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The Great Adventure, a play by Arnold Bennett |
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Act 4 Scene 1 |
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_ ACT IV SCENE I [LORD LEONARD ALCAR'S study, Grosvenor Gardens. Door, back centre. Door, L. JANET'S portrait is conspicuous on a wall.] [TIME. The next afternoon.] [LORD LEONARD ALCAR and MR. TEXEL are coming into the room from door at back.]
TEXEL. (Uncertain of his steps.) Well, yes. I've been amusing myself with pictures for pretty nigh forty years. Why should I deprive myself of this pleasure merely because my eyesight's gone? ALCAR. Why, indeed! You have the true collecting spirit. Permit me (directs Texel's hand to chair). TEXEL. Thanks, I'm on to it (Sitting down.) My sight's going steadily worse, but there are still a few things that I can make out pretty clearly, Lord Leonard. Motor omnibuses, cathedrals, English easy-chairs.... ALCAR. Well, I'm charmed to find you in such good spirits, and really I feel very grateful to you for accepting my invitation. TEXEL. Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir. Two old collectors like us--rivals at Christie's. I wonder how many times I've cabled over instructions to my agent to smash you at any cost. Delighted to meet you, Lord Leonard. ALCAR. We ought to have met earlier, Mr. Texel. Now I've got you here, I must tell you I've ventured to invite one or two--er--kindred spirits to meet you. (Enter SERVANT.)
(Enter EBAG.) (Exit SERVANT).
EBAG. My lord. ALCAR. Let me introduce you to Mr. Texel. Mr. Texel, this is Mr. Ebag. TEXEL. (Surprised--aside to LORD LEONARD ALCAR.) This one of your kindred spirits? EBAG. (Also surprised?) Mr. Texel! TEXEL. (Holding out his hand towards EBAG, who takes it.) Well, Mr. Ebag, I've made a special journey to Europe to get a verdict from an English court that you've done me up for about thirty thousand dollars, and if I get it I'll do my level best afterwards to see you safe into prison; but in the meantime I'm very glad to meet you. I feel sure you're one of the right sort, whatever you are. EBAG. You flatter me, Mr. Texel. The gladness is mutual. (Enter SERVANT.)
(Enter JANET. She hesitates in doorway. LORD LEONARD ALCAR goes to meet her.)
ALCAR. I am Lord Leonard Alcar? JANET. My mistake! (They shake hands.) But why does this young man call me Mrs. X. I told him Carve, plain enough. ALCAR. Did he? A slip--a slip! You've brought your husband? JANET. Yes, but not so easily as all that. I'm afraid he's quarrelling out there with Mr. Cyrus Carve. They get across one another on the stairs. ALCAR. Tut-tut. Excuse me one moment. (Exit hurriedly.) (Exit SERVANT.)
EBAG. (Astounded.) How do you do, Mrs. Shawn? I beg pardon, Mrs. Carve. JANET. It seems I'm Mrs. X now--didn't you hear? EBAG. I expect the servant had received instructions. His lordship has a great reputation for wit, you know. JANET. (Looking round.) And what's this room supposed to be? EBAG. Oh, the study, probably. JANET. Really! Not what you'd call 'homely,' is it? Rather like being on the stage. (Enter LORD LEONARD ALCAR, leading CARVE on his right and CYRUS on his left. Servant closes door from without.)
(They bow--CYRUS shakes hands with TEXEL.)
CYRUS. How d'you do? CARVE. How d'you do? ALCAR. (Observing that these three are already acquainted.) Good! Excellent! Now, Mrs.--er--X, will you have this chair near the fire? (Fixes chair for her.) TEXEL. (Indicating JANET, aside to EBAG.) Good looking? EBAG. (Aside to TEXEL.) Very agreeable little thing! TEXEL. Excellent! Excellent! ALCAR. (Interrupting a gesture from CARVE.) You have all done me a signal favour by coming here. In thanking you, I wonder if I may ask another favour. May I? TEXEL. Certainly. Among kindred spirits. EBAG. Assuredly, my lord. ALCAR. I would merely request you to control so far as possible any expression of your astonishment at meeting one another here. That is to say, any violent expression. CARVE. (Gaily and carelessly.) Oh, very well! Very well! (LORD LEONARD ALCAR waves the rest of the company into chairs, tactfully separating CYRUS and CARVE as much as possible. He remains standing himself.)
