{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_19393/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_19393","id":"gutenberg_19393","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19393","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Drama","Fantasy"],"text":"Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team\n\n\n\n\n\nPlays of Near & Far\n\n_By_\n\nLORD DUNSANY\n\n\nG. P. Putnam's Sons\nLondon & New York\n\nMADE IN GREAT BRITAIN\n\n_First printed December, 1922_\n\n_Limited Edition: Five Hundred Copies only_\n\n\n_Printed by the_\nBOTOLPH PRINTING WORKS\nGATE ST., KINGSWAY, W.C.2\n\n\n\n\n_By_ LORD DUNSANY\n\nTHE GODS OF PEGANA\nTIME AND THE GODS\nTHE SWORD OF WELLERAN\nA DREAMER'S TALES\nTHE BOOK OF WONDER\nFIVE PLAYS\nFIFTY-ONE TALES\nTALES OF WONDER\nPLAYS OF GODS AND MEN\nTALES OF WAR\nUNHAPPY FAR-OFF THINGS\nTALES OF THREE HEMISPHERES\nIF\nTHE CHRONICLES OF RODRIGUEZ\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nBelieving plays to be solely for the stage, I have never before allowed\nany of mine to be printed until they had first faced from a stage the\njudgment of an audience, to see if they were entitled to be called plays\nat all. A successful production also has been sometimes a moral support\nto me when some critic has said, as for instance of \"A Night at an Inn,\"\nthat though it reads passably it could never act.\n\nBut in this book I have made an exception to this good rule (as it seems\nto me), and that exception is \"The Flight of the Queen.\" I know too\nlittle of managers and theatres to know what to do with it, and have a\nfeeling that it will be long before it is ever acted, and am too fond of\nthis play to leave it in obscurity. This beautiful story has been lying\nabout the world for countless centuries, without ever having been\ndramatized. It is the story of a royal court, which I have merely\nadapted to the stage. The date that I have given is accurate; it\nhappened in June; and happens every June; perhaps in some corner of the\nreader's garden. It is the story of the bees.\n\nAs for \"The Compromise of the King of the Golden Isles,\" it is just the\nsort of play through which those that hunt for allegories might hunt\nmerrily, unless I mention that there are no allegories in any of my\nplays.\n\nAn allegory I take to be a dig at something local and limited, such as\npolitics, while outwardly appearing to tell of things on some higher\nplane. But, far from being the _chef d'oeuvre_ of some ponderously\nprofound thinker, I look on the allegory, if I have rightly defined it,\nas being the one form of art that is narrowly limited in its application\nto life. When the man whose cause it championed has been elected\nalderman, when the esplanade has been widened, or the town better\nlighted or drained, the allegory's work must necessarily be over; but\nthe truth of all other works of art is manifold and should be eternal.\n\nThough there is no such land as the Golden Isles and was never any such\nking as Hamaran, yet all that we write with sincerity is true, for we\ncan reflect nothing that we have not seen, and this we interpret with\nour idiosyncracies when we attempt any form of art.\n\nI set some store by the way in which the three lines about Zarabardes\nare recited, though it is hard to explain in writing a matter of rhythm.\nBut the heartlessness of it can be indicated by a clear pronunciation of\nthe syllables, as though the people that utter these words had long been\ndrilled in a formula.\n\nThe third play, \"Cheezo,\" tells of one of those rare occasions when it\nis permissible for an artist, and may be a duty, to leave his wider art\nin order to attack a definite evil. And the invention of \"great new\nfoods\" is often a huge evil.\n\n\"Cheezo\" is a play of Right and Wrong, and Wrong triumphs. Were not this\nparticular Wrong triumphing at this particular date I should not have\nthought it a duty to attack it, and were it easily defeated it would not\nhave been worth attacking.\n\nI have seen it acted with a Stage Curate, rather weak and a little\ncomic; obviously such a man could be no match for Sladder. Hippanthigh\nshould be of stronger stuff than that: he is defeated because that\nparticular evil is, as I have said, defeating its enemies at present.\nNor could there be any drama in a contest between the brutal Sladder and\na Stage Curate; for the spark that we call humour, by whose light we see\nmuch of life, comes as it were of two flints, and not of a flint and\ncheese.\n\nThe three little plays that follow I will leave to speak for themselves,\nas ultimately all plays have to do.\n\n                                                               DUNSANY\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                                  PAGE\n\nTHE COMPROMISE OF THE KING OF THE GOLDEN ISLES       1\nTHE FLIGHT OF THE QUEEN                             21\nCHEEZO                                              65\nA GOOD BARGAIN                                     103\nIF SHAKESPEARE LIVED TO-DAY                        117\nFAME AND THE POET                                  135\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMPROMISE OF THE KING OF THE GOLDEN ISLES\n\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6_\n\nTHE KING OF THE GOLDEN ISLES: KING HAMARAN.\nTHE KING'S POLITICIAN.\nTHE AMBASSADOR OF THE EMPEROR.\nTHE EMPEROR'S SEEKER.\nTWO PRIESTS OF THE ORDER OF THE SUN.\nTHE KING'S QUESTIONERS.\nTHE AMBASSADOR'S NUBIAN.\nTHE HERALD OF THE AMBASSADOR.\nTHE EMPEROR'S DWARF.\nTHE DEPUTY CUP-BEARER.\nTHE KING'S DOOM-BEARER.\n\n\n\nTHE KING'S POLITICIAN: A man has fled from the Emperor, and has taken\nrefuge in your Majesty's Court in that part of it called holy.\n\nTHE KING: We must give him up to the Emperor.\n\nPOLITICIAN: To-day a spearsman came running from Eng-Bathai seeking the\nman who fled. He carries the barbed spear of one of the Emperor's\nseekers.\n\nKING: We must give him up.\n\nPOLITICIAN: Moreover he has an edict from the Emperor demanding that the\nhead of the man who fled be sent back to Eng-Bathai.\n\nKING: Let it be sent.\n\nPOLITICIAN: Yet your Majesty is no vassal of the Emperor, who dwells at\nEng-Bathai.\n\nKING: We may not disobey the Imperial edict.\n\nPOLITICIAN: Yet----\n\nKING: None hath dared to do it.\n\nPOLITICIAN: It is so long since any dared to do it that the Emperor\nmocks at kings. If your Majesty disobeyed him the Emperor would\ntremble.\n\nKING: Ah.\n\nPOLITICIAN: The Emperor would say, \"There is a great king. He defies\nme.\" And he would tremble strangely.\n\nKING: Yet--if----\n\nPOLITICIAN: The Emperor would fear you.\n\nKING: I would fain be a great king--yet----\n\nPOLITICIAN: You would win honour in his eyes.\n\nKING: Yet is the Emperor terrible in his wrath. He was terrible in his\nwrath in the olden time.\n\nPOLITICIAN: The Emperor is old.\n\nKING: This is a great affront that he places upon a king, to demand a\nman who has come to sanctuary in that part of my Court called holy.\n\nPOLITICIAN: It is a great affront.\n\n[_Enter the_ SEEKER. _He abases himself._\n\nSEEKER: O King, I have come with my spear, seeking for one that fled the\nEmperor and has found sanctuary in your Court in that part called holy.\n\nKING: It has not been the wont of the kings of my line to turn men from\nour sanctuary.\n\nSEEKER: It is the Emperor's will.\n\nKING: It is not _my_ will.\n\nSEEKER: Behold the Emperor's edict.\n\n[_The_ KING _takes it. The_ SEEKER _goes towards the door._\n\nSEEKER: I go to sit with my spear by the door of the place called holy.\n\n[_Exit_ SEEKER.\n\nKING: The edict, the edict. We must obey the edict.\n\nPOLITICIAN: The Emperor is old.\n\nKING: True, we will defy him.\n\nPOLITICIAN: He will do nothing.\n\nKING: And yet the edict.\n\nPOLITICIAN: It is of no importance.\n\nKING: Hark. I will not disobey the Emperor. Yet will I not permit him to\nabuse the sanctuary of my Court. We will banish the man who fled from\nEng-Bathai. [_To his_ DOOM-BEARER.] Hither, the Doom-Bearer; take the\nblack ivory spear, the wand of banishment, that lies on the left of my\nthrone, and point it at the man that shelters in the holy place of my\nCourt. Then show him the privy door behind the horns of the altar, so\nthat he go safely hence and meet not the Emperor's seeker.\n\n[_The_ DOOM-BEARER _bows and takes the spear on the flat of both his\nhands. The shaft is all black, but the head is of white ivory. It is\nblunt and clearly ceremonial. Exit._]\n\n[_To_ POLITICIAN.\n\nThus we shall be safe from the wrath of the Emperor, and the holy place\nof my Court will not be violate.\n\nPOLITICIAN: Had your Majesty scorned the Emperor it were better. He is\nold and durst not take vengeance.\n\nKING: I have decided, and the man is banished.\n\n[_A_ HERALD _marches in and blows his trumpet._\n\nHERALD: The Ambassador of the Emperor.\n\n[_Enter the_ AMBASSADOR. _He bows to the King from his place near the\ndoor._\n\nKING: For what purpose to my Court from Eng-Bathai comes thus the\nAmbassador of the Emperor?\n\nAMBASSADOR: I bring to the King's Majesty a gift from the great Emperor,\n[AMBASSADOR _and his men bow_] who reigns in Eng-Bathai, the reward of\nobedience to his edict, a goblet of inestimable wine.\n\n[_He signs and there enters a page bearing a goblet of glass. He has a\npretty complexion and yellow hair falling as low as his chin and curling\ninwards. He wears a cerise belt round his tunic exactly matching the\nwine in the goblet he carries._\n\nHe prays you drink it, and to know that it was made by vintners whose\nskill is lost, and stored in secret cellars over a hundred years; and\nthat the vineyards whence it came have been long since whelmed by war,\nand only live now in legend and this wine.\n\nKING: A gift, you say, for obedience.\n\nAMBASSADOR: A gift from the old wine-gardens of the sun.\n\nKING: How knew the Emperor that I had thus obeyed him?\n\nAMBASSADOR: It has not been men's wont to disobey the Emperor.\n\nKING: Yet if I have sheltered this man in the holy place of my Court?\n\nAMBASSADOR: If that be so the Emperor bids you drink out of this golden\ngoblet. [_He signs and it is brought on by a bent and ugly dwarf_] and\nwishes you farewell.\n\nKING: Farewell, you say?\n\nAMBASSADOR: Farewell.\n\nKING: What have you in the goblet?\n\nAMBASSADOR: It is no common poison, but a thing so strange and deadly\nthat the serpents of Lebutharna go in fear of it. Yea travellers there\nhold high a goblet of this poison, at arm's length as they go. The\nserpents hide their heads for fear of it. Even so the travellers pass\nthe desert safely, and come to Eng-Bathai.\n\nKING: I have not sheltered this man.\n\nAMBASSADOR: There is no need then for this Imperial gift.\n\n[_He throws the liquid out of the goblet through the doorway on to the\nmarble. A great steam goes up._\n\nKING: Neither have I ordered that his head be sent back to Eng-Bathai.\n\nAMBASSADOR: Alas, for so rare a wine.\n\n[_He pours it away._\n\nKING: I have banished him and he is safe. I have neither obeyed nor\ndisobeyed.\n\nAMBASSADOR: The Emperor therefore bids you choose the gift that he\nhonours himself by sending to your Court.\n\n[_He signs. Enter a massive_ NUBIAN _with two cups._\n\nThe Emperor bids you drink one of these cups.\n\n[_The huge_ NUBIAN _moves up close to the_ KING _holding up the two cups\non a tray._\n\n[_The_ POLITICIAN _slinks off. Exit L._\n\nKING: The cups are strangely alike.\n\nAMBASSADOR: Only one craftsman in the City of Smiths ever discerned a\ndifference. The Emperor killed him, and now no one knows.\n\nKING: The potions also are alike.\n\nAMBASSADOR: Strangely alike. [_The_ KING _hesitates._] The Emperor bids\nyou choose his gift and drink.\n\nKING: The Emperor has poisoned the cups!\n\nAMBASSADOR: You greatly wrong the Emperor. Only one cup is poisoned.\n\nKING: You say that one is poisoned?\n\nAMBASSADOR: Only one, O King! Who may say which?\n\nKING: And what if I refuse to do this thing?\n\nAMBASSADOR: There are tortures that the Emperor never names. They are\nnot spoken of where the Emperor is. Yet the Emperor makes a sign and\nthey are accomplished. He makes the sign with a certain one of his\nfingers.\n\nKING (_half to himself_): How wonderfully they have the look of wine.\n\nAMBASSADOR: One is a wine scarcely less rare, scarcely less jubilant in\nthe wits of man, than that which alas is lost.\n\n[_He glances towards the spot where he threw the other._\n\nKING: And the other?\n\nAMBASSADOR: Who may say? It is the most treasured secret that the\nEmperor's poisoners guard.\n\nKING: I will send for my butlers that are wise in wine and they shall\nsmell the cups.\n\nAMBASSADOR: Alas, but the Emperor's poisoners have added so wine-like a\nflavour to their most secret draught, that no man may tell by this means\nwhich is their work and which that inestimable wine.\n\nKING: I will send for my tasters and they shall taste of the cups.\n\nAMBASSADOR: Alas, so great a risk may not be run.\n\nKING: Risks are the duty of a king's tasters.\n\nAMBASSADOR: If they chanced to taste of the treasure of the Emperor's\npoisoners--well. But if they, or _any_ man of common birth, were to\ntaste of the wine that the Emperor sends only to kings, and even to\nkings but rarely, that were an affront to the Emperor's ancient wine\nthat could not be permitted.\n\nKING: It is surely permitted that I send for my priests, who tell by\ndivination, having burnt strange herbs to the gods that guard the Golden\nIsles.\n\nAMBASSADOR: It is permitted.\n\nKING: Send for the priests.\n\nKING (_mainly to himself_): They shall discern. The priests shall make\nfor me this dreadful choice. They shall burn herbs and discern it. (_To_\nAMBASSADOR.) My priests are very subtle. They worship the gods that\nguard the Golden Isles.\n\nAMBASSADOR: The Emperor has other gods.\n\n[_Enter L. two priests of the Order of the Sun. Two acolytes follow. One\ncarries a tripod and the other a gong._\n\n[_The priests abase themselves and the acolytes bow. The_ AMBASSADOR\n_stands with almost Mongolian calm by the door from which he has not\nmoved since he entered._\n\n[_The impassive_ NUBIAN _stands motionless near the_ KING, _holding up\nthe cups on a tray._\n\nKING: The Emperor has honoured me with these two cups of wine that I may\ndrink one of them to the grandeur of his throne. I bid you importune the\ngods that they may surely tell me which it were well to drink.\n\nFIRST PRIEST: We will importune the gods with the savour of rarest\nspices. We will send up to them the odour of herbs they love. We will\ncommune with them in silence and they shall answer our thoughts, when\nthey snuff the savour of the smoke of the burning on the tripod that is\nsacred to the Sun.\n\n[_The calm of the_ AMBASSADOR _and the impassivity of the_ NUBIAN _grow\nominous. The two priests hang over the tripod. They cast herbs upon it.\nThey pass their hands over it. The herbs begin to smoulder. A smoke\ngoes up. The priests bend over the smoke. Presently they step back from\nit._\n\nFIRST PRIEST: The gods sleep.\n\nKING: They sleep! The gods that guard the Golden Isles?\n\nFIRST PRIEST: The gods sleep.\n\nKING: Importune them as never before. I will make sacrifice of many\nsheep. I will give emeralds to the Monks of the Sun.\n\n[_The second acolyte moves nearer to the tripod and beats listlessly on\nhis great gong at about the pace of a great clock striking slowly._\n\nFIRST PRIEST: We will importune the gods as never before.\n\n[_They heap up more herbs and spices. The smoke grows thicker and\nthicker. It streams upwards. They hover about it as before. At a sign\nthe gong ceases._\n\nThe gods have spoken.\n\nKING: What is their message?\n\nFIRST PRIEST: Drink of the cup upon the Nubian's left.\n\nKING: Ah. My gods defend me.\n\n[_He seizes the cup boldly. He looks straight at the_ AMBASSADOR, _whose\nface remains expressionless, merely watching. He lifts the cup upon the\nNubian's left a little up from the tray._\n\n[_He glances towards the priests._\n\n[_Suddenly he starts. He has seen a strange expression upon the face of\nthe priest. He puts the cup down. He strides a step nearer and looks at\nhis face._\n\nPRIEST!--Priest!---- What is that look in your eyes?\n\nFIRST PRIEST: O King, I know not. I have given the message of the gods.\n\n[_The_ KING _continues to search out his face._\n\nKING: I mistrust it.\n\nFIRST PRIEST: It is the message of the gods.\n\nKING: I will drink of the other cup!\n\n[_The_ KING _steps back to his place in the front of his throne where\nthe Nubian stands beside him. He takes the cup upon the Nubian's right.\nHe gazes at the priest. He looks round at the Ambassador, but sees\nnothing in that watchful, expressionless face._\n\n[_He glances sidelong at the priest, then drinks, draining the cup at\nsome length. He puts it down in silence. The face of the Ambassador and\nthe whole bulk of the Nubian remain motionless._\n\nKING: An inestimable wine!\n\nAMBASSADOR: It is the Emperor's joy.\n\nKING: Send for my Questioners.\n\n[_There are weird whistles. Two dark men run on in loin clothes._\n\nAsk these two priests the Seven Questions.\n\n[_The_ QUESTIONERS _run nimbly up to the two priests and lead them away\nby the arm._\n\nTHE TWO ACOLYTES: O, O, O. Oh, oh.\n\n[_They show extreme horror. The_ AMBASSADOR _bows to the King._\n\nKING: You do not leave us at once?\n\nAMBASSADOR: I go back to the Emperor, whom it is happiness to obey, and\nlength of days.\n\n[_He bows and walks away. The_ HERALD _marches out, then the_\nAMBASSADOR; _the_ PAGE, _the_ DWARF _and the_ NUBIAN _follow._\n\n[_Exeunt._\n\n[_The_ HERALD _is heard blowing upon his trumpet the same notes as when\nhe entered, one merry bar of music._\n\n[_The tray and two precious cups, one empty and the other full, are left\nglittering near the_ KING.\n\nKING (_looking at cups_): Those are rare emeralds that glisten there!\nYet an evil gift. (_To the moaning acolytes._) Be silent! Your priests\nsinned strangely.\n\n[_The acolytes continue to moan._\n\n[_Enter one of the_ QUESTIONERS. _He has sweat on his face and his hair\nhas become damp and unkempt._\n\nQUESTIONER: We have asked the Seven Questions.\n\nKING: Well?\n\nQUESTIONER: They have not answered.\n\nKING: Not answered!\n\nQUESTIONER: Neither man has confessed.\n\nKING: Oho! Do I keep Questioners that bring me no answers?\n\nQUESTIONERS: We questioned them to the uttermost.\n\nKING: And neither man confessed?\n\nQUESTIONER: They would not confess.\n\nKING: Ask them the Supreme Question.\n\n[_The acolytes break out into renewed moaning._\n\nQUESTIONER: It shall be asked, O King.\n\n[_Exit_ QUESTIONER. _The acolytes moan on._\n\nKING: They would have made me drink of a poisoned cup. I say there is\npoison in that cup. Your priests would have had me drink it. (_The\nacolytes only answer by moans._) Bid them confess. Bid them confess\ntheir crime and why it was done, and the Supreme Question shall be\nspared them. (_The acolytes only answer by moans._) Strange! They have\ndone strangely. (_To acolytes._) Why has your priest spoken falsely?\n(_The acolytes only moan._) Why has he spoken falsely in the name of the\ngods? (_The acolytes moan on._) Be silent! Be silent! May I not question\nwhom I will? (_To himself_). They prophesied falsely in the name of the\ngods.\n\n[_Enter the_ QUESTIONERS.\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: The Supreme Question is asked.\n\n[_The acolytes suddenly cease moaning._\n\nKING: Well?\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: They would not answer.\n\nKING: They would not answer the Supreme Question?\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: They spoke at last, but they would not answer the\nquestion. They would not confess.\n\nKING: What said they at last?