Kitabı oku: «Voces Populi», sayfa 6
At a Garden Party
Scene —A London Lawn. A Band in a costume half-way between the uniforms of a stage hussar and a circus groom, is performing under a tree. Guests discovered slowly pacing the turf, or standing and sitting about in groups.
Mrs. Maynard Gery (to her Brother-in-law—who is thoroughly aware of her little weaknesses). Oh, Phil, – you know everybody —do tell me! Who is that common-looking little man with the scrubby beard, and the very yellow gloves – how does he come to be here?
Phil. Where? Oh, I see him. Well – have you read Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece?
Mrs. M. G. No —ought I to have? I never even heard of it!
Phil. Really? I wonder at that – tremendous hit – you must order it – though I doubt if you'll be able to get it.
Mrs. M. G. Oh, I shall insist on having it. And he wrote it? Really, Phil, now I come to look at him, there's something rather striking about his face. Did you say Sabrina's Niece's Other Aunt– or what?
Phil. Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece was what I said– not that it signifies.
Mrs. M. G. Oh, but I always attach the greatest importance to names, myself. And do you know him?
Phil. What, Tablett? Oh, yes – decent little chap; not much to say for himself, you know.
Mrs. M. G. I don't mind that when a man is clever– do you think you could bring him up and introduce him?
Phil. Oh, I could– but I won't answer for your not being disappointed in him.
Mrs. M. G. I have never been disappointed in any genius yet– perhaps, because I don't expect too much – so go, dear boy; he may be surrounded unless you get hold of him soon. [Phil obeys.
Phil (accosting the Scrubby Man). Well, Tablett, old fellow, how are things going with you? Sabrina flourishing?
Mr. Tablett (enthusiastically). It's a tremendous hit, my boy; orders coming in so fast they don't know how to execute 'em – there's a fortune in it, as I always told you!
Phil. Capital! – but you've such luck. By the way, my sister-in-law is most anxious to know you.
Mr. T. (flattered). Very kind of her. I shall be delighted. I was just thinking I felt quite a stranger here.
Phil. Come along then, and I'll introduce you. If she asks you to her parties by any chance, mind you go – sure to meet a lot of interesting people.
Mr. T. (pulling up his collar). Just what I enjoy – meeting interesting people – the only society worth cultivating, to my mind, Sir. Give me intellect– it's of more value than wealth!
[They go in search of Mrs. M. G
First Lady on Chair. Look at the dear Vicar getting that poor Lady Pawperse an ice. What a very spiritual expression he has, to be sure – really quite apostolic!
Second Lady. We are not in his parish, but I have always heard him spoken of as a most excellent man.
First Lady. Excellent! My dear, that man is a perfect Saint! I don't believe he knows what it is to have a single worldly thought! And such trials as he has to bear, too! With that dreadful wife of his!
Second Lady. That's the wife, isn't it? – the dowdy little woman, all alone, over there? Dear me, what could he have married her for?
First Lady. Oh, for her money of course, my dear!
Mrs. Pattallon (to Mrs. St. Martin Somerville). Why, it really is you! I absolutely didn't know you at first. I was just thinking "Now who is that young and lovely person coming along the path?" You see – I came out without my glasses to-day, which accounts for it!
Mr. Chuck (meeting a youthful Matron and Child). Ah, Mrs. Sharpe, how de do! I'm all right. Hullo, Toto, how are you, eh, young lady?
Toto (primly). I'm very well indeed, thank you. (With sudden interest.) How's the idiot? Have you seen him lately?
Mr. C. (mystified). The idiot, eh? Why, fact is, I don't know any idiot! – give you my word!
Toto (impatiently). Yes, you do—you know. The one Mummy says you're next door to – you must see him sometimes! You did say Mr. Chuck was next door to an idiot, didn't you, Mummy? [Tableau.
Mrs. Prattleton. Let me see —did we have a fine Summer in '87? Yes, of course – I always remember the weather by the clothes we wore, and that June and July we wore scarcely anything – some filmy stuff that belonged to one's ancestress, don't you know. Such fun! By the way, what has become of Lucy?
Mrs. St. Patticker. Oh, I've quite lost sight of her lately – you see she's so perfectly happy now, that she's ceased to be in the least interesting!
Mrs. Hussiffe (to Mr. De Mure). Perhaps you can tell me of a good coal merchant? The people who supply me now are perfect fiends, and I really must go somewhere else.
Mr. de Mure. Then I'm afraid you must be rather difficult to please.
