The Project Gutenberg eBook, Conquest, by Marie Carmichael Stopes

CONQUEST
OR
A PIECE OF JADE

A New Play in Three Acts by
Marie C. Stopes
D.Sc., Ph.D., F.R.S.Litt., etc.

1/- net

Copyright 1917 by DR. MARIE C. STOPES

New York
SAMUEL FRENCH
Publisher
28-30 West 38th Street

London
SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd.
26 Southampton Street
Strand

1917

Leatherhead, Surrey,
England.

Dear Mr. Delightfulest-Manager-in-the-World,—

I am sending you this play printed instead of type-written because I think you will find it much easier to slip into your pocket and read, and also because I don’t know your address, and printed books have a way of finding people without being addressed which typescripts have not yet learnt. So instead of sending my play round, in what people tell me is the usual way, to lots and lots of managers in typescript and wasting ever so much valuable time while they don’t read it, I am sending it to you direct, and hope you will like it. When you read it you will find that there is still another reason why I am glad to see it in print.

First let me have just one word in your ear, please: don’t look to see how many pages long it is, and (reckoning “a page a minute”) say it is too short to fill an evening, for I ought to tell you it is a full-length play but the printer is war-economising and has printed it all on fewer pages than he would have done in the days of Paper, Peace and Plenty long ago.

While I was writing the leading part I pictured one of our finest actresses in it, and she has read it and says the play is “simply splendid”: if you want her to take the part I will tell you her name and address, but she is such an angel she will forgive you if some one you love better seems to you to be the heroine.

Yours sincerely,
Marie C. Stopes.

Registered Copyright by Marie C. Stopes.

The Copyright of Conquest is the sole property of the author, to whom application should be made for a license to produce, translate, place on the cinematograph or use in any other way.

Addressing: Dr. Marie Stopes,
Craigvara, Leatherhead,
Surrey, England.

“CONQUEST,” or “A PIECE OF JADE.”

A New Play in Three Acts, by
MARIE C. STOPES.

Time: 1915. Place: New Zealand and London.

Act I.
An Out-station on the Hyde’s Sheep Farm,
New Zealand.
Afternoon.

Act II.
The Hyde’s Homestead, New Zealand.
Morning.
Three or four months elapse between Acts I. and II.

Act III.
The Duchess of Rainshire’s Drawing-room, London.
Evening.
About two months elapse between Acts II. and III.

“CONQUEST,” or “A PIECE OF JADE.”

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

In the order of their appearance:

• First Shepherd.
• Second Shepherd.
• Gordon Hyde, New Zealand Sheep Farmer.
• Roto, an old Maori.
• Nora Lee, A New Zealand Girl.
• Loveday Lewisham, Nora’s Cousin, out from England.
• Robert Hyde, New Zealand Sheep Farmer, Gordon’s Brother.
• John Varlie alias The Rev Dr. Chapman.
• Recruiting Officer.
• The Duchess of Rainshire.
• A Cabinet Minister.
• Smithers.

Also (Without words):

• Two (or Perhaps Three) Young Men in New Zealand Khaki.
• Ladies and Gentlemen, Guests at the Duchess’ Evening Party.
• Maid, Footman’s substitute in uniform.
• Two Plain Clothes Officers.
• One or Two Collie Dogs.
• Sheep—One, or More, if convenient.

“CONQUEST,”
OR
“A PIECE OF JADE.”

A New Play in Three Acts by
MARIE C. STOPES.

Act I.

The Scene is set in the hills of the sheep-raising part of the S. Island of New Zealand.

The back-cloth is painted with fine rocky and wooded hills and lakes, rather like Scotland but with a clearer, bluer sky and keener atmosphere.

The stage represents a temporary camp in a clearing, for the mustering and marking of sheep. There are boulders and groups of luxuriant trees. The grass is trampled under foot. Right centre is an open fire with cooking utensils. Back right the corner of sheep enclosures. On LEFT is a temporary cover, part canvas, part tree branches.

Two Shepherds are DISCOVERED near the fire, binding up the leg of a sheep. The collie dogs prowl and lie around.

1st Shep.

(An old, wiry man.) A fine muster, this year.

2nd Shep.

(A dour man, about 45 years old.) Aye.

1st Shep.

