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The Balancer of The Universe
A Drama of the Race Conflict in Four Acts by B. Harrison Peyton
CHARACTERS
Mauricio Crispin, a dancer from the
Argentine, age 25 years.
La Corusca, Senora Crispin, his Ar
gentine mother, age 42.
Agnes, their American guest and
dancing pupil, age 22.
Mrs. Vincent Widener, a woman
journalist, age 35.
Period: Present. Place: Provl
dencia, a city on the Pacific coast.
(Continued from Las- Week.)
Agnes: It’s impossible! Will you
never realize love between us is hope
less—lik a fruit grown on a forbidden
tree and cankered with a dreadful
worm that embitters and feeds noon
the soul ?
Crispin: My love, you’ll go back
to little Godfrey, but if you don’t re
turn to me, I swear, regardless of con
sequences, I’ll come and take you from
your father—and make you my own
before all the world!
Agnes: No, senor, never! How
can vou expect me to ever forsake
my father, who needs me so immense
ly more than you in anv event con
ceivably can ?
Crispin: But. Agnes, what is youi
father? A detestable fire-eater, born
and bred in an atmosphere infected
with race prejudice and hatred as with
a pestilence! He has breathed and
fed his nature on the contagium of
malevolence until his very heart’s be
come inflamed with it, his very flesh
rad bone impregnated with inhuman
ity! Girl, think how his mind’s dis
eased, overpowered by that bioital
madness which makes the complex
ions of darker fellow-beings as in
tolerable as in the scarlet of the
matador’s cloak to the infuriate bull!
Oh! tell me you won’t renounce me
for that rancorous fiend, who may
prove to have practical}’ killed his
own poor little son!
Agnes: But, senor, what if our
darling should be taken from us—
Godfrey who’s the pride of my fa
ther’s eyes and like a tendril wound
about his heart, and then I besides
desert father? Why. I’ve no doubt
that would actualy prove a deathblow
to him.
Crispin: You speak of death, the
simplest thing in creation. Oh, deal
A gnes! what of the love that has
weded your soul and mine? Have
f.i'th in my word, any death would
be better for us both than that I
should permit you, merely in ordei
that the guilty may escape just suf
lering. to smother your love alive
there in your bosom through all the
lest of your life. But, ah! no, heart
of me, I won’t permit that—even
though you’re plainly afraid to break
with your father—afraid ’twill pro
voke him to harm you in some way!
Agnes: Senor, I fear nothing less
than rny conscience!
Crispin: Agnes, it’s conscience'
conscience—always conscience! Ask
your conscience about the bitter fate
that awaits me, if all the sweet, se
ductive hopes you’ve kindled for mi
are to be shattered to the winds likp
embers of a dying fire!
Agnes: Senor, won’t you acknowl
edge the truth ? Though I do, yet
I have no right to love you.
Crispin: To love nobly, dear Agnes,
is a self-vindicating right. I beg you,
give a thought to amazing and daunt
less Cynthia Lilburn. Mrs, Widener
and I were discussing her no longer
ago than tonight. You gentle, self
denying girl! is there need to prompt
you to remembrance of how, for a
supreme love, she defied the despot
ism of hereditary pride, artificial bar
riers and social traditions—tore her
self free from the friends who now
despise her—free from everything
that an ilodized woman of her elevated
breeding would ordinarily cling to as
being indispensable?
Agnes: I he fetters that bound Cyn
thia Lilbum to her home, senor, were
mere golden threads; my fetters are
irremovable—like cumbrous and for
midable steel!
Crispen: Mere golden threads! Was
it nothing then, that that dashing girl
sacrificed on the altar of her heart,
senorita, the venerable blood of the
Lilbums, her attachment to her birth
land, all of her title to the mighty pre
rogatives of her race?
Agnes: There was between her and
her grandfather no bond of a jointly
beloved child; nor was the governor,
senor, dependent on her as my father
is of me.
Crispin: Indeed, no. Rogerio No
brega alone was dependent on her, as I
now am on you! Yet how much less
than what Cynthia Lilbum renounced
is this which I implore of you! In
the holy name of love and that of eter
nal justice, amora preciosa, I ask, how
can you refuse me?
