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UNMADE'
IN HEAVEN

GAMALIEL BRADFORD



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Boston Public Library

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UNMADE IN HEAVEN



UNMADE IN HEAVEN



A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS



BY
GAMALIEL BRADFORD

Author of "Lee, the American, "A
Naturalist of Souls," etc.



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NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

1917






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Copyright, 1917
By DODD. mead AND COMPANY, Inc.



d



TO

CHARLES H. HOOKER

IN

MEMORY OF
MANY PLEASANT DRAMATIC



HOURS !

i



PREFACE

" Unmade in Heaven " was not written as an argu-
ment for or against the Roman Catholic faith. The
subject simply presented itself to me as one of great
human and dramatic significance and susceptible of
powerful theatrical treatment. Whether its full ef-
fect is brought out by the bare and direct method of
handling that I have adopted is doubtful; but I am
certain that treated by a capable dramatist it could
not fail to move an audience deeply. It is true that
the average Protestant American playgoer has not
much interest in the monastic life nor in the priestly
vocation. The idea of certainly breaking a girl's
heart for the sake of doubtfully benefiting humanity
through the Church will offend most Protestant girls
as well as Protestant men. They may be offended,
but I do not see how they can fail to be interested,
if the problem is presented in the shape of actual
flesh and blood.

For myself, I love and honour the Catholic Church,
with certain reservations which it is not necessary
to discuss here. I believe that the greatest need in
American life today is the need of God. I myself feel
utterly unable to suggest an}^ way of satisfying that

< vii >



PREFACE

need and I do not see how others who have been
brought up as I have can do much better. The
need can be supplied in some respects more fully by
the Catholic Church than by any other known agency
and for that reason the power and resources of the
Church well deserve our study.

While, as I said, " Unmade in Heaven " has no po-
lemical purpose whatever, I have been pleased to find
that the analysis of spiritual experience given in the
play is confirmed by those who have gone through
similar struggles. One case especially interested me.
Some years ago I wrote a portrait of General Long-
street and took occasion to make some mildly ironi-
cal comments upon his conversion m old age to the
Catholic faith. My very gentle raillery was di-
rected at the General not at the Church. It caused
pious Catholics a good deal of indignation, however.
Among others a literary correspondent, who had
formerly written me with great kindness, expressed
himself as grieved and pained in the highest degree.
He had thought me tolerant and broadly sympathetic
and now here I was speaking of things I did not un-
derstand in the terms of the bigoted partisan press.
" Never again," he writes, " use such language con-
cerning things and persons Catholic, until you have
given some very serious study to the subject, which
you cannot have done."

-C viii :}-



PREFACE

In reply I hastened at once to explain that I had
meant no insult whatever to the Church. At the
same time I sent my correspondent a copy of " Un-
made in Heaven," telling him that while he might
interpret the spirit of the play favourably or unfa-
vourably to his creed, I thought it would at least
prove to him that I was not quite so ignorant on the
subject as he had supposed. In a few days I received
an answer conveying a recantation more complete
even than I had expected : " Now, what shall I say
of * Unmade in Heaven'? First it is pro-Catholic.
Second, where did you get your remarkably accurate
Catholic point of view, and atmosphere? How any
one, not of the Faith, could hav£ written that play
is a marvel. How wide I was of the mark in saying
in my letter that you should study Catholic things,
when you must have already done so to an unusual
extent." The writer then goes on to urge that the
play should be produced and asks my permission to
make some effort to that end. I of course acceded
and that was the last I heard of the matter. The
failure to secure production was natural enough, but
my correspondent's utter silence suggests that, when
the question was brought before higher authorities,
who had less recent zeal and a wider knowledge of
the Amerrcan public, the strong Catholic tendency
of the play was regarded as somewhat dubious.

-C ix >



PREFACE

This, however, should rather increase than diminish
its general interest. The object of the drama is
incontestably first to make people feel. If it makes
them think, after they get through feeling, I do not
know that any harm is done. What they think is of
less consequence, provided one has taken even a little
step in the enormous task of making them think at
all.

Gamaliel Bradford.
Wellesley Hills, Mass.



