33 Reading a Play

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Most plays are written not to be read in books but to be performed. Finding plays
in a literature anthology, the student may well ask, Isn’t there something wrong
with the idea of reading plays on the printed page? To do so—to treat them as i
literature—isn’t that a perversion of their nature?
True, plays are meant to be seen on stage, but equally true, reading a play :i
may afford advantages. One is that it is better to know some masterpieces by
reading them than never to know them at all. Even if you live in a large city
with many theaters, even if you attend a college with many theatrical produc- !
tions, to succeed in your lifetime in witnessing, say, all the plays of Shakespeare Hi
might well be impossible. In print, they are as near-to-hand as a book on a shelf,
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ready to be enacted (if you like) on the stage of the mind.
After all, a play is literature before it comes alive in a theater; and it might !
be argued that when we read an unfamiliar play, we meet it in the same form in
which it first appears to its actors and its director. If a play is rich and complex, I
or if it dates from the remote past and contains difficulties of language and allu­ !
sion, to read it on the page enables us to study it at our leisure, to return to the
parts that demand greater scrutiny.
Let us admit, by the way, that some plays, whatever the intentions of their
authors, are destined to be read more often than they are acted. Such a play is
sometimes called a closet drama—“closet” meaning a small, private room.
Percy Bysshe Shelley’s neo-Shakespearean tragedy The Cenci (1819) has seldom
escaped from its closet, even though Shelley tried without luck to have it per­ '
formed on the London stage. Perhaps too rich in talk to please an audience or ;
too sparse in opportunities for actors to use their bodies, such works nevertheless
ray lead long, respectable lives on their own, solely as literature.
But even if a play may be seen in a theater, sometimes to read it in print
may be our way of knowing it as the author wrote it in its entirety. Far from

READING A PLAY 1063

 regarding Shakespeare’s words as holy writ, producers of Hamlet, King Lear,
Othello, and other masterpieces often leave out whole speeches and scenes, or
shorten them. Besides, the nature of the play, as far as you can tell from a stage
production, may depend upon decisions of the director. Shall Othello dress as a
Renaissance Moor, or as a jet-set contemporary? Every actor who plays Iago in
Othello makes his own interpretation of this knotty character. Some see Iago as a
figure of pure evil; others, as a madman; still others, as a suffering human being
consumed by hatred, jealousy, and pride. What do you think Shakespeare meant?
You can always read the play and decide for yourself. If every stage production of
a play is a fresh interpretation, so, too, is every reader’s reading of it.
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=: Some readers, when silently reading a play to themselves, try to visualize a
stage, imagining the characters in costume and under lights. If such a reader is an
p actor or a director and is reading the play with an eye to staging it, then that

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reader may try to imagine every detail of a possible production, even shades of
makeup and loudness of sound effects. But the nonprofessional reader, who
regards the play as literature, need not attempt such exhaustive imagining.
lli
Although some readers find it enjoyable to imagine the play taking place upon a
r stage, others prefer to imagine the people and events that the play brings vividly
if:
f to mind. Sympathetically following the tangled life of Nora in A Doll's House by
p; Henrik Ibsen, we forget that we are reading printed stage directions and instead
I find ourselves in the presence of human conflict. Thus regarded, a play becomes a

1 form of storytelling, and the playwright’s instructions to the actors and the direc­
tor become a conventional mode of narrative that we accept much as we accept
the methods of a novel or short story. If we read A Doll’s House caring more
ii! about Nora’s fate than the imagined appearance of an actress portraying her, we
i speed through an ordinary passage such as this (from a scene in which Nora’s hus­
band hears the approach of an unwanted caller, Dr. Rank):
Helmer (with quiet irritation): Oh, what does he want now? (Aloud.) Hold on.
(Goes and opens the door.) Oh, how nice that you didn’t just pass us by!
We read the passage, if the story absorbs us, as though we were reading a novel
whose author, employing the conventional devices for recording speech in fic­
tion, might have written:
“Oh, what does he want now?” said Helmer under his breath, in annoyance.
Aloud, he called, “Hold on,” then walked to the door and opened it and
greeted Rank with all the cheer he could muster—“Oh, how nice that you
didn’t pass us by!”
!
! Such is the power of an excellent play to make us ignore the playwright’s artistry
1 that it becomes a window through which the reader’s gaze, given focus, encom-
; passes more than language and typography and beholds a scene of imagined life.
Most plays, whether seen in a theater or in print, employ some conventions,
customary methods of presenting an action, usual and recognizable devices that
an audience is willing to accept. In reading a great play from the past, such as
Oedipus the King or Othello, it will help if we know some of the conventions of the

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1064 READING A PLAY

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classical Greek theater or the Elizabethan theater. When in Oedipus the King we
encounter a character called the Chorus, it may be useful to be aware that this is
a group of citizens who stand to one side of the action, conversing with the prin­
cipal character and commenting. In Othello, when the sinister Iago, left on stage
alone, begins to speak (at the end of Act II, Scene I), we recognize the conven­
tional device of a soliloquy, a dramatic monologue in which we seem to over­
hear the character’s inmost thoughts uttered aloud. Like conventions in poetry,
such familiar methods of staging a story afford us a happy shock of recognition.
Often, as in these examples, they are ways of making clear to us exactly what the
playwright would have us know.