The best season I mind for ten years. (Working with sheep’s leg.) Plague take it, it’s slipped. Lie still you bleatin’ fule ye! And sheep s’d fetch a guid price this year and all.

2nd Shep.

Aye.

1st Shep.

I’m thinkin’ these sheep will be making the fortune of the young masters, but they do nought but make work for us.

2nd Shep.

(Spits.) Aye.

1st Shep.

The young masters must get an extra man, we never had to handle so many sheep.

2nd Shep.

Men’ll be scarce now.

1st Shep.

They will that. Do you hear they recruitin’ fellows are scourin’ the country for likely lads?

2nd Shep.

Aye.

1st Shep.

When did you know it?

2nd Shep.

’Bout a week ago.

1st Shep.

(Reproachfully.) And ye kept a tale like that from me—and me that glad of any bit of news in this lonesomeness. I call that nasty of ye.

(2nd Shepherd is silent; spits slowly.)

I call that nasty of ye.

2nd Shep.

Aye.

1st Shep.

And what else do ye know ye might tell me if—if, well, if I had a wee drop of something to loosen your lips—(Pulls out a flask and a tin cup and pours a small drink—the dogs come up.) Down Jock—get out Scottie. What news have ye for this, eh?

(2nd Shepherd reaches out his hand.)

1st Shep.

Na-na. News first. It mayn’t be worth it all.

2nd Shep.

The new young lady from England is comin’ this afternoon.

1st Shep.

What young lady? Why don’t I know a’ these wild doin’s? What’s she like. Who’s she stayin’ with?

2nd Shep.

Old man Lee and his daughter.

1st Shep.

Have you seen her? What’s she like?

2nd Shep.

(Stretching out his hand for his drink.) I’ve earned it.

1st Shep.

(Drawing it away.) Ye’ll tell me what she’s like first.

2nd Shep.

A flower. You give it to me now.

1st Shep.

(Hands it grudgingly.) Well, perhaps you desarve it. That’s news.

(He slowly fills a kettle out of a pail of water which he observes with annoyance is nearly empty and puts kettle on the fire.)

For why is she coming here?

2nd Shep.

London city was killin’ her. The doctor ordered six months of healin’ air.

1st Shep.

If she’s as bonny as you say it’ll be joyful doings for the young masters. Lasses are scarce here.

2nd Shep.

There’s Nora Lee.

1st Shep.

Well, fule. She’s only one. We’ve got two young masters, let alone the other young chaps hereby.

2nd Shep.

Mister Gordon’s lame. What’d he do with a girl?

1st Shep.

Only a bit lame, only a wee bit lame, like—and he’s got a rare brain—look at the exchange o’ reapers and such like he rigged up for the freeholders around here. He’s just chock full o’ ideas and always dreamin’ and readin’ and talkin’ about ’em. That’s what girls like. He’ll be as good in a girl’s eyes as his brother—better I shouldn’t wonder.

2nd Shep.

He’s no good for the war.

1st Shep.

And what matters that? Am I any good for the war? Down Scottie, down will ye! Yourself is not much good for the war, and yet a pretty girl or two don’t come amiss to your eyes even though they never looked at ye. War! You’re crazy on the war. Why man it’s more’n ten thousand miles off and it’s a game for the young chaps anyway.

2nd Shep.

It’s no game.

1st Shep.

It’ll raise the price of sheep. That’s one thing I’m thinking. And we have more sheep on this station to-day than there have been in my memory. Aren’t there now?

2nd Shep.

Aye.

(Gordon Hyde comes slowly on from right wing, a fishing rod and bag of fish on his shoulder. He is slight, bronzed, and with a fine noble face. He limps, his leg dragging. 1st Shepherd takes up a tin of salmon and slowly begins to prepare to open it.)

Gordon.

There’s a good haul for supper, lads. (Throws down fish.)

(The Shepherds move a little from the fire respectfully, but don’t touch their hats or get up.)

1st Shep.

Aye, aye, Boss.

(He is just about to insert the tin opener, Gordon suddenly notices him.)

Gordon.

What have you got there?

1st Shep.

A tin of salmon, Boss.

Gordon.

Stop opening it then. Use that fresh fish instead. Tinned stuff is extra valuable nowadays. It can be sent to the front. We have time to think out here on these hills. I have thought till my head reeled and not yet found out what big things we can do for our country, but the little duties are clear enough, and one of ’em is not to be wasteful.