\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: O, the King's Majesty, they but spake idly.\n\nKING: What said they?\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: O, the King's Majesty, they said nought fitting.\n\nKING: They muttered so that no man heard them clearly?\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: They spake. But it was not fitting.\n\nKING: Did they speak of small things happening long ago?\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: O, the King's Majesty, it was not fitting.\n\nKING: What said they? Speak!\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: The man you gave to me, O King, said: \"No man that\nknew the counsels of the gods, who alone see future things, would say\nthe gods advised King Hamaran ill when they bade him drink out of a\npoisoned cup.\" Then I put the question straightly and he died.\n\nKING: The gods! He said it was the gods!... And the other?\n\nSECOND QUESTIONER: He also said the same, O the King's Majesty.\n\nKING: Both said the same. They were questioned in different chambers?\n\nFIRST QUESTIONER: In different chambers, O King. I questioned mine in\nthe Red Chamber.\n\nKING (_to_ SECOND QUESTIONER): And yours?\n\nSECOND QUESTIONER: In the Chamber of Rats.\n\nKING: Begone!\n\n[_Exeunt_ QUESTIONERS.\n\nSo ... It _was_ the gods.\n\n[_The acolytes are crouched upon the floor. He does not notice them\nsince they ceased to moan._\n\nThe gods! With what dark and dreadful thing have they clouded the\nfuture?\n\nWell, I will face it! But what is it? Is it one of those things a strong\nman can bear? Or is it----?\n\nThe future is more terrible than the grave, that has its one secret\nonly.\n\nNo man, he said, could say that the gods had advised me ill when they\nbade me drink out of a poisoned cup.\n\nWhat have the gods seen? What dreadful work have they overlooked where\nDestiny sits alone, making evil years? The gods, he said, who alone see\nfuture things.\n\nYes, I have known men who never were warned by the gods, and did not\ndrink poison, and came upon evil days, suddenly like a ship upon rocks\nno mariner knows. Yes, poison to some of _them_ would have been very\nprecious.\n\nThe gods have warned me and I have not hearkened, and must go on alone:\nmust enter that strange country of the future whose paths are so dark to\nman ... to meet a doom there that the gods have seen.\n\nThe gods have seen it! How shall I thwart the gods? How fight against\nthe shapers of the hills?\n\nWould that I had been warned. Would I had heeded when they bade me drink\nof the cup the Ambassador said was poisoned.\n\n[_Far off is heard that merry bar of music blown by the_ AMBASSADOR'S\nHERALD _on his horn._]\n\n_Is it too late?_\n\nThere it stands yet with its green emeralds winking.\n\n[_He clutches it and looks down into it._\n\nHow like to wine it is, which is full of dreams. It is silent and dreamy\nlike the gods, whose dreams we are.\n\nOnly a moment in their deathless minds: then the dream passes.\n\n[_He lifts up his arm and drinks it seated upon his throne with his head\nback and the great cup before his face. The audience begin to wonder\nwhen he will put it down. Still he remains in the attitude of a drinker.\nThe acolytes begin to peer eagerly. Still he remains upright with the\ngreat cup to his lips. The acolytes patter away and the_ KING _is left\nalone._\n\n[_Enter the_ KING'S POLITICIAN _hurriedly._ _He goes up to the_ KING\n_and seizes his right arm and tries to drag the cup away from his lips,\nbut the_ KING _is rigid and his arm cannot be moved. He steps back\nlifting up his hands._\n\nPOLITICIAN: Oh-h!\n\n[_Exit. You hear him announcing solemnly_\n\nKing Hamaran ... is dead!\n\n[_A murmur is heard of men, at first mournful. It grows louder and\nlouder and then breaks into these clear words._\n\nZarabardes is King! Zarabardes is King! Rejoice! Rejoice! Zarabardes is\nKing! Zarabardes! Zarabardes! Zarabardes!\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLIGHT OF THE QUEEN\n\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6_\n\nTHE PRINCE OF ZOON.\nPRINCE MELIFLOR.\nQUEEN ZOOMZOOMARMA.\nLADY OOZIZI.\nOOMUZ, _a Common Soldier._\nTHE GLORY OF XIMENUNG.\nTHE OVERLORD OF MOOMOOMON.\nPRINCE HUZ.\n\n\n\nSCENE I\n\n_Time: June._\n\n_Scene: In the Palace of Zoorm; the Hall of the Hundred Princes._\n\n_The Princes sit at plain oaken tables with pewter mugs before them.\nThey wear bright grass-green cloaks of silk; they might wear circlets of\nnarrow silver with one large hyacinth petal rising from it at intervals\nof an inch._\n\nOOMUZ, _a Common Soldier, huge and squat, with brown skin and dense\nblack beard, stands just inside the doorway, holding a pike, guarding\nthe golden treasure._\n\n_The golden treasure lies in a heap three or four feet high near the\nright back corner._\n\nSENTRIES, _also brown-skinned and bearded, carrying pikes, pass and\nrepass outside the great doorway._\n\nTHE GLORY OF XIMENUNG: Heigho, Moomoomon.\n\nTHE OVERLORD OF MOOMOOMON: Heigho, Glory of Ximenung.\n\nXIMENUNG: Weary?\n\nMOOMOOMON: Aye, weary.\n\nANOTHER: Heigho.\n\nPRINCE MELIFLOR (_sympathetically_): What wearies you?\n\nMOOMOOMON: The idle hours and the idle days. Heigho.\n\nOTHERS: Heigho.\n\nMELIFLOR: Speak not against the idle hours, Moomoomon.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Why then, lord of the sweet lands?\n\nMELIFLOR: Because in idleness are all things, all things good.\n\nXIMENUNG: Heigho, I am weary of the idle hours.\n\nMOOMOOMON: You would work then?\n\nXIMENUNG: No-o. That is not our destiny.\n\nMELIFLOR: Let us be well contented with our lot. The idle hours are our\nsacred treasure.\n\nXIMENUNG: Yes, I am well contented, and yet ...\n\nMOOMOOMON (_contemplatively_): And yet ...\n\nXIMENUNG: I sometimes dream that were it not for our glorious state, and\nthis tradition of exalted ease, it might, it might be pleasant ...\n\nMOOMOOMON: To toil, to labour, to raid the golden hoards.\n\nXIMENUNG: Yes, Moomoomon.\n\nMELIFLOR: Never! Never!\n\nOTHERS: No. No. No.\n\nANOTHER: And yet ...\n\nMELIFLOR: No, never. We should lose our glorious ease, the heritage that\nnone may question.\n\nXIMENUNG: What heritage is that, Prince Meliflor?\n\nMELIFLOR: It is all the earth. To labour is to lose it.\n\nMOOMOOMON: If we could toil we should gain some spot of earth that our\nlabour would seem to make our own. How happily the workers come home at\nevening.\n\nMELIFLOR: It would be to lose all.\n\nPRINCE OF ZOON: How lose it, Meliflor?\n\nMELIFLOR: To us alone the idle hours are given. The sky, the fields, the\nwoods, the summer winds are for us alone. All others put the earth to\nuses. This or that field has this or that use; here one may go and\nanother may not. They have each their bit of earth and become slaves to\nits purpose. But for us, ah! for us, is all; the gift of the idle hours.\n\nSOME: Hurrah! Hurrah for the idle hours.\n\nZOON: Heigho. The idle hours weary me.\n\nMELIFLOR: They give us all the earth and sky to contemplate. Both are\nfor us.\n\nMOOMOOMON: True. Let us drink, and speak of the blue sky.\n\nMELIFLOR (_lifting mug_): And all our glorious heritage.\n\nXIMENUNG (_putting hand to mug_): Aye, it is glorious, and yet ...\n\n[_Enter the_ RAIDERS _of the Golden Hoard with spears and, in the other\nhand, leather wallets the size of your fist; these they cast on the\nheap. Nuggets the size of big filberts escape from some so that the heap\nis partly leather and partly gold. These wallets should be filled with\nnuggets of lead, about the size described, not one lump of lead and not\nsawdust or rags. Nothing destroys illusion on the stage more than a\ncannon ball falling with a soft pat. They look scowlingly at the\nPrinces._\n\n[_Exeunt the_ RAIDERS. _The Princes have scarcely noticed them._\n\nMELIFLOR: See how they waste the hours.\n\nXIMENUNG: They have brought treasure from the Golden Hoard.\n\nZOON: Yes, from the Golden Hoard beyond the marshes. I went there once\nwith old brown Oomuz there.\n\nMELIFLOR: Of what avail is it to come back burdened thus? Has not the\nQueen more wealth than she'll ever need?\n\nMOOMOOMON: Aye, the Queen needs nothing more.\n\nZOON: How can we know that?\n\nMOMOOMON: Why not?\n\nZOON: The Queen obeys old impulses. Her sires are dead. Who knows whence\nthose impulses come? How can we say what they are?\n\nMOOMOOMON: She cannot need more wealth than what is here.\n\nMELIFLOR: No, no, she cannot.\n\nZOON: She needs more, for she has bidden them go again to the Golden\nHoards. Her impulses have demanded it.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Then there is no reason in her impulses.\n\nZOON: They do not come from reason.\n\nMOOMOOMON: So I said.\n\nZOON: They come from Fate.\n\nMOOMOOMON: From Fate!\n\n[_There is a hush at this._ OOMUZ _comes nearer and kneels down._\n\nOOMUZ: Oh, Masters, Masters. If there be anything greater, greater than\nthe Queen, speak not of it, Masters, speak not its name.\n\nZOON: No, Oomuz. We need nothing greater.\n\nOOMUZ: The name frightened me, Mighty Highness.\n\nZOON: Yes, yes, Oomuz; there is only the Queen.\n\nMOOMOOMON: No, there is nothing greater than the Queen, and she has no\nneed of anything more than the treasure that he guards there.\n\nOOMUZ: There is one thing more.\n\nMOOMOOMON: More? What is that?\n\nOOMUZ: There is one thing more. The Queen needs one thing more. This has\nbeen told us and we know.\n\nMOOMOOMON: What is it?\n\nOOMUZ: How should we know that? None knows the need of the Queen.\n\n[OOMUZ _returns to guard his heap._\n\nZOON: What think you, Oomuz? What think you is this need of the Queen?\n\n[OOMUZ _shakes his head about three times._ PRINCE OF ZOON _sighs._\n\nSEVERAL PRINCES (_together wearily_): Heigho.\n\nMELIFOR: Take comfort in our heritage, illustrious comrades. Come! We\nwill drink to the sun.\n\nSOME: To the sun! To the sun! (_They drink._)\n\nMELIFLOR: To the golden idle hours! (_He drinks._) Let us be worthy,\nglorious companions, of our exalted calling. Let us enjoy the days of\nidleness. Sing to us, mighty one of Zoon, as the idle hours go by. Sing\nus a song.\n\nMOOMOOMON (_idly_): Yes, sing to us.\n\nZOON: As you all know, I can but hum. But I will hum you a song that I\nheard yesterday; very strange it was; sung in the meadows by two that\nwere not of our people; sung in the evening. I heard it as I loitered\nhome from the meadows beyond the marshes. There is no ease in the song,\nand yet ...\n\nMOOMOOMON: Hum it to us.\n\nZOON: They sang it together, the two that were not of our people.\n\n[_He hums a song. They all lift up their heads from their listlessness._\n\nMELIFLOR (_wonderingly_): That is a song that is new.\n\nZOON: Yes, it is new to me.\n\nMELIFLOR: It is like an old song.\n\nZOON: Yes, perhaps it is old.\n\nMELIFLOR: What is the song?\n\nZOON: It tells of love.\n\nTHE PRINCES: Ah-h!\n\n[_They seem to wake as though young and strong out of sleep. There is a\ngreat commotion among them. The sentries outside are utterly unmoved._\nOOMUZ, _without sharing any of the excitement of the Princes, now nods\nhis head solemnly as he had once shaken it._\n\nMOOMOOMON: Love! It must have been that that I felt that day in the\ntwilight as I came back round the peak of Zing-gee Mountain.\n\nXIMENUNG: You felt it, Moomoomon? Tell us.\n\nMOOMOOMON: All the air seemed gold, seemed gold of a sudden. Through it\nI saw fair fields, glittering green far down, glimpsed between clumps of\nthe heather. The gold was all about them, yet they shone with their own\nfair colours. Ah, how can I tell you all I saw? My feet seemed scarce to\ntouch the slope of the mountain; I too seemed one with the golden air in\nwhich all things were shining.\n\nXIMENUNG: And this was Love?\n\nMOOMOOMON: I know not. It was some strange new thing. It was strange and\nnew like this song.\n\nMELIFLOR: Perhaps, it was some other strange new thing.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Perhaps. I know not.\n\nZOON: No. It was Love.\n\nMOOMOOMON: And then that evening in the golden light I knew the purpose\nof Earth and why all things are.\n\nXIMENUNG: What is the purpose, Moomoomon?\n\nMOOMOOMON: I know not. I was content. I troubled not to remember.\n\nZOON: It was love.\n\nXIMENUNG: Let us love.\n\nOTHERS: Aye.\n\nHUZ: Aye, that is best of all.\n\nMELIFLOR: No, Princes. The best is idleness. Out of the idle hours all\ngood things come.\n\nHUZ: I will love. That is best.\n\nMELIFLOR: It is like all things, the gift of the idle hours. The workers\nnever love. Their fancies are fastened to the work they do, and do not\nroam towards love.\n\nALL: Love! Let us love.\n\nMELIFLOR: We will love in idleness and praise the idle hours.\n\nXIMENUNG: Whom will you love, lord of the shimmering fields?\n\nMELIFLOR: I have but to show myself loitering by lanes in the evening.\n\nXIMENUNG: I too will be there.\n\nMELIFLOR: And when they see me ...\n\nXIMENUNG: They will see me too ...\n\nMELIFLOR (_rising_): Behold me.\n\nXIMENUNG: So I do.\n\nMELIFLOR: Will they look towards you when this is there?\n\nXIMENUNG: Are birch-trees seen at dawn fairer than I?\n\nMELIFLOR: Behold me; not a poplar is straighter, not a flower is\nfairer. I will loiter along the lanes at evening.\n\n[_He draws his sword._ XIMENUNG _does the same._ MOOMOOMON _draws his\ntoo and places it between them._\n\nMOOMOOMON: Be at peace. _I_ will go to the lanes, and there need be no\nquarrel between you, for _I_....\n\nOTHERS: No, no, no....\n\nHUZ: We will all go.\n\nANOTHER: We will all love. Hurrah for love.\n\n[_They have all risen. They wave their swords on high, not threatening\neach other. Zoon alone has not risen._\n\nMOOMOOMON (_to_ ZOON): You do not speak, Prince of Zoon. Will you not\nlove along the idle hours?\n\nZOON: Yes, yes. I love.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Come then to the lanes to loiter. It draws towards evening.\nLet us all come to the lanes, where the honeysuckle is hanging.\n\nZOON: I love not in the lanes.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Not in the lanes? Then...!\n\nOTHERS: Not in the lanes?\n\nZOON: I love her than whom there is no greater on earth--(_Some_\nPRINCES: Ah!) unless it be that name that frightens Oomuz.\n\nMOOMOOMON: He loves the...!\n\nXIMENUNG: The ...\n\nMELIFLOR: The Queen!\n\n[OOMUZ _nods his head again._\n\nZOON: The Queen.\n\nMOOMOOMON: If the Queen knew such a thing she would flee from the\npalace.\n\nZOON: I would pursue.\n\nMOOMOOMON: She would go by Aether Mountain, where her mother went once\nbefore her.\n\nZOON: I would follow.\n\nHUZ: We would all follow.\n\nMELIFLOR: I would follow too. I would dance after her down the little\nstreet: the bright heels of my shoes would twinkle: my cloak would float\nout behind me: I would pursue her and call her name, beyond the street\nand over the moor as far as Aether Mountain: but I would not come up\nwith her: that would be _too_ daring.\n\nZOON: Love is not a toy, Prince Meliflor. Love is no less than a mood of\nDestiny.\n\nMELIFLOR: Pooh! We must enjoy the idle hours that are for us alone.\n\nZOON: There will be no idle hours on Aether Mountain, following from\ncrag to crag; if it be true that she would go that way.\n\nMOOMOOMON: It is true. They know it. They say her mother went that way\nbefore. It is one of the royal impulses.\n\nZOON: Oomuz, did the mother of the Queen go once up Aether Mountain?\n\nOOMUZ: Aye, and _her_ mother.\n\nZOON: It is true.\n\nXIMENUNG: You are sure of this?\n\nOOMUZ: We know it. It has been said.\n\nHUZ: We will all follow her up Aether Mountain.\n\nMELIFLOR: We will follow merrily.\n\nXIMENUNG: If we did this what would they do when we returned?\n\nMELIFLOR: Who?\n\nXIMENUNG: They.\n\nMELIFLOR: They? They would not dare to speak to _us_.\n\nXIMENUNG: Who knows what they would dare if we dared go after the Queen?\n\nMOOMOOMON: They would dare nothing, knowing whence we come.\n\nXIMENUNG: They care not whence we come.\n\nMOOMOOMON: But they care for the event that is in our hands. They dare\nnever touch us because of the event.\n\nMELIFLOR: We are the heirs of the idle hours. For them is work. Surely\nthey dare not leave their work to touch us.\n\nMOOMOOMON: They care only for the event. Because it is prophesied that\nwe are needed for the event we are sacred. Were it not for the event,\nwhy ...\n\nMELIFLOR: Were it not for the event we might not dare to do it; but,\nbeing sacred, let us enjoy our idle hours.\n\nXIMENUNG: What if the event should one day befall?\n\nMELIFLOR: It was prophesied long ago and has not come. It will not come\nfor a long time.\n\nMOOMOOMON: No, not for a long time.\n\n[_A sentry passes._\n\nMELIFLOR: So we will follow the Queen.\n\nHUZ: Yes, we will follow.\n\nMOOMOOMON: We shall be a merry company.\n\nMELIFLOR: Splendid to see.\n\nZOON: I would follow though I were not guarded for the event. Though the\nevent should befall and we be immune no longer, still I should dare it.\n\nMELIFLOR: I would dare it if I knew what they would do. But knowing\nnot ...\n\nMOOMOOMON: What matter? We are guarded by the event.\n\nZOON: I say I care not.\n\nMELIFLOR: Let us drum with our heels and beat with our scabbards against\nthe benches so that we frighten the Queen. She will run from the palace\nthen, and we will go after her with all our merry company.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Yes, let us drum all together. I will give the word. All\ntogether and she will run from the palace. We will go after and our\ncloaks will stream behind us.\n\nHUZ: Brave! And our scabbards will show bright beneath them.\n\nMELIFLOR: No, I will give the word. When she flees from the palace I\nwill follow her first. Crowd not about my cloak as it streams in the\nwind. We must throw up our heels as we run to make our shoes twinkle. We\nmust show gaily in the little street. Afterwards we can run more easily.\n\nHUZ: Aye, in the street we must run beautifully.\n\nMOOMOOMON: I think that I should give the word when we rattle our\nscabbards and all drum with our heels; but I waive the point. But I do\nnot think that the Queen can run far. She has never left the palace. How\ncould she run over the moor as far as Aether Mountain. She will faint at\nthe end of the street and we shall come up with her and bow and offer\nher our assistance.\n\nMELIFLOR: Good, good. It would be cold and rocky on Aether Mountain.\n\nMOOMOOMON: The Queen could never go there over the moor.\n\nHUZ: No, she is too dainty.\n\nXIMENUNG: They say she could.\n\nMELIFLOR: They; what do they know? Common workers. What should they\nknow of queens?\n\nXIMENUNG: They have the old prophesies that came over the fields from\nthe dawn.\n\nMELIFLOR: Yet they cannot understand the Queen.\n\nXIMENUNG: They say her mother went there.\n\nMELIFLOR: That was long ago. Women are quite different now.\n\nXIMENUNG: Well, give the word.\n\nMELIFLOR: Nay. You shall give the word, Moomoomon. When you raise your\nhand we will all drum with our heels together and rattle our scabbards\ntogether, and frighten the Queen.\n\nMOOMOOMON: I honour your courtesy, lord of the deep meadows.\n\nMELIFLOR: We are ready then. When you raise your hand----\n\n[_A gust of laughter is heard off, from a far part of the palace._\n\nMOOMOOMON: Hark! Hark!\n\nMELIFLOR: It is the Queen! She laughed.\n\nHUZ: Could she have guessed...?\n\nMOOMOOMON: I trust not.\n\nMELIFLOR: She--she--cannot have been thinking of _us_.\n\nMOOMOOMON: She--she--seldom laughs.\n\nHUZ: What can it be?\n\nMOOMOOMON: Perhaps it was nothing and yet ...\n\nMELIFLOR: Yet it makes me uneasy.\n\nMOOMOOMON: It is not that I fear, but, when a queen laughs--it makes a\nfeeling in the palace--as though all were not well.\n\nHUZ: It makes one have forebodings. One cannot help it.