A Play in Its Elements

When we read a play on the printed page and find ourselves swept forward by the
motion of its story, we need not wonder how—and of what ingredients—the
playwright put it together. Still, to analyze the structure of a play is one way to
understand and appreciate a playwright’s art. Analysis is complicated, however,
because in an excellent play the elements (including plot, theme, and characters)
do not stand in isolation. Often, deeds clearly follow from the kinds of people the
characters are, and from those deeds it is left to the reader to infer the theme of
the play—the general point or truth about human beings that may be drawn from
it. Perhaps the most meaningful way to study the elements of a play (and certain­
ly the most enjoyable) is to consider a play in its entirety.
Here is a short, famous one-act play worth reading for the boldness of its ele­
ments—and for its own sake. Trifles tells the story of a murder. As you will dis­
cover, the “trifles” mentioned in its title are not of trifling stature. In reading the
play, you will probably find yourself imagining what you might see on stage if you
were in a theater. You may also care to imagine what took place in the lives of
the characters before the curtain rose. All this imagining may sound like a tall
order, but don’t worry. Just read the play for enjoyment the first time through,
and then we will consider whatever makes it effective.

A PLAY IN ITS ELEMENTS 1065

 Susan Qlaspell
Trifles 1916

Susan Glaspell (1882-1948), grew up in

her native Davenport, Iowa, daughter of a
grain dealer. After four years at Drake
University and a reporting job in Des
Moines, she settled in New York’s ■" ^

Greenwich Village. In 1915, with her hus­

band George Cram Cook, a theatrical ull
l
director, she founded the Provincetown
Players, the first influential noncommercial
theater troupe in America. Summers, in a
makeshift playhouse on a Cape Cod pier,
the Players staged the earliest plays of
Eugene O’Neill and work by John Reed,
Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Glaspell her­
self. (Later transplanting the company to Susan Glaspell
New York, Glaspell and Cook renamed it
the Playwrights’ Theater.) Glaspell wrote several still-remembered plays, among them a
pioneering work of feminist drama, The Verge (1921), and the Pulitzer Prize-winning
Alison’s House (1930), about the family of a reclusive poet like Emily Dickinson who,
after her death, squabble over the right to publish her poems. First widely known for her
fiction with an Iowa background, Glaspell mote ten novels, including Fidelity (1915)
and The Morning Is Near Us (1939). Shortly after writing the play Trifles, she
rewrote it as a short story, “A Jury of Her Peers.”

Characters

George Henderson, county attorney

Henry Peters, sheriff
Lewis Hale, a neighboring farmer
Mrs. Peters
Mrs. Hale

Scene. The kitchen in the now abandoned farmhouse ofJohn Wright, a gloomy kitchen,
and left without having been put in order—unwashed pans wider the sink, a loaf of
bread outside the breadbox, a dish towel on the table—other signs of incompleted work.
At the rear the outer door opens and the Sheriff comes in followed by the County
Attorney and Hale. The Sheriff and Hale are men in middle life, the County Attorney
is a young man; all are much bundled up and go at once to the stove. They are followed
by two women—the Sheriff s wife first; she is a slight wiry woman, a thin nervous face.
Mrs. Hale is larger and would ordinarily be called more comfortable looking, but she is
disturbed now and looks fearfully about as she enters . The women have come in sloudy,
and stand close together near the door.