<^>



UNMADE IN HEAVEN



CHARACTERS



Mrs. Wade
Eleanor Wade
Mr. Hardinge



Francis Hardinge
Ned Wilde
Father Nelson



Time: the present. Place: Mrs. Waders house in
Boston,



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

ACT I

Drawing-room of Mrs. Wade's suite on Common-
wealth Avenue — most comfortably, not to say
luxuriously furnislved — 'pictures^ rare foreign
bric-a-brac, etc,

Mrs. Wade, Mr. Hardinge sitting talking as at
afternoon call — she is a woman approaching
fifty, full, not uncomely figure; red-brown hair;
sensitive, intelligent, responsive features; appre-
ciative of the suffering of life and of its humour — -
he is a little older, slight, short, dark; pointed,
silken beard, just greying; eminently a gentleman,
inclined to cynicism, hut in no xvay discourteously
or bitterly.

They begin as if in rather heated argument,

MRS. WADE

But, my dear Mr. Hardinge —

MR. HARDINGE

But, my dear Mrs. Wade — [Both laugh at
their vehemence.'\

< 1 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

MR. HARDINGE i

i

It's absurd, you know, at our time of life to be|
quarrelling about religion. Once we were — or musti
I say, I was ? — lovers. |

MRS. WADE

Say we, if you like. •

MR. HARDINGE \

Thank you. Then you marry — and I marry.;
And your husband is taken from you — and my wife.;
And you go and live abroad with your daughter;
And she makes you a Catholic. !

MRS. WADE

Oh!

MR. HARDINGE \

\

Well, have it the other way round. And you
bring your Catholicism — and hers — home here
with you. And I can't get used to it. But then,
why should I? You are my old friend, just the
same. And I am yours — not to be parted from
you by any whims or fancies that you may have seeni
fit to pick up in a fossilized, far-away world. !

MRS. WADE

Just SO. I came back from that fossilized far-i
away world — beautiful in its fossility, I call it — ^j
just to see my old friends. And — it wouldn't be

-C 2 > I



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

quite polite to call Mr. Hardinge one of the oldest
of them, would it? But one of the closest and best.
Oh, no, I couldn't quarrel with him — even over the
dearest thing in life. Only — I wish we might agree
about it.

MR. HARDINGE

[^Laughing.'l Which means, you wish I would
take your view, doesn't it? Or, rather, your con-
fessor's view. Oh, my friend, I cannot understand
it. That you, with your keen, shrewd wit, your na-
tive sense of the absurd, should be willing to put
such a fine intelligence into the hands of — of —
well, never mind.

MRS. WADE

I don't mind a bit. My fine intelligence, as you
are polite enough to call it, never did me any good.
When I tried to cut the great problems with it, I cut
nothing but my own fingers. Now I turn over the
great problems to others who say they can cut them
for me. They can't do worse than I did. And the
relief is more than you can imagine. — You've met
Father Nelson here, haven't you?

MR. HARDINGE

Yes.

MRS. WADE

Isn't he charming?

< 3 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

MR. HARDINGE

Charming? Oh — as only Irishmen can be. But
for cutting problems —

MRS. WADE

Isn't sweetness the best method for cutting them.?
Or, let us leave the figure — for dissolving them
away ?

MR. HARDINGE

You see I'm not accustomed —

MRS. WADE

No, you're not accustomed. — And when it comes
not only to trying to steal your belief, but to steal-
ing your son.

MR. HARDINGE

But I should not lose a son. I should gain a
daughter.

MRS. WADE

It's very sweet of you to put it that way and, of
course, I think it's true. But you have such a bitter
prejudice against Eleanor's and my religion that
you very naturally might not relish having your son
enter into it.

MR. HARDINGE

But Francis has not entered into it yet.



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

MRS. WADE

But he may.

MR. HARDINGE

Ah!

MRS. WADE

Eleanor is very serious, very earnest. I am not
sure that she will accept Francis, unless she can
convert him.

MR. HARDINGE

Nor am I — sure.

MRS. WADE

But you think she can't convert him.^

MR. HARDINGE

Not at all. Nothing would surprise me in regard
to Francis. He has vast possibilities. Whatever
he does, he will do with passion. He may end the
most intense of mystics, a solitary hermit — in a cell
on an Asian mountain — alone with the Imitation and
a skull.

MRS. WADE

The Imitation and a skull.

MR. HARDINGE

Or he may end a cynical man of the world. To
be frank with you, I hav^ alwa^^s thought the latter



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

more probable. He seems to me likely to convert
your daughter — not she him.

MRS. WADE

Oh, no. She loves him — immensely. But she
would tear her love right out of her heart and
trample on it, rather than give up her religion. She
seems gentle to you — and quiet. So she is. But
whatever she does, she does with passion — as you
say. The Asian mountain and the skull would suit
her. Now I, I confess —

MR. HARDINGE

Just SO. It is comfortable to be fifty and feel one
has escaped these things. They are an interesting
pair; but they terrify me.

