THOROLF. Thord. Pah. You're not worth it. THORD. O Thorolf. You shall have — I'll give you my money. All of it THOROLF. Pah. Vigdis, my dear, where are they? VIGDIS. They've gone, Thorolf. We can slip away to Broadfirth now. It's quite safe. Come. Come. We'll go together, my friend. [They turn to go.] THORD. I'll change my religion. CURTAIN THE POST OFFICE 1 BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE 1 Reprinted by permission of the author and by special arrangement with The Macmillan Company, Publishers. For permission to perform this play application must be made to the author in care of the publisher. The whole literary world rejoiced with Tagore's native India when in 1913 he received the Nobel prize for “idealistic literature.” Tagore, born in 1861, has had back of him generations of intellectuality, and has lived a life of ease, yet his loving and lovable soul has made him a spokesman for world-wide humanity. There has been with him both opportunity and inclination to develop and adorn every department of literature with idealism, imagery, beauty, and a spiritual zeal. These qualities of style have been expressed in a hundred or more volumes of poems, essays, and stories ebullient with joy of life, the love of truth, and reverence for humanity. There is in Tagore's thought a kinship to Burns' unconcern for rank, and Whitman's distinction of common things. Blake taught the meaning in the Christian thought of spirituality in the child; and other poets, having a deep sense of the divinity of childhood, have reverentially expressed it in many memorable lines. But the very soul of Tagore bears fruit in "The Post Office," a simple little play full of imagery carrying lofty thought. THE POST OFFICE DRAMATIS PERSONA MADHAV AMAL, his adopted child SUDHA, a little flower girl DAIRYMAN WATCHMAN GAFFER VILLAGE HEADMAN, a bully KING'S HERALD ROYAL PHYSICIAN ACT I [Madhav's House] MADHAV. What a state I am in! nothing mattered; I felt so free. Before he came, But now that he has come, goodness knows from where, my heart is filled with his dear self, and my home will be no home to me when he leaves. Doctor, do you think he - PHYSICIAN. If there's life in his fate, then he will live long. But what the medical scriptures say, it seems MADHAV. Great heavens, what? PHYSICIAN. The scriptures have it: "Bile or palsey, cold or gout spring all alike." MADHAV. Oh, get along, don't fling your scriptures at me; you only make me more anxious; tell me what I can do. PHYSICIAN [taking snuff]. The patient needs the most scrupulous care. MADHAV. That's true; but tell me how. PHYSICIAN. I have already mentioned, on no account must he be let out of doors. MADHAV. Poor child, it is very hard to keep him indoors all day long. PHYSICIAN. What else can you do? The autumn sun and the damp are both very bad for the little fellow for the scriptures have it: "In wheezing, swoon or in nervous fret, In jaundice or leaden eyes MADHAV. Never mind the scriptures, please. Eh, then we must shut the poor thing up. Is there no other method? PHYSICIAN. None at all: for, "In the wind and in the sun MADHAV. What will your "in this and in that" do for me now? Why don't you let them alone and come straight to the point? What's to be done then? Your system is very, very hard for the poor boy; and he is so quiet too with all his pain and sickness. It tears my heart to see him wince, as he takes your medicine. PHYSICIAN. The more he winces, the surer is the effect. That's why the sage Chyabana observes: "In medicine as in good advices, the least palatable ones are the truest." Ah, well! I must be trotting now. [Exit.] [GAFFER enters] |