1066 reading a play

County Attorney: [Rubbing his hands.] This feels good. Come up to the fire, ladies.
Mrs. Peters: [After taking a step forward.] I’m not—cold. :
Sheriff: [Unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove as if to mark the i
beginning of official business.] Now, Mr. Hale, before we move things about,
you explain to Mr. Henderson just what you saw when you came here yester­
day morning.
County Attorney: By the way, has anything been moved? Are things just as you
left them yesterday?
Sheriff: [Looking about.] It’s just the same. When it dropped below zero last night I
thought I’d better send Frank out this morning to make a fire for us—no use
getting pneumonia with a big case on, but I told him not to touch anything
except the stove—and you know Frank.
County Attorney: Somebody should have been left here yesterday. i
Sheriff: Oh—yesterday. When I had to send Frank to Morris Center for that man i
who went crazy—I want you to know I had my hands full yesterday, 1 knew
you could get back from Omaha by today and as long as I went over every­
thing here myself—
County Attorney: Well, Mr. Hale, tell just what happened when you came here
yesterday morning.
Hale: Harry and I had started to town with a load of potatoes. We came along the
road from my place and as I got here I said, “I’m going to see if I can’t get
John Wright to go in with me on a party telephone.” I spoke to Wright
about it once before and he put me off, saying folks talked too much anyway,
and all he asked was peace and quiet—I guess you know about how much he
talked himself; but 1 thought maybe if I went to the house and talked about
it before his wife, though I said to Harry that I didn’t know as what his wife
Jill-
wanted made much difference to John— ;j
County Attorney: Let’s talk about that later, Mr. Hale. I do want to talk about
that, but tell now just what happened when you got to the house.
Hale: I didn’t hear or see anything; I knocked at the door, and still it was all quiet
inside. I knew they must be up, it was past eight o’clock. So I knocked again,
and I thought I heard somebody say, “Come in.” I wasn’t sure, I’m not sure
yet, but I opened the door—this door [Indicating the door by which the two
women are still standing] and there in that rocker—[Pointing to it] sat Mrs. ii
Wright.
[They all look at the rocker.]
County Attorney: What—was she doing?
Hale: She was rockin’ back and forth. She had her apron in her hand and was
'
kind of—pleating it. }
County Attorney: And how did she—look?
Hale: Well, she looked queer.
County Attorney: How do you mean—queer?
Hale: Well, as if she didn’t know what she was going to do next. And kind of
done up.

SUSAN GLASPELL 1067

 County Attorney: How did she seem to feel about your coming?
Hale: Why, I don't think she minded—one way or other. She didn’t pay much
attention. I said, “How do, Mrs. Wright, it’s cold, ain’t it?” And she said, “Is
it?”—and went on kind of pleating at her apron. Well, I was surprised; she
didn’t ask me to come up to the stove, or to set down, but just sat there, not
= even looking at me, so I said, “I want to see John.” And then she—laughed. I
s guess you would call it a laugh. I thought of Harry and the team outside, so I
1
said a little sharp: “Can’t I see John?” “No,” she says, kind o’ dull like. “Ain’t
he home?” says I. “Yes,” says she, “he’s home.” “Then why can’t I see him?” I
asked her, out of patience. “’Cause he’s dead,” says she. “Dead?” says I. She
just nodded her head, not getting a bit excited, but rockin’ back and forth.
“Why—where is he?” says I, not knowing what to say. She just pointed
upstairs—like that [Himself pointing to the room above.] I got up, with the idea
I of going up there. I walked from there to here—then I says, “Why, what did
he die of?” “He died of a rope round his neck,” says she, and just went on
II j
pleatin’ at her apron. Well, I went out and called Harry. I thought I might—
=;| need help. We went upstairs and there he was lyin’—
County Attorney: I think I’d rather have you go into that upstairs, where you can
point it all out. Just go on now with the rest of the story.
Hale: Well, my first thought was to get that rope off. It looked ... [Stops, his face
twitches] ... but Harry, he went up to him, and he said, “No, he’s dead all
i right, and we’d better not touch anything.” So we went back down stairs.
■

She was still sitting that same way. “Has anybody been notified?” I asked.
; “No,” says she, unconcerned. “Who did this, Mrs. Wright?” said Harry. He
■
said it businesslike—and she stopped pleatin’ of her apron. “I don’t know,”
she says. “You don’t know?” says Harry. “No,” says she. “Weren’t you sleepin’
! in the bed with him?” says Harry. “Yes,” says she, “but I was on the inside.”
“Somebody slipped a rope round his neck and strangled him and you didn’t
wake up?” says Harry. “I didn’t wake up,” she said after him. We must ’a
looked as if we didn’t see how that could be, for after a minute she said, “I
sleep sound.” Harry was going to ask her more questions but I said maybe we
ought to let her tell her story first to the coroner, or the sheriff, so Harry
went fast as he could to Rivers’ place, where there’s a telephone.
County Attorney: And what did Mrs. Wright do when she knew that you had
gone for the coroner?
Hale: She moved from that chair to this one over here [Pointing to a small chair in
the comer] and just sat there with her hands held together and looking down.
1 got a feeling that I ought to make some conversation, so I said I had come
in to see if John wanted to put in a telephone, and at that she started to
laugh, and then she stopped and looked at me—scared. [The County
Attorney, who has had his notebook out, makes a note.] I dunno, maybe it wasn t
scared. I wouldn’t like to say it was. Soon Harry got back, and then Dr. Lloyd
came, and you, Mr. Peters, and so I guess that’s all I know that you don’t.
County Attorney: [Looking around.] I guess we’ll go upstairs first—and then out to
; the bam and around there. [To the Sheriff] You’re convinced that there was
: nothing important here—nothing that would point to any motive.
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' 1068 READING A PLAY

