The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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--Oh, never mind about that. A daughter? Belinda, how could you let me go and not tell me?
BELINDA. You forget how you'd slammed the door. It isn't the sort of thing you shout through the window to a man on his way to America.
TREMAYNE (_taking her in his arms_). Oh, Belinda, don't let me ever go away again.
(DEVENISH _and_ DELIA _enter from up_ L. _and pass the windows on the way to the swing doors_.)
BELINDA. I'm not going to, Jack. I'm going to settle down into a staid old married woman.
TREMAYNE. Oh no, you're not. You're going on just as you did before. And I'm going to propose to you every April, and win you, over all the other men in love with you.
BELINDA. You darling! (_They embrace_.)
(DELIA _and_ DEVENISH _come in from the garden_.)
TREMAYNE (_quietly to_ BELINDA). Our daughter.
DELIA (_going up to_ TREMAYNE). You're my father.
TREMAYNE. If you don't mind very much, Delia.
DELIA. You've been away a long time.
TREMAYNE. I'll do my best to make up for it.
BELINDA. Delia, darling, I think you might kiss your poor old father.
(_As the does to,_ DEVENISH _suddenly and hastily kisses_ BELINDA _on the cheek_.)
DEVENISH. Just in case you're going to be my mother-in-law.
TREMAYNE. We seem to be rather a family party.
BELINDA (_suddenly_). There! (_Moving to the door_ L.) We've forgotten Mr. Baxter again.
BAXTER (_who has come in quietly with a book in his hand_). Oh, don't mind about me, Mrs. Tremayne. I've enjoyed myself immensely. (_He crosses to the arm-chair below the fireplace and places it in front of the fire_.)
(BELINDA _and_ TREMAYNE _move up into the inner room by the refectory table and embrace, their backs to_ BAXTER. DELIA _and_ DEVENISH _are by the swing doors. They also embrace, their backs to_ BAXTER.)
(_Referring to his book_.) I have been collecting some most valuable information on (looking round at them and sitting in the arm-chair and continuing to read) lunacy in the--er--county of Devonshire.
(_The_ CURTAIN _falls_.)
FIRST PLAYS
by A. A. Milne
TO MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION WURZEL-FLUMMERY THE LUCKY ONE THE BOY COMES HOME BELINDA THE RED FEATHERS
INTRODUCTION
These five plays were written, in the order in which they appear now, during the years 1916 and 1917. They would hardly have been written had it not been for the war, although only one of them is concerned with that subject. To his other responsibilities the Kaiser now adds this volume.
For these plays were not the work of a professional writer, but the recreation of a (temporary) professional soldier. Play-writing is a luxury to a journalist, as insidious as golf and much more expensive in time and money. When an article is written, the financial reward (and we may as well live as not) is a matter of certainty. A novelist, too, even if he is not in "the front rank"-- but I never heard of one who wasn't--can at least be sure of publication. But when a play is written, there is no certainty of anything save disillusionment.
To write a play, then, while I was a journalist seemed to me a depraved proceeding, almost as bad as going to Lord's in the morning. I thought I could write one (we all think we can), but I could not afford so unpromising a gamble. But once in the Army the case was altered. No duty now urged me to write. My job was soldiering, and my spare time was my own affair. Other subalterns played bridge and golf; that was one way of amusing oneself. Another way was--why not?--to write plays.
So we began with Wurzel-Flummery. I say "we," because another is mixed up in this business even more seriously than the Kaiser. She wrote; I dictated. And if a particularly fine evening drew us out for a walk along the byways--where there was no saluting, and one could smoke a pipe without shocking the Duke of Cambridge--then it was to discuss the last scene and to wonder what would happen in the next. We did not estimate the money or publicity which might come from this new venture; there has never been any serious thought of making money by my bridge-playing, nor desire for publicity when I am trying to play golf. But secretly, of course, we hoped. It was that which made it so much more exciting than any other game.
Our hopes were realized to the following extent:
Wurzel-Flummery was produced by Mr. Dion Boucicault at the New Theatre in April, 1917. It was originally written in three acts, in which form it was shown to one or two managers. At the beginning of 1917 I was offered the chance of production in a triple bill if I cut it down into a two-act play. To cut even a line is painful, but to cut thirty pages of one's first comedy, slaughtering whole characters on the way, has at least a certain morbid fascination. It appeared, therefore, in two acts; and one kindly critic embarrassed us by saying that a lesser artist would have written it in three acts, and most of the other critics annoyed us by saying that a greater artist would have written it in one act. However, I amused myself some months later by slaying another character--the office-boy, no less--thereby getting it down to one act, and was surprised to find that the one-act version was, after all, the best... At least I think it is. ... At any rate, that is the version I am printing here; but, as can be imagined, I am rather tired of the whole business by now, and I am beginning to wonder if anyone ever did take the name of Wurzel-Flummery at all. Probably the whole thing is an invention.
The Lucky One was doomed from the start with a name like that. And the girl marries the wrong man. I see no hope of its being produced. But if any critic wishes to endear himself to me (though I don't see why he should) he will agree with me that it is the best play of the five.
The Boy Comes Home was produced by Mr. Owen Nares at the Victoria Palace in September, 1918, introduced afterwards into Hallo, America! at the Palace, and played by Mr. Godfrey Tearle at the Coliseum in the following April.
Belinda was produced by Mr. Dion Boucicault at the New Theatre in April, 1918, with Miss Irene Vanbrugh in the name-part. Miss Ethel Barrymore played it in New York. I hope it will read pleasantly, but I am quite incapable of judging it, for every speech of Belinda's comes to me now in Miss Vanbrugh's voice.
The Red Feathers has not yet been produced, one reason being (perhaps) that it has never been offered to anybody. It is difficult enough to find a manager, but when one has also to get hold of a composer, the business of production becomes terrifying. I suppose there is a way of negotiating these difficulties, but I suspect that most of the fun to be got out of this operetta we have already had in writing it.
In conclusion, I must distress my friend J. M. Barrie (who gave me a first chance) by acknowledging my great debt to him. It would be more polite to leave him out of it, but I cannot let him off. After all, these are only "First Plays." I can always hope that "Last Plays" will be more worthy of that early encouragement.
A. A. MILNE.
WURTZEL-FLUMMERY
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
CHARACTERS.
ROBERT CRAWSHAW, M.P. MARGARET CRAWSHAW (his wife). VIOLA CRAWSHAW (his daughter). RICHARD