In literature a drama genre deserves your attention. Dramas are usually called plays. Every person is made up of two parts: good and evil. Due to life circumstances, the human reveals one or another side of his nature. In drama we can see the full range of emotions : it can be love, jealousy, hatred, fear, etc. The best drama books are full of dialogue. This type of drama is one of the oldest forms of storytelling and has existed almost since the beginning of humanity. Drama genre - these are events that involve a lot of people. People most often suffer in this genre, because they are selfish. People always think to themselves first, they want have a benefit.Dear Brutus by Sir James Matthew Barrie (parable of the sower read online .TXT) 📖
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an instinct in this house.
DEARTH. Well, it doesn't matter. Here is the situation; my daughter and I have just met in the wood a poor woman famishing for want of food. We were as happy as grigs ourselves, and the sight of her distress rather cut us up. Can you give me something for her? Why are you looking so startled? (Seeing the remains of the cake.) May I have this?
(A shrinking movement from one of them draws his attention, and he recognises in her the woman of whom he has been speaking. He sees her in fine clothing and he grows stern.)
I feel I can't be mistaken; it was you I met in the wood? Have you been playing some trick on me? (To the others.) It was for her I wanted the food.
ALICE (her hand guarding the place where his gift lies). Have you come to take hack the money you gave me?
DEARTH. Your dress! You were almost in rags when I saw you outside.
ALICE (frightened as she discovers how she is now attired). I don't ... understand ...
COADE (gravely enough). For that matter, Dearth, I daresay you were different in the wood, too.
(DEARTH sees his own clothing.)
DEARTH. What...!
ALICE (frightened). Where am I? (To Mrs. Coade.) I seem to know you ... do I?
MRS. COADE (motherly). Yes, you do; hold my hand, and you will soon remember all about it.
JOANNA. I am afraid, Mr. Dearth, it is harder for you than for the rest of us.
PURDIE (looking away). I wish I could help you, but I can't; I am a rotter.
MABEL. We are awfully sorry. Don't you remember ... Midsummer Eve?
DEARTH (controlling himself). Midsummer Eve? This room. Yes, this room ... You was it you? ... were going out to look for something ... The tree of knowledge, wasn't it? Somebody wanted me to go, too ... Who was that? A lady, I think ... Why did she ask me to go? What was I doing here? I was smoking a cigar ... I laid it down, there ... (He finds the cigar.) Who was the lady?
ALICE (feebly). Something about a second chance.
MRS. COADE. Yes, you poor dear, you thought you could make so much of it.
DEARTH. A lady who didn't like me-- (With conviction.) She had good reasons, too--but what were they...?
ALICE. A little old man! He did it. What did he do?
(The hammer is raised.)
DEARTH. I am ... it is coming back--I am not the man I thought myself.
ALICE. I am not Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. Who am I?
DEARTH (staring at her). You were that lady.
ALICE. It is you--my husband!
(She is overcome.)
MRS. COADE. My dear, you are much better off, so far as I can see, than if you were Mrs. Finch-Fallowe.
ALICE (with passionate knowledge). Yes, yes indeed! (Generously.) But he isn't.
DEARTH. Alice! ... I--(He tries to smile.) I didn't know you when I was in the wood with Margaret. She ... she ... Margaret... (The hammer falls.)
O my God!
(He buries his face in his hands.)
ALICE. I wish--I wish--
(She presses his shoulder fiercely and then stalks out by the door.)
PURDIE (to LOB, after a time). You old ruffian.
DEARTH. No, I am rather fond of him, our lonely, friendly little host. Lob, I thank thee for that hour.
(The seedy-looking fellow passes from the scene.)
COADE. Did you see that his hand is shaking again?
PURDIE. The watery eye has come back.
JOANNA. And yet they are both quite nice people.
PURDIE (finding the tragedy of it). We are all quite nice people.
MABEL. If she were not such a savage!
PURDIE. I daresay there is nothing the matter with her except that she would always choose the wrong man, good man or bad man, but the wrong man for her.
COADE. We can't change.
MABEL. Jack says the brave ones can.
JOANNA. 'The ones with the thin bright faces.'
MABEL. Then there is hope for you and me, Jack.
PURDIE (ignobly). I don't expect so.
JOANNA (wandering about the room, like one renewing acquaintance with it after returning from a journey). Hadn't we better go to bed? It must be getting late.
PURDIE. Hold on to bed! (They all brighten.)
MATEY (entering). Breakfast is quite ready.
(They exclaim.)
LADY CAROLINE. My watch has stopped.
JOANNA. And mine. Just as well perhaps!
MABEL. There is a smell of coffee.
(The gloom continues to lift.)
COADE. Come along, Coady; I do hope you have not been tiring your foot.
MRS. COADE. I shall give it a good rest to-morrow, dear.
MATEY. I have given your egg six minutes, ma'am.
(They set forth once more upon the eternal round. The curious JOANNA remains behind.)
JOANNA. A strange experiment, Matey; does it ever have any permanent effect?
MATEY (on whom it has had none). So far as I know, not often, miss; but, I believe, once in a while.
(There is hope in this for the brave ones. If we could wait long enough we might see the DEARTHS breasting their way into the light.)
_He_ could tell you.
