Act 2 Scene 1

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_ ACT II SCENE I

[Private sitting-room at the Grand Babylon Hotel, Strand. Luxurious in the hotel manner. Telephone. Door, L., leading to corridor. Door, R. (up stage), leading to bedroom. Another door (not used) leading by a passage to bathroom.]

[TIME. About noon on the following day. ILAM CARVE and JANET are talking together.]

 

CARVE. I'm really delighted to see you.

JANET. (Examining his features.) But surely you're not feeling very well?

CARVE. I'm not. Perhaps it's these sleepless nights I've had.

JANET. You're shivering.

CARVE. I was wearing my dressing-gown. I nearly always do when I'm alone. Do you think you'd mind if I put it on again.

JANET. Do you mean to say you took it off because of me? (Seizing dressing-gown firmly.) Mr. Shawn, will you oblige me by getting-into this at once? (She helps him on with dressing-gown.) What a beauty!

CARVE. Yes. Cousin Cyrus thought so too. He didn't want me to bring it away. Still, I beat him on that point. (JANET arranges the collar.) Do you know, you do me good.

JANET. I should think so. I suppose when gentlemen live alone they're pretty nearly always unwell, as it were. If it isn't a cold, it's stomach, I expect. And truly, I'm not surprised, the way they go on! Now, will you sit down in that chair and keep your legs covered--August or no August! If you ask me, it's influenza you're sickening for. (Sound of distant orchestral.) Music?

CARVE. (Nodding and sitting down in easy chair.) Well, and what's the news from outside? I haven't stirred since yesterday noon.

JANET. Seems to me there's no news except your Mr. Carve's death.

CARVE. Really! Is it so much talked about as all that?

JANET. It's on all the posters--very big. All along Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square and the Strand the newspaper boys, and the newspaper old men too, are wearing it like aprons, as it were. I read the Telegraph myself. There was nearly a page of it in the Telegraph.

CARVE. (Staggered.) Nearly a page of it in the Telegraph!

JANET. Yes, besides a leading article. Haven't you----

CARVE. I never read obituaries of artists in the papers.

JANET. Neither do I. But I should have thought you would.

CARVE. Well, they make me angry. Obituaries of archbishops aren't so bad. Newspapers seem to understand archbishops. But when they begin about artists--you cannot imagine the astounding nonsense they talk.

JANET. (Protesting against his heat.) Now! You're still all on wires. Why should that make you angry?

CARVE. What did the Telegraph say? Did you look at it?

JANET. Oh yes. It appears Mr. Carve was a very eccentric person--avoiding society and so on.

CARVE. (Resentful.) Eccentric! There you are! He wasn't eccentric in the least. The only society he avoided was the society of gaping fools.

JANET. Well, I'm just telling you what it said. Then, let me see--what else did it say? Oh! It said the sole question was whether Mr. Carve was the greatest painter since Velasquez--is that how you pronounce it?--or whether he was the greatest painter that ever lived.

CARVE. (Interested.) Really! It said that?

JANET. (Nodding.) You ought to read it.

CARVE. Upon my soul I think I must. (Attempts to rise.)

JANET. Now, please, don't move. What is it you want?

CARVE. I was only going to telephone and have the daily papers sent up.

JANET. Where is the telephone?

CARVE. (Pointing.) There.

JANET. So they've put a telephone in your room?

CARVE. Telephone in every room.

JANET. (Going to telephone.) Can I telephone for you? I never have telephoned, and I should like to. How do you do it?

CARVE. Just take that thing off the hook and talk into it. (JANET gingerly obeys.) It won't explode.

JANET. What am I to say?

CARVE. Tell them to send me up the daily papers at once.

JANET. All?

CARVE. Yes.

JANET. But will they?

CARVE. Certainly.

JANET. (Into telephone.) Please will you send up all the daily papers at once.

CARVE. Thanks very much. Now you can hang it up again.

JANET. So this is the Grand Babylon Hotel? Well it's a queer place. (Her eyes rove round the room.)

CARVE. What are you looking for?

