNIE
I'm frightened, mam.
MRS. HOLROYD
Frightened, what of?
MINNIE
Oo, there was a row.
MRS. HOLROYD (taking Minnie in her arms)
Did they frighten you, my pet? (She kisses her)
JACK (in a high whisper)
Mother, it's pink bonnet and blue bonnet, what was dancing.
MINNIE (whimpering)
I don't want to go to bed, mam, I'm frightened.
CLARA (who has pulled off her pink bonnet and revealed a jug-handle coiffure) We're going now, duckie—you're not frightened of us, are you?
[Mrs. Holroyd takes the girl away before she can answer. Jack lingers behind.
HOLROYD
Now then, get off after your mother.
JACK (taking no notice of his father)
I say, what's a dog's-nose?
[Clara ups with her handkerchief and Laura responds with a faint giggle.
HOLROYD
Go thy ways upstairs.
CLARA
It's only a small whiskey with a spoonful of beer in it, my duck.
JACK
Oh!
CLARA
Come here, my duck, come on.
[Jack, curious, advances.
CLARA
You'll tell your mother we didn't mean no harm, won't you?
JACK (touching her earrings)
What are they made of?
CLARA
They're only earrings. Don't you like them?
JACK
Um! (He stands surveying her curiously. Then he touches a bracelet made of many little mosaic brooches) This is pretty, isn't it?
CLARA (pleased)
Do you like it?
[She takes it off. Suddenly Mrs. Holroyd is heard calling, "Jack, Jack!" Clara starts.
HOLROYD
Now then, get off!
CLARA (as Jack is reluctantly going)
Kiss me good-night, duckie, an' give this to your sister, shall you?
[She hands Jack the mosaic bracelet. He takes it doubtfully. She kisses him. Holroyd watches in silence.
LAURA (suddenly, pathetically)
Aren't you going to give me a kiss, an' all?
[Jack yields her his cheek, then goes.
CLARA (to Holroyd)
Aren't they nice children?
HOLROYD
Ay.
CLARA (briskly)
Oh, dear, you're very short, all of a sudden. Don't answer if it hurts you.
LAURA
My, isn't he different?
HOLROYD (laughing forcedly)
I'm no different.
CLARA
Yes, you are. You shouldn't 'ave brought us if you was going to turn funny over it.
HOLROYD
I'm not funny.
CLARA
No, you're not. (She begins to laugh. Laura joins in in spite of herself) You're about as solemn as a roast potato. (She flings up her hands, claps them down on her knees, and sways up and down as she laughs, Laura joining in, hand on breast) Are you ready to be mashed? (She goes off again—then suddenly wipes the laughter off her mouth and is solemn) But look 'ere, this'll never do. Now I'm going to be quiet. (She prims herself)
HOLROYD
Tha'd 'appen better.
CLARA
Oh, indeed! You think I've got to pull a mug to look decent? You'd have to pull a big un, at that rate.
[She bubbles off, uncontrollably—shaking herself in exasperation meanwhile. Laura joins in. Holroyd leans over close to her.
HOLROYD
Tha's got plenty o' fizz in thee, seemly.
CLARA (putting her hand on his face and pushing it aside, but leaving her hand over his cheek and mouth like a caress) Don't, you've been drinking. (She begins to laugh)
HOLROYD
Should we be goin' then?
CLARA
Where do you want to take us?
HOLROYD
Oh—you please yourself o' that! Come on wi' me.
CLARA (sitting up prim)
Oh, indeed!
HOLROYD (catching hold of her)
Come on, let's be movin'—(he glances apprehensively at the stairs)
CLARA
What's your hurry?
HOLROYD (persuasively)
Yi, come on wi' thee.
CLARA
I don't think. (She goes off, uncontrollably)
HOLROYD (sitting on the table, just above her)
What's use o' sittin' 'ere?
CLARA
I'm very comfy: I thank thee.
HOLROYD
Tha 'rt a baffling little 'ussy.
CLARA (running her hand along his thigh)
Aren't you havin' nothing, my dear? (Offers him her glass)
HOLROYD (getting down from the table and putting his hand forcibly on her shoulder) No. Come on, let's shift.
CLARA (struggling)
Hands off!
[She fetches him a sharp slap across the face. Mrs. Holroyd is heard coming downstairs. Clara, released, sits down, smoothing herself. Holroyd looks evil. He goes out to the door.
CLARA (to Mrs. Holroyd, penitently)
I don't know what you think of us, I'm sure.
MRS. HOLROYD
I think nothing at all.
CLARA (bubbling)
So you fix your thoughts elsewhere, do you? (Suddenly changing to seriousness) No, but I have been awful to-night.
MRS. HOLROYD (contralto, emphatic)
I don't want to know anything about you. I shall be glad when you'll go.
CLARA
Turning-out time, Laura.
LAURA (turtling)
I'm sorry, I'm sure.
CLARA
Never mind. But as true as I'm here, missis, I should never ha' come if I'd thought. But I had a drop—it all started with your husband sayin' he wasn't a married man.
LAURA (laughing and wiping her eyes)
I've never knowed her to go off like it—it's after the time she's had.
CLARA
You know, my husband was a brute to me—an' I was in bed three month after he died. He was a[29] brute, he was. This is the first time I've been out; it's a'most the first laugh I've had for a year.
LAURA
It's true, what she says. We thought she'd go out of 'er mind. She never spoke a word for a fortnight.
CLARA
Though he's only been dead for two months, he was a brute to me. I was as nice a young girl as you could wish when I married him and went to the Fleece Inn—I was.
LAURA
Killed hisself drinking. An' she's that excitable, she is. We s'll 'ave an awful time with 'er to-morrow, I know.
MRS. HOLROYD (coldly)
I don't know why I should hear all this.
CLARA
I know I must 'ave seemed awful. An' them children—aren't they nice little things, Laura?
LAURA
They are that.
HOLROYD (entering from the door)
Hanna you about done theer?
CLARA
My word, if this is the way you treat a lady when she comes to see you. (She rises)
HOLROYD
I'll see you down th' line.
CLARA
You're not coming a stride with us.
LAURA
We've got no hat, neither of us.
CLARA
We've got our own hair on our heads, at any rate. (Drawing herself up suddenly in front of Mrs. Holroyd) An' I've been educated at a boarding school as good as anybody. I can behave myself either in the drawing-room or in the kitchen as is fitting and proper. But if you'd buried a husband like mine, you wouldn't feel you'd much left to be proud of—an' you might go off occasionally.
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't want to hear you.
CLARA (bobbing a curtsy)
Sorry I spoke.
[She goes out stiffly, followed by Laura.
HOLROYD (going forward)
You mun mind th' points down th' line.
CLARA'S VOICE
I thank thee, Charlie—mind thy own points.
[He hesitates at the door—returns and sits down. There is silence in the room. Holroyd sits with his chin in his hand. Mrs. Holroyd listens. The footsteps and voices of the two women die out. Then she closes the door. Holroyd begins to unlace his boots.
HOLROYD (ashamed yet defiant, withal anxious to apologize) Wheer's my slippers?
[Mrs. Holroyd sits on the sofa with face averted and does not answer.
HOLROYD
Dost hear? (He pulls off his boots, noisily, and begins to hunt under the sofa) I canna find the things. (No answer) Humph!—then I'll do be 'out 'em. (He stumps about in his stocking feet; going into the scullery, he brings out the loaf of bread; he[31] returns into the scullery) Wheer's th' cheese? (No answer—suddenly) God blast it! (He hobbles into the kitchen) I've trod on that brokken basin, an' cut my foot open. (Mrs. Holroyd refuses to take any notice. He sits down and looks at his sole—pulls off his stocking and looks again) It's lamed me for life. (Mrs. Holroyd glances at the wound) Are 'na ter goin' ter get me öwt for it?
MRS. HOLROYD
Psh!
HOLROYD
Oh, a' right then. (He hops to the dresser, opens a drawer, and pulls out a white rag; he is about to tear it)
MRS. HOLROYD (snatching it from him)
Don't tear that!
HOLROYD (shouting)
Then what the deuce am I to do? (Mrs. Holroyd sits stonily) Oh, a' right then! (He hops back to his chair, sits down, and begins to pull on his stocking) A' right then—a' right then. (In a fever of rage he begins pulling on his boots) I'll go where I can find a bit o' rag.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, that's what you want! All you want is an excuse to be off again—"a bit of rag"!
HOLROYD (shouting)
An' what man'd want to stop in wi' a woman sittin' as fow as a jackass, an' canna get a word from 'er edgeways.
MRS. HOLROYD
Don't expect me to speak to you after to-night's[32] show. How dare you bring them to my house, how dare you?
HOLROYD
They've non hurt your house, have they?
MRS. HOLROYD
I wonder you dare to cross the doorstep.
HOLROYD
I s'll do what the deuce I like. They're as good as you are.
MRS. HOLROYD (stands speechless, staring at him; then low) Don't you come near me again—
HOLROYD (suddenly shouting, to get his courage up)
She's as good as you are, every bit of it.
MRS. HOLROYD (blazing)
Whatever I was and whatever I may be, don't you ever come near me again.
HOLROYD
What! I'll show thee. What's the hurt to you if a woman comes to the house? They're women as good as yourself, every whit of it.
MRS. HOLROYD
Say no more. Go with them then, and don't come back.
HOLROYD
What! Yi, I will go, an' you s'll see. What! You think you're something, since your uncle left you that money, an' Blackymore puttin' you up to it. I can see your little game. I'm not as daft as you imagine. I'm no fool, I tell you.
MRS. HOLROYD
No, you're not. You're a drunken beast, that's all you are.
HOLROYD
What, what—I'm what? I'll show you who's gaffer, though. (He threatens her)
MRS. HOLROYD (between her teeth)
No, it's not going on. If you won't go, I will.
HOLROYD
Go then, for you've always been too big for your shoes, in my house—
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes—I ought never to have looked at you. Only you showed a fair face then.
HOLROYD
What! What! We'll see who's master i' this house. I tell you, I'm goin' to put a stop to it. (He brings his fist dawn on the table with a bang) It's going to stop. (He bangs the table again) I've put up with it long enough. Do you think I'm a dog in the house, an' not a man, do you—
MRS. HOLROYD
A dog would be better.
HOLROYD
Oh! Oh! Then we'll see. We'll see who's the dog and who isna. We're goin' to see. (He bangs the table)
MRS. HOLROYD
Stop thumping that table! You've wakened those children once, you and your trollops.
HOLROYD
I shall do what the deuce I like!
MRS. HOLROYD
No more, you won't, no more. I've stood this long enough. Now I'm going. As for you—you've[34] got a red face where she slapped you. Now go to her.
HOLROYD
What? What?
MRS. HOLROYD
For I'm sick of the sights and sounds of you.
HOLROYD (bitterly)
By God, an' I've known it a long time.
MRS. HOLROYD
You have, and it's true.
HOLROYD
An' I know who it is th'rt hankerin' after.
MRS. HOLROYD
I only want to be rid of you.
HOLROYD
I know it mighty well. But I know him!
[Mrs. Holroyd, sinking down on the sofa, suddenly begins to sob half-hysterically. Holroyd watches her. As suddenly, she dries her eyes.
MRS. HOLROYD
Do you think I care about what you say? (Suddenly) Oh, I've had enough. I've tried, I've tried for years, for the children's sakes. Now I've had enough of your shame and disgrace.
HOLROYD
Oh, indeed!
MRS. HOLROYD (her voice is dull and inflexible)
I've had enough. Go out again after those trollops—leave me alone. I've had enough. (Holroyd stands looking at her) Go, I mean it, go out again. And if you never come back again, I'm glad. I've had enough. (She keeps her face averted, will not[35] look at him, her attitude expressing thorough weariness)
HOLROYD
All right then!
[He hobbles, in unlaced boots, to the door. Then he turns to look at her. She turns herself still farther away, so that her back is toward him. He goes.
CURTAIN
The scene is the same, two hours later. The cottage is in darkness, save for the firelight. On the table is spread a newspaper. A cup and saucer, a plate, a piece of bacon in the frying tin are on the newspaper ready for the miner's breakfast. Mrs. Holroyd has gone to bed. There is a noise of heavy stumbling down the three steps outside.
BLACKMORE'S VOICE
Steady, now, steady. It's all in darkness. Missis!—Has she gone to bed?
[He tries the latch—shakes the door.
HOLROYD'S VOICE (he is drunk)
Her's locked me out. Let me smash that bloody door in. Come out—come out—ussza! (He strikes a heavy blow on the door. There is a scuffle)
BLACKMORE'S VOICE
Hold on a bit—what're you doing?
HOLROYD'S VOICE
I'm smashing that blasted door in.
MRS. HOLROYD (appearing and suddenly drawing the bolts, flinging the door open) What do you think you're doing?
HOLROYD (lurching into the room, snarling)
What? What? Tha thought tha'd play thy monkey tricks on me, did ter? (Shouting) But[37] I'm going to show thee. (He lurches at her threateningly; she recoils)
BLACKMORE (seizing him by the arm)
Here, here,—! Come and sit down and be quiet.
HOLROYD (snarling at him)
What?—What? An' what's thäigh got ter do wi' it? (Shouting) What's thäigh got ter do wi' it?