MRS. WADE

They do me. Can such intense natures be happy
together .^^ Won't they fr^t and wear on each other,
especially if they don't agree .^^

MR. HARDINGE

Doubtless.

MRS. WADE

I have sometimes thought Eleanor would be hap-
pier with Ned Wilde.



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

MR. HARDINGE

Ned Wilde? Ah, yes. Her second cousin, isn't
he? And he is not intense?

MRS. WADE

Not at all. Gay, airy, full of sunshine, and
strange jests, and sweet mockery.

MR. HARDINGE

But she hasn't converted him.

MRS. WADE

I should say he was non-convertible.

MR. HARDINGE

Nothing in the skull line, then? Has there been
any thought of this?

MES. WADE

I have thought of it. I believe Ned has thought
of it, as all sweet things flit through his wandering
fancy. Indeed, I imagine it has taken hold of him
more than most sweet things.

MR. HARDINGE

But your daughter?

MRS. WADE

Eleanor — no. She looks on him as a pleasant
cousin, delightful to have about at almost all times,



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

especially in a gallery or a Roman ruin. Nothing
else has ever occurred to her.

MR. HARDINGE

[After a pause. ^ We can't do much about these
matters, can we.^^ If Francis's mother had lived, she
might possibly have moulded him. I have done
nothing but make curious — and rather breathless
— efforts to keep up.

MRS. WADE

[Gasps. '\ I know.

MR. HARDINGE

I have "understood his temperament somewhat —
way down in the depths of me I too have just a
trace of the Asian mountain and the skull, as well as
of the cynical man of the world ; but as for control-
ling him, or educating him, or making him anything
but what he is — ah, here he comes.

[Enter Francis — twenty-seven years old — rather
tally slight, medium complexion, dark, blue eyes —
careful, hut not affected in dress.']

MRS. WADE

This is very nice of you, Francis. It makes a
family gathering. [Shake hands.]

< 8 y



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

FRANCIS

Quite so. Well, father, were you looking for me?

MR. HARDINGE

Not at all. I visited Mrs. Wade before you were
born. And shall, after you are — married.

FRANCIS

I hope so.

MRS. WADE

But we were talking of you.

FRANCIS

Of course.

MR. HARDINGE

And of your coming conversion, and Asian
mountains, and skulls.

FRANCIS

The former generation had gay topics of talk, it
seems.

MRS. WADE

It had. But the present no longer furnishes them.

MR. HARDINGE

And I discouraged the lady by telling her to give
up all hope, that you were the product of genera-
tions of Puritan ancestors who hated nothing so

< 9 y



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

much as the Catholic church, that all their stiffness
and their coldness and their rigidity had passed into
your temperament and would never, never wash out.

FRANCIS

It does sound discouraging. But I notice you
speak of the Puritans as if they were far off, even
from you. And from me they are further still, I
assure you. They had their place in the world and
filled it usefully. I admire their stiffness. It was
needed. But they are gone by — way, way by.

MRS. WADE

Dead.

FRANCIS

Nothing more so. As a matter of fact, they
hated the English church, to which you belong, even
worse than they hated the Catholic, and there is one
thing they would have hated worse than either, that
is our modern world, with its religion of comfort and
ease and every one be saved his own way and let well
enough alone; no religion at all, they would have
called it.

MR. HARDINGE

I'm not so sure of that. The hatred of another
sect is always fiercer than the hatred of irreligion.
The most Catholic king, Lous XIV, told his nephew

-C 10 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

not to bring such and such a man to court because
he was a Jansenist. " All a mistake, your Majesty,"
said the nephew, " he's not a Jansenist at all ; he's
an atheist." " Oh, an atheist," said the king.
" That's different altogether. Bring him, if you
like."

MRS. WADE

But the Puritans — a few of them were my an-
cestors, too — and Eleanor's. Only, as Francis
says, they are dead now — and dust — and a great
way off. What have we to do with them — but ad-
mire and respect them.^" They tried very, very hard
to make the world over — and failed.

MR. HARDINGE

[Laughing.^ Just as the Catholics had tried be-
fore them — and failed also. — But this comes near
arguing again, doesn't it? And I had better go. I
leave Francis in your hands — without misgiving.

MRS. WADE

That is kind of you. But don't go, if you don't
trust me. I had rather you stayed.

MR. HARDINGE

I trust you. The more so, as I am not very anx-
ious about the result. — Good-bye, Francis. Don't
forget the Puritans. [^Exit.^

-C 11 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

FRANCIS

Can I see Eleanor?