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Sheriff: Nothing here but kitchen things.
[The County Attorney, after again looking around the kitchen, opens the door of a
cupboard closet. He gets up on a chair and lool<s on a shelf. Pulls his hand away,
sticky.]
County Attorney: Here’s a nice mess.
[The women draw nearer.]
Mrs. Peters: [To the other woman.] Oh, her fruit; it did freeze. [To the County
Attorney] She worried about that when it turned so cold. She said the fire’d
go out and her jars would break.
Sheriff: Well, can you beat the women! Held for murder and worryin’ about her
preserves.
County Attorney: I guess before we’re through she may have something more seri­
ous than preserves to worry about.
Hale: Well, women are used to worrying over trifles.
[The two women move a little closer together.]
County Attorney: [With the gallantry of a young politician.] And yet, for all their
worries, what would we do without the ladies? [The women do not unbend. He
goes to the sink, takes a dipperful of water from the pail and pouring it into a basin,
washes his hands. Starts to wipe them on the roller towel, turns it for a cleaner
place.] Dirty towels! [Kicks his foot against the pans under the sink.] Not much
of a housekeeper, would you say, ladies?
Mrs. Hale: [Stiffly.] There’s a great deal of work to be done on a farm.
County Attorney: To be sure. And yet [With a little bow to her] I know there are
some Dickson county farmhouses which do not have such roller towels.
[He gives it a pull to expose its full length again.]
Mrs. Hale: Those towels get dirty awful quick. Men’s hands aren’t always as clean
as they might be.
County Attorney: Ah, loyal to your sex, I see. But you and Mrs. Wright were
neighbors. I suppose you were friends, too.
Mrs. Hale: [Shaking her head.] I’ve not seen much of her of late years. I’ve not
been in this house—it’s more than a year.
County Attorney: And why was that? You didn’t like her?
Mrs. Hale: I liked her all well enough. Farmers’ wives have their hands full, Mr.
Henderson. And then—
County Attorney: Yes—?
Mrs. Hale: [Looking about.] It never seemed a very cheerful place.
County Attorney: No—it’s not cheerful. I shouldn’t say she had the homemaking
instinct.
Mrs. Hale: Well, I don’t know as Wright had, either.
County Attorney: You mean that they didn’t get on very well?
Mrs. Hale: No, I don’t mean anything. But I don’t think a place’d be any cheer-
fuller for John Wright’s being in it.

SUSAN GLASPELL 1069

 County Attorney: I’d like to talk more of that a little later. I want to get the lay of
things upstairs now.
[He goes to the left, where three steps lead to a stair door.]
Sheriff: I suppose anything Mrs. Peters does’ll be all right. She was to take in some
clothes for her, you know, and a few little things. We left in such a hurry yes'
1 terday.
! County Attorney: Yes, but I would like to see what you take, Mrs. Peters, and keep
an eye out for anything that might be of use to us.
Mrs. Peters: Yes, Mr. Henderson.
[The women listen to the men’s steps on the stairs, then look about the kitchen.]
Mrs. Hale: I’d hate to have men coming into my kitchen, snooping around and
: criticizing.
:
[She arranges the pans under sink which the County Attorney had shoved out of
place.]
Mrs. Peters: Of course it’s no more than their duty.
i
Mrs. Hale: Duty’s all right, but I guess that deputy sheriff that came out to make
: the fire might have got a little of this on. [Gives the roller towel a pull.] Wish
I’d thought of that sooner. Seems mean to talk about her for not having
things slicked up when she had to come away in such a hurry.
I Mrs. Peters: [Who has gone to a small table in the left rear comer of the room, and lifted
one end of a towel that covers a pan.] She had bread set.
: [Stands still.]
Mrs. Hale: [Eyes fixed on a loaf of bread beside the breadbox, which is on a low shelf
at the other side of the room. Moves slowly toward it.] She was going to put
‘ this in there. [Picks up loaf, then abruptly drops it. In a manner of returning to
familiar things.] It’s a shame about her fruit. I wonder if it’s all gone. [Gets up
on the chair and looks.] I think there’s some here that’s all right, Mrs. Peters.
Yes—here; [Holding it toward the window] this is cherries, too. [Looking
i again.] I declare I believe that’s the only one. [Gets down, bottle in her hand.
Goes to the sink and wipes it off on the outside.] She’ll feel awful bad after all
her hard work in the hot weather. I remember the afternoon I put up my
cherries last summer.
[She puts the bottle on the big kitchen table, center of the room. With a sig]i, is about
to sit down in the rocking-chair. Before she is seated realizes what chair it is; with a
slow look at it, steps back. The chair which she has touched rocks back and forth.]
Mrs. Peters: Well, I must get those things from the front room closet. [She goes to
the door at the right, but after looking into the other room, steps back.] 'lou coni'
ing with me, Mrs. Hale? You could help me carry them.
[They go in the other room; reappear, Mrs. Peters carrying a dress and skirt, Mrs.
i
Hale following with a pair of shoes.]