BLACKMORE
Nothing—nothing; but it's getting late, and you want your supper.
HOLROYD (shouting)
I want nöwt. I'm allowed nöwt in this 'ouse. (Shouting louder) 'Er begrudges me ivry morsel I ha'e.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, what a story!
HOLROYD (shouting)
It's the truth, an' you know it.
BLACKMORE (conciliatory)
You'll rouse the children. You'll rouse the children, at this hour.
HOLROYD (suddenly quiet)
Not me—not if I know it. I shan't disturb 'em—bless 'em.
[He staggers to his armchair and sits heavily.
BLACKMORE
Shall I light the lamp?
MRS. HOLROYD
No, don't trouble. Don't stay any longer, there's no need.
BLACKMORE (quietly)
I'll just see it's all right.
[He proceeds in silence to light the lamp. Holroyd is seen dropping forward in his chair. He has a cut[38] on his cheek. Mrs. Holroyd is in an old-fashioned dressing-gown. Blackmore has an overcoat buttoned up to his chin. There is a very large lump of coal on the red fire.
MRS. HOLROYD
Don't stay any longer.
BLACKMORE
I'll see it's all right.
MRS. HOLROYD
I shall be all right. He'll go to sleep now.
BLACKMORE
But he can't go like that.
MRS. HOLROYD
What has he done to his face?
BLACKMORE
He had a row with Jim Goodwin.
MRS. HOLROYD
What about?
BLACKMORE
I don't know.
MRS. HOLROYD
The beast!
BLACKMORE
By Jove, and isn't he a weight! He's getting fat, must be—
MRS. HOLROYD
He's big made—he has a big frame.
BLACKMORE
Whatever he is, it took me all my time to get him home. I thought I'd better keep an eye on him. I knew you'd be worrying. So I sat in the [39]smoke room and waited for him. Though it's a dirty hole—and dull as hell.
MRS. HOLROYD
Why did you bother?
BLACKMORE
Well, I thought you'd be upset about him. I had to drink three whiskies—had to, in all conscience—(smiling)
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't want to be the ruin of you.
BLACKMORE (smiling)
Don't you? I thought he'd pitch forward onto the lines and crack his skull.
[Holroyd has been sinking farther and farther forward in drunken sleep. He suddenly jerks too far and is awakened. He sits upright, glaring fiercely and dazedly at the two, who instantly cease talking.
HOLROYD (to Blackmore)
What are thäigh doin' 'ere?
BLACKMORE
Why, I came along with you.
HOLROYD
Thou'rt a liar, I'm only just come in.
MRS. HOLROYD (coldly)
He is no liar at all. He brought you home because you were too drunk to come yourself.
HOLROYD (starting up)
Thou'rt a liar! I niver set eyes on him this night, afore now.
MRS. HOLROYD (with a "Pf" of contempt)
You don't know what you have done to-night.
HOLROYD (shouting)
I s'll not have it, I tell thee.
MRS. HOLROYD
Psh!
HOLROYD
I s'll not ha'e it. I s'll ha'e no carryin's on i' my 'ouse—
MRS. HOLROYD (shrugging her shoulders)
Talk when you've got some sense.
HOLROYD (fiercely)
I've as much sense as thäigh. Am I a fool? Canna I see? What's he doin' here then, answer me that. What—?
MRS. HOLROYD
Mr. Blackmore came to bring you home, because you were too drunk to find your own way. And this is the thanks he gets.
HOLROYD (contemptuously)
Blackymore, Blackymore. It's him tha cuts thy cloth by, is it?
MRS. HOLROYD (hotly)
You don't know what you're talking about, so keep your tongue still.
HOLROYD (bitingly)
I don't know what I'm talking about—I don't know what I'm talking about—don't I? An' what about him standing there then, if I don't know what I'm talking about?—What?
BLACKMORE
You've been to sleep, Charlie, an' forgotten I came in with you, not long since.
HOLROYD
I'm not daft, I'm not a fool. I've got eyes in my head, and sense. You needn't try to get over me. I know what you're up to.
BLACKMORE (flushing)
It's a bit off to talk to me like that, Charlie, I must say.
HOLROYD
I'm not good enough for 'er. She wants Mr. Blackymore. He's a gentleman, he is. Now we have it all; now we understand.
MRS. HOLROYD
I wish you understood enough to keep your tongue still.
HOLROYD
What? What? I'm to keep my tongue still, am I? An' what about Mr. Blackymore?
MRS. HOLROYD (fiercely)
Stop your mouth, you—you vulgar, low-minded brute.
HOLROYD
Am I? Am I? An' what are you? What tricks are you up to, an' all? But that's all right—that's all right. (Shouting) That's all right, if it's you.
BLACKMORE
I think I'd better go. You seem to enjoy—er—er—calumniating your wife.
HOLROYD (mockingly)
Calamniating—calamniating—I'll give you calamniating, you mealy-mouthed jockey: I'll give you calamniating.
BLACKMORE
I think you've said about enough.
HOLROYD
'Ave I, 'ave I? Yer flimsy jack—'ave I? (In a sudden burst) But I've not done wi' thee yet.
BLACKMORE (ironically)
No, and you haven't.
HOLROYD (shouting—pulling himself up from the armchair) I'll show thee—I'll show thee.
[Blackmore laughs.
HOLROYD
Yes!—yes, my young monkey. It's thäigh, is it?
BLACKMORE
Yes, it's me.
HOLROYD (shouting)
An' I'll ma'e thee wish it worn't, I will. What—? What—? Tha'd come slivin' round here, would ta? (He lurches forward at Blackmore with clenched fist)
MRS. HOLROYD
Drunken, drunken fool—oh, don't.
HOLROYD (turning to her)
What?
[She puts up her hands before her face. Blackmore seizes the upraised arm and swings Holroyd round.
BLACKMORE (in a towering passion)
Mind what tha'rt doing!
HOLROYD (turning fiercely on him—incoherent)
Wha'—wha'—!
[He aims a heavy blow. Blackmore evades it, so that he is struck on the side of the chest. Suddenly he shows his teeth. He raises his fists ready to strike Holroyd when the latter stands to advantage.
MRS. HOLROYD (rushing upon Blackmore)
No, no! Oh, no!
[She flies and opens the door, and goes out. Blackmore glances after her, then at Holroyd, who is preparing, like a bull, for another charge. The young man's face lights up.
HOLROYD
Wha'—wha'—!
[As he advances, Blackmore quickly retreats out-of-doors. Holroyd plunges upon him. Blackmore slips behind the door-jamb, puts out his foot, and trips Holroyd with a crash upon the brick yard.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, what has he done to himself?
BLACKMORE (thickly)
Tumbled over himself.
[Holroyd is seen struggling to rise, and is heard incoherently cursing.
MRS. HOLROYD
Aren't you going to get him up?
BLACKMORE
What for?
MRS. HOLROYD
But what shall we do?
BLACKMORE
Let him go to hell.
[Holroyd, who had subsided, begins to snarl and struggle again.
MRS. HOLROYD (in terror)
He's getting up.
BLACKMORE
All right, let him.
[Mrs. Holroyd looks at Blackmore, suddenly afraid of him also.
HOLROYD (in a last frenzy)
I'll show thee—I'll—
[He raises himself up, and is just picking his balance when Blackmore, with a sudden light kick, sends him sprawling again. He is seen on the edge of the light to collapse into stupor.
MRS. HOLROYD
He'll kill you, he'll kill you!
[Blackmore laughs short.
MRS. HOLROYD
Would you believe it! Oh, isn't it awful! (She begins to weep in a little hysteria; Blackmore stands with his back leaning on the doorway, grinning in a strained fashion) Is he hurt, do you think?
BLACKMORE
I don't know—I should think not.
MRS. HOLROYD
I wish he was dead; I do, with all my heart.
BLACKMORE
Do you? (He looks at her quickly; she wavers and shrinks; he begins to smile strainedly as before) You don't know what you wish, or what you want.
MRS. HOLROYD (troubled)
Do you think I could get past him to come inside?
BLACKMORE
I should think so.
[Mrs. Holroyd, silent and troubled, manœuvres in the doorway, stepping over her husband's feet, which lie on the threshold.
BLACKMORE
Why, you've got no shoes and stockings on!
MRS. HOLROYD
No. (She enters the house and stands trembling before the fire)
BLACKMORE (following her)
Are you cold?
MRS. HOLROYD
A little—with standing on the yard.
BLACKMORE
What a shame!
[She, uncertain of herself, sits down. He drops on one knee, awkwardly, and takes her feet in his hands.
MRS. HOLROYD
Don't—no, don't!
BLACKMORE
They are frightfully cold. (He remains, with head sunk, for some moments, then slowly rises) Damn him!
[They look at each other; then, at the same time, turn away.
MRS. HOLROYD
We can't leave him lying there.
BLACKMORE
No—no! I'll bring him in.
MRS. HOLROYD
But—!
BLACKMORE
He won't wake again. The drink will have got hold of him by now. (He hesitates) Could you take hold of his feet—he's so heavy.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
[They go out and are seen stooping over Holroyd.
BLACKMORE
Wait, wait, till I've got him—half a minute.
[Mrs. Holroyd backs in first. They carry Holroyd in and lay him on the sofa.
MRS. HOLROYD
Doesn't he look awful?
BLACKMORE
It's more mark than mar. It isn't much, really.
[He is busy taking off Holroyd's collar and tie, unfastening the waistcoat, the braces and the waist buttons of the trousers; he then proceeds to unlace the drunken man's boots.
MRS. HOLROYD (who has been watching closely)
I shall never get him upstairs.
BLACKMORE
He can sleep here, with a rug or something to cover him. You don't want him—upstairs?
MRS. HOLROYD
Never again.
BLACKMORE (after a moment or two of silence)
He'll be all right down here. Have you got a rug?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
[She goes upstairs. Blackmore goes into the scullery, returning with a lading can and towel. He gets hot water from the boiler. Then, kneeling down, he begins to wipe the drunken man's face lightly with the flannel, to remove the blood and dirt.
MRS. HOLROYD (returning)
What are you doing?
BLACKMORE
Only wiping his face to get the dirt out.
MRS. HOLROYD
I wonder if he'd do as much for you.
BLACKMORE
I hope not.
MRS. HOLROYD
Isn't he horrible, horrible—
BLACKMORE (looks up at her)
Don't look at him then.
MRS. HOLROYD
I can't take it in, it's too much.
BLACKMORE
He won't wake. I will stay with you.
MRS. HOLROYD (earnestly)
No—oh, no.
BLACKMORE
There will be the drawn sword between us. (He indicates the figure of Holroyd, which lies, in effect, as a barrier between them)
MRS. HOLROYD (blushing)
Don't!
BLACKMORE
I'm sorry.
MRS. HOLROYD (after watching him for a few moments lightly wiping the sleeping man's face with a towel) I wonder you can be so careful over him.
BLACKMORE (quietly)
It's only because he's helpless.
MRS. HOLROYD
But why should you love him ever so little?
BLACKMORE
I don't—only he's helpless. Five minutes since I could have killed him.
MRS. HOLROYD
Well, I don't understand you men.
BLACKMORE
Why?
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know.
BLACKMORE
I thought as I stood in that doorway, and he was trying to get up—I wished as hard as I've ever wished anything in my life—
MRS. HOLROYD
What?
BLACKMORE
That I'd killed him. I've never wished anything so much in my life—if wishes were anything.
MRS. HOLROYD
Don't, it does sound awful.
BLACKMORE
I could have done it, too. He ought to be dead.
MRS. HOLROYD (pleading)
No, don't! You know you don't mean it, and you make me feel so awful.
BLACKMORE
I do mean it. It is simply true, what I say.
MRS. HOLROYD
But don't say it.
BLACKMORE
No?
MRS. HOLROYD
No, we've had enough.
BLACKMORE
Give me the rug.
[She hands it him, and he tucks Holroyd up.
MRS. HOLROYD
You only do it to play on my feelings.
BLACKMORE (laughing shortly)
And now give me a pillow—thanks.
[There is a pause—both look at the sleeping man.
BLACKMORE
I suppose you're fond of him, really.
MRS. HOLROYD
No more.
BLACKMORE
You were fond of him?
MRS. HOLROYD
I was—yes.
BLACKMORE
What did you like in him?
MRS. HOLROYD (uneasily)
I don't know.
BLACKMORE
I suppose you really care about him, even now.
MRS. HOLROYD
Why are you so sure of it?
BLACKMORE
Because I think it is so.
MRS. HOLROYD
I did care for him—now he has destroyed it—
BLACKMORE
I don't believe he can destroy it.
MRS. HOLROYD (with a short laugh)
Don't you? When you are married you try. You'll find it isn't so hard.
BLACKMORE
But what did you like in him—because he was good-looking, and strong, and that?
MRS. HOLROYD
I liked that as well. But if a man makes a nuisance of himself, his good looks are ugly to you, and his strength loathsome. Do you think I care about a[50] man because he's got big fists, when he is a coward in his real self?
BLACKMORE
Is he a coward?
MRS. HOLROYD
He is—a pettifogging, paltry one.
BLACKMORE
And so you've really done with him?
MRS. HOLROYD
I have.
BLACKMORE
And what are you going to do?
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know.