Mr. Tablett has been introduced to Mrs. Maynard Gery —with the following result.
Mrs. M. G. (enthusiastically). I'm so delighted to make your acquaintance. When my brother-in-law told me who you were, I positively very nearly shrieked. I am such an admirer of your – (thinks she won't commit herself to the whole title – and so compounds) – your delightful Sabrina!
Mr. T. Most gratified to hear it, I'm sure. I'm told there's a growing demand for it.
Mrs. M. G. Such a hopeful sign – when one was beginning quite to despair of the public taste!
Mr. T. Well, I've always said – So long as you give the Public a really first-rate article, and are prepared to spend any amount of money on pushing it, you know, you're sure to see a handsome return for your outlay – in the long run. And of course you must get it carefully analysed by competent judges —
Mrs. M. G. Ah, but you can feel independent of criticism now, can't you?
Mr. T. Oh, I defy any one to find anything unwholesome in it – it's as suitable for the most delicate child as it is for adults – nothing to irritate the most sensitive —
Mrs. M. G. Ah, you mean certain critics are so thin-skinned – they are: indeed!
Mr. T. (warming to his subject). But the beauty of this particular composition is that it causes absolutely no unpleasantness or inconvenience afterwards. In some cases, indeed, it acts like a charm. I've known of two cases of long-standing erysipelas it has completely cured.
Mrs. M. G. (rather at sea). How gratifying that must be. But that is the magic of all truly great work, it is such an anodyne– it takes people so completely out of themselves – doesn't it?
Mr. T. It takes anything of that sort out of them, Ma'am. It's the finest discovery of the age, no household will be without it in a few months – though perhaps I say it who shouldn't.
Mrs. M. G. (still more astonished). Oh, but I like to hear you. I'm so tired of hearing people pretending to disparage what they have done, it's such a pose, and I hate posing. Real genius is never modest. (If he had been more retiring, she would have, of course, reversed this axiom.) I wish you would come and see me on one of my Tuesdays, Mr. Tablett, I should feel so honoured, and I think you would meet some congenial spirits – do look in some evening – I will send you a card if I may – let me see – could you come and lunch next Sunday? I've got a little man coming who was very nearly eaten up by cannibals. I think he would interest you.
Mr. T. I shall be proud to meet him. Er – did they eat much of him?
Mrs. M. G. (who privately thinks this rather vulgar). How witty you are! That's quite worthy of – er —Sabrina, really! Then you will come? So glad. And now I mustn't keep you from your other admirers any longer.
[She dismisses him.
LATER
Mrs. M. G. (to her Brother-in-law). How could you say that dear Mr. Tablett was dull, Phil? I found him perfectly charming – so original and unconventional! He's promised to come to me. By the way, what did you say the name of his book was?
Phil. I never said he had written a book.
Mrs. M. G. Phil – you did! —Sabrina's Other – Something. Why, I've been praising it to him, entirely on your recommendation.
Phil. No, no —your mistake. I only asked you if you'd read Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece, and, as I made up the title on the spur of the moment, I should have been rather surprised if you had. He never wrote a line in his life.
Mrs. M. G. How abominable of you! But surely he's famous for something? He talks like it. [With reviving hope.
Phil. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina" Soap – he says he'll make a fortune over it.
Mrs. M. G. But he hasn't even done that yet! Phil, I'll never forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What am I to do now? I can't have him coming to me – he's really too impossible!
Phil. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I suppose – not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of your lions, after all's said and done!
[Mrs. M. G., before she takes her leave, contrives to inform Mr. Tablett, with her prettiest penitence, that she has only just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime, he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is no harm done, after all
At the Military Tournament
Scene —The Agricultural Hall. Tent-pegging going on.
Stentorian Judge (in Arena). Corporal Binks! (The Assistants give a finishing blow to the peg, and fall back. Corporal Binks gallops in, misses the peg, and rides off, relieving his feelings by whirling his lance defiantly in the air.) Corporal Binks – nothing!
A Gushing Lady. Poor dear thing! I do wish he'd struck it! He did look so disappointed, and so did that sweet horse!
The Judge. Sergeant Spanker! (Sergeant S. gallops in, spears the peg neatly, and carries it off triumphantly on the point of the lance, after which he rides back and returns the peg to the Assistants as a piece of valuable property of which he has accidentally deprived them.) Sergeant Spanker – eight! (Applause; the Assistants drive in another peg.) Corporal Cutlash! (Corporal C. enters, strikes the peg, and dislodges without securing it. Immense applause from the Crowd.) Corporal Cutlash – two!
