The Scarecrow; or The Glass of Truth: A Tragedy of the Ludicrous — Reading Companion

The Devil as Tutor and Stage Manager

Dickon, the devil figure, functions as both director and puppeteer. In the excerpt, he praises Ravensbane as 'thou exquisite flower of love' and 'the Apollo Belvedere' among scarecrows, while simultaneously controlling his every gesture. The rehearsal scene reveals a power dynamic: Dickon corrects Ravensbane's inflection ('a little more lachrymose'), but the scarecrow soon asserts himself, snapping 'Stop talking; permit me! A tutor should know his place.' This early tension hints at the creature's growing willfulness. Dickon's language is theatrical—he references Beaumont and Fletcher, calls Ravensbane 'my darling homunculus'—blending diabolical mischief with a connoisseur's delight in his own creation.

Ravensbane's Double Nature: Puppet and Suitor

The scarecrow oscillates between mechanical obedience and genuine longing. When Dickon hands him a book to appear scholarly, Ravensbane flings it into the fireplace, crying 'She does not come!'—referring to Mistress Rachel. His despair is childlike, but his earlier challenge speech reveals a calculated arrogance: he chooses 'combative utensils most appropriate both to his own humble origin and to local tradition,' pointing to flails on a table. The stage direction 'Frowning darkly at Dickon' suggests a creature capable of menace. MacKaye builds the character through these contrasts: a patchwork being who can quote Virgil yet throws tantrums, who bows with courtly grace but threatens violence.

The Glass of Truth as Structural Motif

The play's full title—The Scarecrow; or The Glass of Truth—points to a central prop that does not appear in these excerpts but is foreshadowed by the scarecrow's obsession with self-image. In Hawthorne's original, the mirror reveals the scarecrow's true nature; MacKaye likely adapts this device. The rehearsal scene emphasizes performance and illusion: Ravensbane practices roles (courtier, duelist, lover) while Dickon applauds his 'histrionics.' The 'glass of truth' would shatter this constructed identity. Readers should watch for how the play stages the moment of self-recognition—whether through a literal mirror or through the reactions of other characters.

Puritan Setting as Comic and Tragic Frame

The catalog subjects place the play in 'Massachusetts -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775,' and the excerpts mention 'Squire Talbot,' 'Captain Bugby,' and 'the Governor's secretary.' Yet the supernatural elements—a witch, a devil, a living scarecrow—clash with the historical setting. MacKaye uses this friction for both humor and pathos. The scarecrow's elaborate manners are absurd against the plainness of Puritan society, but his desire to be accepted as human is genuine. The subtitle 'Tragedy of the Ludicrous' suggests that the comedy will curdle: a creature who learns to feel but cannot escape his origins. The opening scenes establish a world where social performance is everything, and authenticity is a dangerous luxury.

Readers approaching The Scarecrow for the first time should attend to the play's dual nature: it is both a period comedy of manners and a fable about identity. MacKaye's verse and prose shift between high-flown rhetoric and earthy humor, mirroring the scarecrow's own incongruity. The excerpts offer only a glimpse of the full arc, but they suggest that the 'glass of truth' will force a reckoning not just for Ravensbane, but for the human characters who mistake appearance for substance.

The rain kept pace with the scarecrow’s hollow, courtly bows, and I closed The Scarecrow feeling oddly fond of its staged absurdity. That afternoon’s mood drifted, almost by accident, toward a stranger stage: The Mormons and the Theatre; or, The History of Theatricals in Utah — Context and Discussion—a quiet reminder that every community rehearses its own curious illusions, even under a very different sky.