BLACKMORE
I suppose nothing. You'll just go on—even if you've done with him—you'll go on with him.
[There is a long pause.
BLACKMORE
But was there nothing else in him but his muscles and his good looks to attract you to him?
MRS. HOLROYD
Why? What does it matter?
BLACKMORE
What did you think he was?
MRS. HOLROYD
Why must we talk about him?
BLACKMORE
Because I can never quite believe you.
MRS. HOLROYD
I can't help whether you believe it or not.
BLACKMORE
Are you just in a rage with him, because of to-night?
MRS. HOLROYD
I know, to-night finished it. But it was never right between us.
BLACKMORE
Never?
MRS. HOLROYD
Not once. And then to-night—no, it's too much; I can't stand any more of it.
BLACKMORE
I suppose he got tipsy. Then he said he wasn't a married man—vowed he wasn't, to those paper bonnets. They found out he was, and said he was frightened of his wife getting to know. Then he said they should all go to supper at his house—I suppose they came out of mischief.
MRS. HOLROYD
He did it to insult me.
BLACKMORE
Oh, he was a bit tight—you can't say it was deliberate.
MRS. HOLROYD
No, but it shows how he feels toward me. The feeling comes out in drink.
BLACKMORE
How does he feel toward you?
MRS. HOLROYD
He wants to insult me, and humiliate me, in every moment of his life. Now I simply despise him.
BLACKMORE
You really don't care any more about him?
MRS. HOLROYD
No.
BLACKMORE (hesitates)
And you would leave him?
MRS. HOLROYD
I would leave him, and not care that about him any more. (She snaps her fingers)
BLACKMORE
Will you come with me?
MRS. HOLROYD (after a reluctant pause)
Where?
BLACKMORE
To Spain: I can any time have a job there, in a decent part. You could take the children.
[The figure of the sleeper stirs uneasily—they watch him.
BLACKMORE
Will you?
MRS. HOLROYD
When would you go?
BLACKMORE
To-morrow, if you like.
MRS. HOLROYD
But why do you want to saddle yourself with me and the children?
BLACKMORE
Because I want to.
MRS. HOLROYD
But you don't love me?
BLACKMORE
Why don't I?
MRS. HOLROYD
You don't.
BLACKMORE
I don't know about that. I don't know anything[53] about love. Only I've gone on for a year now, and it's got stronger and stronger—
MRS. HOLROYD
What has?
BLACKMORE
This—this wanting you, to live with me. I took no notice of it for a long time. Now I can't get away from it, at no hour and nohow. (He still avoids direct contact with her)
MRS. HOLROYD
But you'd like to get away from it.
BLACKMORE
I hate a mess of any sort. But if you'll come away with me—you and the children—
MRS. HOLROYD
But I couldn't—you don't love me—
BLACKMORE
I don't know what you mean by I don't love you.
MRS. HOLROYD
I can feel it.
BLACKMORE
And do you love me? (A pause)
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know. Everything is so—so—
[There is a long pause.
BLACKMORE
How old are you?
MRS. HOLROYD
Thirty-two.
BLACKMORE
I'm twenty-seven.
MRS. HOLROYD
And have you never been in love?
BLACKMORE
I don't think so. I don't know.
MRS. HOLROYD
But you must know. I must go and shut that door that keeps clicking.
[She rises to go upstairs, making a clatter at the stair foot door. The noise rouses her husband. As she goes upstairs, he moves, makes coughing sounds, turns over, and then suddenly sits upright, gazing at Blackmore. The latter sits perfectly still on the sofa, his head dropped, hiding his face. His hands are clasped. They remain thus for a minute.
HOLROYD
Hello! (He stares fixedly) Hello! (His tone is undecided, as if he mistrusts himself) What are—who are ter? (Blackmore does not move; Holroyd stares blankly; he then turns and looks at the room) Well, I dunna know.
[He staggers to his feet, clinging to the table, and goes groping to the stairs. They creak loudly under his weight. A doorlatch is heard to click. In a moment Mrs. Holroyd comes quickly downstairs.
BLACKMORE
Has he gone to bed?
MRS. HOLROYD (nodding)
Lying on the bed.
BLACKMORE
Will he settle now?
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know. He is like that sometimes. He will have delirium tremens if he goes on.
BLACKMORE (softly)
You can't stay with him, you know.
MRS. HOLROYD
And the children?
BLACKMORE
We'll take them.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh!
[Her face puckers to cry. Suddenly he starts up and puts his arms round her, holding her protectively and gently, very caressingly. She clings to him. They are silent for some moments.
BLACKMORE (struggling, in an altered voice)
Look at me and kiss me.
[Her sobs are heard distinctly. Blackmore lays his hand on her cheek, caressing her always with his hand.
BLACKMORE
My God, but I hate him! I wish either he was dead or me. (Mrs. Holroyd hides against him; her sobs cease; after a while he continues in the same murmuring fashion) It can't go on like it any more. I feel as if I should come in two. I can't keep away from you. I simply can't. Come with me. Come with me and leave him. If you knew what a hell it is for me to have you here—and to see him. I can't go without you, I can't. It's been hell every moment for six months now. You say I don't love you. Perhaps I don't, for all I know about it. But oh, my God, don't keep me like it any longer. Why should he have you—and I've never had anything.
MRS. HOLROYD
Have you never loved anybody?
BLACKMORE
No—I've tried. Kiss me of your own wish—will you?
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know.
BLACKMORE (after a pause)
Let's break clear. Let's go right away. Do you care for me?
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know. (She loosens herself, rises dumbly)
BLACKMORE
When do you think you will know?
[She sits down helplessly.
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know.
BLACKMORE
Yes, you do know, really. If he was dead, should you marry me?
MRS. HOLROYD
Don't say it—
BLACKMORE
Why not? If wishing of mine would kill him, he'd soon be out of the way.
MRS. HOLROYD
But the children!
BLACKMORE
I'm fond of them. I shall have good money.
MRS. HOLROYD
But he's their father.
BLACKMORE
What does that mean—?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, I know—(a pause) but—
BLACKMORE
Is it him that keeps you?
MRS. HOLROYD
No.
BLACKMORE
Then come with me. Will you? (He stands waiting for her; then he turns and takes his overcoat; pulls it on, leaving the collar turned up, ceasing to twist his cap) Well—will you tell me to-morrow?
[She goes forward and flings her arms round his neck. He suddenly kisses her passionately.
MRS. HOLROYD
But I ought not. (She draws away a little; he will not let her go)
BLACKMORE
Yes, it's all right. (He holds her close)
MRS. HOLROYD
Is it?
BLACKMORE
Yes, it is. It's all right.
[He kisses her again. She releases herself but holds his hand. They keep listening.
MRS. HOLROYD
Do you love me?
BLACKMORE
What do you ask for?
MRS. HOLROYD
Have I hurt you these months?
BLACKMORE
You haven't. And I don't care what it's been if you'll come with me. (There is a noise upstairs and they wait) You will soon, won't you?
[She kisses him.
MRS. HOLROYD
He's not safe. (She disengages herself and sits on the sofa)
BLACKMORE (takes a place beside her, holding her hand in both his) You should have waited for me.
MRS. HOLROYD
How wait?
BLACKMORE
And not have married him.
MRS. HOLROYD
I might never have known you—I married him to get out of my place.
BLACKMORE
Why?
MRS. HOLROYD
I was left an orphan when I was six. My Uncle John brought me up, in the Coach and Horses at Rainsworth. He'd got no children. He was good to me, but he drank. I went to Mansfield Grammar School. Then he fell out with me because I wouldn't wait in the bar, and I went as nursery governess to Berryman's. And I felt I'd nowhere to go, I belonged to nowhere, and nobody cared about me, and men came after me, and I hated it. So to get out of it, I married the first man that turned up.
BLACKMORE
And you never cared about him?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, I did. I did care about him. I wanted to be a wife to him. But there's nothing at the bottom of him, if you know what I mean. You can't get anywhere[59] with him. There's just his body and nothing else. Nothing that keeps him, no anchor, no roots, nothing satisfying. It's a horrible feeling there is about him, that nothing is safe or permanent—nothing is anything—
BLACKMORE
And do you think you can trust me?
MRS. HOLROYD
I think you're different from him.
BLACKMORE
Perhaps I'm not.
MRS. HOLROYD (warmly)
You are.
BLACKMORE
At any rate, we'll see. You'll come on Saturday to London?
MRS. HOLROYD
Well, you see, there's my money. I haven't got it yet. My uncle has left me about a hundred and twenty pounds.
BLACKMORE
Well, see the lawyer about it as soon as you can. I can let you have some money if you want any. But don't let us wait after Saturday.
MRS. HOLROYD
But isn't it wrong?
BLACKMORE
Why, if you don't care for him, and the children are miserable between the two of you—which they are—
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
BLACKMORE
Well, then I see no wrong. As for him—he would[60] go one way, and only one way, whatever you do. Damn him, he doesn't matter.
MRS. HOLROYD
No.
BLACKMORE
Well, then—have done with it. Can't you cut clean of him? Can't you now?
MRS. HOLROYD
And then—the children—
BLACKMORE
They'll be all right with me and you—won't they?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes—
BLACKMORE
Well, then. Now, come and have done with it. We can't keep on being ripped in two like this. We need never hear of him any more.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes—I love you. I do love you—
BLACKMORE
Oh, my God! (He speaks with difficulty—embracing her)
MRS. HOLROYD
When I look at him, and then at you—ha—(she gives a short laugh)
BLACKMORE
He's had all the chance—it's only fair—Lizzie—
MRS. HOLROYD
My love.
[There is silence. He keeps his arm round her. After hesitating, he picks up his cap.
BLACKMORE
I'll go then—at any rate. Shall you come with me?
[She follows him to the door.
MRS. HOLROYD
I'll come on Saturday.
BLACKMORE
Not now?
CURTAIN
Scene, the same. Time, the following evening, about seven o'clock. The table is half laid, with a large cup and saucer, plate, etc., ready for Holroyd's dinner, which, like all miners, he has when he comes home between four and five o'clock. On the other half of the table Mrs. Holroyd is ironing. On the hearth stands newly baked loaves of bread. The irons hang at the fire.
Jack, with a bowler hat hanging at the back of his head, parades up to the sofa, on which stands Minnie engaged in dusting a picture. She has a soiled white apron tied behind her, to make a long skirt.
JACK
Good mornin', missis. Any scissors or knives to grind?
MINNIE (peering down from the sofa)
Oh, I can't be bothered to come downstairs. Call another day.
JACK
I shan't.
MINNIE (keeping up her part)
Well, I can't come down now. (Jack stands irresolute) Go on, you have to go and steal the baby.
JACK
I'm not.
MINNIE
Well, you can steal the eggs out of the fowl-house.
JACK
I'm not.
MINNIE
Then I shan't play with you. (Jack takes off his bowler hat and flings it on the sofa; tears come in Minnie's eyes) Now I'm not friends. (She surveys him ruefully; after a few moments of silence she clambers down and goes to her mother) Mam, he won't play with me.
MRS. HOLROYD (crossly)
Why don't you play with her? If you begin bothering, you must go to bed.
JACK
Well, I don't want to play.
MRS. HOLROYD
Then you must go to bed.
JACK
I don't want to.
MRS. HOLROYD
Then what do you want, I should like to know?
MINNIE
I wish my father'd come.
JACK
I do.
MRS. HOLROYD
I suppose he thinks he's paying me out. This is the third time this week he's slunk past the door and gone down to Old Brinsley instead of coming in to his dinner. He'll be as drunk as a lord when he does come.
[The children look at her plaintively.
MINNIE
Isn't he a nuisance?
JACK
I hate him. I wish he'd drop down th' pit-shaft.
MRS. HOLROYD
Jack!—I never heard such a thing in my life! You mustn't say such things—it's wicked.
JACK
Well, I do.
MRS. HOLROYD (loudly)
I won't have it. He's your father, remember.
JACK (in a high voice)
Well, he's always comin' home an' shoutin' an' bangin' on the table. (He is getting tearful and defiant)
MRS. HOLROYD
Well, you mustn't take any notice of him.
MINNIE (wistfully)
'Appen if you said something nice to him, mother, he'd happen go to bed, and not shout.
JACK
I'd hit him in the mouth.
MRS. HOLROYD
Perhaps we'll go to another country, away from him—should we?
JACK
In a ship, mother?
MINNIE
In a ship, mam?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, in a big ship, where it's blue sky, and water and palm-trees, and—
MINNIE
An' dates—?
JACK
When should we go?
MRS. HOLROYD
Some day.
MINNIE
But who'd work for us? Who should we have for father?
JACK
You don't want a father. I can go to work for us.
MRS. HOLROYD
I've got a lot of money now, that your uncle left me.
MINNIE (after a general thoughtful silence)
An' would my father stop here?
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, he'd be all right.
MINNIE
But who would he live with?
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know—one of his paper bonnets, if he likes.
MINNIE
Then she could have her old bracelet back, couldn't she?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes—there it is on the candlestick, waiting for her.
[There is a sound of footsteps—then a knock at the door. The children start.
MINNIE (in relief)
Here he is.
[Mrs. Holroyd goes to the door. Blackmore enters.
BLACKMORE
It is foggy to-night—Hello, aren't you youngsters gone to bed?