Agnes: Oh! if you only wouldn’t
keep on goading me to desperation!
forcing me to shut the gates of sym
pathy upon you, in order to defend
the position I know—I know—is right!
Crispin: Bless me! I say again,
Agnes, you shan’t make a filial sacri
fice of yourself in that way! I won’t
I let you! Agnes, do you hear me?
! You shan’t! 1 won't let you!
Agnes: Holy Redeemer! Senor
: how you talk as though 1 already be
! long to you!
Crispin: You’re mine. Agnes! by a
bond stronger than the blood, by a
light G od-given and absolute, by thf
right of love!—love!
Agnes: No, no! Ml never, 1 car
i never—never belong to you! Hee<
me! It’s useless! Catch me in youi
arms again—and I’il scream—screan
j from the racking pain of it!
Crispin: My girl, sooner or late)
; you’ll realize what love has given nol
1 even a father can withhold! Why no1
••ight now consent to become my wife?
Agnes: Your wife! Eternal God!
I Senor Crispin still talks of my be
! coming his wife!
Crispin: For Heaevn’s sake, Agnes!
Agnes: Senor, I give you answer
However limited the sense in whirl;
you always have intended the term
should apply, my father, the plain fact
j is—father—father’s become—a man
; iac—his mind really deranged! That
was the purpose of Mrs. Widenerb
visit here this evening—to break tc
me the dreadful news of my—!
Crispin: You mean. Agnes, they
; the doctors have examined into thr
| condition of his mind?
Agnes: N’o; that is, no one except
| ing—! Senor, oh! don’t you mind! I
j tell you simply, never as long as my
father lives, can I regard myself as
i being anything to you—never any
thing but my father’s daughter, thr
venomous flekh of his flesh, the sell
-prung of himsrif—the child of a
I lunatic and a worker of iniquities!
best it fall short of our understand
ing, let me repeat it, senor! Neve:
j can I be anything to you but ill-atcdly
part with that enemy who killed you:
beloved friend, Bell—oh! of a truth
his very own by training, by th<
■ brand upon both him and me, by thr
affinity that runs in the blood!
Crispin: Oh, Agnes, my soul! why
won’t you believe in the all-embrac
; ing strength of my love? Haven’!
I assured you. you’re to me of all
j womankind, the most irreproachable—
J the one incomparable?
Agnes: You keep telling me that;
it makes me laugh! Senor, I practice
i upon you the grossest deception. I be
guile you into a friendship that’s like
presenting a smiling, but poisoned cup
to the lips. And what do you do?
You open wide to me your heart, with
all its overflowing compassion and
goodwill. So in *he end 1 requite all
your tenderness—with gall and worm
wood, and call voij a dupe! Of that
contemptible art, cruel, perf'dious
wicked. I’m guilty; guilty! Oh
heavens and earth! now vou say I’m
of a'l womankind, the most irre
proachable, actual!'- the one incom
parable: It’s really too ludicrous, too
ridiculous, for anything in the world,
and, oh! how it makes me laugh!
Crispin: But your happiness,
Agnes? I alone possess the power to
give you happiness! For mercy’s sake,
0 dearest! .my own! my poor, woe
begone love! don’t cast away every
hope of happiness for a father who
can only bring upon you greater and
greater misery!
Agnes; Though I’ve victimized you
! y the scurviest imposture, that’s not
the worst I’ve done, senor! You’d
despise me, revile me, just as you do
my lunatic father, if you knew all
I’ve done, knew the grand total of
the wickedness I’ve committed along
with my father! The most irreproach
able of all womankind! Oh! how
thoroughly ridiculous! And what im
becility!
Crispin: Agnes! Agnes! 0 Holy
Intercesor, save her from herself!
(END SCENE III.)
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The Hundredfold Recompense.
Corusca: Ha! I perceive faithful
Andrew has brought your luggage
downstairs in readiness for the ex
pressman; and, senorita querida, I
can well understand your feverish im
patience to stall on your long jour
ney.