\n\nMELIFLOR: Perhaps; perhaps later we could return to our gallant scheme;\nfor the present I think I'll hide a while.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Yes, let us hide.\n\nMELIFLOR: So that if there be anything wrong in the palace it will not\nfind us.\n\n[_Exeunt_ MOOMOOMON _and_ MELIFLOR.\n\nHUZ: Let us hide.\n\n[_Exeunt all but_ ZOON _and_ OOMUZ.\n\n[ZOON _has sat always with bent head at table. He sits so, still._\n\nZOON (_bitterly_): They would follow the Queen.\n\nOOMUZ: Mighty Highness----\n\nZOON (_still to himself_): They will come back boasting that they dared\nfollow the Queen.\n\nOOMUZ: Mighty Highness.\n\nZOON: Yes, good Oomuz.\n\nOOMUZ: In other times once princes followed a queen and came back\nboasting. Master, the workers were angry. Be warned, Master, because you\nand I went together once to the hoard beyond the marshes. Be warned.\nThey were angry, Master.\n\nZOON: I care not for the workers.\n\nOOMUZ: Master, be warned. It was long ago and they say they were very\nangry.\n\nZOON: I care not, Oomuz. I come not boasting back from the hills under\nAether Mountain. I shall not halt till I have told the Queen my love. I\nshall wed with her who is less only than Fate, if less she be. I am not\nas those, Oomuz. Who weds the Queen is more than the servant of Fate.\n\nOOMUZ: Master----\n\n[_He stretches out his hands towards_ ZOON _imploringly._\n\nZOON: Well, Oomuz?\n\nOOMUZ: Master. There is a doom about the Queen.\n\nZOON: What doom, Oomuz?\n\nOOMUZ: We know not, Master. We are simple people and we know not that.\nBut we know from of old there is a doom about her. We know it, Master;\nwe have been told from of old.\n\nZOON: Yes, there could well be a doom about the Queen.\n\nOOMUZ: Follow not after, Master, when she goes to Aether Mountain. There\nis surely a doom about her. A doom was with her mother upon that very\npeak.\n\nZOON: Yes, Oomuz, a doom well becomes her.\n\nOOMUZ: Doubt it not, Master; there is a doom about her.\n\nZOON: Oomuz, I doubt not. For there is something wonderful about the\nQueen, beyond all earthly wonders. Something like thunder beyond far\nclouds or hail hurling from heaven; there should be indeed a terrible\ndoom about her.\n\nOOMUZ: Master, I have warned you for the sake of the days when we raided\nthe golden hoard beyond the marshes.\n\nZOON (_taking his hand_): Thank you, good Oomuz.\n\n[_He goes towards door after the others._\n\nOOMUZ: But where go you, Master?\n\nZOON: I wait to follow the Queen when she goes to Aether Mountain.\n\n[_Exit._ OOMUZ _weeps silently on to the Queen's Treasure._\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nSCENE II\n\n\n_The Palace of Zoorm: the Hall of Queen Zoomzoomarma._\n\n_Time: Same as Scene I._\n\nTHE QUEEN: Is none worthy to kiss my hand, Oozizi; none?\n\nLADY OOZIZI: Lady, none.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _sighs._\n\nYou should not sigh, great lady.\n\nQUEEN: Why should I not sigh, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: Great lady, because such things as sighs pertain only to love.\n\nQUEEN: Love is a joy, Oozizi; love is a glow. Love makes them dance so\nlightly along rays of the sunlight. It is made of sunlight and gladness.\nIt is like flowers in twilight. How should they sigh?\n\nOOZIZI: Lady! Great lady! Say not such things of love!\n\nQUEEN: Say not such things, Oozizi? Are they not true?\n\nOOZIZI: True? Yes, great lady, true. But love is a toy of the humble;\nlove is a common thing that the lowly use; love is ... Great lady, had\nany overheard you speaking then they might have thought, they might\nhave madly dreamed ...\n\nQUEEN: Dreamed what, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: Incredible things.\n\nQUEEN (_meditatively_): I must not love, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady! The common people love.\n\n[_She points to door._\n\nLady, the green fields going from here to the blueness, and bending\ntowards it, and going wandering on, and the rivers they meet and the\nwoods that shade the rivers, all own you for their sovereign. Lady, a\nmillion lime-trees mellow your realm. The golden hoards are yours. Yours\nare the deep fields and the iris marshes. Yours are the roads of\nwandering and all ways home. The common delights of love your mere\nsoldiers know. Lady, you may not love.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _sighs._ OOZIZI _continues her knitting._\n\nQUEEN: My mother loved, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, for a day. For one day, mighty lady, As one might stoop in\nidleness to a broken toy and pick it up and throw it again away, so she\nloved for a day. That idle fancy of an afternoon tarnished no pinnacle\nthat shone from her exalted station. But to love for more than a\nday--(QUEEN'S _face lights up_)--that were to place your high\nunequalled glory below a vulgar pastime. One alone may sit in the golden\npalace to reign over the green fields; but all may love.\n\nQUEEN: Do all love but I, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: Wondrous many, lady.\n\nQUEEN: How know you, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: The common shouts that come up at evening, the clamour of the\nlanes; they are but from love.\n\nQUEEN: What is love, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: Love is a foolish thing.\n\nQUEEN: How know you, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: They came tittering to me once; but I saw the foolishness of it.\n\nQUEEN (_a little sadly_): And they came no more?\n\nOOZIZI (_a little sadly too_): No more.\n\n[_Both look thoughtfully out into dreams, the_ QUEEN _on her throne,\nchin on hand._\n\n[_Suddenly a stir is heard from the Hall of the Hundred Princes._\n\nQUEEN (_alarmed_): Hark! What was that?\n\nOOZIZI (_rises, listening anxiously_): It sounded ... to come from the\nHall ... of the Hundred Princes.\n\nQUEEN: They were never heard here before.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, never.\n\nQUEEN (_anxiously_): What can it mean?\n\nOOZIZI: I know not, lady.\n\nQUEEN: Sound never troubled our inner chamber before.\n\nOOZIZI: All is quiet now.\n\nQUEEN: Hark! (_They listen._)\n\nOOZIZI: All is quiet.\n\nQUEEN: Sound from beyond our wall, Oozizi. How it disturbs. I could not\nrule over the green fields if sounds came up to me from the further\nhalls full of their strange thoughts. Why do sounds come to me, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: Great lady, it has never been before. It will never be again.\nYou must forget it, lady. You must not let it disturb your reign.\n\nQUEEN: It brought strange thoughts with it, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: All is quiet now.\n\nQUEEN: If it came again....\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, it will not come again. It will come no more. It is quiet.\n\nQUEEN: If it came again ... Is the door open, Oozizi? Yes ... If it came\nagain I should almost flee from the palace.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady! Think not of leaving the golden palace!\n\nQUEEN: If it came again.\n\nOOZIZI: It will not come again.\n\n[_The heels of the Princes drum louder, off._\n\nQUEEN: Again, Oozizi:\n\n[OOZIZI _pants._ _The_ QUEEN _waits, listening, in fear. Again the heels\nare heard._\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _runs to the small door. She looks out._\n\nOOZIZI: Lady! Lady!\n\nQUEEN: Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady! Lady! You must never leave the palace. You must never\nleave it. You must not.\n\nQUEEN: Hark, it is quiet now.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, it would be terrible to leave the golden palace. Who would\nreign? What would happen?\n\nQUEEN: It is quiet now. What would happen, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: The world would end.\n\nQUEEN: It is quiet now; perhaps I need not fly.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, you must not.\n\nQUEEN: And yet I would fain go over those green fields all gleaming with\nsummer, and see the golden hoards that no man guards, glittering with\nsuch a light as glows this June.\n\nOOZIZI: O, speak not, great lady, of the green fields and June. It is\nthese that have intoxicated the Princes so that they do this unrecorded\nthing, letting sound of them be heard in your sacred room.\n\nQUEEN: Has June intoxicated them, Oozizi?\n\nOOZIZI: Oh, lady, speak not of June.\n\nQUEEN: Is June so terrible?\n\n[_She returns towards_ OOZIZI.\n\nOOZIZI: It does strange things.\n\n[_The noise breaks out again._\n\nHark!\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _runs to the door again._ OOZIZI _stretches out her arms to\nthe_ QUEEN.\n\nO, lady, never leave the golden palace.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _listens; all is silent; she looks outside._\n\nQUEEN: I see the green fields gleaming. Strange flowers are standing\namong them, like princes I have not known.\n\nOOZIZI: Oh, lady, speak not of the bewildering fields. They are all\nenchanted with Summer, and they have maddened the Princes. It is\ndangerous to look at them, lady.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _gazes on over the fields._\n\nAnd yet you look.\n\nQUEEN: I would fain go far over the strange soft fields; far and far to\nthe high heathery lands----\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, all is quiet; there is no danger; you must not leave the\npalace.\n\nQUEEN: Yes, all is quiet.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _returns._\n\nOOZIZI: It was a passing madness seized the Princes.\n\nQUEEN: Oozizi, when I hear the sound of all their feet it is dreadful,\nand I must fly. And when I see the wonderful fields in the sunlight\nsloping away to lands I have never known, then I long to fly away and\naway for ever, passing from field to field and land to land.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, no, no!\n\nQUEEN: Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: Yes, great lady.\n\nQUEEN: There is a mountain there that towers above the earth. It goes up\ninto a calm of which our world knows nothing. Heaven, like a cloak, is\ndraped about its shoulders. Why have none told me of this mountain,\nOozizi?\n\nOOZIZI (_awed_): Aether Mountain.\n\nQUEEN: Why has none told me?\n\nOOZIZI: When your glorious mother, lady, loved for a day ...\n\nQUEEN: Yes, Oozizi ...\n\nOOZIZI: She went, as all songs tell, to Aether Mountain.\n\nQUEEN (_entranced_): To Aether Mountain?\n\nOOZIZI: So they sing at evening, when they throw down their loads of\ngold and rest.\n\nQUEEN: To Aether Mountain.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, Destiny sent her; but you must not go. You must not leave\nyour throne to go to Aether Mountain.\n\nQUEEN: There is a calm upon it not of earth.\n\nOOZIZI: You must not go, lady, you must not go.\n\nQUEEN: I will not go.\n\n[_The Princes drum again, still louder with their heels._\n\nHark!\n\n[OOZIZI _is frightened, The_ QUEEN _runs to the door._\n\nIt is louder! They are nearer! They are coming here!\n\nOOZIZI: No, lady. They would not dare!\n\nQUEEN: I must go, Oozizi; I must go.\n\nOOZIZI: No, lady. They will never dare. You must not. Hark! They come no\nnearer. June has maddened them, but they come no nearer. They are quiet\nnow. Come back, lady. Leave the door, they come no nearer. See, it is\nall quiet now. They come no nearer, lady. (OOZIZI _catches her by the\nsleeve._) Lady, you must not.\n\nQUEEN (_much calmer, gazing away_): Oozizi, I must go.\n\nOOZIZI: No, no, lady! All is quiet; you must not go.\n\nQUEEN (_calmly_): It is calling for me, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: What is calling, lady? Nothing calls.\n\nQUEEN: It is calling, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: Oh, lady, all is silent. No one calls.\n\nQUEEN: It is calling for me now, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: No, no, lady. What calls?\n\nQUEEN: Aether Mountain is calling. I know now who called my mother. It\nwas Aether Mountain, Oozizi; he is calling.\n\nOOZIZI: I--I scarce dare look out of the golden palace, lady, to where\nwe must not go. Yet, yet I will look. (_She peers._) Yes, yes, indeed;\nthere stands old Aether Mountain. But he does not call. Indeed he does\nnot call. He is all silent in Heaven.\n\nQUEEN: It is his voice, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: What, lady? I hear no voice.\n\nQUEEN: That great, great silence is his voice, Oozizi. He is calling me\nout of that blue waste of Heaven.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, I cannot understand.\n\nQUEEN: He calls, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: Come away, lady. It is bad to look so long. Oh, if the Princes\nhad not made their clamour heard! Oh, if they had not you had not gone\nto the door and seen Aether Mountain, and this trouble had not come.\nOh! Oh! Oh!\n\nQUEEN: There is no trouble upon Aether Mountain.\n\nOOZIZI: Oh, lady, it is terrible that you should leave the palace.\n\nQUEEN: There is no trouble there. Aether Mountain goes all calm into\nHeaven. His grey-blue slopes are calm as the sky about him. There he\nstands calling. He is calling to me, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI (_reflecting_): Can it be?\n\nQUEEN: What would you ask, Oozizi?\n\nOozizi: Can it be that it is with you, great lady, as it was with the\nQueen, your mother, when Destiny sent her hence to Aether Mountain?\n\nQUEEN: Aether Mountain calls.\n\nOOZIZI: Lady, for a moment hear me. Come with me but a little while.\n\n[_She leads the_ QUEEN _slowly by the arm back to the throne._\n\nLady, be seated here once more and take up the orb and sceptre in your\nsmall hands as of old.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _patiently does as she is told._\n\nNow, if Destiny calls you, let him call to you as to a Queen. Now, if it\nbe for no whim of those that pass, that you would go so far from here to\nthat great mountain, say, seated upon your throne in the golden palace\nwith sceptre and orb in hand, say would you go forth, lady?\n\nQUEEN (_almost dreaming_): Aether Mountain calls.\n\n[OOZIZI _bursts into tears. She helps the_ QUEEN _by the arm from her\nthrone and leads her part of the way to the door. There she stops. The_\nQUEEN _goes on to the door alone._\n\nOOZIZI: Farewell, lady.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _gazes out rapturously towards Aether Mountain. Then she\nwalks back and embraces Oozizi._\n\nQUEEN: Farewell, Oozizi.\n\nOOZIZI: Farewell, great lady.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _turns, then suddenly she runs swiftly and nimbly through\nthe door and disappears._\n\n[_At once there is a murmur of voices from the Hall of the Hundred\nPrinces._\n\nVOICES (_off_): Ah, ah, ah.\n\n[OOZIZI _stands still weeping._\n\n[_Enter the Princes, exquisite and frivolous. They crowd past each\nother._\n\nMELIFLOR: And where is our little Queen?\n\n[OOZIZI _answers with a defiant look through her tears, which has its\neffect on them._\n\nMOOMOOMON (_foppishly_): There, there.\n\nXIMENUNG: Gone!\n\nMELIFLOR: Come! Let us follow.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Shall we?\n\nSEVERAL: Yes.\n\nMOOMOOMON: Come.\n\n[_They stream across from the side door R to the door in back_, OOZIZI\n_regarding them haughtily._\n\nOOZIZI (_menacingly_): It is Aether Mountain.\n\n[_Entranced, silent, last of all_ ZOON _follows. Exeunt all the Princes.\nSounds as of rough protest heard from the workers off. The grim brown\nheads of two or three peer round the door by which the Princes entered.\nMany come on, dumb, puzzled, turning their brown heads, searching. At\nlast they cluster round_ OOZIZI. \"Er\"? _they say._\n\nOOZIZI: Aether Mountain has called her.\n\n[_They nod dumb heads gravely._\n\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nSCENE III\n\n\n_On the base of Aether Mountain._\n\n_Right, heather sloping up to left, which is rugged with tumbled grey\nrocks._\n\n_Further left all the scene is filled with the rising bulk of Aether\nMountain._\n\n_Low down, far off and small in the background to the right appears a\nlittle palace of pure gold._\n\n_Enter right the_ QUEEN _running untired and nimble, unchecked by those\ngrey rocks._\n\n_Following her the tired_ PRINCES _come._\n\nZOON _is no longer last, but about fourth, and gaining._\n\nMELIFLOR _leads._\n\nMELIFLOR: Permit me, great lady. My hand over the rocks. Permit ...\n\n[_He falls and cannot rise._\n\nMOOMOOMON: Permit me. (_He falls too._) These rocks; it is these rocks.\n\nXIMENUNG (_going wearily_): Great lady. A moment. One moment, great\nlady. Allow me.\n\n[_But_ ZOON _does not speak. Exeunt L. the Queen and those Princes that\nhave not fallen. The curtain falls on stragglers crossing the stage._\n\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nSCENE IV\n\n\n_The Summit._\n\n_On the snow on the pinnacle of Aether Mountain, with only bright blue\nsky all round and everywhere, recline_ QUEEN ZOOMZOOMARMA _and the_\nPRINCE OF ZOON.\n\nTHE QUEEN: You had known no love before, First of a Hundred?\n\nPRINCE OF ZOON: There is no love on earth, O Queen of all.\n\nQUEEN: Only here.\n\nZOON: Pure love is only here on this peak lonely in heaven.\n\nQUEEN: Would you love me elsewhere if we went from here?\n\nZOON: But we will never go from here.\n\nQUEEN: No, we will never leave it.\n\nZOON: Lady, look down. (_She looks._) The earth is sorrowful. (_She\nsighs._) Cares. Cares. All over the wide surface we can see are\ntroubles; troubles far off and grey, that harm not Aether Mountain.\n\nQUEEN: It looks a long way off and long ago.\n\nZOON (_wonderingly_): Only to-day we came to Aether Mountain.\n\nQUEEN: Only to-day?\n\nZOON: We crossed a gulf of time.\n\nQUEEN: It lies below us, all drowsy with years.\n\nZOON: Lady, here is your home, this peak that has entered heaven. Let us\nnever leave your home.\n\nQUEEN: I knew not until to-day of Aether Mountain. None had told me.\n\nZOON: Knew you never, lady, of love?\n\nQUEEN: None had told me.\n\nZOON: This is your home; not Earth; no golden palace. Reign here alone,\nnot knowing the cares of men, without yesterday or to-morrow, untroubled\nby history or council.\n\nQUEEN: Yes, yes, we will return no more.\n\nZOON: See, lady, see the Earth. Is it not as a dream just faded?\n\nQUEEN: It is dim indeed, grey and dream-like.\n\nZOON: It is the Earth we knew.\n\nQUEEN: It is all dream-like.\n\nZOON: It is gone; we can dimly see it.\n\nQUEEN: Was it a dream?\n\nZOON: Perhaps. It is gone now and does not matter.\n\nQUEEN: Poor Earth. I hope it was real.\n\nZOON (_seizing her hand_): Oh, Zoomzoomarma, say not you hope that Earth\nwas real. It is gone now. See; it is so far away. Sigh not for Earth, oh\nlady, sigh not for Earth.\n\nQUEEN: Why not, King of Aether Mountain?\n\nZOON: Because when you sigh for tiny things I tremble for your love. See\nhow faint and small it is and how far away.\n\nQUEEN: I do not sigh for Earth, King of the Mountain. I only wish it\nwell.\n\nZOON: Oh, wish it not well, lady.\n\nQUEEN: Let us wish the poor Earth well.\n\nZOON: No, lady, no. Be with me always wholly, living not partly in\ndreams. There is no Earth. It is but a dream that left us. See, see\n(_pointing down_) it is a dim dream.\n\nQUEEN (_looking down_): The people move there still. See, there is\nPrince Ximenung. Something down there seems almost unlike dreams.\n\nZOON: No, lady, it cannot be.\n\nQUEEN: How know you, Lord of the Mountain?\n\nZOON: It was too unreal for life. Love was not there. Surely it was a\ndream.\n\nQUEEN: Yes, I knew not love in the golden palace of Zoorm.\n\nZOON: Then indeed it was unreal, Golden Lady. Forget the dream of\nEarth.\n\nQUEEN: If love be real ...\n\nZOON: Can you doubt it?