MINNIE
No, my father's not come home yet.
BLACKMORE (turning to Mrs. Holroyd)
Did he go to work then, after last night?
MRS. HOLROYD
I suppose so. His pit things were gone when I got up. I never thought he'd go.
BLACKMORE
And he took his snap as usual?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, just as usual. I suppose he's gone to the New Inn. He'd say to himself he'd pay me out. That's what he always does say, "I'll pay thee out for that bit—I'll ma'e thee regret it."
JACK
We're going to leave him.
BLACKMORE
So you think he's at the New Inn?
MRS. HOLROYD
I'm sure he is—and he'll come when he's full. He'll have a bout now, you'll see.
MINNIE
Go and fetch him, Mr. Blackmore.
JACK
My mother says we shall go in a ship and leave him.
BLACKMORE (after looking keenly at Jack: to Mrs. Holroyd) Shall I go and see if he's at the New Inn?
MRS. HOLROYD
No—perhaps you'd better not—
BLACKMORE
Oh, he shan't see me. I can easily manage that.
JACK
Fetch him, Mr. Blackmore.
BLACKMORE
All right, Jack. (To Mrs. Holroyd) Shall I?
MRS. HOLROYD
We're always pulling on you—But yes, do!
[Blackmore goes out.
JACK
I wonder how long he'll be.
MRS. HOLROYD
You come and go to bed now: you'd better be out of the way when he comes in.
MINNIE
And you won't say anything to him, mother, will you?
MRS. HOLROYD
What do you mean?
MINNIE
You won't begin of him—row him.
MRS. HOLROYD
Is he to have all his own way? What would he be like, if I didn't row him?
JACK
But it doesn't matter, mother, if we're going to leave him—
MINNIE
But Mr. Blackmore'll come back, won't he, mam, and dad won't shout before him?
MRS. HOLROYD (beginning to undress the children)
Yes, he'll come back.
MINNIE
Mam—could I have that bracelet to go to bed with?
MRS. HOLROYD
Come and say your prayers.
[They kneel, muttering in their mother's apron.
MINNIE (suddenly lifting her head)
Can I, mam?
MRS. HOLROYD (trying to be stern)
Have you finished your prayers?
MINNIE
Yes.
MRS. HOLROYD
If you want it—beastly thing! (She reaches the bracelet down from the mantelpiece) Your father must have put it up there—I don't know where I left it. I suppose he'd think I was proud of it and wanted it for an ornament.
[Minnie gloats over it. Mrs. Holroyd lights a candle and they go upstairs. After a few moments the outer door opens, and there enters an old woman. She is of middling stature and wears a large gray shawl over her head. After glancing sharply round the room, she advances to the fire, warms herself, then, taking off her shawl, sits in the rocking-chair. As she hears Mrs. Holroyd's footsteps, she folds her hands and puts on a lachrymose expression, turning down the corners of her mouth and arching her eyebrows.
MRS. HOLROYD
Hello, mother, is it you?
GRANDMOTHER
Yes, it's me. Haven't you finished ironing?
MRS. HOLROYD
Not yet.
GRANDMOTHER
You'll have your irons red-hot.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, I s'll have to stand them to cool. (She does so, and moves about at her ironing)
GRANDMOTHER
And you don't know what's become of Charles?
MRS. HOLROYD
Well, he's not come home from work yet. I supposed he was at the New Inn—Why?
GRANDMOTHER
That young electrician come knocking asking if I knew where he was. "Eh," I said, "I've not set eyes on him for over a week—nor his wife neither, though they pass th' garden gate every time they go out. I know nowt on 'im." I axed him what was the matter, so he said Mrs. Holroyd was anxious because he'd not come home, so I thought I'd better come and see. Is there anything up?
MRS. HOLROYD
No more than I've told you.
GRANDMOTHER
It's a rum 'un, if he's neither in the New Inn nor the Prince o' Wales. I suppose something you've done's set him off.
MRS. HOLROYD
It's nothing I've done.
GRANDMOTHER
Eh, if he's gone off and left you, whativer shall we do! Whativer 'ave you been doing?
MRS. HOLROYD
He brought a couple of bright daisies here last night—two[70] of those trollops from Nottingham—and I said I'd not have it.
GRANDMOTHER (sighing deeply)
Ay, you've never been able to agree.
MRS. HOLROYD
We agreed well enough except when he drank like a fish and came home rolling.
GRANDMOTHER (whining)
Well, what can you expect of a man as 'as been shut up i' th' pit all day? He must have a bit of relaxation.
MRS. HOLROYD
He can have it different from that, then. At any rate, I'm sick of it.
GRANDMOTHER
Ay, you've a stiff neck, but it'll be bowed by you're my age.
MRS. HOLROYD
Will it? I'd rather it were broke.
GRANDMOTHER
Well—there's no telling what a jealous man will do. (She shakes her head)
MRS. HOLROYD
Nay, I think it's my place to be jealous, when he brings a brazen hussy here and sits carryin' on with her.
GRANDMOTHER
He'd no business to do that. But you know, Lizzie, he's got something on his side.
MRS. HOLROYD
What, pray?
GRANDMOTHER
Well, I don't want to make any mischief, but you're[71] my son's wife, an' it's nothing but my duty to tell you. They've been saying a long time now as that young electrician is here a bit too often.
MRS. HOLROYD
He doesn't come for my asking.
GRANDMOTHER
No, I don't suppose he wants for asking. But Charlie's not the man to put up with that sort o' work.
MRS. HOLROYD
Charlie put up with it! If he's anything to say, why doesn't he say it, without going to other folks ...?
GRANDMOTHER
Charlie's never been near me with a word—nor 'as he said a word elsewhere to my knowledge. For all that, this is going to end with trouble.
MRS. HOLROYD
In this hole, every gossiping creature thinks she's got the right to cackle about you—sickening! And a parcel of lies.
GRANDMOTHER
Well, Lizzie, I've never said anything against you. Charlie's been a handful of trouble. He made my heart ache once or twice afore you had him, and he's made it ache many, many's the time since. But it's not all on his side, you know.
MRS. HOLROYD (hotly)
No, I don't know.
GRANDMOTHER
You thought yourself above him, Lizzie, an' you know he's not the man to stand it.
MRS. HOLROYD
No, he's run away from it.
GRANDMOTHER (venomously)
And what man wouldn't leave a woman that allowed him to live on sufferance in the house with her, when he was bringing the money home?
MRS. HOLROYD
"Sufferance!"—Yes, there's been a lot of letting him live on "sufferance" in the house with me. It is I who have lived on sufferance, for his service and pleasure. No, what he wanted was the drink and the public house company, and because he couldn't get them here, he went out for them. That's all.
GRANDMOTHER
You have always been very clever at hitting things off, Lizzie. I was always sorry my youngest son married a clever woman. He only wanted a bit of coaxing and managing, and you clever women won't do it.
MRS. HOLROYD
He wanted a slave, not a wife.
GRANDMOTHER
It's a pity your stomach wasn't too high for him, before you had him. But no, you could have eaten him ravishing at one time.
MRS. HOLROYD
It's a pity you didn't tell me what he was before I had him. But no, he was all angel. You left me to find out what he really was.
GRANDMOTHER
Some women could have lived with him happy enough. An' a fat lot you'd have thanked me for my telling.
[There is a knock at the door. Mrs. Holroyd opens.
RIGLEY
They tell me, missus, as your mester's not hoom yet.
MRS. HOLROYD
No—who is it?
GRANDMOTHER
Ask him to step inside. Don't stan' there lettin' the fog in.
[Rigley steps in. He is a tall, bony, very roughly hewn collier.
RIGLEY
Good evenin'.
GRANDMOTHER
Oh, is it you, Mr. Rigley? (In a querulous, spiteful tone to Mrs. Holroyd) He butties along with Charlie.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh!
RIGLEY
An' han yer seen nowt on 'im?
MRS. HOLROYD
No—was he all right at work?
RIGLEY
Well, 'e wor nowt to mention. A bit short, like: 'adna much to say. I canna ma'e out what 'e's done wi' 'issen. (He is manifestly uneasy, does not look at the two women)
GRANDMOTHER
An' did 'e come up i' th' same bantle wi' you?
RIGLEY
No—'e didna. As Ah was comin' out o' th' stall, Ah shouted, "Art comin', Charlie? We're a' off." An' 'e said, "Ah'm comin' in a minute." 'E wor just finishin' a stint, like, an' 'e wanted ter get it set. An' 'e'd been a bit roughish in 'is temper, like, so I thöwt 'e didna want ter walk to th' bottom wi' us....
GRANDMOTHER (wailing)
An' what's 'e gone an' done to himself?
RIGLEY
Nay, missis, yo munna ax me that. 'E's non done owt as Ah know on. On'y I wor thinkin', 'appen summat 'ad 'appened to 'im, like, seein' as nob'dy had any knowings of 'im comin' up.
MRS. HOLROYD
What is the matter, Mr. Rigley? Tell us it out.
RIGLEY
I canna do that, missis. It seems as if 'e niver come up th' pit—as far as we can make out. 'Appen a bit o' stuff's fell an' pinned 'im.
GRANDMOTHER (wailing)
An' 'ave you left 'im lying down there in the pit, poor thing?
RIGLEY (uneasily)
I couldna say for certain where 'e is.
MRS. HOLROYD (agitated)
Oh, it's very likely not very bad, mother! Don't let us run to meet trouble.
RIGLEY
We 'ave to 'ope for th' best, missis, all on us.
GRANDMOTHER (wailing)
Eh, they'll bring 'im 'ome, I know they will, smashed up an' broke! An' one of my sons they've burned down pit till the flesh dropped off 'im, an' one was shot till 'is shoulder was all of a mosh, an' they brought 'em 'ome to me. An' now there's this....
MRS. HOLROYD (shuddering)
Oh, don't, mother. (Appealingly to Rigley) You don't know that he's hurt?
RIGLEY (shaking his head)
I canna tell you.
MRS. HOLROYD (in a high hysterical voice)
Then what is it?
RIGLEY (very uneasy)
I canna tell you. But yon young electrician—Mr. Blackmore—'e rung down to the night deputy, an' it seems as though there's been a fall or summat....
GRANDMOTHER
Eh, Lizzie, you parted from him in anger. You little knowed how you'd meet him again.
RIGLEY (making an effort)
Well, I'd 'appen best be goin' to see what's betide. (He goes out)
GRANDMOTHER
I'm sure I've had my share of bad luck, I have. I'm sure I've brought up five lads in the pit, through accidents and troubles, and now there's this. The Lord has treated me very hard, very hard. It's a blessing, Lizzie, as you've got a bit of money, else what would 'ave become of the children?
MRS. HOLROYD
Well, if he's badly hurt, there'll be the Union-pay, and sick-pay—we shall manage. And perhaps it's not very much.
GRANDMOTHER
There's no knowin' but what they'll be carryin' him to die i' th' hospital.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, don't say so, mother—it won't be so bad, you'll see.
GRANDMOTHER
How much money have you, Lizzie, comin'?
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't know—not much over a hundred pounds.
GRANDMOTHER (shaking her head)
An' what's that, what's that?
MRS. HOLROYD (sharply)
Hush!
GRANDMOTHER (crying)
Why, what?
[Mrs. Holroyd opens the door. In the silence can be heard the pulsing of the fan engine, then the driving engine chuffs rapidly: there is a shirr of brakes on the rope as it descends.
MRS. HOLROYD
That's twice they've sent the chair down—I wish we could see.... Hark!
GRANDMOTHER
What is it?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes—it's stopped at the gate. It's the doctor's.
GRANDMOTHER (coming to the door)
What, Lizzie?
MRS. HOLROYD
The doctor's motor. (She listens acutely) Dare you stop here, mother, while I run up to the top an' see?
GRANDMOTHER
You'd better not go, Lizzie, you'd better not. A woman's best away.
MRS. HOLROYD
It is unbearable to wait.
GRANDMOTHER
Come in an' shut the door—it's a cold that gets in your bones. (She goes in)
MRS. HOLROYD
Perhaps while he's in bed we shall have time to change him. It's an ill wind brings no good. He'll happen be a better man.
GRANDMOTHER
Well, you can but try. Many a woman's thought the same.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, dear, I wish somebody would come. He's never been hurt since we were married.
GRANDMOTHER
No, he's never had a bad accident, all the years he's been in the pit. He's been luckier than most. But everybody has it, sooner or later.
MRS. HOLROYD (shivering)
It is a horrid night.
GRANDMOTHER (querulous)
Yes, come your ways in.
MRS. HOLROYD
Hark!
[There is a quick sound of footsteps. Blackmore comes into the light of the doorway.
BLACKMORE
They're bringing him.
MRS. HOLROYD (quickly putting her hand over her breast) What is it?
BLACKMORE
You can't tell anything's the matter with him—it's not marked him at all.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, what a blessing! And is it much?
BLACKMORE
Well—
MRS. HOLROYD
What is it?
BLACKMORE
It's the worst.
GRANDMOTHER
Who is it?—What does he say?
[Mrs. Holroyd sinks on the nearest chair with a horrified expression. Blackmore pulls himself together and enters. He is very pale.
BLACKMORE
I came to tell you they're bringing him home.
GRANDMOTHER
And you said it wasn't very bad, did you?
