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    Magic, A Fantastic Comedy: "One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak."
    Magic, A Fantastic Comedy: "One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak."
    Magic, A Fantastic Comedy: "One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak."
    Ebook80 pages3 hours

    Magic, A Fantastic Comedy: "One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak."

    By GK Chesterton

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    About this ebook

    Gilbert Keith Chesterton was born in Campden hill, Kensington on May 29th 1874. Originally after attending St Pauls School he went to Slade to learn the illustrators art and literature. In 1896 he joined a small London publisher and began his journalistic career as a freelance art and literary critic. In 1901 he married Frances Blogg, to whom he remained married for the rest of his life. Thereafter he obtained weekly columns in the Daily News and The Illustrated London News. For many he is known as a very fine novelist and the creator of the Father Brown Detective stories which were much influenced by his own beliefs. A large man – 6’ 42 and 21st in weight he was apt to be forgetful in that delightful way that the British sometimes are – a telegram home to his wife saying he was in one place but where should he actually be. But he was prolific in many other areas; he wrote plays, essays, loved to debate and wrote hundreds of poems. Here we bring you hismarvellous play 'Magic: A Fantastic Comedy'. Chesterton died of congestive heart failure on 14th June 1936 and is buried in Beaconsfield just outside of London.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherA Word To The Wise
    Release dateOct 11, 2013
    ISBN9781780006161
    Magic, A Fantastic Comedy: "One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak."

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      Book preview

      Magic, A Fantastic Comedy - GK Chesterton

      MAGIC, A FANTASTIC COMEDY

      By

      G.K. CHESTERTON

      Includes a biography of the author.

      Contents

      Characters

      Notes

      Prelude

      Act I

      Act II

      Act III

      GK Chesterton – A Biography

      THE CHARACTERS

      THE DUKE

      DOCTOR GRIMTHORPE

      THE REV. CYRIL SMITH

      MORRIS CARLEON

      HASTINGS, the Duke’s Secretary

      THE STRANGER

      PATRICIA CARLEON

      The action takes place in the Duke’s Drawing-room.

      NOTE

      THIS play was presented under the management of Kenelm Foss at The Little Theatre, London, on November 7, 1913, with the following cast:

      THE STRANGER              FRANKLIN DYALL

      PATRICIA CARLEON           MISS GRACE CROFT

      THE REV. CYRIL SMITH     O.P. HEGGIE

      DR. GRIMTHORPE             WILLIAM FARREN

      THE DUKE                    FRED LEWIS

      HASTINGS                    FRANK RANDELL

      MORRIS CARLEON             LYONEL WATTS

      THE PRELUDE

      SCENE: A plantation of thin young trees, in a misty and rainy

      twilight; some woodland blossom showing the patches on the earth

      between the stems.

      THE STRANGER is discovered, a cloaked figure with a pointed hood.

      His costume might belong to modern or any other time, and the

      conical hood is so drawn over the head that little can be seen of the face.

      A distant voice, a woman’s, is heard, half-singing, half-chanting, unintelligible words.

      The cloaked figure raises its head and listens with interest. The song draws nearer and PATRICIA CARLEON enters. She is dark and slight, and has a dreamy expression.

      Though she is artistically dressed, her hair is a little wild. She has a broken branch of some flowering tree in her hand. She does not notice the stranger, and though he has watched her with interest, makes no sign. Suddenly she perceives him and starts

      back.

      PATRICIA. Oh! Who are you?

      STRANGER. Ah! Who am I? [Commences to mutter to himself, and maps out the ground with his staff.]

      I have a hat, but not to wear;

      I wear a sword, but not to slay,

      And ever in my bag I bear

      A pack of cards, but not to play.

      PATRICIA. What are you? What are you saying?

      STRANGER. It is the language of the fairies, O daughter of Eve.

      PATRICIA. But I never thought fairies were like you. Why, you are taller than I am.

      STRANGER. We are of such stature as we will. But the elves grow small, not large, when they would mix with mortals.

      PATRICIA. You mean they are beings greater than we are.

      STRANGER. Daughter of men, if you would see a fairy as he truly is, look for his head above all the stars and his feet amid the floors of the sea. Old women have taught you that the fairies are too small to be seen. But I tell you the fairies are too mighty to be seen. For they are the elder gods before whom the giants were like pigmies. They are the Elemental Spirits, and any one of them is larger than the world. And you look for them in acorns and on toadstools and wonder that you never see them.

      PATRICIA. But you come in the shape and size of a man?

      STRANGER. Because I would speak with a woman.

      PATRICIA. [Drawing back in awe.] I think you are growing taller as you speak.

      [The scene appears to fade away, and give place to the milieu of ACT ONE, the Duke’s drawing-room, an apartment with open French windows or any opening large enough to show a garden and one house fairly near. It is evening, and there is a red lamp lighted in the house beyond. The REV. CYRIL SMITH is sitting with hat and

      umbrella beside him, evidently a visitor. He is a young man with the highest of High Church dog-collars and all the qualities of a restrained fanatic. He is one of the Christian Socialist sort and takes his priesthood seriously. He is an honest man, and not an ass.

      [To him enters MR. HASTINGS with papers in his hand.]

      HASTINGS. Oh, good evening. You are Mr. Smith. [Pause.] I mean you are the Rector, I think.

      SMITH. I am the Rector.

      HASTINGS. I am the Duke’s secretary. His Grace asks me to say that he hopes to see you very soon; but he is engaged just now with the Doctor.

      SMITH. Is the Duke ill?

      HASTINGS. [Laughing.] Oh, no; the Doctor has come to ask him to help some cause or other. The Duke is never ill.

      SMITH. Is the Doctor with him now?

      HASTINGS. Why, strictly speaking, he is not. The Doctor has gone over the road to fetch a paper connected with his proposal. But he hasn’t far to go, as you can see. That’s his red lamp at the end of his grounds.

      SMITH. Yes, I know. I am much obliged to you.

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