The Gushing Lady. Only two, and when he really did hit the peg! I do call that a shame. I should have given him more marks than the other man – he has such a much nicer face!
A Child with a Thirst for Information. Uncle, why do they call it tent-pegging?
The Uncle. Why? Well, because those pegs are what they fasten down tents with.
The Child. But why isn't there a tent now?
Uncle. Because there's no use for one.
Child. Why?
Uncle. Because all they want to do is to pick up the peg with the point of their lance.
Child. Yes, but why should they want to do it?
Uncle. Oh, to amuse their horses. (The Child ponders upon this answer with a view to a fresh catechism upon the equine passion for entertainment, and the desirability, or otherwise, of gratifying it.)
A Chatty Man in the Promenade (to his Neighbour). Takes a deal of practice to strike them pegs fair and full.
His Neighbour (who holds advanced Socialistic opinions). Ah, I dessay – and a pity they can't make no better use o' their time! Spoiling good wood, I call it. I don't see no point in it myself.
The Chatty Man. Well, it shows they can ride, at any rate.
The Socialist. Ride? O' course they can ride– we pay enough for 'aving 'em taught, don't we? But you mark my words, the People won't put up with this state of things much longer – keepin' a set of 'ired murderers in luxury and hidleness. I tell yer, wherever I come across one of these great lanky louts strutting about in his red coat, as if he was one of the lords of the hearth, well – it makes my nose bleed, ah – it does!
The Chatty Man. If that's the way you talk to him, I ain't surprised if it do.
The Judge. Sword versus Sword! Come in there! (Two mounted Combatants, in leather jerkins and black visors, armed with swordsticks, enter the ring; Judge introduces them to audience with the aid of a flag.) Corporal Jones, of the Wessex Yeomanry; Sergeant Smith, of the Manx Mounted Infantry. (Their swords are chalked by the Assistants.) Are you ready? Left turn! Countermarch! Engage! (The Combatants wheel round and face one another, each vigorously spurring his horse and prodding cautiously at the other; the two horses seem determined not to be drawn into the affair themselves on any account, and take no personal interest in the conflict; the umpires skip and dodge at the rear of the horses, until one of the Combatants gets in with a rattling blow on the other's head, to the intense delight of audience. Both men are brushed down, and their weapons re-chalked, whereupon they engage once more – much to the disgust of their horses, who had evidently been hoping it was all over. After the contest is finally decided, a second pair of Combatants enter; one is mounted on a black horse, the other on a chestnut, who refuses to lend himself to the business on any terms, and bolts on principle; while the rider of the black horse remains in stationary meditation.) Go on – that black horse – go on! (The chestnut is at length brought up to the scratch snorting, but again flinches, and retires with his rider.)
The Crowd (to rider of black horse). Go on, now's your chance! 'It him! (The recipient of these counsels pursues his antagonist, and belabours him and his horse with impartial good-will until separated by the Umpires, who examine the chalk-marks with a professional scrutiny.)
The Judge. Here, you on the black horse, you mustn't hit that other horse about the head. (The man addressed appears rebuked and surprised under his black-wired visor.) The Judge (reassuringly). It's all right, you know; only, don't do it again, that's all! (The Combatant sits up again.)
The Gushing Lady. Oh, I can't bear to look on, really. I'm sure they oughtn't to hit so hard —how their poor dear heads must ache! Isn't that chestnut a duck? I'm sure he's trying to save his master from getting hurt – they're such sensible creatures, horses are! (Artillery teams drive in, and gallop between the posts; the Crowd going frantic with delight when the posts remain upright, and roaring with laughter when one is knocked over.)
DURING THE MUSICAL RIDE
The Gushing Lady. Oh, they're simply too sweet! How those horses are enjoying it – aren't they pets? and how perfectly they keep step to the music, don't they?
Her Friend. (who is beginning to get a trifle tired by her enthusiasm). Yes; but then they're all trained by Madame Katti Lanner, of Drury Lane, you see.
The Gushing Lady. What pains she must have taken with them; but you can teach a horse anything, can't you?
Her Friend. Oh, that's nothing; next year they're going to have a horse who'll dance the Highland Fling.
The Socialist. A pretty sight? Cost a pretty sight o' the People's money, I know that. Tomfoolery, that's what it is; a set of dressed-up bullies dancin' quadrilles on 'orseback; that ain't military manoeuvrin'. It's sickenin' the way fools applaud such goin's on. And cuttin' off the Saracen's 'ed, too; I'd call it plucky if the Saracen 'ad a gun in his 'and. Bah, I 'ate the 'ole business!
