Rachel: A Play in Three Acts

by Angelina Weld Grimké

Jimmy (Dreamily): Yes.

Rachel: “Why are you crying, little boys?” she asked again, in a lovely, low, little voice. “Because we are tired and sore and hungry and cold; and we are all alone in the world; and we don’t know how to laugh any more. We should so like to laugh again.” “Why, that’s easy,” she said, “it’s just like this.” And she laughed a little, joyous, musical laugh. “Try!” she commanded. They tried, but their laughing boxes were very rusty, and they made horrid sounds. “Well,” she said, “I advise you to pack up, and go away, as soon as you can, to the Land of Laughter. You’ll soon learn there, I can tell you.” “Is there such a land?” they asked doubtfully. “To be sure there is,” she answered the least bit sharply. “We never heard of it,” they said. “Well, I’m sure there must be plenty of things you never heard about,” she said just the “leastest” bit more sharply. “In a moment you’ll be telling me flowers don’t talk together, and the birds.” “We never heard of such a thing,” they said in surprise, their eyes like saucers. “There!” she said, bobbing her little curls. “What did I tell you? You have much to learn.” “How do you get to the Land of Laughter?” they asked. “You go out of the eastern gate of the town, just as the sun is rising; and you take the highway there, and follow it; and if you go with it long enough, it will bring you to the very gates of the Land of Laughter. It’s a long, long way from here; and it will take you many days.” The words had scarcely left her mouth, when, lo! the little lady disappeared, and where she had stood was the white square of moonlight—nothing else. And without more ado these two little boys put their arms around each other and fell fast asleep. And in the grey, just before daybreak, they awoke and dressed; and, putting on their ragged caps and mittens, for it was a wintry day, they stole out of the house and made for the eastern gate. And just as they reached it, and passed through, the whole east leapt into fire. All day they walked, and many days thereafter, and kindly people, by the way, took them in and gave them food and drink and sometimes a bed at night. Often they slept by the roadside, but they didn’t mind that for the climate was delightful—not too hot, and not too cold. They soon threw away their ragged little mittens. They walked for many days, and there was no Land of Laughter. Once they met an old man, richly dressed, with shining jewels on his fingers, and he stopped them and asked: “Where are you going so fast, little boys?” “We are going to the Land of Laughter,” they said together gravely. “That,” said the old man, “is a very foolish thing to do. Come with me, and I will take you to the Land of Riches. I will cover you with garments of beauty, and give you jewels and a castle to live in and servants and horses and many things besides.” And they said to him: “No, we wish to learn how to laugh again; we have forgotten how, and we are going to the Land of Laughter.” “You will regret not going with me. See, if you don’t,” he said; and he left them in quite a huff. And they walked again, many days, and again they met an old man. He was tall and imposing-looking and very dignified. And he said: “Where are you going so fast, little boys?” “We are going to the Land of Laughter,” they said together very seriously. “What!” he said, “that is an extremely foolish thing to do. Come with me, and I will give you power. I will make you great men: generals, kings, emperors, Whatever you desire to accomplish will be permitted you.” And they smiled politely: “Thank you very much, but we have forgotten how to laugh, and we are going there to learn how.” He looked upon them haughtily, without speaking, and disappeared. And they walked and walked more days; and they met another old man. And he was clad in rags, and his face was thin, and his eyes were unhappy. And he whispered to them: “Where are you going so fast, little boys?” “We are going to the Land of Laughter,” they answered, without a smile. “Laughter! Laughter! that is useless. Come with me and I will show you the beauty of life through sacrifice, suffering for others. That is the only life. I come from the Land of Sacrifice.” And they thanked him kindly, but said: “We have suffered long enough. We have forgotten how to laugh. We would learn again.” And they went on; and he looked after them very wistfully. They walked more days, and at last they came to the Land of Laughter. And how do you suppose they knew this? Because they could hear, over the wall, the sound of joyous laughter,—the laughter of men, women, and children. And one sat guarding the gate, and they went to her. “We have come a long, long distance; and we would enter the Land of Laughter.” “Let me see you smile, first,” she said gently. “I sit at the gate; and no one who does not know how to smile may enter the Land of Laughter.” And they tried to smile, but could not. “Go away and practice,” she said kindly, “and come back tomorrow.” And they went away, and practiced all night how to smile; and in the morning they returned, and the gentle lady at the gate said: “Dear little boys, have you learned how to smile?” And they said: “We have tried. How is this?” “Better,” she said, “much better. Practice some more, and come back tomorrow.” And they went away obediently and practiced, And they came the third day. And she said: “Now try again.” And tears of delight came into her lovely eyes. “Those were very beautiful smiles,” she said. “Now, you may enter.” And she unlocked the gate, and kissed them both, and they entered the Land—the beautiful Land of Laughter. Never had they seen such blue skies, such green trees and grass; never had they heard such birds songs. And people, men, women and children, laughing softly, came to meet them, and took them in, and made them as home; and soon, very soon, they learned to sleep. And they grew up here, and married, and had laughing, happy children. And sometimes they thought of the Land of Riches, and said: “Ah! well!” and sometimes of the Land of Power, and sighed a little; and sometimes of the Land of Sacrifice—and their eyes were wistful. But they soon forgot, and laughed again. And they grew old, laughing. And then when they died—a laugh was on their lips. Thus are things in the beautiful Land of Laughter. (There is a long pause).

Jimmy: I like that story, Ma Rachel. It’s nice to laugh, isn’t is? Is there such a land?

Rachel (Softly): What do you think, honey?

Jimmy: I thinks it would be awful nice if there was. Don’t you?

Rachel (Wistfully): If there only were! If there only were!

Jimmy: Ma Rachel.

Rachel: Well?

Jimmy: It makes you think—kind of—doesn’t it—of sunshine medicine?

Rachel: Yes, honey,—but it isn’t medicine there. It’s always there—just like—well—like our air here. It’s always sunshine there.