1070 reading a play

Mrs. Peters: My, it’s cold in there.
[She puts the clothes on the big table, and hurries to the stove.]
Mrs. Hale: [Examining her skirt.] Wright was close. I think maybe that’s why she
kept so much to herself. She didn’t even belong to the Ladies Aid. I suppose
she felt she couldn’t do her part, and then you don’t enjoy things when you
feel shabby. She used to wear pretty clothes and be lively, when she was
Minnie Foster, one of the town girls singing in the choir. But that—oh, that
was thirty years ago. This all you was to take in.7
Mrs. Peters: She said she wanted an apron. Funny thing to want, for there isn’t
!
much to get you dirty in jail, goodness knows. But I suppose just to make her
feel more natural. She said they was in the top drawer in this cupboard. Yes,
here. And then her little shawl that always hung behind the door. [Opens
stair door and looks.] Yes, here it is.
[Quickly shuts door leading upstairs.]
Mrs. Hale: [Abruptly moving toward her.] Mrs. Peters?
Mrs. Peters: Yes, Mrs. Hale?
Mrs. Hale: Do you think she did it?
Mrs, Peters: [In a frightened voice.] Oh, I don’t know.
Mrs. Hale: Well, I don’t think she did. Asking for an apron and her little shawl.
Worrying about her fruit.
Mrs. Peters: [Starts to speak, glances up, where footsteps are heard in the room above.
In a low voice.] Mr. Peters says it looks bad for her. Mr. Henderson is awful
sarcastic in a speech and he’ll make fun of her sayin’ she didn’t wake up.
Mrs. Hale: Well, I guess John Wright didn’t wake when they was slipping that i!
rope under his neck.
Mrs. Peters: No, it’s strange. It must have been done awful crafty and still. They
say it was such a—funny way to kill a man, rigging it all up like that.
Mrs. Hale: That’s just what Mr. Hale said. There was a gun in the house. He says
that’s what he can’t understand. :
i
Mrs. Peters: Mr. Henderson said coming out that what was needed for the case
i;
was a motive; something to show anger, or—sudden feeling.
Mrs. Hale: [Who is stairding by the table.] Well, I don’t see any signs of anger around
here. [She puts her hand on the dish towel which lies on the table, stands looking i
down at table, one half of which is clean, the other half messy.] It’s wiped to here.
[Makes a move as if to finish work, then turns and looks at loaf of bread outside the
breadbox. Drops towel. In that voice of coming back to familiar things.] Wonder
how they are finding things upstairs. I hope she had it a little more red-up° up I
there. You know, it seems kind of sneaking. Locking her up in town and then
coming out here and trying to get her own house to turn against her!
1
Mrs. Peters: But Mrs. Hale, the law is the law. 1

red-up: (slang) readied up, ready to be seen.

SUSAN GLASPELL 1071

 Mrs. Hale: I s’pose ’tis. [Unbuttoning her coat.] Better loosen up your things, Mrs.
Peters. You won’t feel them when you go out.
[Mrs. Peters takes off her fur tippet, goes to hang it on hook at back of room,
stands looking at the under part of the small comer table.]
Mrs. Peters: She was piecing a quilt.
[She brings the large sewing basket and they look at the bright pieces.]
Mrs. Hale: It’s a log cabin pattern. Pretty, isn’t it? I wonder if she was goin’ ro
quilt it or just knot it?
!
[Footsteps have been heard coming down the stairs. The Sheriff enters followed by-
Hale and the County Attorney.]
: Sheriff: They wonder if she was going to quilt it or just knot it!

SI [The men laugh; the women look abashed.]

County Attorney: [Rubbing his hands over the stove.] Frank’s fire didn’t do much up
there, did it? Well, let’s go out to the bam and get that cleared up.
[The men go outside.]
Mrs. Hale: [Resentfully.] I don’t know as there’s anything so strange, our takin’ up
our time with little things while we’re waiting for them to get the evidence.
[She sits down at the big table smoothing out a block with decision.] I don’t see as
it’s anything to laugh about.
Mrs. Peters: [Apologetically.] Of course they’ve got awful important things on their
minds.
[Pulls up a chair and joins Mrs. Hale at the table.]
Mrs. Hale: [Examining another block.] Mrs. Peters, look at this one. Here, this is
the one she was working on, and look at the sewing! All the rest of it has
been so nice and even. And look at this! It’s all over the place! Why, it looks
as if she didn’t know what she was about!
[After she has said this they look at each, then start to glance back at the door.
After an instant Mrs. Hale has pulled at a knot and ripped the sewing.]
Mrs. Peters: Oh, what are you doing, Mrs. Hale?
Mrs. Hale: [Mildly.] Just pulling out a stitch or two that’s not sewed very good.
[Threading a needle.] Bad sewing always made me fidgety.
Mrs. Peters: [Nervously.] 1 don’t think we ought to touch things.
Mrs. Hale: I’ll just finish up this end. [Suddenly stopping and leaning forward.] Mrs.
Peters?
Mrs. Peters: Yes, Mrs. Hale?
Mrs. Hale: What do you suppose she was so nervous about?
Mrs. Peters: Oh—I don’t know. I don’t know as she was nervous. I sometimes sew
awful queer when I’m just tired. fMrs. Hale starts to say something, loo at