His Neighbour. Got anybody along with you, Mate?
The Socialist. No, I don't want anybody along with me, I don't.
His Neighbour. That's a pity, that is. A sweet-tempered, pleasant-spoken party like you are oughtn't to go about by yourself. You ought to bring somebody just to enjoy your conversation. There don't seem to be anybody 'ere of your way of thinkin'.
DURING THE COMBINED DISPLAY
The Gushing Lady (as the Cyclist Corps enter). Oh, they've got a dog with them. Do look – such a dear! See, they've tied a letter round his neck. He'll come back with an answer presently. (But, there being apparently no answer to this communication, the faithful but prudent animal does not re-appear.)
AFTER THE PERFORMANCE
The Inquisitive Child. Uncle, which side won?
UNCLE. I suppose the side that advanced across the bridges.
Child. Which side would have won if it had been a real battle?
Uncle. I really couldn't undertake to say, my boy.
Child. But which do you think would have won?
Uncle. I suppose the side that fought best.
Child. But which side was that? (The Uncle begins to find that the society of an intelligent Nephew entails too severe a mental strain to be frequently cultivated.)
Free Speech
Scene —An Open Space. Rain falling in torrents. An Indignation Meeting is being held to protest against the Royal Grants. The Chairman presides at a small portable reading-desk, generally alluded to as The "Nostrum"; a ring of more or less Earnest Radicals, under umbrellas, surround him. Speakers address the Meeting in rapid succession; a Man with a red flag gives it a sinister wave at any particularly vigorous expression. Her Gracious Majesty the Queen is repeatedly described as "this mis-rubble ole bein'," an Archbishop is invariably mentioned as an "Arch-rogue," while the orators and the audience appear from their remarks to be the only persons capable of worthily guiding this unhappy Country's destinies. Policemen in couples look on from a distance and smile indulgently.
An Orator (bitterly). The weather is against us, Feller Republikins, there's no denyin' that. As we were tramping along 'ere, through the mud and in the rain, wet to the skin, I couldn't 'elp remarking to a friend o' mine, that if it had been a pidging-shootin' match at Urlingham, or a Race-meeting at Hascot, things 'ud ha' been diff'rent! Ther'd ha' bin blue sky and sunshine enough then. Well, I 'spose hany weather's considered good enough for the likes of hus! Hany weather'll do for pore downtrod slaves to assert their man'ood and their hindependence in! (Cries of "Shame!") Never you mind – hour turn'll come some day! We sha'n't halways be 'eld down, and muzzled, and silenced, and prevented uttering the hindignation we've a right to feel! (Bellowing.) We shall make our vices 'eard one day! But I'm reminded by my friend as I've got to keep to the pint. Well (he composes his features into a sneer) I'm told as 'ow 'Er Most Gracious Madjesty – ("Booing" from Earnest Radicals) – 'Er Most Gracious Madjesty – 'as she calls 'erself – 'as put by a little matter of a millum an' a 'arf – since she came to the Throne. Now, Feller Republikins, that millum an' a 'arf 'as come out of your pockets!
Several Persons (who do not look as if they paid a heavy income tax). 'Ear 'ear!
Orator. Yes, it belongs to the People – ah! and you've a legal right to demand it back – a legal right! And I arsk you – if that millum and a 'arf of money was to be divided among the Toilers of London ter-morrow – 'ow many Hunemployed should we see? (Crowd deeply impressed by this forcible argument.) Yet we're arst to put our 'ands in our pockets to support the Queen's children!
A Gentleman with very short hair. Shame – never! [Puts his hand in somebody else's pocket by way of emphasising his declaration.]
Orator. Feller Republikins, if a Queen don't do the work as she's paid for doin' of, what ought to be done with 'er? I put it to you!
A Very Earnest Radical. The Scaffild!
[Looks round nervously to see if a Policeman is within hearing
A Fat Lady (who has been ejaculating. "Oh, it is a shime, it is!" at every fresh instance of Royal expenditure). Well, I must say that's rather strong langwidge!
Another Orator. Gentlemen, I regret to say that, on this monstrous fraud and attempted imposition known as "The Royal Grants Bill," Mr. Gladstone voted with the Government. [Frantic applause.
Orator (puzzled). Yes, Gentlemen, I am here to state facts, and I am ashamed to say, that on this single occasion Mr. Gladstone – went wrong. [Shouts of "No! No!"