Agnes: Ah! senora, it's such sick
ening disappointment to learn that
a train departed for Shadow City only
an hour ago and there’ll not be an
other for an hour and a half yet!
Corusca: Don’t fret, amora mia.
Relieve me, I had no end of trouble
in my effort to get telephone con
i nection with the railway station; but,
j as Mauricio has told you, it happened
I already was contemplating a trip
l down tow'n in the vicinity, in order
to purchase one or two necessary ar
ticles—and thus it became convenient
for me to make personal inquiry at
the station concerning the trains.
Nevertheless, as regards delay, it’.
alw’ays so. Whenever one attempts
haste, everythings tends to detain one.
Agnes: Of course, good senora;
yet if Godfrey—our Godfrey—if—be
fore I reach home!
Corusca: Oh, I’m going to show
you something! Agnes, La Corusca
has her share of feminine vanity; she
is solicitious to know whether you find
her' newest gewgaw as pleasing to
your taste as her desire is it should
be?
Agnes: Ob! the diamonds and
rubies, senora! senora! how they flash
with dancing fire! Glories that be!
they’re my favorite gems! Hut, sen
ora, do please try on the bracelet, do!
Coiusca: No; rather let me see the
happy effect of gold against your
milkwhite skin.
Agnes: Senora, a lent' you the
i least afraid I shall run off to my
home with this treasure? What,
senora! you bought it only this even
! ing? Why, the watch’s running on
exact time!
Corusca: Nina mia, you’ve en
deared and solemnized to Maurieio
and to me, every minute and hour and
day of your sojourn in Providencia!
Oil. the memory of you shall be like
an inexhaustible fountain set flowing
within us, and, hija, with that meek
fortitude which is yours, refresh and
I strengthen us whenever in the future
we encounter the c ragged way of
trouble! Then, .is it not fitting we
should give you some small token of
our esteem? Hija dulce, the brace
let is yours—a gift from Maurieio and
1 myself.
Agnes: Mine—you—Senor Crispin
' —he—?
Corusca: Agnes querida, my sole
hope i the watch ever will be a faith-1’
ful remembrancer of the transient
hours we’ve spent together.
Agnes: Words are—to convey my
thankfulness—me'e words! Madre
Corusca! Madre Corusca! If I just
knew a way to—oh! to express what
I feci—if I just—!
Corusca: There! Now, I’m re
compensed a hundredfold! But, nina
mia, I fancy I saw you admiring this
cloak. Twas presented to Mauricio
by a gallant friend, a grandee in Ara
gon, a famous patron of la corrida de
toros.
Agnes: Senora, small wonder, then,
it gives el senor a dignity so superb—
such a jaunty air.
Corusca: Is the impression due to
the cloak, hija pequena, or Mauricifi’s
Argentine birth and breeding? Only
ponder the vital consequence of one’s
birthplace. It even determines one’s
religion. Bom in some remote coun
tries of Islam, one supplicates God by
the name of Allah, and reverences
Mohammed as the only true prophet.
Bom in central Africa, one’s a sav
age, perhaps a cannibal, a prostrater
before the sun or graven idols, a crea
ture! Alma mia! but how it makes
me think of Anthony! Had he been
born where Mauricio—oh! had the
fraternal Argentine been his birth
land, who—?
Crispin: Madre, I believe Andrew
is seeking you, and wishes to speak
to you on a matter of great urgency.
Corusca: Is he? Thanks. Your
pardon, querida; I’ll return in a few
minutes.
(KND SCENE I.)
(To be Continued.)
Customer—Where will I find the
candelabra ?
New Floorman—All canned goods ?
are in the grocery department on the
fourth floor.—Boston Transcript.
mw—111 II 11 III 11 mum If_
1 HE MONARCH CAFE
C. It. TRAMBLE, Proprietor
I A nice, clean up-to-date cafe for ladies and gentlemen. First class
service. Private dining rooms. Your patronage solicited and ap
preciated.
107 South 11th Street. Tyler 4295-J.
A es Turned Slp'ot* it Daily
i > /£4&llAdii\ wJ§§S?i
c
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