1072 READING A PLAY

 Mrs. Peters, then goes on sewing.] Well, I must get these things wrapped up.
They may be through sooner than we think. [Putting apron and other things
together.] I wonder where I can find a piece of paper, and string.
Mrs. Hale: In that cupboard, maybe.
Mrs. Peters: [Looking in cupboard.] Why, here’s a birdcage. [Holds it up.] Did she
have a bird, Mrs. Hale?
Mrs. Hale: Why, I don’t know whether she did or not—I’ve not been here for so
long. There was a man around last year selling canaries cheap, but I don’t
know as she took one; maybe she did. She used to sing real pretty herself.
Mrs. Peters: [Glancing around.] Seems funny to think of a bird here. But she must
have had one, or why would she have a cage? I wonder what happened to it.
Mrs. Hale: 1 s’pose maybe the cat got it.
Mrs. Peters: No, she didn’t have a cat. She’s got that feeling some people have
about cats—being afraid of them. My cat got in her room and she was real I
upset and asked me to take it out.
Mrs. Hale: My sister Bessie was like that. Queer, ain’t it?
Mrs. Peters: [Examining the cage.] Why, look at this door. It’s broke. One hinge is
pulled apart.
Mrs. Hale: [Looking too.] Looks as if someone must have been rough with it.
Mrs. Peters: Why, yes. I!
;;
[She brings the cage forward and puts it on the table.]
Mrs. Hale: I wish if they’re going to find any evidence they’d be about it. I don’t if
like this place.
Mrs. Peters: But I’m awful glad you came with me, Mrs. Hale. It would be lone-
some for me sitting here alone. Hi
E
Mrs. Hale: It would, wouldn’t it? [Dropping her sewing.] But I tell you what I do ;j
wish, Mrs. Peters. I wish I had come over sometimes when she was here. I—
[Looking around the room.]—wish I had.
Mrs. Peters: But of course you were awful busy, Mrs. Hale—your house and your
children.
Mrs. Hale: I could’ve come. I stayed away because it weren’t cheerful—and that’s :■

why I ought to have come, I—I’ve never liked this place. Maybe because it’s ■

down in a hollow and you don’t see the road. I dunno what it is but it’s a
lonesome place and always was. I wish I had come over to see Minnie Foster
sometimes. I can see now-—
[Shakes her head.]
Mrs. Peters: Well, you mustn’t reproach yourself, Mrs. Hale. Somehow we just :
don’t see how it is with other folks until—something comes up.
Mrs. Hale: Not having children makes less work—but it makes a quiet house, and I
Wright out to work all day, and no company when he did come in. Did you
i
know John Wright, Mrs. Peters ?
Mrs. Peters: Not to know him; I’ve seen him in town. They say he was a good
man.

