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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS
BOSTON

THE LIGHT

An Educational Pageant

By
Catherine T. Bryce

Assistant Superintendent of Schools
Cleveland, Ohio

Boston
The Atlantic Monthly Press
1920

Copyright, 1920, by
The Atlantic Monthly Press, Inc.

[This pageant was prepared for presentation
at the Cleveland Convention of the National
Education Association, February, 1920.]

MUSIC

Incidental music may be introduced at appropriate places throughout the pageant. The following suggestions may prove helpful:—

Glimmer I. During a moment’s tableau just before curtain falls: strain of a dirge.

Glimmer II. To accompany girl’s humming.

Glimmer III. Indian music for curtain.

Glimmer IV. Music throughout.

Glimmer V. Martial music.

Glimmer VI. Accompaniment for minstrel.

Glimmer VII. Solemn, followed by patriotic, music during time curtain is raised.

Glimmer IX. Patriotic music as curtain falls.

Glimmer XI. As indicated in the text.

Final—Star-Spangled Banner.

PROLOGUE

THE VISION

Characters

Any City: a boy.

Education: a girl, taller than the boy.

Any City is dressed like a modern business man. Education is dressed in classic robes, hair in loose Grecian knot with gold fillet. She carries a lamp shaped like the old-fashioned one so frequently used to illustrate Education.

Any City is studying the proposed tax levy for the year. He is seated in an easy chair.

Any City (impatiently). H’m. It just can’t be done! It is out of the question to raise so much money by taxation this year. This list of appropriations must be cut. But where? What can be cut without raising a row? (Looks over the list.) Half a million dollars for a new bridge over the canal at 7th St. There’s a perfectly good bridge at 9th St., and another at 3rd St. But the railroad and marketmen will strike if we don’t build this new bridge. To keep peace, I’ll have to stand by that appropriation. (Pointing to different items on the paper.) That must not be cut; nor that; nor that; nor that! H’m! Three million dollars for the extension of Grand View Avenue. Really, that’s not necessary. That road is being opened only for the accommodation of some rich men who take advantage of my city opportunities, but live in the suburbs and evade paying any taxes to me. But their financial influence is so great, I dare not cut this appropriation. (Continues study of list.) No, not that; nor that; nor that! Ha! here is the school appropriation: three and a half million dollars. I hate to do it, but I’ll have to cut here. Of course, it means curtailing the kindergarten, deferring the building of the much needed new elementary school in the 3rd Ward, the abolition of summer schools, the serious handicapping of junior and senior high school work, the overcrowding of classes, and no hope of increase in teachers’ salaries. Oh! I hate to do it! But I must! It’s positively the only place I can cut without bringing about a strike or at least a kick. But—oh—Taxation is Vexation!

With the paper still in his hand, he leans back in his chair, relaxes as one who has solved a weighty question satisfactorily, and is soon as fast asleep as his neighbors, the other cities of the land.

Enter Education, holding her lamp aloft. She glides slowly across the stage to the sleeper and holds her lamp above him. He awakes slowly, stretching his arms, and in so doing drops the paper to the floor.

Any City (sleepily). A light! (Suddenly perceiving Education, he sits forward in his chair.) And you! Who are you?

Education. The bearer of the light.

Any City. What is your name?

Education. Since the beginning of time I have borne many names. Men have called me Experience, Tradition, Discipline, Invention, Culture, Ambition, Knowledge, Training, Learning, Teaching, Instruction, Development, Information, and many other names, and I answer to all. But I am more commonly called Education.

Any City starts up, snatches up the tax budget, and holds it behind his back.

Any City. Why are you here?

Education. Because I have need of you; and because you have need of me. Here, hold my light for a moment.

Any City holds the light carefully in both hands, dropping his paper in order to do so. The light grows somewhat dim.

Education. The light still burns. It does not go out in your keeping. By that symbol, I know that by my light you may still choose the right path, that you may follow the path in confidence, that you may arrive in safety at the journey’s end. Come with me for a while into the shadows, and watch my light glimmering through the ages. Me you shall not always see in person, but wherever my light burns, know that I am surely there. Come.