2nd Shep.

Aye, Boss. That’s true.

(1st Shepherd shamefacedly lays down the tin.)

1st Shep.

Eh, Boss, the sheep’s fine this year.

Gordon.

What is the full tally?

1st Shep.

Mr. Robert hasn’t come in yet, but from what I’ve heard, it looks to be the best year on this station.

Gordon.

Fine. We can’t have too much wool and mutton this year.

(Roto comes on from left second Entrance, somewhat staggering under two pails of water. He is an old Maori, with straight black hair turning white, and a few tatoo marks on his face. He has high cheek bones, a broad nose, and full lips, but is light brown in colour and very intelligent and fine in expression. He wears a short pair of pants, and a piece of fine matting on his shoulders, his scanty shirt is open at the neck and a string with a carved green jade charm is partly seen.)

Roto.

Here is the water for Miss Nora’s tea, Boss.

1st Shep.

(To 2nd Shep.) She has an healthier thirst than yours.

Gordon.

(Busying himself smoothing a seat of fern.) She’ll be tired after that long ride.

1st Shep.

The other lady’ll be worse. She’s not native born like Miss Nora.

Gordon.

(Quickly.) Her fine lady cousin! She’s coming, of course. I’d forgotten! Here, you chaps, get that place straight. (Indicates the shelter, which shows a disorder of blankets, etc.) What is this sheep doing here?

1st Shep.

Her leg broke when she tried to push through over a rocky bit. I have tethered her down. The young lady may like to pat her or tie a ribbon round her neck perhaps.

Gordon.

(Grinning.) You old fool. All right. Leave her. Go and straighten things up a bit in the shelter. ’Tis like a pig-stye.

(A clatter of horses hoofs, shouts of “Whoa there, Nellie. Here we are,” etc., is heard without. Two Girls with riding hats and whips ENTER front right wing.

Nora Lee is dainty with light hair and a rather sunburnt face and neck. She has pale lashes; she is petite and pretty and rather self-assured. She advances laughing.)

Nora.

Here we are!

Gordon.

(Springing up and limping hurriedly to meet her, taking off his hat.) Oh, Nora, I’m glad you’ve come.

Nora.

Where is Robert?

Gordon.

Out with the men. He’ll be back by tea-time.

(Loveday stands a little back looking round and waiting. She is taller than Nora; a splendidly built, dark-haired and beautiful woman, with a clear skin, deep searching eyes, regular features. She walks like a Queen and has a deep-toned, but soft and thrilling voice. She is all in white.)

Nora.

This is my cousin, Loveday Lewisham, Gordon.

(Loveday smiles, comes forward and shakes hands with Gordon.)

You know I told you all about her, and how she broke down with war-work in England and is going to make her home with us for six months. You know.

Gordon.

I do know. (Smiles.) I wish you welcome, Miss Lewisham.

Nora.

Loveday.

Gordon.

Yes. This is a friendly country. My name is Gordon.

Loveday.

How beautiful that view is. And what a ride we had. Three hours of fairyland!

Nora.

Oh, that’s nothing! Let us show her everything. Where’s old Roto? She wants to see a Maori. And where is Robert?

Gordon.

I’ll coo-ee for Robert.

(His coo-ee is long and penetrating so that it re-echoes.)

And there is Roto. Hi. Come along, Roto. Miss Nora wants to show you off.

(Roto advances from shelter, which is now in better order, the blankets piled up, etc.)

Roto.

(Grinning.) Here, Miss Nora.

Nora.

Good-day, Roto. See, Loveday. This is a real live Maori. Nothing wonderful after all!

Loveday.

Oh, how do you do?

Roto.

Finely, Miss.

Loveday.

(Smiling winningly.) You are not nearly so terrifying as I expected!

Roto.

(Grinning, pleased.) Maoris not allowed to be terrible now, Miss.

Loveday.

That is a shame. I’d so much rather be a savage myself. What do you do now they won’t let you be a savage any more?

Roto.

Help with the sheep and cook.

Loveday.

(Stooping forward and taking hold of Roto’s green jade charm hanging on its long string round his neck.) And what is that queer thing you wear round your neck?

Nora.

(Hastily.) A jade charm—these natives often wear them. They are very superstitious.

