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not—Baby. Mama! Ma! That’s—me. . . . ( Cradling the big white purse in her arms, she advances slowly and tenderly to the edge of the porch. The moon shines full on her smiling and ravaged face. She begins to rock and sway gently, rocking the purse in her arms and crooning. )
    Rock-a-bye Baby—in uh tree-tops!
    If a wind blows—a cradle will rock! ( She descends a step. )
    If a bough bends—a baby will fall! ( She descends another step. )
    Down will come Baby—cradle—an’—all! ( She laughs and stares raptly and vacantly up at the moon. )
    CURTAIN

The Purification
    A play in verse to be performed with a musical accompaniment on the guitar. The action takes place in the Western ranch-lands over a century ago. The characters are Spanish ranchers and Indians.
    The place-names used in this play are associated mainly with the country around Taos, New Mexico, but that is merely because those names and that country come most familiarly to my mind: it is the clear, breath-taking sort of country that I like to imagine as the background for the play. Actually I do not know whether or not people of this type ever lived there and I don’t believe it matters.
    For M ARGO J ONES

CHARACTERS
    T HE J UDGE: An aristocratic rancher of middle age.
    T HE S ON: A youth of twenty, handsome, irrationally tense of feeling.
    T HE M OTHER: Pure blooded Castillian with iron-gray hair; she is dressed in rich mourning.
    T HE F ATHER: Tall and gaunt, a steady wine-drinker: brooding and slow of movement.
    T HE R ANCHER FROM C ASA R OJO: The burnt-out shell of a longing that drove to violence. His blood is coarser than the people from Casa Blanca. But he is a man of dignity and force.
    L UISA: An Indian servant-woman — some Spanish blood. A savage nature. She wears a good deal of jewelry and a brilliant shawl.
    A N I NDIAN Y OUTH
    A C HORUS OF T HREE M EN AND T HREE W OMEN, Ranchers.
    T HE G UITAR P LAYER: He wears a domino and a scarlet-lined cape — he sits on a stool beside the wide arched doorway.
    E LENA OF THE S PRINGS and THE DESERT ELENA: T wo visions of the same character — the lost girl.

The Purification
    S CENE: A bare room, white or pearl gray. A number of plain wooden benches, a small square table for the Judge. Skull of a steer on wall. The wide arched door admits a vista of plain and sky: the sky is a delicate aquamarine: the plain pale gold. A range of purplish mountains between. Two high-set windows with sunlight slanting through them.
    A crime has been committed: an informal trial is being conducted. The Chorus file silently onto the stage and seat themselves on the benches as the curtain rises. Next comes The Guitar Player. He plays softly as the main characters come in. The Judge remains standing back of the table till the others are seated.
    S CENE I
    T HE J UDGE:
    Well, my neighbors, I know about as much of court-procedure as any reasonably well-informed jack-rabbit.
    Nevertheless I seem to be the Judge.
    And I was put in office more, I hope, for what you know about me than what I know.
    I do not believe in one man judging another:
    I’d rather that those who stand in need of judgment would judge themselves.
    Honor being
    more than a word amongst us
    I have no doubt
    that this is the kind of judgment which will prevail.

    We’re all of us ranchers—neighbors—
    Our enmities, sometimes bloody, are usually brief.
    Our friendships—longer lasting.
    And that is good. . . . What I mean to say is simply this—
    We know each other sufficiently well, I think, to get along without much ceremony.
    An evil thing has occurred.
    The reasons are still beclouded.
    This much we know: the rains are long delayed.
    The season is parched.
    Our hearts, like forests stricken by the drought, are quick to flame.
    Well, flames have broken out, not only in the Lobos, but here, between two ranches.
    Rain is needed.
    Rain’s the treatment for a forest fire.
    For violent deeds likewise the rain is needed.
    The rain I speak of is the rain