As Education speaks the first “Come,” she takes the lamp from Any City and holds it aloft. At the second word “Come,” she takes his hand and leads him behind the curtain. Before leaving, Any City picks up his paper, which he carries as far from Education as he can.

Curtain is raised.

First Glimmer: Experience

The light of Education is hanging above. The background for this and the next two pictures may be the same—a forest scene.

Characters

• Strong Arm, the Father
• Fleet Foot, the Daughter
• Rash Daring, the Son

Costumes: Flesh-colored tights and skins of animals.

Rash Daring is writhing on the ground in agony. Fleet Foot runs toward him with water in her cupped hands. On the ground lies some brightly colored fruit.

Fleet Foot. Here, my brother, drink the pure water. It may allay your suffering. Oh, that ye had heeded my words, my brother!

She kneels beside Rash Daring, and tries to force him to drink. Then smooths his brow with her moistened fingers. Suddenly Rash Daring’s body jerks spasmodically; then is still.

Fleet Foot (seizing his hands in terror). Look at me! Speak to me, my brother! (Cries aloud.) O father! father!

Strong Arm rushes in, takes in picture at a glance, and kneeling beside Fleet Foot, examines the body of the boy.

Fleet Foot. What shall I do, father? Shall I fetch more water?

Strong Arm. Nay, little daughter. There is nothing to be done. Your brother is dead.

Fleet Foot throws herself down, weeping bitterly.

Strong Arm touches her head gently with his hand.

Strong Arm. Tears are but idle. Sit up, my daughter, and tell me what caused the death of my son.

Fleet Foot (controlling herself by a great effort). Far away in the forest we found a small tree covered with beautiful fruit. See, father, there is some of it at your feet. (Strong Arm picks up a fruit and examines it, while Fleet Foot continues her story.) Rash Daring wanted to eat some of the fruit as soon as we found it; but I persuaded him to gather it and carry it home for you to see, for I feared it was poisonous because, with many monkeys in the neighboring trees, not one fruit on the small tree had been bitten or plucked. On our way home I ran ahead of my brother. Suddenly he cried aloud. I hastened back and found him lying on the ground in great pain. He told me that he had eaten some of the fruit and suffered greatly. I ran to the brook for water, but he could not drink it. Then I called you.

Strong Arm. Yes, the fruit is poison. Would that we could purchase our experience at a smaller cost! O my son! my son!

As Strong Arm speaks the sentence, “Would that we could purchase,” etc., the light burns brightly.

Curtain

As the curtain falls, Education, bearing her lamp and leading Any City, steps before it.

Any City. But, Education, I do not understand! Your light burned aloft; but there was no school!

Education. No school? You have visited the hardest school in the world, the school ruled by the sternest teacher in the world—the School of Experience. Fortunate are they who learn from the experience of the past and the experience of others.

As Education speaks, her light is cast for a moment on the tax paper. Any City glances at the paper and tries to conceal it. With a beckoning gesture Education leads him again behind the curtain.

Second Glimmer: Tradition

Characters

Old Woman, and several maidens

They are seated in an almost closed circle, each grinding grain between two flat stones. Above them hangs the light. They are dressed in Oriental costume, the bright colors of which serve as a background to the gray stones. They grind with a rhythmic movement, humming a monotonous tune. Gradually one of the maidens stops and gazes dreamily toward the light.

Old Woman. Get thee to thy work, maiden. Thinkst thou idle fingers and dreaming eyes will grind the corn?

Maiden (with hand on upper stone as if ready to resume work, but with eyes toward the light, which glows brighter as she speaks). I was but wondering if there be not some better way to grind the corn.