BLACKMORE
No—I said it was—as bad as it could be.
MRS. HOLROYD (rising and crossing to her mother-in-law, flings her arms round her; in a high voice) Oh, mother, what shall we do? What shall we do?
GRANDMOTHER
You don't mean to say he's dead?
BLACKMORE
Yes.
GRANDMOTHER (staring)
God help us, and how was it?
BLACKMORE
Some stuff fell.
GRANDMOTHER (rocking herself and her daughter-in-law—both weeping) Oh, God have mercy on us! Oh, God have mercy on us! Some stuff fell on him. An' he'd not even time to cry for mercy; oh, God spare him! Oh, what shall we do for comfort? To be taken straight out of his sins. Oh, Lizzie, to think he should be cut off in his wickedness! He's been[79] a bad lad of late, he has, poor lamb. He's gone very wrong of late years, poor dear lamb, very wrong. Oh, Lizzie, think what's to become of him now! If only you'd have tried to be different with him.
MRS. HOLROYD (moaning)
Don't, mother, don't. I can't bear it.
BLACKMORE (cold and clear)
Where will you have him laid? The men will be here in a moment.
MRS. HOLROYD (starting up)
They can carry him up to bed—
BLACKMORE
It's no good taking him upstairs. You'll have to wash him and lay him out.
MRS. HOLROYD (startled)
Well—
BLACKMORE
He's in his pit-dirt.
GRANDMOTHER
He is, bless him. We'd better have him down here, Lizzie, where we can handle him.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
[She begins to put the tea things away, but drops the sugar out of the basin and the lumps fly broadcast.
BLACKMORE
Never mind, I'll pick those up. You put the children's clothes away.
[Mrs. Holroyd stares witless around. The Grandmother sits rocking herself and weeping. Blackmore clears the table, putting the pots in the scullery.[80] He folds the white tablecloth and pulls back the table. The door opens. Mrs. Holroyd utters a cry. Rigley enters.
RIGLEY
They're bringing him now, missis.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh!
RIGLEY (simply)
There must ha' been a fall directly after we left him.
MRS. HOLROYD (frowning, horrified)
No—no!
RIGLEY (to Blackmore)
It fell a' back of him, an' shut 'im in as you might shut a loaf i' th' oven. It never touched him.
MRS. HOLROYD (staring distractedly)
Well, then—
RIGLEY
You see, it come on 'im as close as a trap on a mouse, an' gen him no air, an' what wi' th' gas, it smothered him. An' it wouldna be so very long about it neither.
MRS. HOLROYD (quiet with horror)
Oh!
GRANDMOTHER
Eh, dear—dear. Eh, dear—dear.
RIGLEY (looking hard at her)
I wasna to know what 'ud happen.
GRANDMOTHER (not heeding him, but weeping all the time) But the Lord gave him time to repent. He'd have a few minutes to repent. Ay, I hope he did, I hope he did, else what was to become of him. The Lord cut him off in his sins, but He gave him time to repent.
[Rigley looks away at the wall. Blackmore has made a space in the middle of the floor.
BLACKMORE
If you'll take the rocking-chair off the end of the rug, Mrs. Holroyd, I can pull it back a bit from the fire, and we can lay him on that.
GRANDMOTHER (petulantly)
What's the good of messing about—(She moves)
MRS. HOLROYD
It suffocated him?
RIGLEY (shaking his head, briefly)
Yes. 'Appen th' after-damp—
BLACKMORE
He'd be dead in a few minutes.
MRS. HOLROYD
No—oh, think!
BLACKMORE
You mustn't think.
RIGLEY (suddenly)
They commin'!
[Mrs. Holroyd stands at bay. The Grandmother half rises. Rigley and Blackmore efface themselves as much as possible. A man backs into the room, bearing the feet of the dead man, which are shod in great pit boots. As the head bearer comes awkwardly past the table, the coat with which the body is covered slips off, revealing Holroyd in his pit-dirt, naked to the waist.
MANAGER (a little stout, white-bearded man)
Mind now, mind. Ay, missis, what a job, indeed, it is! (Sharply) Where mun they put him?
MRS. HOLROYD (turning her face aside from the corpse)
Lay him on the rug.
MANAGER
Steady now, do it steady.
SECOND BEARER (rising and pressing back his shoulders) By Guy, but 'e 'ings heavy.
MANAGER
Yi, Joe, I'll back my life o' that.
GRANDMOTHER
Eh, Mr. Chambers, what's this affliction on my old age. You kept your sons out o' the pit, but all mine's in. And to think of the trouble I've had—to think o' the trouble that's come out of Brinsley pit to me.
MANAGER
It has that, it 'as that, missis. You seem to have had more 'n your share; I'll admit it, you have.
MRS. HOLROYD (who has been staring at the men)
It is too much!
[Blackmore frowns; Rigley glowers at her.
MANAGER
You never knowed such a thing in your life. Here's a man, holin' a stint, just finishin' (He puts himself as if in the holer's position, gesticulating freely) An' a lot o' stuff falls behind him, clean as a whistle, shuts him up safe as a worm in a nut and niver touches him—niver knowed such a thing in your life.
MRS. HOLROYD
Ugh!
MANAGER
It niver hurt him—niver touched him.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, but—but how long would he be (she makes a sweeping gesture; the Manager looks at her and will[83] not help her out)—how long would it take—oh—to—to kill him?
MANAGER
Nay, I canna tell ye. 'E didna seem to ha' strived much to get out—did he, Joe?
SECOND BEARER
No, not as far as Ah 'n seen.
FIRST BEARER
You look at 'is 'ands, you'll see then. 'E'd non ha'e room to swing the pick.
[The Manager goes on his knees.
MRS. HOLROYD (shuddering)
Oh, don't!
MANAGER
Ay, th' nails is broken a bit—
MRS. HOLROYD (clenching her fists)
Don't!
MANAGER
'E'd be sure ter ma'e a bit of a fight. But th' gas 'ud soon get hold on 'im. Ay, it's an awful thing to think of, it is indeed.
MRS. HOLROYD (her voice breaking)
I can't bear it!
MANAGER
Eh, dear, we none on us know what's comin' next.
MRS. HOLROYD (getting hysterical)
Oh, it's too awful, it's too awful!
BLACKMORE
You'll disturb the children.
GRANDMOTHER
And you don't want them down here.
MANAGER
'E'd no business to ha' been left, you know.
RIGLEY
An' what man, dost think, wor goin' to sit him down on his hams an' wait for a chap as wouldna say "thank yer" for his cump'ny? 'E'd bin ready to fall out wi' a flicker o' the candle, so who dost think wor goin' ter stop when we knowed 'e on'y kep on so's to get shut on us.
MANAGER
Tha'rt quite right, Bill, quite right. But theer you are.
RIGLEY
An' if we'd stopped, what good would it ha' done—
MANAGER
No, 'appen not, 'appen not.
RIGLEY
For, not known—
MANAGER
I'm sayin' nowt agen thee, neither one road nor t'other. (There is general silence—then, to Mrs. Holroyd) I should think th' inquest'll be at th' New Inn to-morrow, missis. I'll let you know.
MRS. HOLROYD
Will there have to be an inquest?
MANAGER
Yes—there'll have to be an inquest. Shall you want anybody in, to stop with you to-night?
MRS. HOLROYD
No.
MANAGER
Well, then, we'd best be goin'. I'll send my missis down first thing in the morning. It's a bad job, a bad job, it is. You'll be a' right then?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
MANAGER
Well, good-night then—good-night all.
ALL
Good-night. Good-night.
[The Manager, followed by the two bearers, goes out, closing the door.
RIGLEY
It's like this, missis. I never should ha' gone, if he hadn't wanted us to.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, I know.
RIGLEY
'E wanted to come up by's sen.
MRS. HOLROYD (wearily)
I know how it was, Mr. Rigley.
RIGLEY
Yes—
BLACKMORE
Nobody could foresee.
RIGLEY (shaking his head)
No. If there's owt, missis, as you want—
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes—I think there isn't anything.
RIGLEY (after a moment)
Well—good-night—we've worked i' the same stall ower four years now—
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
RIGLEY
Well, good-night, missis.
MRS. HOLROYD AND BLACKMORE
Good-night.
[The Grandmother all this time has been rocking herself to and fro, moaning and murmuring beside the dead man. When Rigley has gone Mrs. Holroyd stands staring distractedly before her. She has not yet looked at her husband.
GRANDMOTHER
Have you got the things ready, Lizzie?
MRS. HOLROYD
What things?
GRANDMOTHER
To lay the child out.
MRS. HOLROYD (she shudders)
No—what?
GRANDMOTHER
Haven't you put him by a pair o' white stockings, nor a white shirt?
MRS. HOLROYD
He's got a white cricketing shirt—but not white stockings.
GRANDMOTHER
Then he'll have to have his father's. Let me look at the shirt, Lizzie. (Mrs. Holroyd takes one from the dresser drawer) This'll never do—a cold, canvas thing wi' a turn down collar. I s'll 'ave to fetch his father's. (Suddenly) You don't want no other woman to touch him, to wash him and lay him out, do you?
MRS. HOLROYD (weeping)
No.
GRANDMOTHER
Then I'll fetch him his father's gear. We mustn't[87] let him set, he'll be that heavy, bless him. (She takes her shawl) I shan't be more than a few minutes, an' the young fellow can stop here till I come back.
BLACKMORE
Can't I go for you, Mrs. Holroyd?
GRANDMOTHER
No. You couldn't find the things. We'll wash him as soon as I get back, Lizzie.
MRS. HOLROYD
All right.
[She watches her mother-in-law go out. Then she starts, goes in the scullery for a bowl, in which she pours warm water. She takes a flannel and soap and towel. She stands, afraid to go any farther.
BLACKMORE
Well!
MRS. HOLROYD
This is a judgment on us.
BLACKMORE
Why?
MRS. HOLROYD
On me, it is—
BLACKMORE
How?
MRS. HOLROYD
It is.
[Blackmore shakes his head.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yesterday you talked of murdering him.
BLACKMORE
Well!
MRS. HOLROYD
Now we've done it.
BLACKMORE
How?
MRS. HOLROYD
He'd have come up with the others, if he hadn't felt—felt me murdering him.
BLACKMORE
But we can't help it.
MRS. HOLROYD
It's my fault.
BLACKMORE
Don't be like that!
MRS. HOLROYD (looking at him—then indicating her husband) I daren't see him.
BLACKMORE
No?
MRS. HOLROYD
I've killed him, that is all.
BLACKMORE
No, you haven't.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes, I have.
BLACKMORE
We couldn't help it.
MRS. HOLROYD
If he hadn't felt, if he hadn't known, he wouldn't have stayed, he'd have come up with the rest.
BLACKMORE
Well, and even if it was so, we can't help it now.
MRS. HOLROYD
But we've killed him.
BLACKMORE
Ah, I'm tired—
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
BLACKMORE (after a pause)
Shall I stay?
MRS. HOLROYD
I—I daren't be alone with him.
BLACKMORE (sitting down)
No.
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't love him. Now he's dead. I don't love him. He lies like he did yesterday.
BLACKMORE
I suppose, being dead—I don't know—
MRS. HOLROYD
I think you'd better go.
BLACKMORE (rising)
Tell me.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
BLACKMORE
You want me to go.
MRS. HOLROYD
No—but do go. (They look at each other)
BLACKMORE
I shall come to-morrow (he goes out)
[Mrs. Holroyd stands very stiff, as if afraid of the dead man. Then she stoops down and begins to sponge his face, talking to him.
MRS. HOLROYD
My dear, my dear—oh, my dear! I can't bear it, my dear—you shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have done it. Oh—I can't bear it, for you. Why couldn't I do anything for you? The[90] children's father—my dear—I wasn't good to you. But you shouldn't have done this to me. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Did it hurt you?—oh, my dear, it hurt you—oh, I can't bear it. No, things aren't fair—we went wrong, my dear. I never loved you enough—I never did. What a shame for you! It was a shame. But you didn't—you didn't try. I would have loved you—I tried hard. What a shame for you! It was so cruel for you. You couldn't help it—my dear, my dear. You couldn't help it. And I can't do anything for you, and it hurt you so! (She weeps bitterly, so her tears fall on the dead man's face; suddenly she kisses him) My dear, my dear, what can I do for you, what can I? (She weeps as she wipes his face gently)
GRANDMOTHER (enters, puts a bundle on the table, takes off her shawl) You're not all by yourself?
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
GRANDMOTHER
It's a wonder you're not frightened. You've not washed his face.
MRS. HOLROYD
Why should I be afraid of him—now, mother?
GRANDMOTHER (weeping)
Ay, poor lamb, I can't think as ever you could have had reason to be frightened of him, Lizzie.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes—once—
GRANDMOTHER
Oh, but he went wrong. An' he was a taking lad, as iver was. (She cries pitifully) And when I waked his father up and told him, he sat up in bed staring[91] over his whiskers, and said should he come up? But when I'd managed to find the shirt and things, he was still in bed. You don't know what it is to live with a man that has no feeling. But you've washed him, Lizzie?
MRS. HOLROYD
I was finishing his head.
GRANDMOTHER
Let me do it, child.
MRS. HOLROYD
I'll finish that.
