MRS. TULLY. Is it letting on you were to be dead?

MRS. FALLON. Dead or alive, let you stop Kitty Keary, your wife, from bringing my man away with her to America!

JACK SMITH. It is what I think, the wits are gone astray on the whole of you. What would my wife want bringing Bartley Fallon to America?

MRS. FALLON. To leave yourself, and to get quit of you she wants, Jack Smith, and to bring him away from myself. That's what the two of them had settled together.

JACK SMITH. I'll break the head of any man that says that! Who is it says it? [To TIM CASEY.] Was it you said it? [To SHAWN EARLY.] Was it you?

ALL TOGETHER [backing and shaking their heads]. It wasn't I said it!

JACK SMITH. Tell me the name of any man that said it!

ALL TOGETHER [pointing to BARTLEY]. It was him that said it!

JACK SMITH. Let me at him till I break his head! [BARTLEY backs in terror. Neighbors hold JACK SMITH back.]

JACK SMITH [trying to free himself]. Let me at him! Isn't he the pleasant sort of a scarecrow for any woman to be crossing the ocean with! It's back from the docks of New York he'd be turned [trying to rush at him again], with a lie in his mouth and treachery in his heart, and another man's wife by his side, and he passing her off as his own! Let me at him, can't you? [Makes another rush but is held back.]

MAGISTRATE [pointing to JACK SMITH]. Policeman, put the handcuffs on this man. I see it all now. A case of false impersonation, a conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice. There was a case in the Andaman Islands, a murderer of the Mopsa tribe, a religious enthusiast

POLICEMAN. So he might be, too.

MAGISTRATE. We must take both these men to the scene of the murder. We must confront them with the body of the real Jack Smith.

JACK SMITH. I'll break the head of any man that will find my dead body!

MAGISTRATE. I'll call more help from the barracks. [Blows POLICEMAN'S whistle.]

BARTLEY. It is what I am thinking, if myself and Jack Smith are put together in the one cell for the night, the handcuffs will be taken off him, and his hands will be free, and murder will be done that time surely!

MAGISTRATE. Come on! [They turn to the right.]

THE SWAN SONG1

BY

ANTON TCHEKHOFF

TRANSLATED BY

MARIAN FELL

1 Reprinted from the volume "Plays" by permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner's Sons.

For permission to perform this play application must be made to the author in care of the publisher.

Of all modern writers perhaps Tchekhoff is the dearest to the Russian people. Though he was the grandchild of a serf, he was graduated in medicine from the University of Moscow in 1884, and afterwards worked strenuously at both medicine and literature. He died in 1904 in a little village of the Black Forest, Germany.

Unlike most of the great Russian writers, Tchekhoff couples his sadness with the smiles of a great humorist; but his sympathy with suffering brings all of his laughter near to tears. The "Sea Gull" tells of his own experience as a young author. "The Cherry Orchard," his last play, redolent of country life and Russian character in general, caused him to be fêted as one of Russia's greatest dramatists. "The Swan Song," heavy with the author's power of analysis, is one of his innumerable glimpses into the lives of Russian characters.

THE SWAN SONG

CHARACTERS

VASILI SVIETLOVIDOFF, a comedian, 68 years old. NIKITA IVANITCH, a prompter, an old man.

Το

The scene is laid on the stage of a country theatre, at night, after the play. To the right a row of rough, unpainted doors leading into the dressing-rooms. the left and in the background the stage is encumbered with all sorts of rubbish. In the middle of the stage is an overturned stool.

SVIETLOVIDOFF [with a candle in his hand, comes out of a dressing-room and laughs]. Well, well, this is funny! Here's a good joke! I fell asleep in my dressing-room when the play was over, and there I was calmly snoring after everybody else had left the theatre. Ah! I'm a foolish old man, a poor old dodderer! I have been drinking again, and so I fell asleep in there, sitting up. That was clever! Good for you, old boy! [Calls.] Yegorka! Petrushka! Where the devil are you? Petrushka! The scoundrels must be asleep, and an earthquake wouldn't wake them now! Yegorka! [Picks up the stool, sits down, and puts the candle on the floor.] Not a sound! Only echoes answer me. I gave Yegorka and Petrushka each a tip to-day, and now they have disappeared without leaving a trace behind them. The rascals have gone off and have probably locked up the theatre. [Turns his head about.]