\n\nQUEEN: No. It was a dream. Just now I dreamt it. Are dreams bad, my\nPrince?\n\nZOON: No. They are just dreams.\n\nQUEEN: We will think of dreams no more.\n\nZOON: This is where love is, and here only. We should not dream too much\nor think of dreams, because the place is holy.\n\nQUEEN: Is love here only, darling?\n\nZOON: Here only, Golden Queen. Do any others elsewhere love as we.\n\nQUEEN: No, I think not.\n\nZOON: Then how can pure love be elsewhere?\n\nQUEEN: It is true.\n\nZOON: On this clear peak that just enters Heaven love is and only here.\nThe rest is dreams.\n\nQUEEN: Could we awake from love and find Earth true?\n\nZOON: No, no, no. Sweet Lady, let not such fancies alarm you.\n\nQUEEN: And yet folks wake from dreams. It would be terrible.\n\nZOON: No, no, there are things too real for dreams. You cannot waken\nfrom love. Dreams are of fantastic things, things fanciful and weak, and\nthings confused and intricate like Earth. When you think of them in\nyour dreams you see their unreality. But if love were not real what\ncould there be to wake to.\n\nQUEEN: True. How wise you are. It was but a fancy that troubled me.\n(_Looking down._) It was one of those dreams at dawn. It is faint and\nfar-off now.\n\nZOON: Will you love me for ever, Golden Queen?\n\nQUEEN: For ever. Why not? You will love me for ever?\n\nZOON: For ever. I cannot help it.\n\nQUEEN: Let us look at the dream far off, in the dimness our thoughts\nhave forsaken.\n\nZOON: Aye, let us look. It was a sad dream somewhat; and yet upon this\npeak where all is love all that we see seems happy.\n\nQUEEN: See the dream there. Look at those. They seem to walk dreamily as\nthey walk in the dream.\n\nZOON: It is because they have not love, which is only here.\n\nQUEEN: Look! Look at those dreamers in the dream.\n\nZOON: They are running.\n\nQUEEN: Oh! Look!\n\nZOON: They are pursued.\n\nQUEEN: The brown ones are pursuing them with spears.\n\nZOON: It is Prince Meliflor, Prince Moomoomon, Prince Ximenung that run\nin the dream. And the Prince of Huz. The brown men are close.\n\nQUEEN: The brown ones are overtaking them.\n\nZOON: Yes, they are closer.\n\nQUEEN: Look! Prince Ximenung!\n\nZOON: Yes, he is dead in the dream.\n\nQUEEN: The Prince of Huz?\n\nZOON: Speared.\n\nQUEEN: Still, still they are killing them.\n\nZOON: It is all the Hundred Princes.\n\nQUEEN: They are killing them all.\n\nZOON: A sad sight once.\n\nQUEEN: Once?\n\nZOON: I should have wept once.\n\nQUEEN: It is so far off now.\n\nZOON: It is so far, far off. We can only feel joy upon this holy\nmountain.\n\nQUEEN: Only joy. (_He sighs as he looks._) Look! (_He sighs again._)\n\nZOON: There falls the poor Prince Meliflor.\n\nQUEEN: How huge a thrust it was with the great spear.\n\nZOON: He is dead.\n\nQUEEN: Are you not happy?\n\nZOON: Yes.\n\nQUEEN: In your voice there seemed to sound some far-off thing. Some\nstrange thing. Was it sorrow?\n\nZOON: No; we are too high; sorrow cannot come. No grief can touch us\nhere, no woe drift up to us from the woes of Earth.\n\nQUEEN: I thought there was some strange thing in your voice, like\nsorrows we have dreamed.\n\nZOON: No, Golden Queen. Those fancied sorrows of dreams cannot touch\nreality.\n\nQUEEN: You will never be sorry we have woken and left the dream of\nEarth?\n\nZOON: No, glorious lady; nothing can bring me trouble ever again.\n\nQUEEN: Not even I?\n\nZOON: Never you, my Golden Zoomzoomarma, for on this sacred peak where\nthere is only love you cannot.\n\nQUEEN: We will dwell here for ever in endless joy.\n\nZOON (_looking down_): All dead now, all the Princes.\n\nQUEEN: Turn, my Prince, from the dream of Earth, lest trouble come up\nfrom it.\n\nZOON: It cannot drift up here; yet we will turn from the dream.\n\nQUEEN: Let us think of endless joy upon the edge of heaven.\n\nZOON: Yes, Queen; for ever in reality while all else dream away.\n\nQUEEN: It is the years that make them drowsy. They dream to dream the\nyears away. Time cannot reach so high as here, the years are far below\nus.\n\nZOON: Far below us, making a dream and troubling it.\n\nQUEEN: They do not know in the dream that only love is real.\n\nZOON: If time could reach us here we should pass, too. Nothing is real\nwhere time is.\n\nQUEEN: How shall we spend the calm that time does not vex, together here\nfor ever?\n\nZOON: Holding your hand. (_She gives it._) And kissing it often in the\ncalm of eternity. Sometimes watching, a moment, the dream go by; then\nkissing your hand again all in eternity.\n\nQUEEN: And never wearying?\n\nZOON: Not while eternity lingers here in heaven.\n\nQUEEN: Thus we will live until the dream goes by and Earth has faded\nunder Aether Mountain.\n\nZOON: And then we shall watch the calm of Eternity.\n\nQUEEN: And you will still kiss my hand at times.\n\nZOON: Yes, while eternity wiles Heaven away.\n\nQUEEN: The silence is like music on Aether Mountain.\n\nZOON: It is because all is real. In the dream nothing was real. Music\nhad to be made and then soon passed trembling away. Here all things\nalways are as the desire of Earth, Earth's desire that groped among\nfantasies finding them false.\n\nQUEEN: Let us forget the dream.\n\nZOON (_kissing her hand_): I have forgotten for ever.\n\nQUEEN: Ah!\n\nZOON: What trouble has drifted up to you from Earth?\n\nQUEEN: An old saying.\n\nZOON: It was said in the dream.\n\nQUEEN: It was true!\n\n[_She snatches her hand away._\n\nAh, I remember it. It was true.\n\nZOON: All is unreal but love, my crown\u00e9d Zoomzoomarma. Where there was\nnot love it cannot have been true.\n\n[_He tries to take her hand again._\n\nQUEEN: Touch not my hand. It was true.\n\nZOON: What was the saying heard in the dream of Earth that was true?\n\nQUEEN: None is worthy to touch my hand; no, none.\n\nZOON: By Aether Mountain, I will kiss your hand again! What is this\nsaying out of a dream that dares deny reality?\n\nQUEEN: It is true! Oh, it is true!\n\nZOON: Out of that hurried, aimless dream, that knows not its own end\neven, you have brought me a saying and say it against love.\n\nQUEEN: I say it is true!\n\nZOON: Nothing is true against love. Fate only is greater.\n\nQUEEN: Then it is Fate.\n\nZOON: Against Fate I will kiss your hand again.\n\nQUEEN: None are worthy. No, none.\n\n[_She draws her rapier._\n\nZOON: I will kiss your hand again.\n\nQUEEN: It must be this (_pointing with rapier_) for none are worthy.\n\nZOON: Though it be death I kiss your hand again.\n\nQUEEN: It is certain death.\n\nZOON: Oh, Zoomzoomarma, forget that troubled dream, and things said by\ndreamers, while I kiss your hand in heaven if only once again.\n\nQUEEN: None are worthy. It is death. None are worthy. None.\n\nZOON: Though it be death, yet once again upon Aether Mountain in heaven\nI kiss your hand.\n\nQUEEN: Away! It is death. Upon the word of a Queen.\n\nZOON: I kiss your h ...\n\n[_She standing kills him kneeling. He falls off Aether Mountain, behind\nit out of sight._\n\n[_As he falls he calls her name after intervals. She kneels upon the\nsummit and watches him falling, falling, falling._\n\n[_Fainter and fainter as he falls from that tremendous height comes up\nher name as he calls it._\n\nZoomzoomarma! Zoomzoomarma! Zoomzoomarma!\n\n[_Still she is watching and he is falling still._\n\n[_At last when his cry of_ ZOOMZOOMARMA _comes almost unheard to that\nincredible height and then is heard no more, she turns, and with\ninfinite neatness picking up her skirts steps down daintily over the\nsnow._\n\n[_She is going Earthward as the curtain falls._\n\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nCHEEZO\n\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6_\n\nSLADDER, _a successful man_.\nSPLURGE, _his secretary and publicity agent_.\nTHE REV. CHARLES HIPPANTHIGH.\nBUTLER.\nMRS. SLADDER.\nERMYNTRUDE SLADDER.\n\n\n\nSCENE\n\n_The big house that_ SLADDER _has bought in the country._ SLADDER'S\n_study. Large French window opening on to a lawn._\n\n_Time: Now._\n\nSLADDER'S _daughter is seated in an armchair tapping on the arm of it a\nlittle impatiently._\n\n_The door opens very cautiously, and the head of_ MRS. SLADDER _is put\nround it._\n\nMRS. SLADDER: O, Ermyntrude. Whatever are you doing here?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: I wanted to speak to father, mother.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: But you mustn't come in here. We mustn't disturb father.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: I want to speak to father.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: Whatever about, Ermyntrude?\n\nERMYNTRUDE (_taps the arm of the chair_): O, nothing, mother. Only about\nthat idea of his.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: What idea, child?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, that idea he had, that--er--I was some day to marry a\nduke.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: And why shouldn't you marry a duke, child? I am sure\nfather would make it worth his while.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O well, I don't think I want to, mother.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: But why not, Ermyntrude?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O well, you know Mr. Jones----\n\nMRS. SLADDER: That good man!\n\nERMYNTRUDE: ----did say that dukes were no good, mother. They oppress\nthe poor, I think he said.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: Very true.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Well, there you are.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: Yes, yes, of course. At the same time, father had rather\nset his heart on it. You wouldn't have any other reason now, child,\nwould you?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: What more do you want, mother? Mr. Jones is a Cabinet\nMinister; he must know what he's talking about.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: Yes, yes.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: And I hear he's going to get a peerage.\n\nMRS. SLADDER (_with enthusiasm_): Well, I'm sure he deserves it. But\nchild, you mustn't talk to father to-day. You mustn't stay here any\nlonger.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But why not, mother?\n\nMRS. SLADDER: Well, child, he's been smoking one of those big cigars\nagain, and he's absent-like. And he's been talking a good deal with Mr.\nSplurge. It's one of his great days, I think, Ermyntrude. I feel sure it\nis. One of those days that has given us all this money, and all these\nfine houses, with all those little birds that his gentlemen friends\nshoot. He has an idea!\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, mother, do you really think so?\n\nMRS. SLADDER: I'm sure of it, child. (_Looking out._) There! There he\nis! Walking along that path that they made. I can see he's got an idea.\nHow like Napoleon.[*] He's walking with Mr. Splurge. They're coming in\nnow. Come along, Ermyntrude, we mustn't disturb him to-day. He has some\ngreat idea, some great idea.\n\n[Footnote *: (N.B.--SLADDER _is not in the very least like Napoleon._)]\n\nERMYNTRUDE: How splendid, mother! What do you think it is?\n\nMRS. SLADDER: Ah. I could never explain it to you, even if I knew. It is\nbusiness, child, business. It isn't everybody that can understand\nbusiness.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: I hear them coming, mother.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: There must be things we can never understand: things too\ndeep for us like. And business is the most wonderful of them all.\n\n[_Exeunt R._\n\n[_Enter_ SLADDER _and_ SPLURGE _through the window, which opens on to\nthe lawn, down a step or two._\n\nSLADDER: Now, Splurge, we must do some business.\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Sit down, Splurge.\n\nSPLURGE: Thank you, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Splurge, I am going to say to you now, what I couldn't talk\nabout with all those gardeners hanging about. And, by the way, Splurge,\nhaven't we bought rather too many gardeners?\n\nSPLURGE: No, sir. The Earl of Etheldune has seven; we had to go one\nbetter than him, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Certainly, Splurge, certainly.\n\nSPLURGE: So I bought ten for you, sir, to be on the safe side.\n\nSLADDER: Ah, quite right, Splurge, quite right. There seemed to be\nrather a lot, but that's quite right. Well, now to business.\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir.\n\nSLADDER: I told you I'd invented a new name for a food.\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir. Cheezo.\n\nSLADDER: Well, what have you been able to do about it?\n\nSPLURGE: I've had some nice little posters done, sir. I'm having it well\nwritten up. I've got some samples here, and it looks like doing very\nwell indeed.\n\nSLADDER: Ah!\n\nSPLURGE: It's a grand name, if I may say so, sir. It sounds so\nclassical-like with that \"O\" at the end; and yet anyone can see what\nit's derived from, even if he's never learnt anything. It suggests\ncheese to them every time.\n\nSLADDER: Let's see your samples.\n\nSPLURGE: Well, sir, here's one. (_Brings paper from pocket. Reads._)\n\"What is Cheezo? Go where you may, speak with whom you will, the same\nquestion confronts you. Cheezo is the great new----\"\n\nSLADDER: No, Splurge. Cut that question bit. We must have no admission\non our part that there's anyone who doesn't know what Cheezo is. Cut it.\n\nSPLURGE: You're quite right, sir; you're quite right. That's a weak bit.\nI'll cut it. (_He scratches it out. Reads._) \"Cheezo is the great new\nfood. It builds up body and brain.\"\n\nSLADDER: That's good.\n\nSPLURGE: \"There is a hundred times more lactic fluid in an ounce of\nCheezo than in a gallon of milk.\"\n\nSLADDER: What's lactic fluid, Splurge?\n\nSPLURGE: I don't know, sir, but it's good stuff all right. It's the\nright thing to have in it. It's a good man that I got to write this.\n\nSLADDER: All right. Go on.\n\nSPLURGE: \"Cheezo makes darling baby grow.\"\n\nSLADDER: Good. Very good. Very good indeed, Splurge.\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, I think that catches them, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Go on.\n\nSPLURGE: \"Cheezo. The only food.\"\n\nSLADDER: \"The only food\"? I don't like that.\n\nSPLURGE: It will go down all right, sir, so long as the posters are big\nenough.\n\nSLADDER: Go down all right! I wasn't fool enough to suppose that it\nwouldn't go _down_ all right. What are posters for if the public doesn't\nbelieve them? Of course it will go _down_ all right.\n\nSPLURGE: O, I beg your pardon, sir. Then what don't you quite like about\nit?\n\nSLADDER: I might invent another food one of these days, and then where\nshould we be?\n\nSPLURGE: I hadn't thought of that, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Out with it.\n\nSPLURGE: (_Scratches with pencil_). \"Cheezo is made out of the purest\nmilk from purest English cows.\"\n\nSLADDER: Y-e-s, y-e-s. I don't say you're wrong. I don't say you're\nexactly wrong. But in business, Splurge, you want to keep more to\ngeneralities. Talk about the bonds that bind the Empire, talk about the\nUnion Jack, talk by all means about the purity of the English cow; but\ndefinite statements you know, definite statements----\n\nSPLURGE: O, yes, I know, sir; but the police never interfere with\nanything one puts on a poster. It would be bad for business, a jury\nwould never convict, and----\n\nSLADDER: I didn't say they would; but if some interfering ass were to\nwrite to the papers to say that Cheezo wasn't made from milk, we should\nhave to go to the expense of buying a dozen cows, and photographing\nthem, and one thing and another. (_He gets up and goes to cupboard._)\nNow, look here. I quite understand what you say, purity and all that,\nand a very good point too, but you look at this.\n\n[_He unrolls a huge poster representing a dairymaid smirking in deadly\nearnest. On it is printed: \"WON'T YOU HAVE SOME?\" and on another part of\nthe poster \"CHEEZO FOR PURITY.\"_\n\nYou see. Your whole point's there. We state nothing and we can make the\ndairymaid as suggestive as we like.\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir, that is excellent. Quite splendid.\n\nSLADDER: They shall look at that on every road and railway, where it\nenters every town in England. I'll have it on the cliffs of Dover. It\nshall be the first thing they see when they come back home, and the last\nthing for them to remember when they leave England. I'll have it\neverywhere. I'll rub their noses in it. And then, Splurge, they'll ask\nfor Cheezo when they want cheese, and that will mean I shall have the\nmonopoly of all the cheese in the world.\n\nSPLURGE: You're a great man, sir.\n\nSLADDER: I'll be a greater one, Splurge. I'm not past work yet. What\nmore have you got?\n\nSPLURGE: I've rather a nice little poster being done, sir. A boy and a\ngirl looking at one another with a rather knowing look. There's a large\nquery mark all over the girl's dress. Then over the top in big letters\nI've put: \"What is the secret?\" and in smaller letters: \"I've got a bit\nof Cheezo.\" It _makes_ people look at it, the children's faces are so\nwicked.\n\nSLADDER: Good, Splurge. Very good. I'll have that one. I'll rub their\nnoses in that one.\n\nSPLURGE: Then I've got some things for the Press. (_Reads._) \"She:\n'Darling.' He: 'Yes, wifey.' She: 'You won't forget, darling.' He: 'No,\nwifey.' She: 'You won't forget to bring me some of that excellent\nCheezo, so nutritious, so nice for darling baby, to be had at all\ngrocers; but be sure that you find the name of Sladder on their\nwell-known pink wrappers.' He: 'Certainly, wifey.'\" Just the usual\nthing, sir, of course; only I have a very good little picture to go with\nit, very suggestive indeed; I've made all the arrangements with the\nPress and the bill-posters, sir. I think we'll make a big thing of it,\nsir.\n\nSLADDER: Well, Splurge, nothing remains to be done now, except to make\nthe Cheezo.\n\nSPLURGE: How do you think of doing it, sir?\n\nSLADDER: Do you know how they kill pigs in Chicago? No, you've not\ntravelled yet. Well, they get their pigs on a slide, one man cuts their\nthroats as fast as they go by, another shaves their bristles, and so on,\nand so on; one man for each job, and all at it at once; they do it very\nexpeditiously. Well, there's an interfering fellow sent there by the\nGovernment (we wouldn't stand him in England), and if a pig has a sign\nof tuberculosis on him he won't let that pig go down. Now you'd think\nthat pig was wasted. He isn't. He goes into soap. Now, Splurge, how many\ncakes of soap were used in the world last year?\n\nSPLURGE (_getting up_): Last year? I don't think we have the figures in\nfor last year yet, sir.\n\n[_He goes to bookshelf._\n\nSLADDER: Well, the year before will do.\n\nSPLURGE: (_taking book and turning pages_): The figures are given, I\nthink, sir, from the 1st of March to the 1st of March.\n\nSLADDER: That will do.\n\nSPLURGE: Ah, here it is, sir. Soap statistics for the twelve months\nending 1st of March this year. A hundred and four million users, using\non an average twenty cakes each per year. Then there are partial users,\nand occasional users. The total would be about twenty-one hundred\nmillion, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Pure waste, Splurge, all pure waste.\n\nSPLURGE: Waste, sir?\n\nSLADDER: Pure waste. What do you suppose becomes of all that soap, all\nthat good fat? Proteids, I think they call 'em. And proteids are _good_\nfor you, Splurge.\n\nSPLURGE: What _becomes_ of them, sir? They're used up.\n\nSLADDER: No, Splurge. They disappear, I grant you. They float away. But\nthey're still there Splurge, they're still there. All that good fat is\nsomewhere.