(The elusive person thus referred to kicks responsively, meaning perhaps that none of the others will change till there is a tap from another hammer. But when MATEY goes to rout him from his chair he is no longer there. His disappearance is no shock to MATEY, who shrugs his shoulders and opens the windows to let in the glory of a summer morning. The garden has returned, and our queer little hero is busy at work among his flowers. A lark is rising.)
The End
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DEARTH. Well, it doesn't matter. Here is the situation; my daughter and I have just met in the wood a poor woman famishing for want of food. We were as happy as grigs ourselves, and the sight of her distress rather cut us up. Can you give me something for her? Why are you looking so startled? (Seeing the remains of the cake.) May I have this?
(A shrinking movement from one of them draws his attention, and he recognises in her the woman of whom he has been speaking. He sees her in fine clothing and he grows stern.)
I feel I can't be mistaken; it was you I met in the wood? Have you been playing some trick on me? (To the others.) It was for her I wanted the food.
ALICE (her hand guarding the place where his gift lies). Have you come to take hack the money you gave me?
DEARTH. Your dress! You were almost in rags when I saw you outside.
ALICE (frightened as she discovers how she is now attired). I don't ... understand ...
COADE (gravely enough). For that matter, Dearth, I daresay you were different in the wood, too.
(DEARTH sees his own clothing.)
DEARTH. What...!
ALICE (frightened). Where am I? (To Mrs. Coade.) I seem to know you ... do I?
MRS. COADE (motherly). Yes, you do; hold my hand, and you will soon remember all about it.
JOANNA. I am afraid, Mr. Dearth, it is harder for you than for the rest of us.
PURDIE (looking away). I wish I could help you, but I can't; I am a rotter.
MABEL. We are awfully sorry. Don't you remember ... Midsummer Eve?
DEARTH (controlling himself). Midsummer Eve? This room. Yes, this room ... You was it you? ... were going out to look for something ... The tree of knowledge, wasn't it? Somebody wanted me to go, too ... Who was that? A lady, I think ... Why did she ask me to go? What was I doing here? I was smoking a cigar ... I laid it down, there ... (He finds the cigar.) Who was the lady?
ALICE (feebly). Something about a second chance.
MRS. COADE. Yes, you poor dear, you thought you could make so much of it.
DEARTH. A lady who didn't like me-- (With conviction.) She had good reasons, too--but what were they...?
ALICE. A little old man! He did it. What did he do?
(The hammer is raised.)
DEARTH. I am ... it is coming back--I am not the man I thought myself.
ALICE. I am not Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. Who am I?
DEARTH (staring at her). You were that lady.
ALICE. It is you--my husband!
(She is overcome.)
MRS. COADE. My dear, you are much better off, so far as I can see, than if you were Mrs. Finch-Fallowe.
ALICE (with passionate knowledge). Yes, yes indeed! (Generously.) But he isn't.
DEARTH. Alice! ... I--(He tries to smile.) I didn't know you when I was in the wood with Margaret. She ... she ... Margaret... (The hammer falls.)
O my God!
(He buries his face in his hands.)
ALICE. I wish--I wish--
(She presses his shoulder fiercely and then stalks out by the door.)
PURDIE (to LOB, after a time). You old ruffian.
DEARTH. No, I am rather fond of him, our lonely, friendly little host. Lob, I thank thee for that hour.
(The seedy-looking fellow passes from the scene.)
COADE. Did you see that his hand is shaking again?
PURDIE. The watery eye has come back.
JOANNA. And yet they are both quite nice people.
PURDIE (finding the tragedy of it). We are all quite nice people.
MABEL. If she were not such a savage!
PURDIE. I daresay there is nothing the matter with her except that she would always choose the wrong man, good man or bad man, but the wrong man for her.
COADE. We can't change.
MABEL. Jack says the brave ones can.
JOANNA. 'The ones with the thin bright faces.'
MABEL. Then there is hope for you and me, Jack.
PURDIE (ignobly). I don't expect so.
JOANNA (wandering about the room, like one renewing acquaintance with it after returning from a journey). Hadn't we better go to bed? It must be getting late.
PURDIE. Hold on to bed! (They all brighten.)
MATEY (entering). Breakfast is quite ready.
(They exclaim.)
LADY CAROLINE. My watch has stopped.
JOANNA. And mine. Just as well perhaps!
MABEL. There is a smell of coffee.
(The gloom continues to lift.)
COADE. Come along, Coady; I do hope you have not been tiring your foot.
MRS. COADE. I shall give it a good rest to-morrow, dear.
MATEY. I have given your egg six minutes, ma'am.
(They set forth once more upon the eternal round. The curious JOANNA remains behind.)
JOANNA. A strange experiment, Matey; does it ever have any permanent effect?
MATEY (on whom it has had none). So far as I know, not often, miss; but, I believe, once in a while.
(There is hope in this for the brave ones. If we could wait long enough we might see the DEARTHS breasting their way into the light.)
_He_ could tell you.
(The elusive person thus referred to kicks responsively, meaning perhaps that none of the others will change till there is a tap from another hammer. But when MATEY goes to rout him from his chair he is no longer there. His disappearance is no shock to MATEY, who shrugs his shoulders and opens the windows to let in the glory of a summer morning. The garden has returned, and our queer little hero is busy at work among his flowers. A lark is rising.)
The End
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Publication Date: 08-05-2010
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