Old Woman. Better way to grind the corn, she says! She means easier way—an easier way for her own idle self! Shame upon thee, thou lazy maiden! Shame upon thee, thou presumptuous maiden! Thinkst thou that in thy foolish mind lies the wisdom of the earth? Had there been a better way, would not our fathers, the wise men of the land, have discovered that way and handed it down to us? Have not the women of our country from generation to generation ground their corn in this way? If this way were good enough for them, it is good enough for us! Thinkst thou that thou art better or wiser than they? I have no patience with thy dreams, born of thine own laziness! Get to work, maiden, and let me hear no more of thy better ways! Better ways, forsooth!

While the Old Woman speaks, the light burns dimmer. The other maidens stop their work to listen, all showing their approval of her words, and their condemnation of her who dared to dream of better things. As the Old Woman finishes, they resume their task and their monotonous tune.

Curtain

Education and Any City appear before the curtain.

Any City. Good for the Old Woman! I believe in sticking to old well-tried things. So many people believe that just because a thing is new, it is the only good thing in the world.

Education. But a greater number believe that just because a thing is old, it is sacredly all sufficient. If everybody had thought with you and the Old Woman, how would the world be fed to-day? Think you those primitive stone-grinders rival the great flour mills of the present day? How many hand-mills think you would be necessary to grind the wheat of our vast plains?

Any City. Of course, I don’t mean that I want things as they were long ago. But there are some people who are never satisfied. They are continually wanting things different.

Education. No, you don’t want things to remain as they were. You want them to stay as they are. That is all the Old Woman wanted in her time. She didn’t want to go back to the earliest days when the grain was ground only by the teeth of the consumer. Had everyone followed blindly the tradition of his own time, we should still be at the very beginning. Look you to the justly dissatisfied man for all that has made for progress in the world. Saw you not how my light brightened at the words of the maiden? Remember that, far as we have journeyed in the past, so far and perhaps still farther lies the way of the future along the Highway of Progress. Be not you bound too tightly by the bonds of old tradition.

As Education speaks the last sentence, her light plays for a moment on Any City’s paper. With a guilty air he tries to conceal it, as he follows Education behind the curtain.

Third Glimmer: Invention

Characters

Hiawatha and a group of Indians

A deerskin with picture-writing on it (see text below) is in the centre of the background. Over the writing burns the light. Hiawatha stands before the deerskin instructing his people, who are grouped about him. During his lesson they show signs of eager approval.[1]

Hiawatha.

Lo, how all things fade and perish!

From the memory of the old men

Pass away the great traditions,

The achievements of the warriors,

The adventures of the hunters,

All the wisdom of the Medas,

All the craft of the Wabenos,

All the marvelous dreams and visions

Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets.

Great men die and are forgotten,

Wise men speak; their words of wisdom

Perish in the ears that hear them,

Do not reach the generations

That, as yet unborn, are waiting

In the great, mysterious darkness

Of the speechless days that shall be.

On the grave-posts of our fathers

Are no signs, no figures painted;

Who are in these graves we know not,

Only know they are our fathers.

Face to face we speak together,

But we cannot speak when absent,

Cannot send our voices from us

To the friends that dwell afar off.

Turns to deerskin, and points with an arrow to different symbols, as he names them.

On the white skin of the reindeer

I have painted shapes and figures,

Wonderful and mystic figures,

And each figure has a meaning,

Each some word or thought suggesteth.

Gitche Manito, the Mighty,

He, the Master of Life, I’ve painted

As an egg, with points projecting

To the four winds of the heavens.

Everywhere is the Great Spirit,

Is the meaning of this symbol.

Mitche Manito, the Mighty,

He, the dreadful Spirit of Evil,

As a serpent I’ve depicted.

Very crafty, very cunning,

Is the creeping Spirit of Evil,

Is the meaning of this symbol.

Life and Death I draw as circles;

Life is white, but Death is darkened.

For the earth I draw a straight line,

For the sky a bow above it;

White the space between for daytime,

Filled with little stars for night-time;

On the left a point for sunrise,

On the top a point for noontide,

And for rain and cloudy weather

Waving lines descending from it.

Footprints pointing toward a wigwam

Are a sign of invitation,

Are a sign of guests assembling.