JANET. To speak plainly, I was looking for the bed. I must say I was rather surprised when the young man at the desk said I was to go up to your room.... But really, every thing's so nicely arranged.... I suppose it's one of those folding beds that turn into bookcases and things?

CARVE. (Laughs.) No. This is my sitting-room.

JANET. Your sitting-room? (Pointing to door, R.) Then that's the bedroom?

CARVE. Yes.

JANET. (Pointing to another door.) And what's that?

CARVE. That's one way to my bathroom. In a big hotel I always take a suite, you know. It's so much more comfortable.

JANET. Isn't it rather expensive?

CARVE. To tell you the truth, I didn't ask the price.

(Knock at door.)

JANET. (Charmingly tart.) I suppose it's what you call "cheapest in the end." CARVE. Come in.

(Enter PAGE with a pile of papers.)

CARVE. Thanks! Give them to me.

(Exit PAGE.)

JANET. Well, I never! It's like magic.

CARVE. Now let's just glance at these chaps. (Unfolding a paper.)

JANET. Shall I help you?

CARVE. Why? Here's black borders and a heading across two columns! "Death of England's greatest painter," "Irreparable loss to the world's art," "Our readers will be shocked----" Are they all like that? (More and more astonished; takes another paper.) "Sad death of a great genius."

JANET. (Handing him still another paper.) And this.

CARVE. "London's grief." "The news will come as a personal blow to every lover of great painting." But--but--I'd no notion of this. (Half to himself.) It's terrible.

JANET. Well, perhaps always living with him you wouldn't realize how important he was, would you? (Distant music begins again, a waltz tune.)

CARVE. (Reading.) "Although possibly something of a poseur in his choice of subjects...." The fellow's a fool. Poseur indeed!

JANET. Look at this. "Europe in mourning."

CARVE. Well--well.

JANET. What is that music?

CARVE. London's grief. It's the luncheon orchestra downstairs.

(Telephone bell rings.)

CARVE. Never mind it. Let 'em ring. I understand now why journalists and so on have been trying all day to see me. Honestly I'm--I'm staggered.

(Telephone bell continues to ring.)

JANET. It's a funny notion of comfort having a telephone in every room. How long will it keep on like that?

CARVE. I'll stop it. (Rising.)

JANET. No, no. (Going to telephone and taking receiver.) Yes? What's the matter? (Listens. To CARVE.) Oh, what do you think? Father Looe and his sister, Miss Honoria Looe, want to see you.

CARVE. Father Looe? Never heard of him.

JANET. Oh, but you must have heard of him. He's the celebrated Roman Catholic preacher. He's a beautiful man. I heard him preach once on the Sins of Society.

CARVE. Would you mind saying I'm not at home?

JANET. (Obviously disappointed.) Then won't you see him?

CARVE. Did you want to see him?

JANET. I should like just to have had a look at him close to, as it were.

CARVE. (Gallantly.) Then you shall. Tell them to send him up, will you?

JANET. And am I to stay here?

CARVE. Of course.

JANET. Well, if anybody had told me this time last week----(Into telephone.) Please ask them to come up.

CARVE. Perhaps with your being here I shan't be quite so shy.

JANET. Shy! Are you shy? It said in the Telegraph that Mr. Carve was painfully shy.

CARVE. (Protesting.) Painfully! Who told them that, I should like to know?

JANET. Now shyness is a thing I simply can't understand. I'm never shy. And you don't strike me as shy--far from it.

CARVE. It's very curious. I haven't felt a bit shy with you.

JANET. Nobody ever is shy with me.... (Ironically.) I must say I'd give something to see you shy.

(Enter FATHER LOOE and HONORIA LOOE, announced by PAGE.)

LOOE. (Stopping near door, at a loss.) Pardon me--Mr. Shawn--Mr. Albert Shawn?

CARVE. (Rising, perturbed.) Yes.

LOOE. This is your room?

CARVE. Yes.

LOOE. I'm afraid there's some mistake. I was given to understand that you were the--er--valet of the late Mr. Ilam Carve.