ALCAR. (Slightly taken aback.) Mrs. X, I congratulate myself on your presence here. Yes, my ambition is to be peacemaker. Of course a peacemaker always runs the risk of a broken head, but I shall entrust my head to your good nature. As a proof that I really mean business, I need only point out that I haven't invited a single lawyer. EBAG. (After slight pause.) This is exceedingly good of your lordship. TEXEL. For myself I'm rather looking forward to next week. I've spared no expense to get up a first-class show. Half the papers in New York and Chicago are sending over special correspondents. I've even secured your champion humorous judge; and altogether I reckon this trial will be about the greatest judicial proposition the British public's seen in years. Still, I'm always ready to oblige--and I'll shake hands right now, on terms--my terms. ALCAR. We are making progress. TEXEL. But what I don't understand is--where you come in, Lord Leonard. ALCAR. Where I come in? TEXEL. Well, I don't want to be personal, but is this Hague Conference merely your hobby, or are you standing in with somebody? ALCAR. I quite appreciate your delicacy. Let me assure you that, though it gives me the greatest pleasure to see you all, I have not selected you as the victims of a hobby. Nor have I anything whatever to gain by stopping the trial. The reverse. At the trial I should probably have a seat on the bench next to a delightful actress, and I should enjoy the case very much indeed. I have no doubt that even now the learned judge is strenuously preparing his inimitable flashes of humour, and that, like the rest of the world, I should allow myself to be convulsed by them. I like to think of four K.C.'s toiling hard for a miserable hundred guineas a day each. I like to think of the solicitors, good, honest fellows, striving their best to keep the costs as low as possible. I even like to think of the jury with their powerful intellects who, when we are dead and gone, Mr. Texel, will tell their grandchildren proudly how they decided the famous case of Texel v. Ebag. Above all, I like to think of the witnesses revelling in their cross-examination. Nobody will be more sorry than I to miss this grand spectacle of the greatest possible number of the greatest possible brains employed for the greatest possible length of time in settling a question that an average grocer's assistant could settle in five minutes. I am human. But, I have been approached--I have been flattered by the suggestion--that I might persuade you two gentlemen to abandon the trial, and I may whisper to you that the abandonment of the trial would afford satisfaction in--er--influential quarters. TEXEL. Then are we up against the British Government? Well, go ahead. ALCAR. (Protesting with a very courteous air of extreme astonishment.) My dear Mr. Texel, how can I have been so clumsy as to convey such an idea? The Government? Not in the least--not in the least. On behalf of nobody whatever. (Confidentially.) I am merely in a position to inform you positively that an amicable settlement of the case would be viewed with satisfaction in influential quarters. JANET. Well, I can tell you it would be viewed with satisfaction in a certain street in Putney. But influential quarters--what's it got to do with them? ALCAR. I shall be quite frank with you. The dignity of Westminster Abbey is involved in this case, and nothing in all England is more sacred to us than Westminster Abbey. One has only to pronounce the word "the Abbey"--to realize that. We know what a modern trial is; we know what the modern press is; and, unhappily, we know what the modern bench is. It is impossible to contemplate with equanimity the prospect of Westminster Abbey and its solemnities being given up to the tender mercy of the evening papers and a joking judge surrounded by millinery. Such an exhibition would be unseemly. It would soil our national existence. In a word, it would have a bad effect. CARVE. (Meditatively--bland.) How English! (He gets up and walks unobtrusively about the room, examining the pictures.) ALCAR. Undoubtedly. But this is England. It is perhaps a disadvantage that we are not in Russia nor in Prussia. But we must make the best of our miserable country. (In a new tone, showing the orator skilled in changes of voice.) Can't we discuss our little affair in a friendly way entirely without prejudice? We are together here, among gentlemen-- JANET. I'm afraid you're forgetting me. ALCAR. (Recovering himself.) Madam, I am convinced that none of us can be more gentlemanly than yourself.... Can we not find a way of settlement? (With luxurious enjoyment of the idea.) Imagine the fury of all those lawyers and journalists when they learn that we--er--if I may so express it--have done them in