Thus, my people, I would teach you

All the mysteries of painting,

All the art of Picture-Writing.

Go ye then and mark your grave-posts

Each one with its household symbol.

And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,

The Wabenos, the Magicians,

And the Medicine-Men, the Medas,

Paint upon the bark and deerskin

Figures for the songs ye chant us

For each song a separate symbol,

Figures mystical and awful,

Figures strange and brightly colored;

Let each figure have its meaning.

Thus shall live the great traditions,

The achievements of the warriors,

The adventures of the hunters,

All the wisdom of the wise men,

All the craft of the magicians,

All the visions of the prophets.

Curtain

As Education and Any City appear before the curtain, Any City is protesting in sputtering confusion.

Any City. But—but—I—I can’t for the life of me understand why your light burned so brightly over those crude drawings!

Education. Crude they were, I grant, but they meant much to me. Through them was passed on the results of my work for ages—all that I had taught the people through experience and tradition, all that they had achieved, their strivings, their conquests, their beliefs, and their dreams. Invention, originality, self-expression, call it what you will, is the gateway to Progress. Honor to the man who is not bound by old precedent, who is not swayed by might or favor, who establishes a new procedure based on right and justice. (Light directed to paper.)

Any City (in confusion, as he conceals paper). I thought that Education is training and discipline!

Education. Those are two of my attributes. Come with me and you shall see some early lessons in training and discipline.

Education and Any City withdraw from before the curtain.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The following has been adapted slightly from Hiawatha.

Fourth Glimmer: Training

Young men and maidens in ancient Greek costume at exercises for the training of the body. The lamp hangs above.

Curtain lowered for one minute.

Fifth Glimmer: Discipline

As the curtain is raised, boys representing Roman soldiers march in. Under the command of their leader, they go through some military evolutions. At last the order corresponding to our “Attention!” is given. Every man stands like a statue.

A Messenger, wildly excited, rushes in from right of stage.

Messenger. Fire! The whole city burns! Your homes and all that you hold dear are in danger!

Rushes off at left.

During the alarm not one man moves. Not a quiver betrays their feelings. Officer gives command and leads them off at double-quick toward fire at right.

Curtain

Education and Any City appear before the curtain.

Any City. Magnificent! Now I know the source of that “Glory that was Greece,” and that “Grandeur that was Rome!” Surely never since those olden days have you seen such grace of body, such discipline of mind!

Education. Yes, I have seen little children at play who were as graceful as any trained dancer of old Greece; and have you forgotten our American lads that went down on the Tuscania? Surely the discipline and courage of those untried boys, who met death with a song on their lips, were equal even to that of the trained and tried legions of Imperial Rome.

Any City. But surely you do not deprecate such training and such discipline?

Education. Nay, far from it! It is only when such training and discipline are given but to certain classes that I tremble. Come with me and I will show you how the trained, the selected classes had power over their brother men until—But wait; you shall see for yourself. Come.

Exit Education and Any City.

Sixth Glimmer: A First Lesson in Democracy

A room in a feudal castle in England. A Man and a Maiden dressed as servants of the time (1215) are standing near an open casket. The Man holds an illuminated book in his hand. The Maiden is peering over his shoulder at the beautiful decorations. At her feet lies her distaff. The light burns dimly above. Some humble stools, and two high-backed chairs covered with gorgeous tapestry are the only furnishings.

Maiden. Oh, how lovely! I could look at the gay colors for years and never tire!

Man. And I would give years of my life if I could but read the writing in the book.

Maiden (clutching his arm in terror). Oh, say not so! The very walls have ears! If it were known that thou didst entertain an ambition so high above thy station, it would mean, at least, the stocks.

Man. I care not. Why should this book and all the learning of the sages be closed to me because I was born in a hovel, and opened to my master just because he chanced to be born in a castle? I tell thee it is not fair! I—

Enter the Lady Edyth. The Maiden, who first sees her, covers the Man’s mouth with her hand, so staying him and preventing the Lady Edyth’s hearing his words. She, however, sees the open casket, and the precious book in the hands of the servant, and sweeps angrily forward.