MRS. WADE

She is out unfortunately, making calls. She will
be back in an hour or so, I imagine.

FRANCIS

I'm sorry.

MRS. WADE

So am I — on your account.

FRANCIS

I didn't mean to be impolite. I'm very glad to see
you. \_Pause.^ But probably you know what I
came for.

MRS. WADE

I can guess.

FRANCIS

I want Eleanor, Mrs. Wade. I wouldn't have be-
lieved any one could grow into my life so. I'm not
a boy. Oh, I've liked pretty faces, and danced after
them. But no one ever really distracted me a mo-
ment from my work. I wanted to succeed in the
world. I wanted to be a great lawyer. I had means
and prestige to go at it as I liked. And I only
thought of marriage as something — something for

-C 12 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

by and by. Then Eleanor came — and I want
Eleanor.

MRS. WADE

More than to be a great lawyer?

FRANCIS

Differently. I want her — now. The other may
come later — for both of us.

MRS. WADE

And Eleanor wants you. I don't hesitate to say
it, because you know it. You seem made for each
other. Nothing would please me better. But
Eleanor is intense in everything. You know what
else she wants.

FRANCIS

I know. [F«M5^.] But you wouldn't wish me,
she wouldn't wish me to pretend, with her ? It would
be easy enough. Millions of men do it. Catholic,
or Presbyterian, or Unitarian, where is the differ-
ence.^ You wear a frock coat to church on Sun-
days, pay the bills, and hold your tongue. She
wouldn't wish that?

MRS. WADE

Oh, no, no, no — if she knew it.

-C IS >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

FRANCIS

And she would know it.

MRS. WADE

Yes, she would. But — sometimes those things
come about — as one grows older. At least jou
have no contrary definite belief?

FRANCIS

That's just the trouble. How can any one be-
lieve anything in these days.^ There is so much to
know — and one can know so little of it. One is so
ignorant, so hugely, helplessly ignorant.

MRS. WADE

Ignorant. Yes.

FRANCIS

How can any one come out squarely and say, I
believe this, I believe that? I seem to myself to be
drifting, drifting, with my hands spread out, falter-
ing, groping, in an enormous night.

MRS. WADE

But that is your Protestantism, every one to set-
tle all these problems for himself. Oh, I know so
well what you mean, Francis. I have been through
it all, weltered in it so long, groped, drifted, groped,
hungered.

< ^^ >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

FRANCIS

Groped, hungered.

MRS. WADE

Our religion saves us all that. Just take one little
step, reach out, there is the hand stretched forth to
you. Throw your doubts and your gropings on to
some one else.

FRANCIS

Some one else. But it seems quite impossible. If
I cannot know, how can any one else know.^^

MRS. WADE

Why not.'' Some one who says he knows — some
one who thinks he knows. If you thought you knew,
wouldn't that be enough ? It isn't knowing, knowing
is nothing. That is the real secret. It isn't know-
ing, it is doing, loving. The Church gives you some-
thing to do, something to love, you don't have time
to ask for anything more. Oh, Francis, the peace
of it — the peace.

FRANCIS

But to take even peace from another man — like
oneself.

MRS. WADE

It isn't the man. I don't mean to argue with you.
But it isn't the man. It isn't the priest. It is the

-C 15 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

ages, the solemn dignity, the piled up weight of
grandeur, behind the man — ^oh, Father Nelson —

[^Enter Father Nelson — sixti/ years old — full
figure — medium height — dark, brown eyes —
expression of extreme gentle kindness , with much
wit and joviality.^

FATHER NELSON

Mrs. Wade. [Shakes hands. 1^ Mr. Hardinge.
[^Shakes hands. ^ I'm not a fighter, am I.'^

MRS. WADE

A fighter? Certainly not.

FRANCIS

But your profession — ?

FATHER NELSON

Oh, well, yes, my profession — to fight the devil.
But you aren't the devil — nor Mrs. Wade. And I
can't find out who is? I have a horrible suspicion
sometimes that I should love him if I met him.

MRS. WADE

But it sounds as if you had met him — just now.

FATHER NELSON

Does it? I met a personage who evidently dis-
liked my appearance. And I could have loved him,

-C 16 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

but he seemed not to love me. Argued with me — in
fact, abused me. Asked me if I thought any one
could get to heaven^ by my road. I said, I hoped so.
He assured me not, that my influence was in the other
direction. I said, I was sorry. Then he gave me
a pamphlet and went away.

FRANCIS

What was the pamphlet.?