\n\nSPLURGE: But--but, sir--but--In the drains, sir?\n\nSLADDER: All those million of cakes of soap. There must be tons of it,\nSplurge. And we'll _get_ it.\n\nSPLURGE: You are a wonderful man, sir.\n\nSLADDER: O, I've a few brains, Splurge. That anyone might have. But I\nuse mine, that's all. There's cleverer people than me in the world----\n\nSPLURGE: No, sir.\n\nSLADDER: O, yes, there are. Lots of them. But they're damned fools. And\nwhy? 'Cause they don't use their brains. They mess about learning Greek.\nGreek! Can you believe it? What good does Greek ever do them?... But the\nmoney's not made yet, Splurge.\n\nSPLURGE: I'm having it well advertised, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Not so fast. What if they won't eat it?\n\nSPLURGE: O, they'll eat it all right when it's advertised, sir. They eat\neverything that's advertised.\n\nSLADDER: What if they can't eat it, Splurge?\n\nSPLURGE: Can't, sir?\n\nSLADDER: Send for my daughter.\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir. (_He rises and goes to the door._)\n\nSLADDER: The battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of some\ndamned place. A million of money will be won or lost in this house in\nfive minutes.\n\nSPLURGE: In this house, sir?\n\nSLADDER: Yes, in Ermyntrude's sitting-room. Send for her.\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Miss Sladder! Miss Sladder!\n\nERMYNTRUDE (_off_): Yes, Mr. Splurge.\n\nSPLURGE: Would you come to the study, miss, Mr. Sladder wants to speak\nto you.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, yes, Mr. Splurge.\n\nSLADDER: The test! The test!\n\n[_Re-enter_ SPLURGE.\n\nSPLURGE: Miss Sladder is coming, sir.\n\nSLADDER: The test!\n\n[_Enter_ ERMYNTRUDE.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: What is it, father?\n\nSLADDER: How are your white mice, child?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Quite well, father, both of them.\n\nSladder (_draws a box from his pocket, takes out a little bit of\ncheese_): Give them that, Ermyntrude.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: That, father. What is it?\n\nSLADDER: Cheese.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: May I have a bit?\n\nSLADDER: No, don't touch it!\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Very well, father.\n\nSLADDER: If they eat it, you shall have----\n\nERMYNTRUDE: What, father?\n\nSLADDER: Anything, everything. Only go and give them the cheese.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: All right, father.\n\n[_She moves to the door R., she looks round, then goes out by the French\nwindow instead._\n\nSLADDER: Why are you going that way, child?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O--er--I thought it would be nice to go round over the lawn,\nfather. I can get in by the drawing-room.\n\nSLADDER: O, very well. Be quick, dear.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: All right, father.\n\n[_The magnet that has attracted_ ERMYNTRUDE _to the lawn now appears in\nthe form of_ MR. HIPPANTHIGH, _passing the window on his way to the\nhall-door._ SLADDER _and_ SPLURGE _do not see him, having their backs to\nthe window._ ERMYNTRUDE _looks round now and then to be sure of this.\nThey hold hands longer than is laid down as necessary in books upon\netiquette under the head of visiting. She gives him a look of glad and\nhopeful interrogation but he shakes his head solemnly, and passes\ngravely on, as one whose errand is no cheerful duty. She looks after\nhim, then goes her way._\n\nSLADDER: Well, Splurge, we can only wait. (_With emphasis._) If these\nmice eat it----\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir?\n\nSLADDER: The public will eat it.\n\nSPLURGE: Ah!\n\nSLADDER: Any other business to-day?\n\nSPLURGE: O, only the cook, sir. He's complaining about the vegetables,\nsir. He says he's never been anywhere before where they didn't buy them.\nWe get them out of the kitchen garden here, and it seems he doesn't\nunderstand it. Says he won't serve a greengrocer, sir.\n\nSLADDER: A kitchen garden is the wrong thing, is it?\n\nSPLURGE: He says so, sir.\n\nSLADDER: But there was one here when we came.\n\nSPLURGE: O, only country people, sir. I suppose they didn't know any\nbetter.\n\nSLADDER: Well, where do people grow vegetables, then?\n\nSPLURGE: I asked the cook that, sir, and he said they don't grow them,\nthey buy them.\n\nSLADDER: O, all right, then. Let him buy them, then. We must do the\nright thing.\n\n[_The hall-door bell rings._\n\nSLADDER: Hullo! Who's ringing my bell?\n\nSPLURGE: That was the hall-door, wasn't it, sir?\n\nSLADDER: Yes. What are they ringing it for?\n\n[_Enter_ BUTLER.\n\nBUTLER: Mr. Hippanthigh has called to see you, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Called to see me! What about?\n\nBUTLER: He didn't inform me, sir.\n\nSLADDER: I say, Splurge, have I got to see him?\n\nSPLURGE: I think so, sir. I think they call on one another like that in\nthe country.\n\nSLADDER: Good lord, whatever for? (_To_ BUTLER.) O, yes. I'll see him,\nI'll see him.\n\nBUTLER: Very good, sir, I'll inform him so, sir.\n\n[_Exit._\n\nSLADDER: I say, Splurge, I suppose I've got to have a butler, and all\nthat, eh?\n\nSPLURGE: O, yes, sir. One at least. It's quite necessary.\n\nSLADDER: You--you couldn't have bought me a cheerfuller one now, could\nyou?\n\nSPLURGE: I'm afraid not, sir. If you were to take all this too\nlightheartedly, the other landowners would hardly like it, you know.\n\nSLADDER: O, well! O, well! What kind of man is this Hippanthigh that's\ncoming?\n\nSPLURGE: He's the man that quarrels with the bishop, sir.\n\nSLADDER: O, the curate. O, yes. I've heard about him. He's been here\nbefore, I think. Lawn tennis.\n\n[_Enter_ BUTLER.\n\nBUTLER: Mr. Hippanthigh, sir.\n\n[_Enter_ HIPPANTHIGH. _Exit_ BUTLER.\n\nSLADDER: How do you do, Mr. Hippanthigh? How do you do? Pleased to see\nyou.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I wished to speak with you, Mr. Sladder, if you will permit\nme.\n\nSLADDER: Certainly, Mr. Hippanthigh, certainly. Take a chair.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Thank you, sir. I think I would sooner stand.\n\nSLADDER: Please yourself. Please yourself.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I wished to speak with you alone, sir.\n\nSLADDER: Alone, eh? Alone? (_Aside to_ SPLURGE.) It's usual, eh? (_To_\nHIPPANTHIGH.) Alone, of course, yes. You've come to call, haven't you.\n(_Exit_ SPLURGE.) Can I offer you--er, er--calling's not much in my\nline, you know--but what I mean is--will you have a bottle of champagne?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Mr. Sladder, I've come to speak with you because I believe\nit to be my duty to do so. I have hesitated to come, but when for\nparticular reasons it became most painful to me to do so, then I knew\nthat it was my clear duty, and I have come.\n\nSLADDER: O, yes, what they call a duty call. O, yes, quite so. Yes,\nexactly.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Mr. Sladder, many of my parishioners are acquainted with\nthe thing that you sell as bread. (_From the moment of_ HIPPANTHIGH'S\n_entry till now_ SLADDER, _over-cheerful and anxious, has been\nstruggling to do and say the right thing through all the complications\nof a visit; but now that the note of Business has been sounded he\nsuddenly knows where he is and becomes alert and stern, and all there._)\n\nSLADDER: What? Virilo?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Yes. They pay more for it than they pay for bread, because\nthey've been taught somehow, poor fools, that \"they must have the best.\"\nThey've been made to believe that it makes them, what they call virile,\npoor fools, and they're growing ill on it. Not so ill that I can prove\nanything, and the doctor daren't help me.\n\nSLADDER: Are you aware, Mr. Hippanthigh, that if you said in public what\nyou're saying to me, you would go to prison for it, unless you can run\nto the very heavy fine--damages would be enormous.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I know that, Mr. Sladder, and so I have come to you as the\nlast hope for my people.\n\nSLADDER: Are you aware, Mr. Hippanthigh, that you are making an attack\nupon business? I don't say that business is as pure as a surplice. But I\ndo say that in business it is--as you may not understand--get on or go\nunder; and without my business, or the business of the next man, who is\ndoing his best to beat me, what would happen to trade? I don't know\nwhat's going to happen to England if you get rid of her trade, Mr.\nHippanthigh.... Well?... When we're broke because we've been doing\nbusiness with surplices on, what are the other countries going to do,\nMr. Hippanthigh? Can you answer me that?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: No, Mr. Sladder.\n\nSLADDER: Ah! So I've got the best of you?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Yes, Mr. Sladder. I'm not so clever as you.\n\nSLADDER: Glad you admit the point. As for cleverness it isn't that I've\nso much of that, but I use what I've got. Well, have you anything more\nto say?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Only to appeal to you, Mr. Sladder, on behalf of these poor\npeople.\n\nSLADDER: Why. But you admitted one must have business, and that it can't\nbe run like a tea-party. What more do you want?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I want you to spare them, Mr. Sladder.\n\nSLADDER: Spare them? Spare them? Why, what's the matter with them? I'm\nnot killing them.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: No, Mr. Sladder, you're not killing them. The mortality\namong children's a bit on the high side, but I wouldn't say that was\nentirely due to your bread. There's a good many minor ailments among the\ngrown-up people, it seems to attack their digestion mostly, one can't\ntrace each case to its source; but their health and their teeth aren't\nwhat they were when they had the pure wheaten bread.\n\nSLADDER: But there _is_ wheat in my bread, prepared by a special\nprocess.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Ah! It's that special process that does it, I expect.\n\nSLADDER: Well, they needn't buy it if it isn't good.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Ah, they can't help themselves, poor fools; they've been\ntaught to do it from their childhood up. Virilo, Bredo and Weeto, that\nare all so much better than bread, it's a choice between these three.\nBread is never advertised, or God's good wheat.\n\nSLADDER: Mr. Hippanthigh, if I'm too much of a fool to sell my goods I\nsuffer for it; if they're such fools as to buy my Virilo, they suffer\nfor it--that is to say, you say they do--that is a natural law that may\nbe new to you. But why should I suffer more than them? Besides, if I\ntake my Virilo off the market just to oblige you, Mr. Hippanthigh, a\nlittle matter of \u00a330,000 a year----\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I--er----\n\nSLADDER: O, don't mention it. Any little trifle to oblige! But if I did,\nup would go the sales of Bredo and Weeto (which have nothing to do with\nmy firm), and your friends wouldn't be any better for that let me tell\nyou, for I happen to know how _they're_ made.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I am not speaking of the wickedness of others. I come to\nappeal to you, Mr. Sladder, that for nothing that _you_ do, our English\nrace shall lose anything of its ancient strength, in its young men in\ntheir prime, or that they should grow infirm a day sooner than God\nintended, when He planned his course for man.\n\nERMYNTRUDE (_off_): Father! Father!\n\n[SLADDER _draws himself up, and stands erect to meet the decisive news\nthat he has expected._\n\n[_Enter_ ERMYNTRUDE.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Father! The mice have eaten the cheese.\n\nSLADDER: Ah! The public will---- O! (_He has suddenly seen_\nHIPPANTHIGH).\n\nHIPPANTHIGH (_solemnly_): What new wickedness is this, Mr. Sladder?\n(_All stand silent._) Good-bye, Mr. Sladder.\n\n[_He goes to the door, passing_ ERMYNTRUDE. _He looks at her and sighs\nas he goes. He passes_ MRS. SLADDER _near the door, and bows in\nsilence._\n\n[_Exit._\n\nERMYNTRUDE: What have you been saying to Mr. Hippanthigh, father?\n\nSLADDER: Saying! He's been doing all the saying. He doesn't let you do\nmuch saying, does Hippanthigh.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But, father. What did he come to see you about?\n\nSLADDER: He came to call your poor old father all kinds of bad names, he\ndid. It seems your old father is a wicked fellow, Ermyntrude.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, father, I'm sure he never meant it.\n\n[HIPPANTHIGH _goes by the window with a mournful face._ ERMYNTRUDE _runs\nto the window and watches him till he is out of sight. She quietly waves\nher hand to_ HIPPANTHIGH, _unseen by her father._\n\nSLADDER: O, he meant it all right. He meant it. I'm sorry for that\nbishop of his that he quarrels with, if he lets him have it the way he\nwent for your poor old father. O, dear me; dear me.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: I don't think he quarrels with him, father. I think he only\ninsists that there can be no such thing as eternal punishment. I think\nthat's rather nice of him.\n\nSLADDER: I don't care a damn about eternal punishment one way or the\nother. But a man who quarrels with the head of his firm's a fool. If his\nbishop's keen on hell, he should push hell for all it's worth.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Y-e-s, I suppose he should. But, father, aren't you glad\nthat my mice have eaten the new cheese? I thought you'd be glad, father.\n\nSLADDER: So I am, child. So I am. Only I don't feel quite so glad as I\nthought I was going to, now. I don't know why. He seems to have stroked\nme the wrong way somehow.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: You said you'd give me whatever I liked.\n\nSLADDER: And so I will, child. So I will. A motor if you like, with\nchauffeur and footman complete. We can buy anything now, and I wouldn't\ngrudge----\n\nERMYNTRUDE: I don't want a motor, father.\n\nSLADDER: What would you like to have?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, nothing, father, nothing. Only about that duke,\nfather----\n\nSLADDER: What duke, Ermyntrude?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Mother said you wanted me to marry a duke some day, father.\n\nSLADDER: Well?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Well I--er--I don't think I quite want to, father.\n\nSLADDER: Ah! Quite so. Quite so. Quite so. And who _did_ you think of\nmarrying?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, father.\n\nSLADDER: Well? (ERMYNTRUDE _is silent._) When I was his age, I had to\nwork hard for my living.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, father. How do you know what age he is?\n\nSLADDER: O, I guessed he was 82, going to be 83 next birthday. But I\ndaresay I know nothing of the world. I daresay I may have been wrong.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, father, he's young.\n\nSLADDER: Dear me, you don't say so. Dear me, you do surprise me. Well,\nwell, well, well. We do live and learn. Don't we? And what might his\nname be now?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: It's Mr. Hippanthigh, father.\n\nSLADDER: O-o-o! It's Mr. Hippanthigh, is it? O-ho, O-ho! (_He touches a\nmovable bell, shouting_ \"SPLURGE!\" _To his daughter or rather to\nhimself._) We'll see Mr. Hippanthigh.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: What are you going to do, father?\n\nSLADDER: We'll see Mr. Hippanthigh. (_Enter_ SPLURGE.) Splurge, run\nafter Mr. Hippanthigh and bring him back. Say I've got something to say\nto him. He's gone that way. Quick!\n\nSPLURGE: Yes, sir. [_Exit._\n\nSLADDER: I've got something to say to _him_ this time.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Father! What are you going to do?\n\nSLADDER: I'm going to give him What For.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But why, father?\n\nSLADDER: Because he's been giving it to your poor old father.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Father----\n\nSLADDER: Well?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Be kind to him, father.\n\nSLADDER: O, _I'll_ be kind to him. I'll be _kind_ to him. Just you wait.\nI'll be _kind_ to him!\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But you wouldn't send him away, father. Father, for my sake\nyou wouldn't do that?\n\nSLADDER: O, we haven't _come_ to that yet.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But, but--you've sent for him.\n\nSLADDER: O, I've sent for him to give him What For. We'll come to the\nrest later.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But, when you do come to it, father.\n\nSLADDER: Why, when we do come to it, if the young man's any good, I'll\nnot stand in my daughter's way----\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, thank you, father.\n\nSLADDER: And if he's no good (_firmly_) I'll protect my child from him.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But, father, I don't want to be protected.\n\nSLADDER: If a man's a man, he must be some good at something. Well, this\nman's chosen the clergyman job. I've nothing against the job, it's well\nenough paid at the top, but is this young man ever going to get there?\nIs he ever going to get off the bottom rung? How long has he been a\ncurate?\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Eight years, father.\n\nSLADDER: It's a long time.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But, father, he would get a vicarage if it wasn't for the\nbishop. The bishop stands in his way. It isn't nice of him.\n\nSLADDER: If I'd quarrelled with the head of my firm when I was his age,\nyou wouldn't be getting proposals from a curate; no such luck. The\ndustman would have been more in your line.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: But, father, he doesn't quarrel with the bishop. His\nconscience doesn't let him believe in eternal punishment, and so he\nspeaks straight out. I do admire him so for it. He knows that if he was\nsilent he'd have had a good living long ago.\n\nSLADDER: The wife of the head of my firm believed in spirit rapping. Did\nI go and tell her what an old fool she was? No, I brought her messages\nfrom another world as regular as a postman.\n\n[_Steps are heard outside the window._\n\nSLADDER: Run along, my dear, now.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Very well, father.\n\nSLADDER: The man that's going to look after my daughter must be able to\nlook after himself. Otherwise _I_ will, till a better man comes.\n\n[_Exit_ ERMYNTRUDE. HIPPANTHIGH _and_ SPLURGE _appear at the window._\nHIPPANTHIGH _enters and_ SPLURGE _moves away._\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: You sent for me, Mr. Sladder?\n\nSLADDER: Y-e-s--y-e-s. Take a chair. Now, Mr. Hippanthigh, I haven't\noften been told off the way you told me off.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I felt it to be my duty, Mr. Sladder.\n\nSLADDER: Yes, quite so. Exactly. Well, it seems I'm a thoroughly bad old\nman, only fit to rob the poor, an out-and-out old ruffian.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I never said that.\n\nSLADDER: No. But you made me feel it. I never felt so bad about myself\nbefore, not as bad as that. But you, Mr. Hippanthigh, you were the\nhigh-falutin' angel with a new brass halo, out on its bank holiday. Now,\nhow would clandestine love-making strike you, Mr. Hippanthigh? Would\nthat be all right to your way of thinking?