“Lexington”

Think of the place in which the play is to be produced, just as it has been adapted from the natural forest. Think of the curving sleeve of water which lies along the lowermost edge of the scene, of the rising slopes and levels which surmount one another so spaciously, of the trees which close in back and sides.

Then, into the face of the slope immediately above the water’s edge and directly in the center, set a simple low throne and put a conventional lectern before it. Flank this with two lower seats, even more simple. Build this whole group as gracefully and as lightly as the best taste of the best Georgian period dictates and paint it the purest white.

This done, go to the extreme limits of the front of the scene and, just at the edge of the trees, erect two pedestals. These, in height, must a little more than top a man’s stature. In style and decoration they are as chaste as the central group. Probably they are finished with an exquisite cornice and adorned with garlands in low relief, just brushed with gold. Upon each one of them set a solid, simple throne, quite like the one you have already put in the center.

The Chronicler sits on the central throne. He is already in his place when the doors of the auditorium are opened to admit the first spectator. So are the two Drummers who occupy the low seats on either side of him. So are the two Spokesmen who sit atop the two pedestals.

For the Chronicler’s role an actor of fine Anglo-Saxon type must be engaged, one able to speak English with beautiful and natural precision. The same is true of the roles of the two Spokesmen.

The Chronicler wears buff breeches, a white shirt and a blue coat which hangs nobly from his shoulders and spreads over the arms of his seat. His hair, of a natural brown, is pulled back from his brow and tied with a black velvet ribbon. The lectern before him supports a great book. At the commencement of the play he opens this book and, at the end, he closes it. From time to time, during the action, he writes in it, using a large and snowy-white quill pen.

The Drummers who sit on either side of him are dressed in scarlet and as alike as two peas, in costume, make up and cut of hair. Neither one of them has ever any occasion to speak. Each one of them must devote his attention wholly to playing upon a great kettledrum which will be provided for this purpose. The two drums are tuned a diminished third apart.

The two Spokesmen will wear the scarlet robes and white wigs of British justices. They never move during the entire play.

All of these five persons, it must be repeated, will be in their places when the auditorium opens. None of them can be allowed to move until the auditorium has emptied. They must think of themselves as parts of the fixed scene.

Behind them, the slope flattens slightly and this area will, hereinafter, be described as the “Forestage.” Behind that, again, comes a second, slighter rise and that is succeeded by a much more considerable level place. This second level will hereinafter be spoken of as the “Stage.”

The stage is set to represent the Common of Lexington in the year 1775. The road from Cambridge and Boston enters at the back center and divides, passing the Meeting House on either side. The Meeting House is erected, full size, just at the back of the stage and directly in the center, thus masking this road. A little down on the right (in these stage directions right and left refer to the hands of the audience) stands the Old Belfry. Further over to the right, half buried in the trees, are the old horse sheds. Further down stage on the right stands the Marrett-Munroe House, also half buried in foliage, and the Concord Road leaves the Common as far down stage on the right as the planting permits. On the left, just a little below the position occupied on the right by the horse sheds, stands the Buckman Tavern. Then, all the way down stage left stands the Parsonage of the Rev. Jonas Clark. This should be set a little apart from the Common to suggest its remoteness. A road leads past this in the direction of Bedford.

These entrances will hereinafter be referred to as the Boston, Concord and Bedford Roads respectively. Other village paths may be supposed to lead on to the Common at any convenient points.

When the first member of the audience enters, it is twilight. He finds the life of the village going on with full realism of detail except that it is in no wise audible. He is looking at a soundless vision of the eighteenth day of April, one hundred and fifty years ago. Villagers are chatting about the doorway of the Buckman Tavern. They come in and go out. They wear long coats and smoke long pipes and drink long drinks. Some of them discuss a newspaper excitedly. What they are saying cannot be heard, for they play entirely in dumb show. A century and a half is too great a time to be bridged easily by sound.

Silent as the rest a boy guards a flock of a few sheep in the center of the Common. Young girls, going about pleasure or business and quite free from any preoccupation with the serious matters which engross the tavern’s patrons, stop to chat with him.

Presently a young farmer drives his cows in from pasture. Presently other farmers return from the fields, carrying the crude agricultural implements of their day. Presently another farmer drives his emptied truck wagon home from market.

Presently a traveler on a jaded mare comes up the Boston Road and halts by the Buckman Tavern. The citizens gather about him greedily. Greedy, it would seem, for news. And he gives them news before he has finished his ale and ridden on down the Bedford Road.

As the play’s commencement draws near, an old man comes out of the Meeting House. The children, playing about the Belfry, run into him and he admonishes them. Then he rings the bell. At first one cannot be quite sure of the bell. Then the spell becomes stronger and it does clang dimly through.