FATHER NELSON

" The Door of the Confessional, the Gate of Hell."
That was the title. Hot, wasn't it.?

MRS. WADE

What do such people mean?

FATHER NELSON

Well, he was a fighter, you see, lots of superfluous
energy. But it really seems as if he and I might
work together. I don't want people to go to hell
any more than he does.

MRS. WADE

I should think not.

FATHER NELSON

In these days surely there's no religion in the
world to throw away. People have too much money,

-c 17 :>



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

too much culture, too much style, too much liberty,
it seems sometimes as if some of them had too much
virtue; but I haven't met many that had too much
religion. Perhaps mine is better than none. If my
friend with the pamphlets could only see it so !

MRS. WADE

That's just what Mr. Hardinge was saying to his
father. That, if the old Puritans came to life again,
they would prefer our religion to the modern world's
irreligion.

FATHER NELSON

H'm. Then my Hell-Gate friend was not an old
Puritan. But doubtless you are right, Mr. Har-
dinge. Any religion is better than no religion.

MRS. WADE

Of course it is.

FATHER NELSON

Any religion is better than the smug convention-
ality of the present day, which believes its virtue
can get along without religion, which is perfectly
satisfied with its isms and its ologies, and cares
no more for heaven than it does for hell. But,
you'll excuse me, Mr. Hardinge, I didn't quite ex-
pect —

-C 18 >



^



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

FRANCIS

To hear such doctrine from me. But you might.
Nobody loves religion more than I, or feels the need
of it more. Nobody feels more the emptiness of
modern virtue, or the hollowness of modern conven-
tionality, or the ridiculous pretence of isms and
ologies.

FATHER NELSON

But —

FRANCIS

I hate it. And I long for something different.
Oh, I understand the beauty of the religious life as
your people know it. I have visited the Certosa at
Florence, with the blue Tuscan sky over its quiet;
and the thought of peace in those cells, of a life all
inward, instead of all outward, a life to oneself, in-
stead of to others, and so through oneself to God —
oh, I know what it means. You can't tell me about
it.

MRS. WADE

Then, why, Francis, why — ?

FRANCIS

But one must believe, mustn't one? The isms and
the ologies take away, but they do not give. I
rather envy Father Nelson's friend of the pamjphlet.

-C 19 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

As the other fellow said, it is lovely to believe, even
in hell.

l^Enter Ned Wilde — medium height — slight , yet
vigorous — light hai7\ grey eyes — very easy^
natural, and spontaneous in manner.~\

MRS, WADE

Oh, Ned.

NED

Good-afternoon all. Francis. [Easy gestured]
Father Nelson. [A trifle, only a trifle, more formal.
Does not shake hands with any one.^ So you've
got him in a corner, trying to convert him. I feel
for you, Francis. I really do. You have no idea
— of course Father Nelson has, because he's as-
sisted at similar festivities — but you, Francis, can
have no idea of the martyrdom they've inflicted on
me. This lady and her daughter are very sweet
cousins of mine, and I love them, and I stuck to them
in Europe as long as I could. But you've no idea — .
In a cathedral they talked religion to me, of course.
But you wouldn't have expected it at the comic opera.
If we were looking at a Madonna, sanctity came up
because the subject suggested it. If we were look-
ing at a heathen goddess, decollete to her ankles —
and further — sanctity came up, because the subject
didn't suggest it. In Switzerland they took me into

-C 20 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

a valley and talked humility. Then they took me up
on to a high mountain and offered me all the king-
doms of the earth, if I would bow down and worship.
But I wouldn't. I'm soft, but I'm elastic, I receive
impressions like water, and retain them like water.
So you see. Father — ^Addressing Father Nelson
suddenly and directly^ — in spite of all their efforts,
I'm just exactly where I was.

«

FRANCIS

Where is that.^

NED

/ don't know. Do you?

MRS. WADE

Francis has just been giving us a rhapsody on the
Certosa and the monastic life. It astonished us.

NED

Did it? It doesn't me. Francis and I are dif-
ferent. He is not soft — and not elastic. He has
the stuff of mysticism in him. Keep at it and you
will make an impression that will stay — perhaps
more of a one than you want. Oh, yes, he has it in
him, great ideals, long efforts, immense sacrifices.
I can see him now, in monkish robes, thin, emaciated,
heaven-worn, his keen, stern features all lit with an
enthusiasm which Eleanor knows, but you do not

-C 21 >



UNMADE IN HEAVEN

know, cousin Florence, nor I, nor this placid Father
Nelson. Nothing would suit him better than to give
up what he loved best in the world for — a dream,


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