GRANDMOTHER
Poor lamb—poor dear lamb! Yet I wouldn't wish him back, Lizzie. He must ha' died peaceful, Lizzie. He seems to be smiling. He always had such a rare smile on him—not that he's smiled much of late—
MRS. HOLROYD
I loved him for that.
GRANDMOTHER
Ay—my poor child—my poor child.
MRS. HOLROYD
He looks nice, mother.
GRANDMOTHER
I hope he made his peace with the Lord.
MRS. HOLROYD
Yes.
GRANDMOTHER
If he hadn't time to make his peace with the Lord, I've no hopes of him. Dear o' me, dear o' me. Is there another bit of flannel anywhere?
[Mrs. Holroyd rises and brings a piece. The Grandmother begins to wash the breast of the dead man.
GRANDMOTHER
Well, I hope you'll be true to his children at least, Lizzie. (Mrs. Holroyd weeps—the old woman continues her washing) Eh—and he's fair as a lily. Did you ever see a man with a whiter skin—and flesh as fine as the driven snow. He's beautiful, he is, the lamb. Many's the time I've looked at him, and I've felt proud of him, I have. And now he lies here. And such arms on 'im! Look at the vaccination marks, Lizzie. When I took him to be vaccinated, he had a little pink bonnet with a feather. (Weeps) Don't cry, my girl, don't. Sit up an' wash him a' that side, or we s'll never have him done. Oh, Lizzie!
MRS. HOLROYD (sitting up, startled)
What—what?
GRANDMOTHER
Look at his poor hand!
[She holds up the right hand. The nails are bloody.
MRS. HOLROYD
Oh, no! Oh, no! No!
[Both women weep.
GRANDMOTHER (after awhile)
We maun get on, Lizzie.
MRS. HOLROYD (sitting up)
I can't touch his hands.
GRANDMOTHER
But I'm his mother—there's nothing I couldn't do for him.
MRS. HOLROYD
I don't care—I don't care.
GRANDMOTHER
Prithee, prithee, Lizzie, I don't want thee goin' off, Lizzie.
MRS. HOLROYD (moaning)
Oh, what shall I do!
GRANDMOTHER
Why, go thee an' get his feet washed. He's setting stiff, and how shall we get him laid out?
[Mrs. Holroyd, sobbing, goes, kneels at the miner's feet, and begins pulling off the great boots.
GRANDMOTHER
There's hardly a mark on him. Eh, what a man he is! I've had some fine sons, Lizzie, I've had some big men of sons.
MRS. HOLROYD
He was always a lot whiter than me. And he used to chaff me.
GRANDMOTHER
But his poor hands! I used to thank God for my children, but they're rods o' trouble, Lizzie, they are. Unfasten his belt, child. Me mun get his things off soon, or else we s'll have such a job.
[Mrs. Holroyd, having dragged off the boots, rises. She is weeping.
CURTAIN
A SELECTION FROM
DUCKWORTH & CO.'S
LIST OF PUBLICATIONS
3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
LONDON, W.C.
Uniform binding, large cr. 8vo. 6s. net.
Under the Roof of the Jungle. A Book of Animal Life in the Guiana Wilds. Written and illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. With 60 full-page plates drawn from Life by the Author.
The Kindred of the Wild. A Book of Animal Life. By Charles G. D. Roberts, Professor of Literature, Toronto University, late Deputy-Keeper of Woods and Forests, Canada. With many illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull.
The Watchers of the Trails. A Book of Animal Life. By Charles G. D. Roberts. With 48 illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull.
The Story of Red Fox. A Biography. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.
The Haunters of the Silences. A Book of Wild Nature. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.
Art—The Library of, embracing Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, etc. Edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. Extra cloth, with lettering and design in gold. Large cr. 8vo (7-3/4 in. x 5-3/4 in.), gilt top, headband. 5s. net a volume. Inland postage, 5d.
LIST OF VOLUMES
Donatello. By Lord Balcarres, M.P. With 58 plates.
Great Masters of Dutch and Flemish Painting. By Dr. W. Bode. With 48 plates.
Rembrandt. By G. Baldwin Brown, of the University of Edinburgh. With 45 plates.
Antonio Pollaiuolo. By Maud Cruttwell, With 50 plates.
Verrocchio. By Maud Cruttwell. With 48 plates.
The Lives of the British Architects. By E. Beresford Chancellor. With 45 plates.
The School of Madrid. By A. de Beruete y Moret. With 48 plates.
William Blake. By Basil de Selincourt. With 40 plates.
Giotto. By Basil de Selincourt. With 44 plates.
French Painting in the Sixteenth Century. By L. Dimier. With 50 plates.
The School of Ferrara. By Edmond G. Gardner. With 50 plates.
Six Greek Sculptors. (Myron, Pheidias, Polykleitos, Skopas, Praxiteles, and Lysippos.) By Ernest Gardner. With 81 plates.
Titian. By Dr Georg Gronau. With 54 plates.
Constable. By M. Sturge Henderson. With 48 plates.
Pisanello. By G. F. Hill. With 50 plates.
Michael Angelo. By Sir Charles Holroyd. With 52 plates.
Mediæval Art. By W. R. Lethaby. With 66 plates and 120 drawings in the text.
The Scottish School of Painting. By William D. McKay, R.S.A. With 46 plates.
Christopher Wren. By Lena Milman. With upwards of 60 plates.
Correggio. By T. Sturge Moore. With 55 plates.
Albert Dürer. By T. Sturge Moore. With 4 copperplates and 50 half-tone engravings.
Sir William Beechey, R.A. By W. Roberts. With 49 plates.
The School of Seville. By N. Sentenach. With 50 plates.
Roman Sculpture from Augustus to Constantine. By Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D., Editor of the Series. 2 vols. With 130 plates.
Art, The Popular Library of. Pocket volumes of biographical and critical value on the great painters, with very many reproductions of the artists' works. Each volume averages 200 pages, 16mo, with from 40 to 50 illustrations. To be had in different styles of binding: Boards gilt, 1s. net; green canvas and red cloth gilt, 2s. net; limp lambskin, red and green, 2s. 6d. net. Several titles can also be had in the popular Persian yapp binding, in box, 2s. 6d. net each.
LIST OF VOLUMES.
Botticelli. By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp binding.
Raphael. By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp binding.
Frederick Walker. By Clementina Black.
Rembrandt. By Auguste Bréal.
Velazquez. By Auguste Bréal. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Gainsborough. By Arthur B. Chamberlain. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Cruikshank. By W. H. Chesson.
Blake. By G. K. Chesterton.
G. F. Watts. By G. K. Chesterton. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Albrecht Dürer. By Lina Eckenstein.
The English Water-Colour Painters. By A. J. Finberg. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Hogarth. By Edward Garnett.
Leonardo da Vinci. By Dr Georg Gronau. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Holbein. By Ford Madox Hueffer.
Rossetti. By Ford Madox Hueffer. Also in Persian yapp binding.
The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. By Ford Madox Hueffer. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Perugino. By Edward Hutton.
Millet. By Romain Rolland. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Wattrau. By Camille Mauclair.
The French Impressionists. By Camille Mauclair. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Whistler. By Bernhard Sickert. Also in Persian yapp binding.
Amelung, Walther, and Holtzinger, Heinrich. The Museums and Ruins of Rome. A Guide Book. Edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. With 264 illustrations and map and plans. 2 vols. New and cheaper re-issue. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.
Burns, Rev. J. Sermons in Art by the Great Masters. Cloth gilt, photogravure frontispiece and many illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Or bound in parchment, 5s. net.
—— The Christ Face in Art. With 60 illustrations in tint. Cr. 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s. Or bound in parchment, 5s. net.
Bussy, Dorothy. Eugène Delacroix. A Critical Appreciation. With 26 illustrations. New and cheaper re-issue. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
Carotti, Giulio. A History of Art. English edition, edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. In four volumes, with very numerous illustrations in each volume. Small cr. 8vo. 5s. net each volume.
Vol. I.—Ancient Art. 500 illustrations.
Vol. II.—Middle Ages down to the Golden Age.
Löwy, Emanuel. The Rendering of Nature in Early Greek Art. With 30 illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Mauclair, Camille. Auguste Rodin. With very many illustrations and photogravure frontispiece. Small 4to. New and cheaper re-issue. 7s. 6d. net.
See also Popular Library of Art for other books by Camille Mauclair.
Quigley, J. Leandro Ramon Garrido: his Life and Art. With 26 illustrations. Sq. cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Archer, William, and Barker, H. Granville. A National Theatre. Schemes and Estimates. By William Archer and H. Granville Barker. Cr. 4to. 5s. net.
Aspinall, Algernon E. The Pocket Guide to the West Indies. A New and Revised Edition, with maps, very fully illustrated. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.
—— West Indian Tales of Old. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Austin, Sarah. The Story without an End. From the German of Carové. Illustrated by Frank C. Papé. 8 Illustrations in Colour. Large cr. 8vo. Designed end papers. Cloth gilt, gilt top. In box. 5s. net.
———— Illustrated by Paul Henry. 8vo. 1s. 6d. net.
Belloc, Hilaire. Verses. Large cr. 8vo. 2nd edition. 5s. net.
—— and B. T. B. The Bad Child's Book of Beasts. New edition. 25th thousand. Sq. 4to. 1s. net.
—— and B. T. B. More Beasts for Worse Children. New edition. Sq. 4to. 1s. net.
See also Readers' Library and Shilling Series for other books by H. Belloc.
Bourne, George. Change in the Village: A study of the village of to-day. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
———— Lucy Bettesworth. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See the Readers' Library for other books by George Bourne.
Boutroux, Emile. The Beyond that is Within, and other Lectures. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.
See the Crown Library for another book by Professor Boutroux.
Brooke, Stopford A. The Onward Cry: Essays and Sermons. New and Cheaper Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
See also the Readers' Library and Roadmender Series for other books by Stopford Brooke.
Chapman, Hugh B., Chaplain of the Savoy. At the Back of Things: Essays and Addresses. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Collier, Price. England and the English, from an American point of view. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. Also a popular edition, with Foreword by Lord Rosebery. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
—— The West in the East: A study of British Rule in India. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
—— Germany and the Germans from an American Point of View. Demy 8vo, 600 pages. 7s. 6d. net.
Coulton, G. G. From St Francis to Dante. A Historical Sketch. Second edition. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
Crown Library. Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top. 5s. net a volume.
The Rubá'iyát of 'Umar Khayyám. (Fitzgerald's 2nd Edition). Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by Edward Heron Allen.
Science and Religion in Contemporary Philosophy. By Emile Boutroux.
Wanderings in Arabia. By Charles M. Doughty. An abridged edition of "Travels in Arabia Deserta." With portrait and map. In 2 vols.
Folk-Lore of the Holy Land: Moslem, Christian, and Jewish. By J. E. Hanauer. Edited by Marmaduke Pickthall.
Life and Evolution. By F. W. Headley, F.Z.S. With upwards of 100 illustrations. New and revised edition (1913).
The Note-Books of Leonardo da Vinci. Edited by Edward McCurdy. With 14 illustrations.
The Life and Letters of Leslie Stephen. By F. W. Maitland. With a photogravure portrait.
The Country Month by Month. By J. A. Owen and G. S. Boulger. With 20 illustrations.
Spinoza: His Life and Philosophy. By Sir Frederick Pollock.
The English Utilitarians. By Sir Leslie Stephen. 3 vols.
Vol. I. James Mill.
Vol. II. Jeremy Bentham.
Vol. III. John Stuart Mill.
Critical Studies. By S. Arthur Strong. With Memoir by Lord Balcarres, M.P. Illustrated.
Cutting Ceres. The Praying Girl. Thoughtful Religious Essays. Sq. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.
Darwin, Bernard, and Rountree, Harry. The Golf Courses of the British Isles. 48 illustrations in colour and 16 in sepia. Sq. royal 8vo. 21s. net.
De la Mare, Walter. The Three Mulla Mulgars. A Romance of the Great Forests. With illustrations in colour. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Desmond, G. G. The Roll of the Seasons: a Book of Nature Essays. By G. G. Desmond. With twelve illustrations in Colour. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Doughty, Chas. M. Adam Cast Forth. A Poem founded on a Judæo-Arabian Legend of Adam and Eve. Cr. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.
—— The Cliffs. A Poetic Drama of the Invasion of Britain in 19—. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
—— The Clouds: a Poem. Large cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
—— The Dawn in Britain. An Epic Poem of the Beginnings of Britain. In six vols. Vols. 1 and 2, 9s. net; Vols. 3 and 4, 9s. net; Vols. 5 and 6, 9s. net. The Set, 27s. net.
See also Crown Library for another work by C. M. Doughty.
Fairless, Michael. Complete Works. 3 vols. In slip case. Buckram gilt. 7s. 6d. net.
See also the Roadmender Series.
—— The Roadmender. Illustrated in Colour by E. W. Waite. Cloth gilt, gilt top. 7s. 6d. net. In a Box.
———— Illustrated in photogravure from drawings by W. G. Mein. In slip case. 5s. net.
Falconer, Rev. Hugh. The Unfinished Symphony. New and Cheaper Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
Gardiner, Mrs Stanley. We Two and Shamus: The Story of a Caravan Holiday in Ireland. With illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Graham, R. B. Cunninghame. Charity. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
——Faith. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Hope. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— His People. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Readers' Library and Shilling Series for other books by Cunninghame Graham.