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Clandestine, Mr. Sladder? I hardly understand you.\n\nSLADDER: I understand that you have been making love to my daughter.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I admit it.\n\nSLADDER: Well, I haven't heard you say anything about it to me before.\nDid you tell her mother?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Er--no.\n\nSLADDER: Perhaps you told me. Very likely I've forgotten it.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: No.\n\nSLADDER: Well, who _did_ you tell?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: We--we hadn't told anyone yet.\n\nSLADDER: Well, I think clandestine's the word for it, Mr. Hippanthigh. I\nhaven't had time in my life to bother about the exact[1] meanings of\nwords or any nonsense of that sort, but I think clandestine's about the\nword for it.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: It's a hard word, Mr. Sladder.\n\nSLADDER: May be. And who began using hard words? You came here and made\nme out a pickpocket, just because I use a few tasty little posters which\nsell my goods, and all the while you're trying on the sly to take a poor\nold man's daughter away from him. Well, Mr. Hippanthigh?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I--I never looked at it in that light before, Mr. Sladder.\nI never thought of it in that way. You have made me feel ashamed (_he\nlowers his head_), ashamed.\n\nSLADDER: Aha! Aha! I thought I would. Now you know what it's like when\nyou make people ashamed of themselves. You don't like it when they do it\nto you. Aha! (SLADDER _is immensely pleased with himself._)\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Mr. Sladder, I spoke to you as my conscience demanded, and\nyou have shown me that I have done wrong in not speaking sooner about\nour engagement. I would have spoken to you, but I could not say that and\nthe other thing in the same day. I meant to tell you soon;--well, I\ndidn't, and I know it looks bad. I've done wrong and I admit it.\n\nSLADDER: Aha! (_Still hugely pleased._)\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: But, Mr. Sladder, you would not on that account perhaps\nspoil your daughter's happiness, and take a terrible revenge on me. You\nwould not withhold your consent to our----\n\nSLADDER: Wait a moment; we're coming to that. There's some bad animal\nthat I've heard of that lives in France, and when folks attack it it\ndefends itself. I've just been defending myself. I think I've shown you\nthat you're no brand-new extra-gilt angel on the top of a spire.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: O--I--er--never----\n\nSLADDER: Quite so. Well, now we come on to the other part. Very well.\nThose lords and people, they marry one another's daughters, because they\nknow they're all no good. They're afraid it will get out like, and\nspread some of their damned medi\u00e6val ideas where they'll do harm. So\nthey keep it in the family like. But we people who have had the sense to\nlook after ourselves, we don't throw our daughters away to any young man\nthat can't look after himself. See?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I assure you, Mr. Sladder, I should--er----\n\nSLADDER: She's my only daughter, and if any of my grandchildren are\ngoing to the work-house, they'll go to one where the master's salary is\nhigh, and they'll go there as master.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I am aware, Mr. Sladder, that I have very little money; as\nyou would look at it, very little.\n\nSLADDER: It isn't the amount of money you've got as matters. The\nquestion is this: are you a young man as money is any good to? If I died\nand left you a million, would you know what to do with it? I've met men\nwhat wouldn't last more than six weeks on a million. Then they'd starve\nif nobody gave them another million. I'm not going to give my daughter\nto one of that sort.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I was third in the classical tripos at Cambridge, Mr.\nSladder.\n\nSLADDER: I don't give a damn for classics; and I don't give a damn for\nCambridge; and I don't know what a tripos is. But all I can tell you is\nthat if I was fool enough to waste my time with classics, third\nwouldn't[2] be good enough for me. No, Mr. Hippanthigh, you've chosen\nthe church as your job, and I've nothing to say against your choice; its\na free country, and I've nothing to say against your job; it's well\nenough paid at the top, only you don't look like getting there. I chose\nbusiness as my job, there seemed more sense in it; but if I'd chosen the\nChurch, I shouldn't have stuck as a curate. No, nor a bishop either. I\nwouldn't have had an archbishop ballyragging me and ordering me about.\nNo. I'd have got to the top, and drawn big pay, and _spent_ it.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: But, Mr. Sladder, I could be a vicar to-morrow if my\nconscience would allow me to cease protesting against a certain point\nwhich the bishop holds to be----\n\nSLADDER: I know all about that. I don't care what it is that keeps you\non the bottom rung of the ladder. Conscience, you say. Well, it's a\ndifferent thing with every man. It's conscience with some, drink with\nothers, sheer stupidity with most. It's pretty crowded already, that\nbottom rung, without me going and putting my daughter on it. Where do\nyou suppose I'd be now if I'd let my conscience get in my way? Eh?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Mr. Sladder, I cannot alter my beliefs.\n\nSLADDER: Nobody asks you to. I only ask you to leave the bishop alone.\nHe says one thing and you preach another whenever you get half a chance;\nit's enough to break up any firm.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Believing as I do that eternal punishment is incompatible\nwith----\n\nSLADDER: Now, Mr. Hippanthigh, that's got to stop. I don't mind saying,\nnow that I've given you What For, that you don't seem a bad young\nfellow: but my daughter's not going to marry on the bottom rung, and\nthere's an end of that.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: But, Mr. Sladder, can you bring yourself to believe in\nanything so terrible as eternal punishment, so contrary to----\n\nSLADDER: Me? No.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: Then, how can you ask me to?\n\nSLADDER: That particular belief never happened to stand between me and\nthe top of the tree. Many things did, but they're all down below me now,\nMr. Hippanthigh, way down there (_pointing_) where I can hardly see\nthem. You get off that bottom rung as I did years ago.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I cannot go back on all I've said.\n\nSLADDER: I don't want to make it hard for you. Only just say you believe\nin eternal punishment, and then give up talking about it. You may say it\nto me if you like. We'll have one other person present so that there's\nno going back on it, my daughter if you like. I'll let the bishop know,\nand he won't stand in your way any longer, but at present you force his\nhand. It's you or the rules of the firm.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I cannot.\n\nSLADDER: You can't just say to me and my daughter that you believe in\neternal punishment, and leave me to go over to Axminster and put it\nright with the bishop?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I cannot say what I do not believe.\n\nSLADDER: Think. The bishop probably doesn't believe it himself. But\nyou've been forcing his hand,--going out of your way to.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I cannot say it.\n\nSLADDER (_rising_): Mr. Hippanthigh, there's two kinds of men, those\nthat succeed, those that don't. I know no other kind. You ...\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: I cannot go against my conscience.\n\nSLADDER: I don't care what your reason is. You are the second kind. I am\nsorry my daughter ever loved a man of that sort. I am sorry a man of\nthat sort ever entered my house. I was a little, dirty, ragged boy. You\nmake me see what I would be to-day if I had been a man of your kind. I\nwould be dirty and ragged still. (_His voice has been rising during this\nspeech._)\n\n[_Enter_ ERMYNTRUDE.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Father! What are you saying, father? I heard such loud\nvoices.\n\n[HIPPANTHIGH _stands silent and mournful._\n\nSLADDER: My child, I had foolish ideas for you once, but now I say that\nyou are to marry a man, not a wretched, miserable little curate, who\nwill be a wretched, miserable little curate all his life.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: Father, I will not hear such words.\n\nSLADDER: I've given him every chance. I've given him more than every\nchance, but he prefers the bottom rung of the ladder; there we will\nleave him.\n\nERMYNTRUDE: O, father! How can you be so cruel?\n\nSLADDER: It's not my fault, and it's not the bishop's fault. It's his\nown silly pig-headedness.\n\n[_He goes back to his chair._\n\nERMYNTRUDE (_going up to_ HIPPANTHIGH): O, Charlie, couldn't you do what\nfather wants?\n\nHIPPANTHIGH: No, no, I cannot. He wants me to go back on things I've\nsaid.\n\n[_Enter_ MRS. SLADDER _carrying a wire cage, with two dead white mice in\nit. Also_ SPLURGE.\n\nMRS. SLADDER[3]: O, the mice have died, John. The mice have died. O,\nErmyntrude's poor mice! And father's great idea! Whatever shall we do?\n\nSLADDER: Er? (_Almost a groan_) Eh? Died have they?\n\n[SLADDER _ages in his chair. You would say he was beaten. Suddenly he\ntautens up his muscles and stands up straight with shoulders back and\nclenched hands._\n\nSo they would beat Sladder, would they? They would beat Sladder. No,\nthat has yet to be done. We'll go on, Splurge. The public shall eat\nCheezo. It's a bit strong perhaps. We'll tone it down with bad nuts that\nthey use for the other cheeses. We'll advertise it, and they'll eat it.\nSee to it, Splurge. They don't beat Sladder.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: O, I'm so glad. I'm so glad, John.\n\nHIPPANTHIGH (_suddenly with clear emphasis_): I THINK I _DO_ BELIEVE IN\nETERNAL PUNISHMENT.\n\nSLADDER: Ah. At last. Well, Ermyntrude, is your cruel old parent's\nblessing any use to you?\n\n[_He places one hand on her shoulder and one on_ HIPPANTHIGH'S.\n\nMRS. SLADDER: Why, Ermyntrude! Well, I never! And to think of all this\nhappening in one day!\n\n[HIPPANTHIGH _is completely beaten._ ERMYNTRUDE _is smiling at him. He\nputs an arm round her shoulder in dead silence._\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nA GOOD BARGAIN\n\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6_\n\nBROTHER ANTONINUS.\nBROTHER LUCULLUS SEVERUS.\nBROTHER GREGORIUS PEDRO.\nSATAN.\nSMOGGS.\n\n\n\nSCENE\n\n_A Crypt of a Monastery._ BROTHER GREGORIUS PEDRO _is seated on a stone\nbench reading. Behind him is a window._\n\n_Enter_ BROTHER LUCULLUS SEVERUS.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Brother, we may doubt no longer.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Well?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: It is certain. Certain.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: I too had thought so.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: It is clear now, clear as ... It is certain.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Well, why not? After all, why not?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: You mean...?\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: 'Tis but a miracle.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Yes, but ...\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: But you did not think to see one?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: No, no, not that; but Brother Antoninus ...\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Well, why not he? He is holy as any, fasts as often as\nany, wears coarser clothing than most of us, and once scourged a woman\nbecause she looked at our youngest--scourged her right willingly.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Yet, Brother Antoninus!\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Yet, why not?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: We knew him, somehow. One does not know the blessed\nsaints of heaven.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: No, no indeed. I never thought to see such a thing on\nearth; and now, now ... you say it is certain?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Certain.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Ah, well. It seemed like it, it seemed like it for some\ndays. At first I thought I had looked too long through our eastern\nwindow, I thought it was the sun that had dazzled my eyes; and then,\nthen it was clearly something else.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: It is certain now.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Ah, well.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS (_sitting beside him, sighs_): I grudge him nothing.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO (_a little heavily_): No, nor I.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: You are sad, brother.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: No, not sad.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Ah, but I see it.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Ah, well.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: What grieves you, brother?\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: (_Sighs_) We shall water the roses no more, he and I.\nWe shall roll the lawns no more. We shall tend the young tulips together\nnever again.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Oh, why not? Why not? There is not all that\ndifference.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: There is.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: It is our cross, brother. We must bear it.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Ah, yes. Yes, yes.\n\n[_A bell rings noisily._\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: The gate bell, brother! Be of good cheer, it is the\ngate bell ringing!\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Why should I be of good cheer because the gate bell\nrings?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Why, brother, the world is at the gate. We shall see\nsomeone. It is an event. Someone will come and speak of the great world.\nOh, be of good cheer, be of good cheer, brother.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: I think that I am heavy at heart to-day.\n\n[_Enter_ JOHN SMOGGS.\n\nSMOGGS: Ullo, Governor. Is either o' yer the chief monk?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: The Reverend Abbot is not here.\n\nSMOGGS: 'Ain't, ain't 'e?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: But what do you seek, friend?\n\nSMOGGS: Want to know what you blokes are getting up to.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: We do not understand your angry zeal.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Tell us, friend.\n\nSMOGGS: One o' yer is playing games no end, and we won't 'ave it.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Games?\n\nSMOGGS: Well, miracles if you like it better, and we won't 'ave it, nor\nany of your 'igh church games nor devices.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: What does he say, brother?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Friend, you perplex us. We hoped you would speak to us\nof the great world, its gauds, its wickedness, its----\n\nSMOGGS: We won't 'ave it. We won't 'ave none of it, that's all.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Tell us, friend, tell us what you mean. Then we will\ndo whatever you ask. And then you shall speak to us of the world.\n\nSMOGGS: There 'e is, there 'e is, the blighter. There 'e is. 'E's\ncoming. O Lord...!\n\n[_He turns and runs. Exit._\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: It's Antoninus!\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Why, yes; yes, of course!\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: He must have seen him over the garden wall.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: We must hush it up.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Hush it up?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: There must be no scandal in the monastery.\n\n[_Enter_ BROTHER ANTONINUS _wearing a halo. He walks across and exits._\n\n[GREGORIUS _is gazing with wide eyes._\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: There must be no scandal in the monastery.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: It has grown indeed!\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Yes, it has grown since yesterday.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: I noticed it dimly just three days ago. I noticed it\ndimly. But I did not---- I could not guess ... I never dreamed that it\nwould come to this.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Yes, it has grown for three days.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: It was just a dim light over his head, but now...!\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: It flamed up last night.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: There is no mistaking it now.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: There must be _no scandal_.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: No scandal, brother?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Look how unusual it is. People will talk. You heard\nwhat that man said. They will all talk.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO (_sadly_): Ah, well.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: How could we face it.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: It is, yes, yes,--it is unusual.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Nothing like it has happened for many centuries.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO (_sadly_): No, no. I suppose not. Poor Antoninus.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Why could he not have waited?\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Waited? What? Three--three hundred years?\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: Or even five or ten. He is long past sixty.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Yes, yes, it would have been better.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: You saw how ashamed he was.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Poor Antoninus. Yes, yes. Brother, I think if we had\nnot been here he would have come and sat on this bench.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: I think he would. But he was ashamed to come, looking,\nlooking like that.\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Brother, let us go. It is the hour at which he loves to\ncome and sit here, and read in the Little Book of Lesser Devices. Let us\ngo so that he may come here and be alone.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS: As you will, brother; we must help him when we can.\n\n[_They rise and go._\n\nGREGORIUS PEDRO: Poor Antoninus.\n\nLUCULLUS SEVERUS (_glancing_): I think he will come back now.\n\n[_Exeunt. The bare, sandaled foot of_ ANTONINUS _appears as the last\nheel lifts in the other doorway._\n\n[_Enter_ ANTONINUS _rather timidly. He goes to bench and sits. He sighs.\nHe shakes his head to loosen the halo, but in vain. He sighs. Then he\nopens his book and reads in silence. Silence gives way to mumbles,\nmumbles to words._[4]\n\nANTONINUS: ... and finally beat down Satan under our feet.\n\n[_Enter_ SATAN. _He has the horns and long hair and beard of a he-goat.