A Fervid Gladstonian (waving his umbrella). Three cheers for Mr. Gladstone, what-hever he does!
[The Crowd join in heartily; Orator decides to drop the point, particularly as it does not seem to affect the Meeting's condemnation of the principle of the Bill
An Irish Patriot. I've often harrd tell, Gintlemen, of a certain stra-ange animal they carl a "Conservative Warkin-Man" (Roars of laughter). A Warkin-Man a Conservative! Why, bliss me sowl, the thing's absurd! There niver was such a purrson in this Warld. A Conservative Warkin-Man! why – (takes refuge in profanity). If there was why don't we iver hear 'um in an assimbly of this sort? Why hasn't he the common manly courage to come forward and defind his opinions? We'd hear 'um, Gintlemen. It's the proud boast of Radicals and Republikins that they'd give free speech and a fair hearin' to ivery man, no matter hwhat his opinions are, but ye'll niver see 'um stip farward at ahl – and hwhy?
A Decent Mechanic. Well, look 'ere, mate, I'm a Conservative Working-Man, if ye'd like to know, and I ain't afraid to defend my opinions. Come now!
The Chairman (somewhat taken aback). Well, Friends, while I conduct this chair, I can promise this man a puffickly fair 'earin', and I'm sure you will listen to him patiently, whatever you may think of his arguments. (Cries of 'Ear – 'ear! "Fair play hall the world hover!" "We'll listen to him quiet enough!") First of all, I must be satisfied that our Friend is what he professes to be. We want no Sham Workin'-men 'ere. [Brandishes a foot-rule in evidence of the genuineness of his own claims.
The D. M. Am I a workin'-man? Well, I've made ladies' boots at sixpence an hour for three years – d'ye call that bein' a Workin' Man? I've soled and 'eeled while you wait in a stall near Southwark Bridge seven years an' a arf! Praps you'll call that a Workin'-Man? (Cries of "Keep to the Point!") Oh, I'll keep to the point right enough. There's this Irishman here been a tellin' of you 'ow wrong it is to turn his countrymen out of their 'ouses when they don't pay their rent. Ain't we turned out of our 'ouses, if we don't pay ourn? 'Oo snivels over hus?
The I. P. No personalities now! It's my belief ye're a Landlord yerself! [Uproar.
The D. M. I told yer ye wouldn't 'ear me now!
A Socialist (in a stentorian voice). Feller Demmercrats, as an ex-Fenian and an ex-Convict, I implore you – give this man a hearin'!
The D. M. Then about this Royal Grant. (Cries of "Shut up!" "Go 'ome!" "Don't tork nonsense!") If you're going to 'ave a King and Queen at all – (Cries of "We ain't! Down with 'em!") Ah, then I s'pose you're going to put up fellers like 'im (pointing to the Socialist), and 'im (pointing to Chairman), and 'im! [Uproar.
The Socialist. Fellow-Citizens, I appeal to you, give this man rope – he's doing our work splendidly!
The D. M. Well, all I've got to say is – (Shouts of "Get down!" Yells and booing). Oh, you won't tire me out that way. All I can say is, I'd a precious sight rather —
The Chairman (excitedly). Fellow citizens, we've listened to this man long enough – these sentiments are an insult to the meeting!
[Yells as before
The Socialist (extending a billycock hat with a passionate gesture). Feller Demmercrats, if you are earnest, if you are sincere in the indignation, the just hindignation, this man provokes – show it now, by putting money in this 'at for the Plan o' Campaign! [The storm lulls.
The D. M. (resuming). I arsk every honest man here whether —
Chairman (interposing). I think, as our friend here don't seem able to keep to his point, we won't call upon him for any further remarks.
[The D. M. is hustled down, amidst derisive cheers and groans; the Socialist ascends the Platform
The Socialist. I don't mind tellin' yer, friends and feller citizens, that in the late election in Heast Marylebone, I used all my influence – (cheers) – all my influence to deter men from voting for your Radical candidate. (Sensation, and a cry of "More shame for yer!") Ah, I did, though, and I'd do it agin, and I'll tell yer for why. I 'ate yer Tories, but if I'm to be 'it a blow in the face, I don't like it done behind my back. (Cheers). And your precious Liberals and Radicals, they're worse nor hany Tories, and for this reason – (with a penetrating glance) – they're more hinvidious! Ah, that's it, they're more hinvidious! Traitors, hevery man jack of 'em!