the eye! TEXEL. If I wasn't going to come out on top, I could understand you worrying about your old Abbey. But I'm taking the part of your Abbey. When I win it wins, and I'm certain to win. ALCAR. I do not doubt---- EBAG. (With suave assurance.) But I do. ALCAR. (Continuing.) I do not doubt your conviction, Mr. Texel. It merely proves that you have never seen a British Jury exercising itself upon a question relating to the fine arts. If you had you would not be certain, for you would know that twelve tradesmen so occupied are capable of accomplishing the most incredible marvels. Supposing you don't win--supposing Mr. Ebag wins---- EBAG. As I assuredly shall. ALCAR. Then we should have the whole world saying, "Well, they haven't given a national funeral to a really great artist for about a century, and when at last they do try they only succeed in burying a valet." CARVE. (Looking round casually.) England all over! ALCAR. The effect would be lamentable--utterly lamentable. You will realize that in influential quarters---- TEXEL. But do you reckon this policy of hushing up things ever does any good? ALCAR. My dear sir, it is the corner-stone of England's greatness. It is the policy that has made her what she is! CARVE. (Looking round again.) True! What she is! ALCAR. (Turning sharply to CARVE behind him.) Mr. X, your interest in my picture flatters me immensely---- CARVE. (Interrupting him.) I see you've bought my latest portrait of my wife. ALCAR. Yes. JANET. (Starting up.) What's that? (She goes to inspect picture.) CARVE. I suppose it would be abusing your hospitality to inquire how much you paid our excellent dealer for it? ALCAR. Not in the least. But the fact is we haven't yet settled the price. The exact price is to depend on the result of our gathering. JANET. Well, if anybody had told me I should find my own portrait--cooking-sleeves and all---- (Inarticulate--she returns to her chair.)
CARVE. (Approaching airily.) Really! (He sits.) ALCAR. There are several questions we might discuss. For example, we might argue the artistic value of the pictures admittedly the work of Mr. X. That would probably occupy us for about ten years. Or we might ask ourselves how it happened that that exceedingly astute dealer, Mr. Ebag, came to sell as a genuine Ilam Carve, without offering any explanation, a picture which, on the face of it, was painted some time after that great painter had received a national funeral in Westminster Abbey. EBAG. Sheer carelessness, my lord. ALCAR. Or we might ask ourselves why a valet should try to pass himself off as a world-renowned artist. Or, on the other hand, why a world-renowned artist should pass himself off as a valet. CARVE. Sheer carelessness, my lord. ALCAR. But these details of psychology are beside the main point. And the main point is (to CARVE)--Are you Ilam Carve or are you Albert Shawn? (To the others.) Surely with a little goodwill and unembarrassed by the assistance of experts, lawyers, and wigs generally, we can settle that! And once it is settled the need for a trial ceases. (CARVE assumes an elaborately uninterested air.) The main point does not seem to interest you, Mr. X. CARVE. (Seeming to start.) I beg your pardon. No, not profoundly. Why should it? ALCAR. Yet you claim---- CARVE. Excuse me. I claim nothing except to be let alone. Certainly I do not ask to be accepted as Ilam Carve. I was leading a placid and agreeable existence in a place called Putney, an ideal existence with a pearl among women, when my tranquillity was disturbed and my life transformed into a perfect nightmare by a quarrel between a retail trades-man (indicating EBAG) and a wholesale ink-dealer (indicating TEXEL) about one of my pictures. It does not concern me. My role is and will be passive. If I am forced into the witness-box I shall answer questions to the worst of my ability, and I shall do no more. I am not cross. I am not sulking; but I consider that I have a grievance. If I am here, it is solely because my wife does what she likes with me. TEXEL. Bravo! This is as good as the trial. ALCAR. (Good-humouredly.) Will you answer questions here? CARVE. (Good-humouredly.) It depends. ALCAR. Do you assert that you are Ilam Carve? CARVE. I assert nothing. ALCAR. Are you Ilam Carve? CARVE. Yes, but I don't want to be. ALCAR. Might I inquire why you allowed your servant to be buried in your name? CARVE. Well, he always did everything for me--a most useful man.... But I didn't 'allow' him to be buried in my name. On the contrary, I told various people that I was not dead--but strange to say, nobody would believe me. My handsome, fascinating cousin here wouldn't even let me begin to tell him. Even my wife wouldn't believe me, so I gave it up. (TEXEL does not conceal his enjoyment of the scene.)