\nHis face and voice are such as could have been once in heaven._\n\nANTONINUS (_standing, lifting arm_): In the name of ...\n\nSATAN: Banish me not.\n\nANTONINUS: In the name ...\n\nSATAN: Say nothing you may regret, until I have spoken.\n\nANTONINUS: In the ...\n\nSATAN: Hear me.\n\nANTONINUS: Well?\n\nSATAN: There fell with me from heaven a rare, rare spirit, the light of\nwhose limbs far outshone dawn and evening.\n\nANTONINUS: Well?\n\nSATAN: We dwell in darkness.\n\nANTONINUS: What is that to me?\n\nSATAN: For that rare spirit I would have the gaud you wear, that\nemblem, that bright ornament. In return I offer you----\n\nANTONINUS: Begone----\n\nSATAN: I offer you----\n\nANTONINUS: Begone.\n\nSATAN: I offer you--Youth.\n\nANTONINUS: I will not traffic with you in damnation.\n\nSATAN: I do not ask your soul, _only that shining gaud_.\n\nANTONINUS: Such things are not for hell.\n\nSATAN: I offer you Youth.\n\nANTONINUS: I do not need it. Life is a penance and ordained as a\ntribulation. I have come through by striving. Why should I care to\nstrive again?\n\nSATAN (_smiles_): Why?\n\nANTONINUS: Why should I?\n\nSATAN (_laughs, looking through window_): It's spring, brother, is it\nnot?\n\nANTONINUS: A time for meditation.\n\nSATAN (_laughs_): There are girls coming over the hills, brother.\nThrough the green leaves and the May.\n\n[ANTONINUS _draws his scourge from his robe._\n\nANTONINUS: Up! Let me scourge them from our holy place.\n\nSATAN: Wait, brother, they are far off yet. But you would not scourge\nthem, you would not scourge them, they are so ... Ah! one has torn her\ndress!\n\nANTONINUS: Ah, let me scourge her!\n\nSATAN: No, no, brother. See, I can see her ankle through the rent. You\nwould not scourge her. Your great scourge would break that little ankle.\n\nANTONINUS: I will have my scourge ready, if she comes near our holy\nplace.\n\nSATAN: She is with her comrades. They are maying. Seven girls.\n(ANTONINUS _grips his scourge._) Her arms are full of may.\n\nANTONINUS: Speak not of such things. Speak not, I say.\n\n[SATAN _is leaning leisurely against the wall, smiling through the\nwindow._\n\nSATAN: How the leaves are shining. Now she is seated on the grass. They\nhave gathered small flowers, Antoninus, and put them in her hair, a row\nof primroses.\n\nANTONINUS (_his eyes go for a moment on to far, far places.\nUnintentionally_): What colour?\n\nSATAN: Black.\n\nANTONINUS: No, no, no! I did not mean her hair. No, no. I meant the\nflowers.\n\nSATAN: Yellow, Antoninus.\n\nANTONINUS (_flurried_): Ah, of course, yes, yes.\n\nSATAN: Sixteen and seventeen and fifteen, and another of sixteen. All\nyoung girls. The age for you, Antoninus, if I make you twenty. Just the\nage for you.\n\nANTONINUS: You--you cannot.\n\nSATAN: All things are possible unto me except salvation.\n\nANTONINUS: How?\n\nSATAN: Give me your gaud. Then meet me at any hour between star-shining\nand cock-crow under the big cherry tree, when the moon is waning.\n\nANTONINUS: Never.\n\nSATAN: Ah, Spring, Spring. They are dancing. Such nimble ankles.\n\n[ANTONINUS _raises his scourge._\n\nSATAN (_more gravely_): Think, Antoninus, forty or fifty more Springs.\n\nANTONINUS: Never, never, never.\n\nSATAN: And no more striving next time. See Antoninus, see them as they\ndance, there with the may behind them under the hill.\n\nANTONINUS: Never! I will not look.\n\nSATAN: Ah, look at them, Antoninus. Their sweet figures. And the warm\nwind blowing in Spring.\n\nANTONINUS: Never! My scourge is for such.\n\n[SATAN _sighs. The girls laugh from the hill._ ANTONINUS _hears the\nlaughter._\n\n_A look of fear comes over him._\n\nANTONINUS: Which ... (_a little peal of girlish laughter off_). Which\ncherry tree did you speak of?\n\nSATAN: This one over the window.\n\nANTONINUS (_with an effort_): It shall be held accursed. I will warn the\nbrethren. It shall be cut down and hewn asunder and they shall burn it\nutterly.\n\nSATAN (_rather sorrowfully_): Ah, Antoninus.\n\nANTONINUS: You shall not tempt a monk of our blessed order.\n\nSATAN: They are coming this way, Antoninus.\n\nANTONINUS: What! What!\n\nSATAN: Have your scourge ready, Antoninus.\n\nANTONINUS: Perhaps, perhaps they have not merited extreme chastisement.\n\nSATAN: They have made a garland of may, a long white garland drooped\nfrom their little hands. Ah, if you were young, Antoninus.\n\nANTONINUS: Tempt me not, Satan. I say, tempt me not!\n\n[_The girls sing_, SATAN _smiles, the girls sing on._ ANTONINUS\n_tip-toes to seat, back to window, and sits listening. The girls sing\non. They pass the window and shake the branch of a cherry tree. The\npetals fall in sheets past the window. The girls sing on and_ ANTONINUS\n_sits listening._\n\nANTONINUS (_hand to forehead_): My head aches. I think it is that\nsong.... Perhaps, perhaps it is the halo. Too heavy, too heavy for _us_.\n\n[SATAN _walks gently up and removes it and walks away with the gold\ndisc._ ANTONINUS _sits silent._\n\nSATAN: When the moon is waning.\n\n[_Exit. More petals fall past the window. The song rings on._ ANTONINUS\n_sits quite still, on his face a new ecstacy._\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nIF SHAKESPEARE LIVED TO-DAY\n\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6_\n\nSIR WEBLEY WOOTHERY-JURNIP} _Members of the_\nMR. NEEKS                 } _Olympus_.\n\nJERGINS, _an old waiter_.\n\nMR. TRUNDLEBEN, _Secretary of the Club_.\n\nMR. GLEEK, _Editor of the \"Banner and Evening\nGazette\" and member of the Olympus_.\n\n\n\nSCENE\n\n_A room in the Olympus Club._\n\n_Time: After luncheon._\n\nSIR WEBLEY WOOTHERY-JURNIP _and_ MR. NEEKS _sit by a small table.\nFurther away sits_ MR. GLEEK, _the Editor of the \"Banner and Evening\nGazette.\"_ SIR WEBLEY JURNIP _rises and rings the bell by the\nfire-place. He returns to his seat._\n\nMR. NEEKS: I see there's a man called Mr. William Shakespeare putting up\nfor the Club.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Shakespeare? Shakespeare? Shakespeare? I once knew a man\ncalled Shaker.\n\nNEEKS: No, it's Shakespeare--Mr. William Shakespeare.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Shakespeare? Shakespeare? Do _you_ know anything about him?\n\nNEEKS: Well, I don't exactly recall--I made sure that you----\n\nSIR WEBLEY: The Secretary ought to be more careful. Waiter!\n\nJERGINS: Yes, Sir Webley. [_He comes._\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Coffee, Jergins. Same as usual.\n\nJERGINS: Yes, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: And, Jergins--there's a man called Mr. William Shakespeare\nputting up for the Club.\n\nJERGINS: I'm sorry to hear that, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, Jergins. Well, there it is, you see; and I want you to\ngo up and ask Mr. Trundleben if he'd come down.\n\nJERGINS: Certainly, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: And then get my coffee.\n\nJERGINS: Yes, Sir Webley.\n\n[_He goes slowly away._\n\nNEEKS: He'll be able to tell us all about him.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: At the same time he should be more careful.\n\nNEEKS: I'm afraid--I'm afraid he's getting rather, rather old.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Oh, I don't know, he was seventy only the other day. I don't\ncall that too old--nowadays. He can't be now, he can't be more than, let\nme see, seventy-eight. Where does this Mr. Shaker live?\n\nNEEKS: Shakespeare. Somewhere down in Warwickshire. A village called\nBradford, I think, is the address he gives in the Candidates' Book.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Warwickshire! I do seem to remember something about him now.\nIf he's the same man I certainly do. William Shakespeare, you said.\n\nNEEKS: Yes, that's the name.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, I certainly have heard about him now you mention it.\n\nNEEKS: Really! And what does he do?\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Do? Well, from what I heard he poaches.\n\nNEEKS: Poaches!\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, a poacher. Trundleben deserves to get the sack for\nthis. A poacher from the wilds of Warwickshire. I heard all about him.\nHe got after the deer at Charlecote.\n\nNEEKS: A poacher!\n\nSIR WEBLEY: That's all he is, a poacher. A member of the Olympus! He'll\nbe dropping in here one fine day with other people's rabbits in his\npockets.\n\n[_Enter_ JERGINS.\n\nJERGINS: Your coffee, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: My coffee. I should think so. (_He sips it._) One needs it.\n\nJERGINS: Mr. Trundleben will be down at once, Sir Webley. I telephoned\nup to him.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Telephoned! Telephoned! The Club's getting more full of\nnew-fangled devices every day. I remember the time when---- Thank you,\nJergins.\n\n[JERGINS _retires._\n\nThis is a pretty state of things, Neeks.\n\nNEEKS: A pretty state of things indeed, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Ah, here's Trundleben.\n\nNEEKS: He'll tell us all about it, Sir Webley. I'm sure he'll----\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Ah, Trundleben. Come and sit down here. Come and----\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Thank you, Sir Webley. I think I will. I don't walk quite as\nwell as I used, and what with----\n\nSIR WEBLEY: What's all this we hear about this Mr. Shakespeare,\nTrundleben?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh, ah, well yes, yes indeed. Well, you see, Sir Webley, he\nwas put up for the Club. Mr. Henry put him up.\n\nSIR WEBLEY (_disapprovingly_): Oh, Mr. Henry.\n\nNEEKS: Yes, yes, yes. Long hair and all that.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so.\n\nNEEKS: Writes poetry, I believe.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well then, what does Mr. Newton do but go and second him,\nand there you are, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, a pretty state of things. Has he ... Does he ... What\nis he?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: He seems to write, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Oh, he does, does he? What does he write?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well, I wrote and asked him that, Sir Webley, and _he_ said\nplays.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Plays? Plays? Plays? I'm sure I never heard ... What plays?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I asked him that, Sir Webley, and he said ... he sent me a\nlist (_fumbling_). Ah, here it is.\n\n[_He holds it high, far from his face, tilts his head back and looks\ndown his nose through his glasses._\n\nHe says--let me see--\"Hamelt,\" or \"Hamlet,\" I don't know how he\npronounces it. \"Hamelt, Hamlet\"; he spells it \"H-a-m-l-e-t.\" If you\npronounce it the way one pronounces handle, it would be \"Hamelt,\" but\nif----\n\nSIR WEBLEY: What's it all about?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well, I gathered the scene was in Denmark.\n\nNEEKS: Denmark! H'm! another of those neutrals!\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, I wouldn't so much mind where the scene of the play\nwas put, if only it was a play one ever had heard of.\n\nNEEKS: But those men who have much to do with neutrals are rather the\nmen--don't you think, Sir Webley?--who ...\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Who want watching. I believe you're right, Neeks. And that\ntype of unsuccessful play-wright is just the kind of man I always\nrather ...\n\nNEEKS: That's rather what I feel, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: It wouldn't be a bad plan if we told somebody about him.\n\nNEEKS: I think I know just the man, Sir Webley. I'll just drop him a\nline.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, and if he's all right there's no harm done, but I\nalways suspect that kind of fellow. Well, what else, Trundleben? This is\ngetting interesting.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well, Sir Webley, it's really very funny, but he sent me a\nlist of the characters in this play of his, \"Hamelt,\" and, and it's\nreally rather delicious----\n\nNEEKS: Yes?\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes? What is it?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: He's got a _ghost_ in his play. (_He-he-he-he-he_) A ghost!\nHe really has.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: What! Not on the stage?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Yes, on the stage!\n\nNEEKS: Well, well, well.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: But that's absurd.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I met Mr. Vass the other day--it was his four hundredth\npresentation of \"The Nighty\"--and I told him about it. He said that\nbringing a ghost on the stage was, of course--er--ludicrous.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: What else does he say he's done?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Er--er--there's an absurdly long list--er--\"Macbeth.\"\n\nSIR WEBLEY: \"Macbeth.\" That's Irish.\n\nNEEKS: Ah, yes. Abbey Theatre style of thing.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I think I heard he offered it them. But of course----\n\nSIR WEBLEY: No, quite so.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I gathered it was all rather a--rather a sordid story.\n\nSIR WEBLEY (_solemnly_): Ah!\n\n[NEEKS[5] _with equal solemnity wags his head._\n\nTRUNDLEBEN (_focussing his list again_): Here's a very funny one. This\nis funnier than \"Hamlet.\" \"The Tempest.\" And the stage directions are\n\"The sea, with a ship.\"\n\nSIR WEBLEY (_laughs_): Oh, that's lovely! That's really too good. The\nsea with a ship! And what's it all about?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well, I rather gathered that it was about a magician, and\nhe--he makes a storm.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: He makes a storm. Splendid! On the stage, I suppose.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh yes, on the stage.\n\n[SIR WEBLEY _and_ NEEKS[6] _laugh heartily._\n\nNEEKS: He'd ... He'd have to be a magician for that, wouldn't he?\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Ha, ha! Very good! He'd have to be a magician to do that,\nTrundleben.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Yes, indeed, Sir Webley; indeed he would, Mr. Neeks.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: But that stage direction is priceless. I'd really like to\ncopy that down if you'd let me. What is it? \"The sea with a ship\"? It's\nthe funniest bit of the lot.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Yes, that's it, Sir Webley. Wait a moment, I have it here.\nThe--the whole thing is \"the sea with a ship, afterwards an island.\"\nVery funny indeed.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: \"Afterwards an island\"! That's very good, too. \"Afterwards\nan island.\" I'll put that down also. (_He writes._) And what else,\nTrundleben? What else?\n\n[TRUNDLEBEN _holds out his list again._\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: \"The Tragedy of--of King Richard the--the Second.\"\n\nSIR WEBLEY: But _was_ his life a tragedy? _Was_ it a tragedy, Neeks?\n\nNEEKS: I--I--well I'm not quite sure; I really don't think so. But I'll\nlook it up.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, we can look it up.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I think it was rather--perhaps _rather_ tragic, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Oh, I don't say it wasn't. No doubt. No doubt at all. That's\none thing. But to call his whole life a tragedy is--is quite another.\nWhat, Neeks?\n\nNEEKS: Oh, quite another.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh, certainly, Sir Webley. Tragedy is--er--is a very strong\nterm indeed, to--to apply to such a case.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: He was probably out poaching when he should have been\nlearning his history.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I'm afraid so, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: And what else, eh? Anything more?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well, there are some poems, he says.\n\n[_Holds up a list._\n\nSIR WEBLEY: And what are they about?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well, there's one called ... Oh. I'd really rather not\nmention that one; perhaps that had better be left out altogether.\n\nNEEKS: Not...?\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Not quite...?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: No, not at all.\n\nSIR WEBLEY and NEEKS: H'm.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Left out altogether. And then there are \"Sonnets,\" and--and\n\"Venus and Adonis,\" and--and \"The Phoenix and the Turtle.\"\n\nSIR WEBLEY: The Phoenix and the what?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: The Turtle.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Oh. Go on ...\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: One called \"The Passionate Pilgrim,\" another \"A Lover's\nComplaint.\"\n\nSIR WEBLEY: I think the whole thing's very regrettable.\n\nNEEKS: I think so too, Sir Webley.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN (_mournfully_): And there've been no poets since poor\nBrowning died, none at all. It's absurd for him to call himself a poet.\n\nNEEKS: Quite so, Trundleben, quite so.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: And all these plays. What does he mean by calling them\nplays? They've never been acted.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well--er--no, not exactly acted, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: What do you mean by not exactly, Trundleben?\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Well, I believe they were acted in America, though of course\nnot in London.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: In America? What's that got to do with it. America? Why,\nthat's the other side of the Atlantic.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh, yes, Sir Webley, I--I quite agree with you.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: America! I daresay they did. I daresay they did act them.\nBut that doesn't make him a suitable member for the Olympus. Quite the\ncontrary.\n\nNEEKS: Oh, quite the contrary.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh, certainly, Sir Webley, certainly.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: I daresay \"Macbeth\" would be the sort of thing that would\nappeal to Irish Americans. _Just_ the sort of thing.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Very likely, Sir Webley, I'm sure.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Their game laws are very lax, I believe, over there; they\nprobably took to him on account of his being a poacher.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I've no doubt of it, Sir Webley. Very likely.\n\nNEEKS: I expect that was just it.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well now, Trundleben; are we to ask the Olympus to elect a\nman who'll come in here with his pockets bulging with rabbits.\n\nNEEKS: Rabbits, and hares too.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: And venison even, if you come to that.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Yes indeed, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Thank God the Olympus can get its haunch of venison without\nhaving to go to a man like that for it.\n\nNEEKS: Yes indeed.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Indeed I hope so.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well now, about those plays. I don't say we've absolute\nproof that the man's entirely hopeless. We must be sure of our ground.