Lady Edyth. How now, sirrah; what dost thou with the precious book?

Man (humbly). I but looked at it, my lady.

Lady Edyth (snatching it from his hand). Thou “but looked at it”! Thinkst thou such a book was made for a boor like thee to look at, let alone to handle with thy great rude hands? How durst thou even open the casket? I have a mind to have thee flogged.

Maiden (falling on her knees). Nay, my lady, spare him, I pray thee! The fault is wholly mine. I opened the casket. I placed the book in his hands. I—

Man (stepping forward). Say not another word. Thou shalt not sacrifice thyself for me. Heed her not, my lady. I alone am to blame.

Lady Edyth looks from one to the other and her face softens. She replaces the book in the casket. Then turns again to the servants.

Lady Edyth. Methinks ye are both to blame; an’ ye transgress again, I shall see that proper punishment is meted out to both. Pick up thy distaff, wench, and get thee to thy spinning. (A knock at the door is heard.) And thou, sirrah, open the door.

The Maiden picks up her distaff and, seating herself on one of the stools, begins to spin. Lady Edyth, with one hand on the casket, stands looking toward the door as the Man opens it and admits Baron Olditch, a gentleman of the times, splendidly attired. Following the Baron comes a Minstrel, dressed in the garb of his profession. In his belt is thrust a scroll. Across his shoulder is slung his instrument—a mandolin, harp, or any stringed instrument common to the times.

Lady Edyth (extending her hand). Thou art doubly welcome, baron: I looked for no guest this stormy morning, and I am weary of mine own company.

Baron (bending over Lady Edyth’s hand). In thy gentle presence, I heed not the rude blasts of the storm; in the light of thine eyes, I know not, nor care, whether the sun be shining in full glory or hidden behind a cloud. As for thy weariness, I can speedily dispel it. I have brought with me a minstrel, with a new ballad that has set the whole town of London agog. If thou wilt be seated, he will begin his lay without further ado.

Lady Edyth graciously bows, and the Baron leads her with great ceremony to her chair. The Maiden steps quickly forward to place a footstool under her mistress’s feet. The smiling Baron bends again over Lady Edyth’s hand and takes a step backward. In doing so he treads on the Maiden’s distaff, which she has dropped, and nearly loses his balance. The smile leaves his face. In a rage he kicks the distaff away toward the Minstrel.

Baron. Out of my way, clumsy stupid wench!

He raises his hand, and the kneeling Maiden at her mistress’s feet cowers as if expecting a blow. The Minstrel and the Man each take a step forward, the Man with clenched hands; but the Baron carries his hand to his head and strokes his hair.

Lady Edyth. Forgive the maid, baron. She is a good wench and truly skillful.

Baron. There is nothing, there is nobody I would not forgive an’ thou asked it, my fair lady. (Turning to Maiden.) And now, stupid one, up and fetch a stool for the minstrel.

The Maiden obeys, while the Baron seats himself beside Lady Edyth.

Baron (turning to the Minstrel). And now, sir, we are ready to hear thy ballad.

The Minstrel advances to the seat the Maiden has placed for him. As he passes her, with a low bow, he hands her the distaff which he has picked from the floor.

Lady Edyth (aside to the Baron). Marry, but thy minstrel has right courtly manners!

Baron (aside to Lady Edyth). He comes here direct from the court.

Minstrel (standing before Lady Edyth, bowing very low). I am at thy service, my lady.

Lady Edyth. Talk not of service, O minstrel; it is pleasure thou bringest, I know. Most welcome art thou, for dearly love I all ballads. Pray be seated and favor us with thy rhymes.

With another low bow the Minstrel seats himself on the stool placed before Lady Edyth’s and the Baron’s chairs. While he unslings his instrument and makes ready, the Maiden seals herself and resumes her spinning. The Man watches the Minstrel with eager, longing eyes. As the lay is chanted, he is visibly affected. He forgets his work, he forgets his station, and, as if lured by the rhyme, creeps nearer and nearer. Lady Edyth and the Baron are unconscious of the effect of the minstrelsy on the Man as the backs of their chairs are toward his position.