Headlam, Cecil. Walter Headlam: Letters and Poems. With Memoir by Cecil Headlam. With photogravure portrait. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Henderson, Archibald. Mark Twain. A Biography. With 8 photographs by Alvin Langdon Coburn. Large cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Henderson, Archibald. Interpreters of Life and the Modern Spirit: Critical Essays. With a photogravure portrait of Meredith. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Hill, M. D., and Webb, Wilfred Mark. Eton Nature-Study and Observational Lessons. With numerous illustrations. In two parts. 3s. 6d. net each. Also the two parts in one volume, 6s. net.
Hudson, W. H. A Little Boy Lost. With 30 illustrations by A. D. McCormick. Sq. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.
See also Readers' Library and Shilling Series for other books by W. H. Hudson.
Hueffer, Ford Madox. The Critical Attitude. Literary Essays. Sq. cr. 8vo. Buckram. 5s. net.
See also Readers' Library and The Popular Library of Art for other books by Ford Madox Hueffer.
—— High Germany: Verses. Sq. cr. 8vo, paper covers. 1s. net.
Hughes, Rev. G. Conscience and Criticism. With Foreword by the Bishop of Winchester. New and Cheaper Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
Hutchinson, T. Lyrical Ballads by William Wordsworth and S. T. Coleridge, 1798. With certain poems of 1798, Introduction and Notes. Fcap. 8vo. New and Revised Edition. With 2 photogravures. 3s. 6d. net.
Huxley, Henrietta. Poems: concluding with those of Thomas Henry Huxley. Fcap. 8vo. Art canvas. 3s. 6d. net.
Jefferies, Richard. The Story of My Heart. By Richard Jefferies. A New Edition Reset. With 8 illustrations from oil paintings by Edward W. Waite. Demy 8vo. The pictures mounted with frames and plate marks. Designed Cover. Cloth gilt, gilt top, headband. In Box. 7s. 6d. net.
Joubert, Joseph. Joubert: A Selection from His Thoughts. Translated by Katharine Lyttleton, with a Preface by Mrs Humphry Ward. New Edition. In a slip case. Large cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Kropotkin, Prince. Ideals and Realities in Russian Literature. Critical Essays. By Prince Kropotkin. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Langlois, Ch. V., and Seignobos, Ch. An Introduction to the Study of History. New Edition. 5s. net.
Lawrence, D. H. Love Poems and others. Cr. 8vo. 5 s. net.
Le Gallienne, Richard. Odes from the Divan of Hafiz. Freely rendered from Literal Translations. Large sq. 8vo. In slip case. 7s. 6d. net.
Lethaby, W. R. Westminster Abbey and the King's Craftsmen. With 125 illustrations, photogravure frontispiece, and many drawings and diagrams. Royal 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
—— Westminster Abbey as a Coronation Church. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
See also The Library of Art for "Mediæval Art" by W. R. Lethaby.
Loveland, J. D. E. The Romance of Nice. A Descriptive Account of Nice and its History. With illustrations. Demy 8vo. 6s. net.
Lytton, the Hon. Mrs Neville. Toy Dogs and their Ancestors. With 300 illustrations in colour collotype, photogravure, and half-tone. 4to. 30s. net.
Mahaffy, R. P. Francis Joseph the First: His Life and Times. By R. P. Mahaffy. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
Mahommed, Mirza, and Rice, C. Spring. Valeh and Hadijeh. Large sq. 8vo. 5s. net.
Mantzius, Karl. A History of Theatrical Art in Ancient and Modern Times. With Introduction by William Archer. In six volumes. With illustrations from photographs. Royal 8vo. 10s. net each vol.
Vol. I.—The Earliest Times. Vol. II.—Middle Ages and Renaissance. Vol. III.—Shakespeare and the English Drama of his Time. Vol. IV.—Molière and his Time. Vol. V.—Great Actors of the 18th Century. Vol. VI.—In preparation.
Marczali, Henry. The Letters and Journal, 1848-49, of Count Charles Leiningen-Westerburg. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Marjoram, John. New Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. net.
Moore, T. Sturge. Poems. Square 8vo. Sewed. 1s. net a volume.
The Centaur's Booty.
The Rout of the Amazons.
The Gazelles, and Other Poems.
Pan's Prophecy.
To Leda, and Other Odes.
Theseus, and Other Odes.
Or, in one volume, bound in art linen. 6s. net.
—— A Sicilian Idyll, and Judith. Cloth. 2s. net.
—— Mariamne. A Drama. Qr. bound. 2s. net.
Nevill, Ralph, and Jerningham, C. E. Piccadilly to Pall Mall. Manners, Morals, and Man. With 2 photogravures. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
Nevill, Ralph. Sporting Days and Sporting Ways. With coloured frontispiece. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
—— The Merry Past. Reminiscences and Anecdotes. With frontispiece in colour collotype. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
Pawlowska, Yoï (Mrs Buckley). A Year of Strangers. Sketches of People and Things in Italy and in the Far East. With copper-plate frontispiece. Demy 8vo. 5s. net.
See under Novels for another book by this author.
Peake, Prof. A. S. Christianity, its Nature and its Truth. 25th Thousand. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
Phillipps, L. March. The Works of Man. Studies of race characteristics as revealed in the creative art of the world. Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Plays, Modern. Cloth. 2s. net a volume.
The Revolt and the Escape. By Villiers de L'Isle Adam.
Hernani. A Tragedy. By Frederick Brock.
Tristram and Iseult. A Drama. By J. Comyns Carr.
Passers-By. By C. Haddon Chambers.
The Likeness of the Night. By Mrs W. K. Clifford.
The Silver Box. By John Galsworthy.
Joy. By John Galsworthy.
Strife. By John Galsworthy.
Justice. By John Galsworthy.
The Eldest Son. By John Galsworthy.
The Little Dream. By John Galsworthy, (1s. 6d. net.)
The Pigeon. By John Galsworthy.
The Coming of Peace. By Gerhart Hauptmann.
Love's Comedy. By Henrik Ibsen.
The Divine Gift. A Play. By Henry Arthur Jones. With an Introduction and a Portrait. (3s. 6d. net.)
Peter's Chance. A Play. By Edith Lyttelton.
The Secret Woman. A Drama. By Eden Phillpots.
Curtain Raisers. One Act Plays. By Eden Phillpots.
The Father. By August Strindberg.
Creditors. Pariah. Two Plays. By August Strindberg.
Miss Julia. The Stronger. Two Plays. By August Strindberg.
There are Crimes and Crimes. By August Strindberg.
Roses. Four One Act Plays. By Hermann Sudermann.
Morituri. Three One Act Plays. By Hermann Sudermann.
Five Little Plays. By Alfred Sutro.
The Dawn (Les Aubes). By Emile Verhaeren. Translated by Arthur Symons.
The Princess of Hanover. By Margaret L. Woods.
The following may also be had in paper covers. Price 1s. 6d. net a volume.
Tristram and Iseult. By J. Comyns Carr. (Paper boards.)
Passers-By. By C. Haddon Chambers.
The Likeness of the Night. By Mrs W. K. Clifford.
The Silver Box. By John Galsworthy.
Joy. By John Galsworthy.
Strife. By John Galsworthy.
Justice. By John Galsworthy.
The Eldest Son. By John Galsworthy.
The Little Dream. By John Galsworthy, (1s. net.)
The Pigeon. By John Galsworthy.
Peter's Chance. By Edith Lyttelton.
Curtain Raisers. By Eden Phillpotts.
The Secret Woman. A Censored Drama. By Eden Phillpotts.
Five Little Plays. By Alfred Sutro.
Plays. By Bjornstjerne Bjornson. (The Gauntlet, Beyond our Power, The New System.) With an Introduction and Bibliography. In one vol. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Three Plays. By Mrs W. K. Clifford. (Hamilton's Second Marriage, Thomas and the Princess, The Modern Way.) In one vol. Sq. post 8vo. 6s.
Plays (Volume One). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays (Joy, Strife, The Silver Box) in one vol. Post 8vo. 6s.
Plays (Volume Two). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays (Justice, The Little Dream, The Eldest Son) in one vol. Small sq. post 8vo. 6s.
Plays. (First Series.) By August Strindberg. (The Dream Play, The Link, The Dance of Death, Part I.; The Dance of Death, Part II.) In one vol. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Plays. (Second Series.) By August Strindberg. (Creditors, Pariah, There are Crimes and Crimes, Miss Julia, The Stronger.) In one volume. 6s.
Plays. (Third Series.) By August Strindberg. (Advent, Simoom, Swan White, Debit and Credit, The Spook Sonata, The Black Glove.) Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Plays. By Anton Tchekoff. (Uncle Vanya, Ivanoff, The Seagull, The Swan Song.) With an Introduction. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Reid, Stuart J. Sir Richard Tangye. A Life. With a portrait. Cheaper re-issue. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.
Roadmender Series, The. The volumes in the series are works with the same tendency as Michael Fairless's remarkable book, from which the series gets its name: books which express a deep feeling for Nature, and a mystical interpretation of life. Fcap. 8vo, with designed end papers. 2s. 6d. net.
Women of the Country. By Gertrude Bone.
The Sea Charm of Venice. By Stopford A. Brooke.
Magic Casements. By Arthur S. Cripps.
Thoughts of Leonardo da Vinci. Selected by Edward McCurdy.
The Roadmender. By Michael Fairless. Also in limp lambskin, 3s. 6d. Velvet calf yapp, 5s. net. Illustrated Black and White Edition, cr. 8vo, 5s. net. Also Special Illustrated edition in colour from oil paintings by E. W. Waite, 7s. 6d. net. Edition de Luxe, 15s. net.
The Gathering of Brother Hilarius. By Michael Fairless. Also limp lambskin, 3s. 6d. net. Velvet calf yapp, 5s. net.
The Grey Brethren. By Michael Fairless. Also limp lambskin, 3s. 6d. net. Velvet calf yapp, 5s. net.
Michael Fairless: Life and Writings. By W. Scott Palmer and A. M. Haggard.
A Modern Mystic's Way. (Dedicated to Michael Fairless.)
From the Forest. By Wm. Scott Palmer.
Pilgrim Man. By Wm. Scott Palmer.
Winter and Spring. By W. Scott Palmer.
Vagrom Men. By A. T. Story.
Light and Twilight. By Edward Thomas.
Rest and Unrest. By Edward Thomas.
Rose Acre Papers: including Horæ Solitariæ. By Edward Thomas.
Rosen, Erwin. In the Foreign Legion. A record of actual experiences in the French Foreign Legion. Demy 8vo. New and Cheaper Edition. 3s. 6d. net.
Social Questions Series.
Makers of Our Clothes. A Case for Trade Boards. By Miss Clementina Black and Lady Carl Meyer. Demy 8vo. 5s. net.
Sweated Industry and the Minimum Wage. By Clementina Black. With Preface by A. G. Gardiner. Cloth, crown 8vo. 2s. net.
Women in Industry: From Seven Points of View. With Introduction by D. J. Shackleton. Cloth, crown 8vo. 2s. net.
The Worker's Handbook. By Gertrude M. Tuckwell. A handbook of legal and general information for the Clergy for District Visitors, and all Social Workers. Cr. 8vo. 2s. net.
Copyright Works of Individual Merit and Permanent Value by Authors of Repute.
Library style. Cr. 8vo. Blue cloth gilt, round backs. 2s. 6d. net a volume.
Avril. By Hilaire Belloc. Essays on the Poetry of the French Renaissance.
Esto Perpetua. By Hilaire Belloc. Algerian Studies and Impressions.
Men, Women, and Books: Res Judicatæ. By Augustine Birrell. Complete in one vol.
Obiter Dicta. By Augustine Birrell. First and Second Series in one volume.
Memoirs of a Surrey Labourer. By George Bourne.
The Bettesworth Book. By George Bourne.
Studies in Poetry. By Stopford A. Brooke, LL.D. Essays on Blake, Scott, Shelley, Keats, etc.
Four Poets. By Stopford A. Brooke, LL.D. Essays on Clough, Arnold, Rossetti, and Morris.
Comparative Studies in Nursery Rhymes. By Lina Eckenstein. Essays in a branch of Folk-lore.
Italian Poets since Dante. Critical Essays. By W. Everett.
Villa Rubein, and Other Stories. By John Galsworthy.
Faith and other Sketches. By R. B. Cunninghame Graham.
Progress, and Other Sketches. By R. B. Cunninghame Graham.
Success: and Other Sketches. By R. B. Cunninghame Grahame.
A Crystal Age: a Romance of the Future. By W. H. Hudson.
Green Mansions. A Romance of the Tropical Forest. By W. H. Hudson.
The Purple Land. By W. H. Hudson.
The Heart of the Country. By Ford Madox Hueffer.
The Soul of London. By Ford Madox Hueffer.
The Spirit of the People. By Ford Madox Hueffer.
After London—Wild England. By Richard Jefferies.
Amaryllis at the Fair. By Richard Jefferies.
Bevis. The Story of a Boy. By Richard Jefferies.
The Hills and the Vale. Nature Essays. By Richard Jefferies.