HONORIA. Yes. Mr. Cyrus Carve told us----

JANET. (Coming to CARVE'S rescue as he remains speechless, very calmly.) Now there's another trick of Mr. Cyrus Carve's! Valet indeed! Mr. Shawn was Mr. Carve's secretary--and almost companion.

LOOE. Ten thousand apologies. Ten thousand apologies. I felt sure----

CARVE. Please sit down. (With special gallantry towards HONORIA.)

JANET. And will you sit down too, Mr. Shawn? (To the LOOES.) He's not at all well. That's why he's wearing his dressing-gown.

CARVE. (Introducing.) My friend, Mrs. Janet Cannot.

LOOE. Now, Mr. Shawn, if you knew anything about me, if you have heard me preach, if you have read any of my books, you are probably aware that I am a man who goes straight to the point, hating subtleties. In connection with your late employer's death a great responsibility is laid upon me, and I have come to you for information--information which I have failed to obtain either from Mr. Cyrus Carve, or the doctor, or the nurse.... Was Mr. Carve a Catholic?

CARVE. A Catholic?

LOOE. He came of a Catholic family did he not?

CARVE. Yes--I believe so.

LOOE. The cousin, Mr. Cyrus Carve, I regret to say, denies the faith of his childhood--denies it, I also regret to say, with a vivacity that amounts almost to bad manners. In fact, he was extremely rude to me when I tried to give him some idea of the tremendous revival of Catholicism which is the outstanding feature of intellectual life in England to-day.

CARVE. Ilam Carve was not a Catholic.

LOOE. Mind, I do not ask if he died in the consolations of the faith. I know that he did not. I have learnt that it occurred to neither you nor the doctor nor the nurse to send for a priest. Strange omission. But not the fault of the dying man.

CARVE. Ilam Carve was not a Catholic.

LOOE. Then what was he?

CARVE. Nothing in particular.

LOOE. Then I claim him. Then I claim him.... Honoria!

CARVE. (In a new tone..) Look here--what's all this about?

LOOE. (Rising.) I will tell you at once what it is about, Mr. Shawn. There is a question of Ilam Carve being buried in Westminster Abbey.

CARVE. (Thunderstruck.) Buried in Westminster Abbey?

LOOK. Lady Leonard Alcar has consulted me about the matter. I may say that I have the honour to be her spiritual director. Probably you know that Lord Leonard Alcar owns the finest collection of Ilam Carve's pictures in Europe.

JANET. I've often wondered who it is that settles whether people shall be buried in the Abbey or not. So it's Lady Leonard Alcar!

LOOE. Not exactly! Not exactly! But Lady Leonard Alcar is a great lady. She has vast influence. The most influential convert to Catholicism of the last thirty years. She is aunt to no less than four dukes, and Lord Leonard is uncle to two others.

CARVE. (Ironically.) I quite see.

LOOE. (Eagerly.) You see--don't you? Her advice on these matters carries enormous weight. A suggestion from her amounts to--to--

CARVE. A decree absolute.

JANET. (Simply.) Is she what they call the ruling classes?

LOOE. (Bows.) Lady Leonard and I have talked the matter over, and I pointed out to her that if this great genius was a member of the Church of England and if the sorrowing nation at large deems him worthy of the supreme honour of a national funeral, then by all means let him be buried in the Abbey. But if he was a Catholic, then I claim him for Westminster Cathedral, that magnificent fane which we have raised as a symbol of our renewed vitality. Now, was he a member of the Church of England?

CARVE. (Loudly.) Decidedly not.

LOOE. Good! Then I claim him. I detest casuistry and I claim him. I have only one other question. You knew him well--intimately--for many years. On your conscience, Mr. Shawn, what interment in your opinion would he himself have preferred?

JANET. (After a pause.) It wouldn't make much difference to him either way, would it?

CARVE. (With an outburst.) The whole thing is preposterous.

LOOE. (Ignoring the outburst.) My course seems quite clear. I shall advise Lady Leonard--

CARVE. Don't you think you're rather young to be in sole charge of this country?