I
SUSAN GLASPELL 1073
-
 Mrs. Hale: Yes—good; he didn’t drink, and kept his word as well as most, I guess,
and paid his debts. But he was a hard man, Mrs. Peters. Just to pass the time
of day with him—[Shivers.] Like a raw wind that gets to the bone, [Pauses,
her eye falling on the cage.] I should think she would’a wanted a bird. But what
do you suppose went with it?
Mrs. Peters: I don’t know, unless it got sick and died.
[She reaches over and swings the broken door, swings it again. Both women watch
it.]
Mrs. Hale: You weren’t raised round here, were you? [Mrs. Peters shakes her head.]
m You didn’t know—her?
Mrs. Peters: Not till they brought her yesterday.
Mrs. Hale: She—come to think of it, she was kind of a like a bird herself—real
! sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and—fluttery. How—she—did—change.
[Silence; then as if struck by a happy thought and relieved to get back to everyday
things.] Tell you what, Mrs. Peters, why don’t you take the quilt in with you?
It might take up her mind.
1 Mrs. Peters: Why, I think that’s a real nice idea, Mrs. Hale. There couldn’t possi­
! bly be any objection to it, could there? Now, just what would I take? I won­
i der if her patches are in here—and her things.
I [They look in the sewing baslcet.]
Mrs. Hale: Here’s some red. I expect this has got sewing things in it. [Brings out a
fancy box.] What a pretty box. Looks like something somebody would give
: you. Maybe her scissors are in here. [Opens box. Suddenly puts her hand to her
nose.] Why—[Mrs. Peters bends nearer, then turns her face away.] There’s
i\ something wrapped up in this piece of silk.
i Mrs. Peters: Why, this isn’t her scissors.
Mrs. Hale: [Lifting the silk.] Oh, Mrs. Peters—it’s—
: [Mrs. Peters bends closer.]
i
Mrs. Peters: It’s the bird.
J Mrs. Hale: [Jumping up.] But, Mrs. Peters—look at it! Its neck! Look at its neck!
j It’s all—other side too.
Mrs. Peters: Somebody—wrung—its—neck.
[Their eyes meet. A look of growing comprehension, of horror. Steps are heard out­
side. Mrs. Hale slips box under quilt pieces, and sinks into her chair. Enter Sheriff
and County Attorney. Mrs. Peters rises.]
County Attorney: [As one turning from serious things to little pleasantries J Well,
ladies, have you decided whether she was going to quilt it or knot it?
! Mrs. Peters: We think she was going to—knot it.
!
I
County Attorney: Well, that’s interesting, I’m sure. [Seeing the birdcage.] Has the
bird flown?
Mrs. Hale: [Putting more quilt pieces over the box.] We think the—cat got it.

j
1074 READING A PLAY
■i
County Attorney: [Preoccupied.] Is there a cat?
[Mrs. Hale glances in a quick covert way at Mrs. Peters.]
Mrs. Peters: Well, not now. They’re superstitious, you know. They leave.
County Attorney: [To Sheriff Peters, continuing an interrupted conversation.] No sign
at all of anyone having come from the outside. Their own rope. Now let’s go
up again and go over it piece by piece. [They start upstairs.] It would have to
have been someone who knew just th<
[Mrs. Peters sits down. The two women sit there not looking at one another, but as
if peering into something and at the same time holding back. When they talk now it
is in the manner of feeling their way over strange ground, as if afraid of what they
are saying, but as if they cannot help saying it.]
Mrs. Hale: She liked the bird. She was going to bury it in that pretty box.
Mrs. Peters: [In a whisper.] When I was a girl—my kitten—there was a boy took a
hatchet, and before my eyes—and before I could get there—[Covers her face
an instant.] If they hadn’t held me back I would have—[Catches herself, looks ;■

upstairs where steps are heard, falters weakly]—hurt him.

Mrs. Hale: [With a slow look around her.] I wonder how it would seem never to
have had any children around. [Pause.] No, Wright wouldn’t like the bird—a
tiling that sang. She used to sing. He killed that, too.
Mrs. Peters: [Moving uneasily.] We don’t know who killed the bird.
Mrs. Hale: I knew John Wright.
Mrs. Peters: It was an awful thing was done in this house that night, Mrs. Hale.
Killing a man while he slept, slipping a rope around his neck that choked the
life out of him.
Mrs, Hale: His neck. Choked the life out of him.
[Her hand goes out and rests on the birdcage.]
Mrs. Peters: [With rising voice.] We don’t know who killed him. We don’t know.
Mrs. Hale: [Her own feeling not interrupted.] If there’d been years and years of
nothing, then a bird to sing to you, it would be awful—still, after the bird
was still.
Mrs. Peters: [Something within her speaking.] I know what stillness is. When we
homesteaded in Dakota, and my first baby died—after he was two years old,
and me with no other then—
Mrs. Hale: [Moving.] How soon do you suppose they’ll be through looking for the
evidence?
Mrs. Peters: I know what stillness is. [Pulling herself back.] The law has got to pun­
ish crime, Mrs. Hale.
Mrs. Hale: [Not as if ariswering that.] I wish you’d seen Minnie Foster when she
wore a white dress with blue ribbons and stood up there in the choir and
sang. [A look around the room.] Oh, I ivish I’d come over here once in a while!
That was a crime! That was a crime! Who’s going to punish that?
Mrs. Peters: [Looking upstairs.] We mustn’t—take on.