Gordon.

The Maoris believe in all sorts of charms and magic and spirits. They have a legend about these forests, for instance, that a goddess of wisdom lives in these hill tops and is a tree by day and a white woman at night.

Loveday.

(Her eyes sparkling). Have you seen her?

Gordon.

Not yet—but sometimes—

Loveday.

But sometimes—go on—do tell me—

Gordon.

Sometimes after a day alone in these forests, at sunset, when the heavens seem opening, one half imagines Wisdom is just behind one, slipping between the trees—I (hesitates).

Loveday.

What an enchanting country. Tell me—

(Sounds of arrival disturb them. Robert Hyde enters. He is like Gordon, but much sturdier. He is very strong and manly, with a more sensual and less spiritual face. A very good fellow.)

Nora.

Here’s Robert. Robert! I have brought Loveday. This is Loveday Lewisham. She arrived last week, when you were out here. She would come so as to see a camp before you break it up. She wants to see everything.

(Robert and Loveday shake hands. Robert is evidently much impressed.)

Robert.

I’ll show her. (Goes over towards fire, and points to sheep enclosures at back.) Do you see those? That’s just the beginning of them. We have a rare good lot of sheep this year.

Loveday.

I am glad. We need everything good we can get this year.

Robert.

We need everything we can get every year.

Loveday.

But this year specially. There are so many people in England who need extra feeding and clothing. Your sheep will be useful.

Robert.

I hadn’t thought of that.

Gordon.

Wool and mutton! Both necessaries. Of course we’ve all thought of that, Robert.

Nora.

Loveday is simply obsessed with the idea of the war, and says we ought not to have any luxuries.

2nd Shep.

Aye. She’s right.

Loveday.

What is that sheep doing? (Goes toward the lame sheep by the fire.)

Robert.

I dunno. Sick, I expect. Here, Roto. What is that sheep here for?

Roto.

Leg broke, Boss.

Loveday.

Oh, isn’t it thirsty? Look how its tongue hangs out. Let me give it some water.

Robert.

(Smiling.) It doesn’t want water.

Loveday.

Are sheep like rabbits? Don’t they need water?

Roto.

(Laughing.) Rabbits!

Robert.

(Smiling.) Don’t you speak of rabbits to a New Zealander! Rabbits are the very devil here! We poison ’em, we shoot ’em, we trap ’em, we set dogs on ’em, we set stoats on to ’em, we imported weasels to catch ’em, we sent to Europe for ferrets to hike ’em out, we breed cats to catch ’em, we wire ’em in, and burn ’em out, and set poisoned corn over their runs, and kill ’em by thousands—but millions of ’em spring up out of the very earth and sometimes threaten to starve out the sheep, they clear the grass out. Rabbits! For the Lord’s sake don’t speak affectionately of rabbits.

Loveday.

(Laughing mischievously.) Darling little furry things with nice white tails!

Robert.

(Groans.) But you’re joking! Come and I’ll show you why we sheep farmers hate ’em like poison.

(They stroll off together. Roto takes the empty pail and goes off. Nora and Gordon are left together.)

Gordon.

(Eagerly going, with a possessive air toward Nora.) Oh, it is wonderful to see you again!

Nora.

(Pertly, teasing him and evidently enjoying it.) Women are scarce here, I know, but there’s nothing else wonderful about me.

Gordon.

For me you are the dream of God which stirs the woodland, you are—(noting her unresponsive face). I say, do sit down. You’ll be tired after that ride. Let me take your whip. Take your gloves off. Those little hands must ache after holding the reins for three hours.

Nora.

Pooh! I like having the reins in my own hands.

Gordon.

And so you should, they are such clever little hands.

Nora.

(Yawns affectedly.) Gordon, you’re a romantic goose.

Gordon.

I’m not. Everyone thinks you are wonderful, ask—

Nora.

Robert doesn’t think I’m at all wonderful.

Gordon.

Of course he does.

Nora.

Then why doesn’t he tell me?

Gordon.

He—he’s shy. But besides, though all men may think such things about a girl, they only say them when they love her.

Nora.

(Quizzically.) So you love me?

Gordon.

(Tenderly.) Is it a hundred or a hundred and one times I have told you so?

Nora.

And what have I answered a hundred or a hundred and one times?

Gordon.