Minstrel. I will recite for you, my lord and lady, the lay of Thomas Rhymer.

“True Thomas lay on grassy bank,

And he beheld a lady gay,

A lady that was brisk and bold,

Came riding o’er the fernie brae.

“Her skirt was o’ the grass-green silk,

Her mantle o’ the velvet fine;

And on the locks o’ her horse’s mane

Hung fifty silver bells and nine.

“True Thomas he took off his cap,

And bowèd low down on his knee:

‘All hail thou, mighty Queen of Heaven

For thy peer on earth could never be.’

“‘Oh no, oh no, True Thomas,’ she said,

‘That name does not belong to me;

I am but the queen of fair Elfland,

That am hither come to visit thee.

“‘Now, ye must go with me,’ she said;

‘True Thomas, ye must go with me;

And ye must serve me seven years,

Through weal or woe as chance may be.’

“She turned about her milk-white steed;

She took True Thomas up behind,

And aye, whene’er her bridle rang,

The steed flew swifter than the wind.

“O they rode on, and farther on,

The steed flew swifter than the wind;

Until they reached a desert wide,

And living land was left behind.

“‘Now light ye down, True Thomas,’ she said,

‘And lean your head upon my knee,

Abide ye there a little space,

And I will show you wonders three.

“‘O see ye not yon narrow road,

So thick beset with thorns and briers?

That is the Path of Righteousness,

Though after it but few inquires.

“‘And see ye not you braid, braid road,

That lies across the lily leven?

That is the path of wickedness,

Though some call it the “Road to Heaven.”

“‘And see ye not yon bonny road,

That winds about the fernie brae?

That is the Road to fair Elfland,

Where thou and I must go this day.

“‘But, Thomas, ye must hold your tongue,

Whatever ye may hear or see;

For speak ye word in Elfin Land,

Ye’ll ne’er get back to your ain countrie.’

“O they rode on, and farther on,

And they waded rivers above the knee;

And they saw neither sun nor moon,

But they heard the roaring of the sea.

“Syne they came to a garden green,

And she pulled an apple from a tree:

‘Take this for thy wages, True Thomas;

It will give thee tongue that can never lee.’

“He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,

And a pair of shoes of velvet green,

And till seven years were past and gone

True Thomas on earth was never seen.”

By the time the Minstrel has reached the last stanza of the ballad, the Man has advanced until he now stands directly back of Lady Edyth’s chair.

Man. Bravo! Bravo! Oh, what would not I be willing to give if only I might write—or even read—such lays as that!

The Baron and Lady Edyth are startled at hearing a voice so close.

Baron. (Starting to his feet in a rage, he makes a mad rush for the servant, belabors him, and throws him to the floor.) How darest thou comport thyself thus in the presence of thy betters! Write lays! read lays! What is the world coming to, forsooth, when every lazy churl aspires to lift himself from the station in which he was born!

He advances threateningly toward the Man, but the Maiden rushes between and, falling on her knees, raises her hands in pleading. The Baron stops. Lady Edyth leaves her chair and advances toward the Baron, as if to intercede, but he does not see her.

Baron. Out of my way, wench! I will have him flayed alive for his insolence! I will have him thrown into prison! I will—

Minstrel (interrupting). Thou shalt do him no ill.

Lady Edyth and the Maiden, still on her knees, and the Man, who has raised himself until he reclines on an elbow, look to the Minstrel with various expressions on their faces: Lady Edyth’s look is one of wonder, and fear for the consequence of his words; the servants’ faces express fear and a glimmer of hope.

Baron (astounded). What? What? By what right darest thou thus address me?

Minstrel. By the right granted by the King. Thou art far from London, and so methinks have not heard the news. Over a fortnight ago King John signed the Magna Charta.