SUSAN GLASPELL 1075

 Mrs. Hale: 1 might have known she needed help! I know how things can be—for
women. I tell you, it’s queer, Mrs. Peters. We live close together and we live
far apart. We all go through the same things—it’s all just a different kind of
the same thing. [Brushes her eyes; noticing the bottle of fruit, reaches out for it.]
If I was you I wouldn’t tell her her fruit was gone. Tell her it ain't. Tell her
it’s all right. Take this in to prove it to her. She—she may never know
whether it was broke or not.
Mrs. Peters: [Takes the bottle, looks about for something to wrap it in; takes petticoat
from the clothes brought from the other room, very nervously begins wading this
% around the bottle. In a false voice.] My, it’s a good thing the men couldn’t hear
us. Wouldn’t they just laugh! Getting all stirred up over a little thing like
a—dead canary. As if that could have anything to do with—with—wouldn’t
they laugh!
fi [The men are heard coming down stairs.]
Mrs. Hale: [Under her breath.] Maybe they would—maybe they wouldn’t.
County Attorney: No, Peters, it’s all perfectly clear except a reason for doing it.
But you know juries when it comes to women. If there was some definite
thing. Something to show—something to make a story about—a thing that
would connect up with this strange way of doing it—
-!i
[The womens eyes meet for an instant. Enter Hale from outer door.]
Hale: Well, I’ve got the team around. Pretty cold out there.
I1 S County Attorney: I’m going to stay here a while by myself. [To the Sheriff.] You can
send Frank out for me, can’t you? I want to go over everything. I’m not satis­
ji
fied that we can’t do better.
I Sheriff: Do you want to see what Mrs. Peters is going to take in?
|i
Ei [The County Attorney goes to the table, picl<s up the apron, laughs.]
I County Attorney: Oh, I guess they’re not very dangerous things the ladies have
i picked out. [Moves a few things about, disturbing the quilt pieces which cover the
; box. Steps back.] No, Mrs. Peters doesn’t need supervising. For that matter, a
sheriffs wife is married to the law. Ever think of it that way, Mrs. Peters?
:! Mrs. Peters: Not—just that way.
1 Sheriff: [Chuckling.] Married to the law. [Moves toward the other room.] I just want
you to come in here a minute, George. We ought to take a look at these win­
i dows.
County Attorney: [Scoffingly.] Oh, windows!
Sheriff: We’ll be right out, Mr. Plale.

i [Hale goes outside. The Sheriff follows the County Attorney into the other room.
Then Mrs. Hale rises, hands tight together, looking intensely at Mrs. Peters, whose
! eyes make a slow turn, finally meeting Mrs. Hale’s. A moment Mrs. Hale holds
: her, then her own eyes point the way to where the box is concealed. Suddenly Mrs.
i Peters throws back quilt pieces and tries to put the box in the bag she is wearing. It
;
i
,
i
i;! 1076 READING A PLAY
 is too big. She opens box, starts to take bird out, cannot touch it, goes to pieces,
stands there helpless. Sound of a knob turning in the other room. Mrs. Hale
snatches the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. Enter County Attorney
and Sheriff.]
County Attorney: [Facetiously.] Well, Henry, at least we found out that she was
not going to quilt it. She was going to—what is it you call it, ladies?
Mrs. Hale: [Her hand against her pocket.] We call it—knot it, Mr. Henderson.
CURTAIN

Questions
1. What attitudes toward women do the Sheriff and the County Attorney express? How
do Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Peters react to these sentiments?
2. Why does the County Attorney care so much about discovering a motive for the !
killing?
3. What does Glaspell show us about the position of women in this early twentieth-
century community?
4. What do we learn about the married life of the Wrights? By what means is this knowl­
edge revealed to us?
5. What is the setting of this play, and how does it help us to understand Mrs. Wright’s
deed?
6. What do you infer from the wildly stitched block in Minnie’s quilt? Why does Mrs.
Hale rip out the crazy stitches?
7- What is so suggestive in the ruined birdcage and the dead canary wrapped in silk?
What do these objects have to do with Minnie Foster Wright? What similarity do you
notice between the way the canary died and John Wright’s own death? i
8. What thoughts and memories confirm Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Hale in their decision to
help Minnie beat the murder rap?
9. In what places does Mrs. Peters show that she is trying to be a loyal, law-abiding sher­
iffs wife? How do she and Mrs. Hale differ in background and temperament? I
10. What ironies does the play contain? Comment on Mrs. Hale’s closing speech: “We i
call it—knot it, Mr. Henderson.” Why is that little hesitation before “knot it” such a :
i
meaningful pause?
11- Point out some moments in the play when the playwright gives us to understand
much without needing a spoken word.
12. How would you sum up the play’s major theme?
13. How does this play, first produced in 1916, show its age? In what ways does it seem
still remarkably new?
14. “Trifles is a lousy mystery. All the action took place before the curtain went up.
Almost in the beginning, on the third page, we find out ‘who done it.’ So there isn’t
really much reason for us to sit through the rest of the play.” Discuss this view.

Some plays endure, perhaps because (among other reasons) actors take plea­
sure in performing them. Trifles is such a play:^ showcase for the skills of its two
principals. While the men importantly bumble about, trying to discover a motive,
Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Hale solve the case right under their dull noses} The two
players in these leading roles face a challenging task: to show boffrc haracters
growing onstage before us. Discovering a secret that binds them, the two must
realize painful truths in their own lives, become aware of all they have in

SUSAN GLASPELL 1077