LOOE. (Smoothly.) My dear sir, I am nothing but a humble priest who gives counsel when counsel is sought. And I may say that in this affair of the interment of our great national painter, there are other influences than mine. For instance, my sister, Honoria, who happens also to be president of the Ladies' Water Colour Society--(gesture of alarm from CARVE)--my sister has a great responsibility. She is the favourite niece of--(Whispers in CARVE'S ear.) Consequently--(Makes an impressive pause.)

HONORIA. You see my uncle is a bachelor and I keep house for him. Anselm used to live with us too, until he left the Church.

LOOE. Until I joined the Church, Honoria. Now Honoria wishes to be perfectly fair; she entirely realizes her responsibility; and that is why she has come with me to see you.

JANET. (Benignantly.) So that's how these things are decided! I see I'd got quite a wrong notion of politics and so on.

HONORIA. Oh, Mr. Shawn-- }
 and } (Together.)
JANET. My idea was-- }

JANET. I beg your pardon.

HONORIA. I beg yours.

JANET. Granted.

HONORIA. There's one question I should so like to ask you, Mr. Shawn. In watercolours did Mr. Carve use Chinese white freely or did he stick to transparent colour, like the old English school? I wonder if you understand me?

CARVE. (Interested.) He used Chinese white like anything.

HONORIA. Oh! I'm so glad. You remember that charming water-colour of the Venetian gondolier in the Luxembourg. We had a great argument after we got home last Easter as to whether the oar was put in with Chinese white--or just 'left out,' you know!

CARVE. Chinese white, of course. My notion is that it doesn't matter a fig how you get effects so long as you do get them.

HONORIA. And that was his notion too? (Telephone bell rings, JANET answers it.)

CARVE. His? Rather. You bet it was.

HONORIA. I'm so glad. I'm so glad. I knew I was right about Chinese white. Oh, Anselm, do let him be buried in the Abbey! Do let me suggest to uncle----

LOOE. My dear girl, ask your conscience. Enthusiasm for art I can comprehend; I can even sympathize with it. But if this grave national question is to be decided by considerations of Chinese white----

(CARVE turns to JANET as if for succour.)

JANET. (Calmly.) The doctor is just coming up.

CARVE. The doctor? What doctor?

JANET. A Dr. Horning. He says he's Dr. Pascoe's assistant and he attended Mr. Carve, and he wants to see you.

CARVE. But I don't want to see him.

JANET. You'll have to see a doctor.

CARVE. Why?

JANET. Because you're ill. So you may just as well see this one as another. They're all pretty much of a muchness.

(Enter PETER HORNING boisterously. A PAGE BOY opens the door but does not announce him.)

PETER. (Perceiving LOOE first.) Ah, Father! You here? How d'ye do? What did you think of my special on last Sunday's sermon? (Shakes hands with LOOE and bows to MISS LOOE as to an acquaintance.)

LOOE. Very good. Very good.

PETER. (Advancing to CARVE.) Mr. Shawn, I presume?

CARVE. (Glancing helplessly at JANET.) But this isn't the doctor?

PETER. (Volubly.) Admitted! Admitted! I'm only his brother--a journalist. I'm on the Courier and the Mercury and several other Worgan papers. One of our chaps failed to get into this room this morning, so I came along to try what I could do. You see what I've done.

JANET. Well, I never came across such a set of people in my life.

PETER. (Aside to LOOE.) Is he in service here, or what?

LOOE. Mr. Shawn was Mr. Carve's secretary and companion, not his valet.

PETER. (Puzzled, but accepting the situation.) Ah! So much the better. Now, Mr. Shawn, can you tell me authoritatively whether shortly before his death Mr. Carve was engaged to be married under romantic circumstances to a lady of high rank?

HONORIA. Indeed!

CARVE. Who told you that?

PETER. Then he was!

CARVE. I've nothing to say.

PETER. You won't tell me her name?

CARVE. I've nothing to say.

PETER. Secondly, I'm instructed to offer something considerable for your signature to an account of Ilam Carve's eccentric life on the Continent.

CARVE. Eccentric life on the Continent!