The Greatest Life. An inquiry into the foundations of character. By Gerald Leighton, M.D.
St Augustine and his Age. An Interpretation. By Joseph McCabe.
Between the Acts. By H. W. Nevinson.
Essays. By Coventry Patmore.
Essays in Freedom. By H. W. Nevinson.
Parallel Paths. A Study in Biology, Ethics, and Art. By T. W. Rolleston.
The Strenuous Life, and Other Essays. By Theodore Roosevelt.
English Literature and Society in the Eighteenth Century. By Sir Leslie Stephen.
Studies of a Biographer. First Series. Two Volumes. By Sir Leslie Stephen.
Studies of a Biographer. Second Series. Two Volumes. By Sir Leslie Stephen.
Interludes. By Sir Geo. Trevelyan.
Essays on Dante. By Dr Carl Witte.
Duckworth's Shilling Net Series. Cloth, cr. 8vo.
Caliban's Guide to Letters. By Hilaire Belloc.
The Brassbounder: a Tale of Seamen's Life in a Sailing Ship. By David W. Bone.
Wrack: a Story of Salvage Work at Sea. By Maurice Drake.
South American Sketches. By W. H. Hudson.
Stories from De Maupassant.
Success. By R. B. Cunninghame Graham.
Smalley, George W. Anglo-American Memories. First Series (American). With a photogravure frontispiece. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
—— Second Series (English). Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
Spielmann, Mrs M. H., and Wilhelm, C. The Child of the Air. A Romantic Fantasy. Illustrated in colour and in line. Sq. cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
Stephen, H. L. State Trials: Political and Social. First Series. Selected and edited by H. L. Stephen. With two photogravures. Two vols. Fcap. 8vo. Art vellum, gilt top. 5s. net.
Vol. I.—Sir Walter Raleigh—Charles I.—The Regicides—Colonel Turner and Others—The Suffolk Witches—Alice Lisle. Vol. II.—Lord Russell—The Earl of Warwick—Spencer Cowper and Others—Samuel Goodere and Others.
—— State Trials: Political and Social. Second Series. Selected and edited by H. L. Stephen. With two photogravures. Two vols. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.
Vol. I.—The Earl of Essex—Captain Lee—John Perry—Green and Others—Count Coningsmark—Beau Fielding. Vol. II.—Annesley—Carter—Macdaniell—Bernard—Byron.
Stopford, Francis. Life's Great Adventure. Essays. By Francis Stopford, author of "The Toil of Life." Cr. 8vo. Cloth. 5s. net.
A New Series of Handbooks, being aids to interpretation in Biblical Criticism for the use of the Clergy, Divinity Students, and Laymen. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net a volume.
The Christian Hope. A Study in the Doctrine of the Last Things. By W. Adams Brown, D.D., Professor of Theology in the Union College, New York.
Christianity and Social Questions. By the Rev. William Cunningham, D.D., F.B.A., Archdeacon of Ely. Formerly Lecturer on Economic History to Harvard University.
A Handbook of Christian Apologetics. By the Rev. Alfred Ernest Garvie, M.A., Hon. D.D., Glasgow University, Principal of New College, Hampstead.
A Critical Introduction to the Old Testament. By the Rev. George Buchanan Gray, M.A., D.Litt.
Gospel Origins. A Study in the Synoptic Problem. By the Rev. W. W. Holdsworth, M.A., Tutor in New Testament Language and Literature, Handsworth College, Birmingham.
Faith and its Psychology. By the Rev. William R. Inge, D.D., Dean of St Paul's.
Protestant Thought before Kant. By A. C. McGiffert, Ph.D., D.D., of the Union Theological Seminary, New York.
The Theology of the Gospels. By the Rev. James Moffat, B.D., D.D., of the U.F. Church of Scotland, sometime Jowett Lecturer in London, author of "The Historical New Testament," "Literary Illustrations of the Bible," etc.
A History of Christian Thought since Kant. By the Rev. Edward Caldwell Moore, D.D., Parkman Professor of Theology in the University of Harvard, U.S.A.
Revelation and Inspiration. By the Rev. James Orr, D.D., Professor of Apologetics in the Theological College of the United Free Church, Glasgow.
A Critical Introduction to the New Testament. By Arthur Samuel Peake, D.D., Professor of Biblical Exegesis and Dean of the Faculty of Theology, Victoria University, Manchester.
Philosophy and Religion. By the Rev. Hastings Rashdall, D.Litt. (Oxon.), D.C.L. (Durham), F.B.A., Fellow and Tutor of New College, Oxford.
Text and Canon of the New Testament. By Prof. Alexander Souter, M.A., D.Litt, Professor of Humanity, Aberdeen University.
Christian Thought to the Reformation. By Herbert B. Workman, D.Litt., Principal of the Westminster Training College.
Tomlinson, H. M. The Sea and the Jungle. Personal experiences in a voyage to South America and through the Amazon forests. By H. M. Tomlinson. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Toselli, Enrico. Memoirs of the Husband of an Ex-Crown Princess. By Enrico Toselli (Husband of the Ex-Crown Princess of Saxony). With a portrait. Cloth gilt, gilt top. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.
Vaughan, Herbert M. The Last Stuart Queen: Louise, Countess of Albany. A Life. With illustrations and portraits. Demy 8vo. 16s. net.
Waern, Cecilia. Mediæval Sicily. Aspects of Life and Art in the Middle Ages. With very many illustrations. Royal 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
Waynflete, Zachary. Considerations. Essays. Edited by Ian Malcolm, M.P. Cr. 8vo. Parchment yapp binding. 2s. 6d. net.
Williams, Alfred. A Wiltshire Village. A Study of English Rural Village Life. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
—— Villages of the White Horse. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.
NOVELS AND STORIES
Anonymous. The Diary of an English Girl. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Behrens, R. G. Pebble. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Bone, David W. The Brassbounder. A tale of seamen's life in a sailing ship. With illustrations by the Author. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also 1s. net edition.
Bone, Gertrude. Provincial Tales. With frontispiece by Muirhead Bone. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Roadmender Series for another book by Mrs Bone.
Bone, Muirhead and Gertrude. Children's Children. A Tale. With 60 drawings by Muirhead Bone. Large Cr. 8vo. 6s. net. [Vellum Edition, limited to 250 copies, signed and numbered. 25s. net.]
Brookfield, Chas. H. Jack Goldie: the Boy who knew best. Illustrated by A. E. Jackson. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
Brown, Vincent. A Magdalen's Husband. A Novel. Fourth Impression. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Dark Ship. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Disciple's Wife. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Sacred Cup. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Calthrop, Dion Clayton. King Peter. A Novel. With a Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels for another book by Dion Clayton Calthrop.
Cautley, C. Holmes. The Weaving of the Shuttle. A Yorkshire Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Clifford, Mrs W. K. Woodside Farm. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Connolly, J. B. Wide Courses: Tales of the Sea. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels.
Davies, Ernest. The Widow's Necklace. A Tale. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Davies, W. H. Beggars. Personal Experiences of Tramp Life. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— A Weak Woman. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The True Traveller. A Tramp's Experiences. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Davis, Richard Harding. Once upon a Time. Stories. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Man who could not Lose. Stories. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Red Cross Girl. Stories. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
De Silva, A. Rainbow Lights: Letters Descriptive of American and Canadian Types. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Dodge, Janet. Tony Unregenerate. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Drake, Maurice. Wrack. A Tale of the Sea. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also 1s. net edition.
East, H. Clayton. The Breath of the Desert. A Novel of Egypt. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Fedden, Mrs Romilly. The Spare Room: An Extravaganza. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Filippi, Rosina. Bernardine. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Fogazzaro, Antonio. The Poet's Mystery. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Forbes, Lady Helen. It's a Way they have in the Army. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Bounty of the Gods. A Novel.
—— The Polar Star. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Garnett, Mrs R. S. Amor Vincit. A Romance of the Staffordshire Moorlands. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels for another Novel by Mrs Garnett.
Garshin, W. The Signal, and other Stories. Translated from the Russian.
Glyn, Elinor. Beyond the Rocks. A Love Story. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also 1s. net edition.
—— Halcyone. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— His Hour. A Novel. With a photogravure frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also 1s. net edition.
—— The Vicissitudes of Evangeline. With Coloured Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also an edition in paper covers. 1s. net.
—— Reflections of Ambrosine. With Coloured Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels.
—— Three Weeks. A Romance. With Coloured Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Visits of Elizabeth. With Photogravure Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also 1s. net edition.
Glyn, Elinor. Elizabeth Visits America. With a Photogravure Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels.
—— The Damsel and the Sage: A Woman's Whimsies. With a Photogravure Portrait. Cr. 8vo. In slip case. 5s. net.
—— Sayings of Grandmamma. From the Writings of Elinor Glyn. Fcap. 8vo. With Photogravure Portrait. Persian yapp. 2s. 6d. net. Also in parchment. 1s. net.
—— The Reason Why. With Frontispiece in Colour. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Contrast. Stories.
—— The Sequence. A Novel. With a Frontispiece.
Gorky, Maxim. The Spy. A Tale. By Maxim Gorky. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Twenty-six Men and a Girl. Stories. Cr. 8vo. Cloth. 2s. net.
Hayter, Adrian. The Profitable Imbroglio. A Tale of Mystery. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Holmes, Arthur H. Twinkle. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Horlick, Jittie. A String of Beads. A Novel. Illustrated in Colour. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Jewels in Brass. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Johnson, Cecil Ross. The Trader: A Venture in New Guinea. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Lawrence, D. H. The Trespasser. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Sons and Lovers. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Lipsett, E. R. Didy: The Story of an Irish Girl. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Maclagan, Bridget. The Mistress of Kingdoms. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Collision: an Anglo-Indian Tale. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Maud, Constance Elizabeth. Angelique: le p'tit Chou. A Story. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Two Shilling Net Novels for another book by Miss Maud.
Maupassant, Guy de. Yvette, and other Stories. Translated by A. G. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Shilling Net Library for another volume of Maupassant.
Monkhouse, Allan. Dying Fires. A Novel Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Napier, Rosamond. The Faithful Failure. A Novel of the Open Air. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Heart of a Gypsy. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Nikto Vera. A Mere Woman. A Novel of Russian Society Life. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Pawlowska, Yoï. Those that Dream. A Novel of Life in Rome To-day. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Phayre, Ignatius. Love o' the Skies. A Novel of North Africa.
Roberts, Helen. Old Brent's Daughter. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Something New. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Schofield, Mrs S. R. Elizabeth, Betsy, and Bess. A Tale. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— I Don't Know. A "Psychic" Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
"Shway Dinga." Wholly without Morals. A Novel of Indo-Burman Life. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— The Repentance of Destiny. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Tchekhoff, Anton. The Kiss: Stories. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Travers, John. Sahib Log. A Novel of Regimental Life in India. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— In the World of Bewilderment. A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Tylee, E. S. The Witch Ladder. A Somerset Story. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
Vaughan, Owen (Owen Rhoscomyl). A Scout's Story. A Tale of Adventure. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d.
—— Isle Raven. A Welsh Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Old Fireproof: Being the Chaplain's Story of Certain Events in the South African War. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
—— Sweet Rogues. A Romance. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
See also Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels for another book by Owen Vaughan.
Duckworth's Series of Popular Novels. 2s. net.
The Prodigal Nephew. By Bertram Atkey.
The Dance of Love. By Dion Clayton Calthrop.
Woodside Farm. By Mrs W. K. Clifford.
The Crested Seas. By James B. Connolly. Illustrated.
The Infamous John Friend. By Mrs R. S. Garnett.
Elizabeth visits America. By Elinor Glyn.
Reflections of Ambrosine. By Elinor Glyn.
A Motor-Car Divorce. By Louise Hale. Illustrated.
No Surrender. By Constance Elizabeth Maud.
The Secret Kingdom. By Frank Richardson.
Vronina. By Owen Vaughan. With Coloured Frontispiece.
Messrs DUCKWORTH & CO.'s Publications may be obtained through any good bookseller. Anyone desiring to examine a volume should order it subject to approval. The bookseller can obtain it from the publishers on this condition.
The following Special Lists and Catalogues will be sent Post Free on request to any address:—
A GENERAL CATALOGUE OF PUBLICATIONS
A COLOURED PROSPECTUS OF NEW ILLUSTRATED CHILDREN'S BOOKS
A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE READERS' LIBRARY"
A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE LIBRARY OF ART" AND "THE POPULAR LIBRARY OF ART"
A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE CROWN LIBRARY"
A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE SAINTS SERIES"
A LIST OF THEOLOGICAL WORKS
AND FULL PROSPECTUSES OF "THE ROADMENDER SERIES" AND "MODERN PLAYS"
DUCKWORTH & COMPANY
3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Original spelling of certain words has been retained, e.g. "brokken", as well as hyphenation as in original.
2. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
3. In the advertisements, "Village of the White House by Alfred Williams has been changed to the correct title of Village of the White Horse.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Widowing of Mrs. Holroyd, by
D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WIDOWING OF MRS. HOLROYD ***
***** This file should be named 55877-h.htm or 55877-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/8/7/55877/
Produced by Karin Spence, Mary Glenn Krause, MFR and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country outside the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
are located before using this ebook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that
* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation."
* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
works.
* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
gbnewby@pglaf.org
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.