\n\nNEEKS: Yes, quite so.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh, I'm afraid Sir Webley, they're very bad indeed. There\nare some quite unfortunate--er--references in them.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: So I should have supposed. So I should have supposed.\n\nNEEKS: Yes, yes, of course.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: For instance, in that play about that funny ship--I have a\nlist of the characters here--and I'm afraid, well--er,--er you see for\nyourself. (_Hands paper._) You see that is, I am afraid, in very bad\ntaste, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Certainly, Trundleben, certainly. Very bad indeed.\n\nNEEKS (_peering_): Er--er, what is it, Sir Webley?\n\nSIR WEBLEY (_pointing_): That, you see.\n\nNEEKS: A--a drunken butler! But most regrettable.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: A very deserving class. A--a quite gratuitous slight. I\ndon't say you mightn't see one drunken butler ...\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Quite so.\n\nNEEKS: Yes, of course.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: But to put it boldly on a programme like that is practically\ntantamount to implying that all butlers are drunken.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Which is by no means true.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: There would naturally be a protest of some sort, and to have\na member of the Olympus mixed up with a controversy like that would\nbe--er--naturally--er--most ...\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Yes, of course, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: And then of course, if he does a thing like that once ...\n\nNEEKS: There are probably other lapses just as deplorable.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: I haven't gone through his whole list, Sir Webley. I often\nfeel about these modern writers that perhaps the less one looks the less\none will find that might be, er ...\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, quite so.\n\nNEEKS: That is certainly true.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, we can't wade all through his list of characters to\nsee if they are all suitable to be represented on a stage.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh no, Sir Webley, quite impossible; there are--there are--I\nmight say--hundreds of them.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Good gracious! He must have been wasting his time a great\ndeal.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Oh, a great deal, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: But we shall have to go further into this. We can't have ...\n\nNEEKS: I see Mr. Gleek sitting over there, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Why, yes, yes, so he is.\n\nNEEKS: The _Banner and Evening Gazette_ would know all about him if\nthere's anything to know.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, of course they would.\n\nNEEKS: If we were to ask him.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, Trundleben, you may leave it to us. Mr. Neeks and I\nwill talk it all over and see what's to be done.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Thank you, Sir Webley. I'm really very sorry it all\nhappened--very sorry indeed.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Very well, Trundleben, we'll see what's to be done. If\nnothing's known of him and his plays, you'll have to write and request\nhim to withdraw his candidature. But we'll see. We'll see.\n\nTRUNDLEBEN: Thank you, Sir Webley. I'm sure I'm very sorry it all\noccurred. Thank you, Mr. Neeks.\n\n[_Exit_ TRUNDLEBEN, _waddling slowly away._\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, Neeks, that's what it will have to be. If nothing\nwhatever's known of him we can't have him putting up for the Olympus.\n\nNEEKS: Quite so, Sir Webley. I'll call Mr. Gleek's attention.\n\n[_He begins to rise, hopefully looking Gleek-wards, when_ JERGINS _comes\nbetween him and_ MR. GLEEK. _He has come to take away the coffee._\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Times are changing, Jergins.\n\nJERGINS: I'm afraid so, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Changing fast, and new members putting up for the Club.\n\nJERGINS: Yes, I'm afraid so, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: You notice it too, Jergins.\n\nJERGINS: Yes, Sir Webley, it's come all of a sudden. Only last week I\nsaw ...\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, Jergins.\n\nJERGINS: I saw Lord Pondleburrow wearing a ...\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Wearing what, Jergins?\n\nJERGINS: Wearing one of those billycock hats, Sir Webley.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, well. I suppose they've got to change, but not at that\nrate.\n\nJERGINS: No, Sir Webley.\n\n[EXIT, _shaking his head as he goes._\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Well, we must find out about this fellow.\n\nNEEKS: Yes. I'll call Mr. Gleek's attention. He knows all about that\nsort of thing.\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Yes, yes. Just ...\n\n[NEEKS _rises and goes some of the way towards_ GLEEK'S _chair._\n\nNEEKS: Er--er----\n\nGLEEK (_looking round_): Yes?\n\nSIR WEBLEY: Do you know anything of a man called Mr. William\nShakespeare?\n\nGLEEK (_looking over his pince-nez_): No!\n\n[_He shakes his head several times and returns to his paper._\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n\nFAME AND THE POET\n\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6_\n\nHARRY DE REVES, _a Poet_.\n\n(_This name, though of course of French origin, has\nbecome anglicised and is pronounced_ DE REEVS.)\n\nDICK PRATTLE, _a Lieutenant-Major of the Royal Horse\nMarines_.\n\nFAME.\n\n\n\nSCENE\n\n_The Poet's rooms in London. Windows in back. A high screen in a\ncorner._\n\n_Time: February 30th._\n\n_The_ POET _is sitting at a table writing._\n\n[_Enter_ DICK PRATTLE.\n\nPRATTLE: Hullo, Harry.\n\nDE REVES: Hullo, Dick. Good Lord, where are you from?\n\nPRATTLE (_casually_): The ends of the earth.\n\nDE REVES: Well, I'm damned!\n\nPRATTLE: Thought I'd drop in and see how you were getting on.\n\nDE REVES: Well, that's splendid. What are you doing in London?\n\nPRATTLE: Well, I wanted to see if I could get one or two decent ties to\nwear--you can get nothing out there--then I thought I'd have a look and\nsee how London was getting on.\n\nDE REVES: Splendid! How's everybody?\n\nPRATTLE: All going strong.\n\nDE REVES: That's good.\n\nPRATTLE (_seeing paper and ink_): But what are you doing?\n\nDE REVES: Writing.\n\nPRATTLE: Writing? I didn't know you wrote.\n\nDE REVES: Yes, I've taken to it rather.\n\nPRATTLE: I say--writing's no good. What do you write?\n\nDE REVES: Oh, poetry.\n\nPRATTLE: Poetry! Good Lord!\n\nDE REVES: Yes, that sort of thing, you know.\n\nPRATTLE: Good Lord! Do you make any money by it?\n\nDE REVES: No. Hardly any.\n\nPRATTLE: I say--why don't you chuck it?\n\nDE REVES: Oh, I don't know. Some people seem to like my stuff, rather.\nThat's why I go on.\n\nPRATTLE: I'd chuck it if there's no money in it.\n\nDE REVES: Ah, but then it's hardly in your line, is it? You'd hardly\napprove of poetry if there _was_ money in it.\n\nPRATTLE: Oh, I don't say that. If I could make as much by poetry as I\ncan by betting I don't say I wouldn't try the poetry touch, only----\n\nDE REVES: Only what?\n\nPRATTLE: Oh, I don't know. Only there seems more sense in betting,\nsomehow.\n\nDE REVES: Well, yes. I suppose it's easier to tell what an earthly horse\nis going to do, than to tell what Pegasus----\n\nPRATTLE: What's Pegasus?\n\nDE REVES: Oh, the winged horse of poets.\n\nPRATTLE: I say! You don't believe in a winged horse, do you?\n\nDE REVES: In our trade we believe in all fabulous things. They all\nrepresent some large truth to us. An emblem like Pegasus is as real a\nthing to a poet as a Derby winner would be to you.\n\nPRATTLE: I say. (Give me a cigarette. Thanks.) What? Then you'd believe\nin nymphs and fauns, and Pan, and all those kind of birds?\n\nDE REVES: Yes. Yes. In all of them.\n\nPRATTLE: Good Lord!\n\nDE REVES: You believe in the Lord Mayor of London, don't you?\n\nPRATTLE: Yes, of course; but what has----\n\nDE REVES: Four million people or so made him Lord Mayor, didn't they?\nAnd he represents to them the wealth and dignity and tradition of----\n\nPRATTLE: Yes; but, I say, what has all this----\n\nDE REVES: Well, he stands for an idea to them, and they made him Lord\nMayor, and so he is one....\n\nPRATTLE: Well, of course he is.\n\nDE REVES: In the same way Pan has been made what he is by millions; by\nmillions to whom he represents world-old traditions.\n\nPRATTLE (_rising from his chair and stepping backwards, laughing and\nlooking at the_ POET _in a kind of assumed wonder_): I say ... I say ...\nYou old heathen ... but Good Lord ...\n\n[_He bumps into the high screen behind, pushing it back a little._\n\nDE REVES: Look out! Look out!\n\nPRATTLE: What? What's the matter?\n\nDE REVES: The screen!\n\nPRATTLE: Oh, sorry, yes. I'll put it right.\n\n[_He is about to go round behind it._\n\nDE REVES: No, don't go round there.\n\nPRATTLE: What? Why not?\n\nDE REVES: Oh, you wouldn't understand.\n\nPRATTLE: Wouldn't understand? Why, what have you got?\n\nDE REVES: Oh, one of those things.... You wouldn't understand.\n\nPRATTLE: Of course I'd understand. Let's have a look.\n\n[_The_ POET _walks towards_ PRATTLE _and the screen. He protests no\nfurther._ PRATTLE _looks round the corner of the screen._\n\nAn altar.\n\nDE REVES (_removing the screen altogether_): That is all. What do you\nmake of it?\n\n[_An altar of Greek design, shaped like a pedestal, is revealed. Papers\nlitter the floor all about it._\n\nPRATTLE: I say--you always were an untidy devil.\n\nDE REVES: Well, what do you make of it?\n\nPRATTLE: It reminds me of your room at Eton.\n\nDE REVES: My room at Eton?\n\nPRATTLE: Yes, you always had papers all over your floor.\n\nDE REVES: Oh, yes----\n\nPRATTLE: And what are these?\n\nDE REVES: All these are poems; and this is my altar to Fame.\n\nPRATTLE: To Fame?\n\nDE REVES: The same that Homer knew.\n\nPRATTLE: Good Lord!\n\nDE REVES: Keats never saw her. Shelley died too young. She came late at\nthe best of times, now scarcely ever.\n\nPRATTLE: But, my dear fellow, you don't mean that you think there really\nis such a person?\n\nDE REVES: I offer all my songs to her.\n\nPRATTLE: But you don't mean you think you could actually _see_ Fame?\n\nDE REVES: We poets personify abstract things, and not poets only but\nsculptors[7] and painters too. All the great things of the world are\nthose abstract things.\n\nPRATTLE: But what I mean is, they're not really there, like you or me.\n\nDE REVES: To us these things are more real than men, they outlive\ngenerations, they watch the passing of kingdoms: we go by them like\ndust; they are still there, unmoved, unsmiling.\n\nPRATTLE: But, but, you can't think that you could _see_ Fame, you don't\nexpect to _see_ it?\n\nDE REVES: Not to me. Never to me. She of the golden trumpet and Greek\ndress will never appear to me.... We all have our dreams.\n\nPRATTLE: I say--what have you been doing all day?\n\nDE REVES: I? Oh, only writing a sonnet.\n\nPRATTLE: Is it a long one?\n\nDE REVES: Not very.\n\nPRATTLE: About how long is it?\n\nDE REVES: About fourteen lines.\n\nPRATTLE (_impressively_): I tell you what it is.\n\nDE REVES: Yes?\n\nPRATTLE: I tell you what. You've been overworking yourself. I once got\nlike that on board the Sandhurst, working for the passing-out exam. I\ngot so bad that I could have seen anything.\n\nDE REVES: Seen anything?\n\nPRATTLE: Lord, yes; horned pigs, snakes with wings; anything; one of\nyour winged horses even. They gave me some stuff called bromide for it.\nYou take a rest.\n\nDE REVES: But my dear fellow, you don't understand at all. I merely said\nthat abstract things are to a poet as near and real and visible as one\nof your bookmakers or barmaids.\n\nPRATTLE: I know. You take a rest.\n\nDE REVES: Well, perhaps I will. I'd come with you to that musical comedy\nyou're going to see, only I'm a bit tired after writing this; it's a\ntedious job. I'll come another night.\n\nPRATTLE: How do you know I'm going to see a musical comedy?\n\nDE REVES: Well, where would you go? _Hamlet_'s[8] on at the Lord\nChamberlain's. You're not going there.\n\nPRATTLE: Do I look like it?\n\nDE REVES: No.\n\nPRATTLE: Well, you're quite right. I'm going to see \"The Girl from\nBedlam.\" So long. I must push off now. It's getting late. You take a\nrest. Don't add another line to that sonnet; fourteen's quite enough.\nYou take a rest. Don't have any dinner to-night, just rest. I was like\nthat once myself. So long.\n\nDE REVES: So long.\n\n[_Exit_ PRATTLE. DE REVES _returns to his table and sits down._\n\nGood old Dick! He's the same as ever. Lord, how time passes.\n\n_He takes his pen and his sonnet and makes a few alterations._\n\nWell, that's finished. I can't do any more to it.\n\n[_He rises and goes to the screen; he draws back part of it and goes up\nto the altar. He is about to place his sonnet reverently at the foot of\nthe altar amongst his other verses._\n\nNo, I will not put it there. This one is worthy of the altar.\n\n[_He places the sonnet upon the altar itself._\n\nIf that sonnet does not give me fame, nothing that I have done before\nwill give it to me, nothing that I ever will do.\n\n[_He replaces the screen and returns to his chair at the table. Twilight\nis coming on. He sits with his elbow on the table, his head on his hand,\nor however the actor pleases._\n\nWell, well. Fancy seeing Dick again. Well, Dick enjoys his life, so he's\nno fool. What was that he said? \"There's no money in poetry. You'd\nbetter chuck it.\" Ten years' work and what have I to show for it? The\nadmiration of men who care for poetry, and how many of _them_ are there?\nThere's a bigger demand for smoked glasses to look at eclipses of the\nsun. Why should Fame come to me? Haven't I given up my days for her?\nThat is enough to keep her away. I am a poet; that is enough reason for\nher to slight me. Proud and aloof and cold as marble, what does Fame\ncare for us? Yes, Dick is right. It's a poor game chasing illusions,\nhunting the intangible, pursuing dreams. Dreams? Why, we are ourselves\ndreams.\n\n[_He leans back in his chair._\n\n                 We are such stuff\n    As dreams are made on, and our little life\n    Is rounded with a sleep.\n\n[_He is silent for a while. Suddenly he lifts his head._\n\nMy room at Eton, Dick said. An untidy mess.\n\n[_As he lifts his head and says these words, twilight gives place to\nbroad daylight, merely as a hint that the author of the play may have\nbeen mistaken, and the whole thing may have been no more than a poet's\ndream._\n\nSo it was, and it's an untidy mess there (_looking at screen_) too.\nDick's right. I'll tidy it up. I'll burn the whole damned heap,\n\n[_He advances impetuously towards the screen._\n\nevery damned poem that I was ever fool enough to waste my time on.\n\n[_He pushes back the screen._ FAME _in a Greek dress with a long golden\ntrumpet in her hand is seen standing motionless on the altar like a\nmarble goddess._\n\nSo ... you have come!\n\n[_For a while he stands thunderstruck. Then he approaches the altar._\n\nDivine fair lady, you have come.\n\n[_He holds up his hand to her and leads her down from the altar and into\nthe centre of the stage. At whatever moment the actor finds it most\nconvenient, he repossesses himself of the sonnet that he had placed on\nthe altar. He now offers it to_ FAME.\n\nThis is my sonnet. Is it well done?\n\n[FAME _takes it and reads it in silence, while the_ POET _watches her\nrapturously._\n\nFAME: You're a bit of all right.\n\nDE REVES: What?\n\nFAME: Some poet.\n\nDE REVES: I--I--scarcely ... understand.\n\nFAME: You're IT.\n\nDE REVES: But ... it is not possible ... are you she that knew Homer?\n\nFAME: Homer? Lord, yes. Blind old bat, 'e couldn't see a yard.\n\nDE REVES: O Heavens!\n\n[FAME _walks beautifully to the window. She opens it and puts her head\nout._\n\nFAME (_in a voice with which a woman in an upper storey would cry for\nhelp if the house was well alight_): Hi! Hi! Boys! Hi! Say, folks! Hi!\n\n[_The murmur of a gathering crowd is heard._ FAME _blows her trumpet._\n\nFAME: Hi, he's a poet! (_Quickly, over her shoulder._) What's your name?\n\nDE REVES: De Reves.\n\nFAME: His name's de Reves.\n\nDE REVES: Harry de Reves.\n\nFAME: His pals call him Harry.\n\nTHE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!\n\nFAME: Say, what's your favourite colour?\n\nDE REVES: I ... I ... I don't quite understand.\n\nFAME: Well, which do you like best, green or blue?\n\nDE REVES: Oh--er--blue.\n\n[_She blows her trumpet out of the window._\n\nNo--er--I think green.\n\nFAME: Green is his favourite colour.\n\nTHE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!\n\nFAME: 'Ere, tell us something. They want to know all about yer.\n\nDE REVES: Wouldn't[9] you perhaps ... would they care to hear my sonnet,\nif you would--er ...\n\nFAME (_picking up quill_): Here, what's this?\n\nDE REVES: Oh, that's my pen.\n\nFAME (_after another blast on her trumpet_): He writes with a quill.\n\n[_Cheers from the_ CROWD.\n\nFAME (_going to a cupboard_): Here, what have you got in here?\n\nDE REVES: Oh ... er ... those are my breakfast things.\n\nFAME (_finding a dirty plate_): What have yer had on this one?\n\nDE REVES (_mournfully_): Oh, eggs and bacon.\n\nFAME (_at the window_): He has eggs and bacon for breakfast.\n\nTHE CROWD: Hip hip hip, _hooray!_\nHip hip hip, _hooray!_\nHip hip hip, _hooray!_\n\nFAME: Hi, and what's this?\n\nDE REVES (_miserably_): Oh, a golf stick.\n\nFAME: He's a man's man! He's a virile man! He's a manly man!\n\n[_Wild cheers from the_ CROWD, _this time only from women's voices._\n\nDE REVES: Oh, this is terrible. This is terrible. This is terrible.\n\n[FAME _gives another peal on her horn. She is about to speak._\n\n\nDE REVES (_solemnly and mournfully_): One moment, one moment ...\n\nFAME: Well, out with it.\n\nDE REVES: For ten years, divine lady, I have worshipped you, offering\nall my songs ... I find ... I find I am not worthy....\n\nFAME: Oh, you're all right.\n\nDE REVES: No, no, I am not worthy. It cannot be. It cannot possibly be.\nOthers deserve you more. I must say it! _I cannot possibly love you._\nOthers are worthy. You will find others. But I, no, no, no. It cannot\nbe. It cannot be. Oh, pardon me, but it _must_ not.\n\n[_Meanwhile_ FAME _has been lighting one of his cigarettes. She sits in\na comfortable chair, leans right back, and puts her feet right up on the\ntable amongst the poet's papers._\n\nOh, I fear I offend you. But--it cannot be.\n\nFAME: Oh, that's all right, old bird; no offence. I ain't going to leave\nyou.\n\nDE REVES: But--but--but--I do not understand.\n\nFAME: I've come to stay, I have.\n\n[_She blows a puff of smoke through her trumpet_.\n\n\nCURTAIN.\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: Footnotes indicate where typographical errors in\nthe original edition have been corrected.]\n\n[Footnote 1: Corrected from \"eaxct\"]\n\n[Footnote 2: Corrected from \"wouln't\"]\n\n[Footnote 3: Corrected from \"MRS. SPLURGE\"]\n\n[Footnote 4: An unmatched parenthesis has been deleted]\n\n[Footnote 5: Corrected from \"Neek\"]\n\n[Footnote 6: Corrected from \"Neek\"]\n\n[Footnote 7: Corrected from \"scuptors\"]\n\n[Footnote 8: Corrected from \"_Hamlet's_\"]\n\n[Footnote 9: Corrected from \"Wouln't\"]","title":"Plays of Near & Far","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":24839}