PETER. I shouldn't keep you half an hour--three quarters at most. A hundred pounds. Cash down, you know. Bank notes. All you have to do is to sign.

CARVE. (To Janet, exhausted, but disdainful.) I wouldn't mind signing an order for the fellow's execution.

PETER. A hundred and fifty!

CARVE. Or burning at the stake.

PETER. (To LOOE.) What does he say?

LOOE. Mr. Shawn is indisposed. We've just been discussing the question of the burial in the Abbey. I think I may say, if it interests you as an item of news, that Ilam Carve will not be buried in the Abbey.

PETER. (Lightly.) Oh yes he will, Father. There was a little doubt about it until we got particulars of his will this morning. But his will settled it.

LOOE. His will?

PETER. Yes. Didn't you know? No, you wouldn't. Well, his estate will come out at about a couple of hundred thousand, and he's left it practically all for an International Gallery of Modern Art in London. Very ingenious plan. None of your Chantrey Bequest business. Three pictures and one piece of sculpture are to be bought each year in London. Fixed price L400 each, large or small. Trustees are to be business men--bank directors. But they can't choose the works. The works are to be chosen by the students at South Kensington and the Academy Schools. Works by R.A.'s and A.R.A.'s are absolutely barred. Works by students themselves absolutely barred, too. Cute that, eh? That's the arrangement for England. Similar arrangement for France, Italy, and Germany. He gives the thing a start by making it a present of his own collection--stored somewhere in Paris. I don't mean his own paintings--he bars those. Unusually modest, eh?

HONORIA. How perfectly splendid! We shall have a real live gallery at last. Surely Anselm, after that--

LOOE. Quite beside the point. I shall certainly oppose.

PETER. Oppose what?

LOOE. The burial in the Abbey. I shall advise Lady Leonard Alcar--

PETER. No use, Father. Take my word. The governor's made up his mind. He's been fearfully keen on art lately. I don't know why. We were in front of everybody else with the news of Ilam Carve's death, and the governor's making a regular pet of him. He says it's quite time we buried an artist in Westminster Abbey, and he's given instructions to the whole team. Didn't you see the Mercury this morning? Anybody who opposes a national funeral for Ilam Carve will be up against the governor. Of course, I tell you that as a friend--confidentially.

LOOE. (Shaken.) Well, I shall see what Lady Leonard says.

CARVE. (Rising in an angry, scornful outburst.) You'd bury him in Westminster Abbey because he's a philanthropist, not because he's an artist. That's England all over.... Well, I'm hanged if I'll have it.

LOOE. But, my dear sir----

CARVE. And I tell you another thing--he's not dead.

PETER. Not dead--what next?

CARVE. I am Ilam Carve.

HONORIA. (Soothingly.) Poor dear! He's not himself.

CARVE. That's just what I am. (Sinks back exhausted.)

PETER. (Aside to LOOE.) Is he mad, Father? Nothing but a clerk after all. And yet he takes a private room at the Grand Babylon, and then he refuses a hundred and fifty of the best and goes on like this. And now, blessed if he isn't Ilam Carve! (Laughs.)

LOOE. I really think we ought to leave.

HONORIA. (To JANET.) He's a little unhinged! But how charming he is.

JANET. (Prudently resenting HONORIA'S interest in CARVE.) Yes, he's a little unhinged. And who wouldn't be?

PETER. Got 'em--if you ask me! (Moving to leave.)

LOOE. (Moving to leave.) Honoria.

JANET. (Very soothingly and humouringly to CARVE.) So this is what you call being shy!

CARVE. (To JANET, who is now bending over him.) It must be stopped.

JANET. (As the others go out; humouring him.) Yes, yes! (Absently in reply to bows and adieux of LOOE, HONORIA, and PETER HORNING.) Good morning! (When they are gone, with a sigh of relief.) Well, it is a mighty queer place! My word, how cold your hands are! (Going quickly to telephone and speaking into telephone.) Please send up two hot-water bottles at once. Yes, hot-water bottles. Never heard of a hot-water bottle before?

[The Stage is darkened for a few moments to indicate the passage of time.] _

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