(CARVE twiddles his thumbs.)
TEXEL. May I interrupt, Lord Leonard? I could listen for hours to this absolutely stupendous gentleman. A circus is nothing to it. But aren't we jumping the track? I've got two witnesses. Mr. Cyrus Carve will swear that your Mr. X is not his cousin. And the original Mrs. Albert Shawn will swear that he is her husband. That's my case. How is my esteemed opponent going to answer it? EBAG. In the first place, have you cross-examined this very original Mrs. Albert Shawn? TEXEL. Come. You don't mean to argue that a woman could mistake another man for her own husband--even after twenty-five years or so? EBAG. (Smiling apologetically for his freedom.) According to the divorce reports, they're constantly doing it after one year, to say nothing of twenty-five. TEXEL. (Appreciative.) Good! That's good! Well, I may tell you right here that I had an interview with this gentleman's (indicating CARVE) ecclesiastical twins only yesterday afternoon, and they assure me that their mother is positive on the point. JANET. (Meditatively.) Simpletons! ALCAR. I beg pardon. JANET. I daresay they preach very nicely, but out of the pulpit they don't what I should call shine, poor boys! Anybody could see she wasn't positive. Why, it wasn't until the old lady dropped in to have a cup of tea with us that I felt sure my husband's name really was Carve. ALCAR. Then you hadn't credited his story before? JANET. Well, it wanted some crediting, didn't it? CYRUS. (With intention.) You only began to credit it after Mr. Ebag had called and paid you the sum of L500 in cash. JANET. (After a slight pause, calmly.) Oh! So you know about that, do you? CARVE. (To CYRUS, genially.) Cousin, if you continue in that strain I shall have to take you out on to the doormat and assault you. EBAG. I should like to say---- CYRUS. (Interrupting grimly.) Lord Leonard, isn't it time that this ceased? TEXEL. (Heartily amused.) But why? I'm enjoying every minute of it. ALCAR. I should be sorry to interfere with Mr. Texel's amusement, but I think the moment has now come for me to make a disclosure. When I was approached as to this affair I consulted Mr. Cyrus Carve first, he being the sole surviving relative of his cousin. That seemed to me to be the natural and proper course to adopt. Mr. Cyrus Carve gave me a very important piece of information, and it is solely on the strength of that information that I have invited you all to come here this afternoon. (He looks at CYRUS.) CYRUS. (Clearing his throat, to EBAG and CARVE.) Of course, you'll argue that after thirty-five years absence it's a wise man that can recognize his own cousin. I'm absolutely convinced in my own mind that you (scorn-fully to CARVE) are not my cousin. But then, you'll tell me that men have been hung before now on the strength of sworn identification that proved afterwards to be mistaken. I admit it. I admit that in theory I may be wrong. (With increased grim sarcasm.) I admit that in theory the original Mrs. Shawn may be wrong. Everything's possible, especially with a bully of a K.C. cross-examining you, and a judge turning you into 'copy' for Punch. But I've got something up my sleeve that will settle the whole affair instantly, to the absolute satisfaction of both plaintiff and defendant. CARVE. My dear fellow, why not have told us this exciting news earlier? CYRUS. Why not? (Glowering at CARVE.) Because I wanted you to commit yourself completely beyond any withdrawing. I decided what sort of man you were the moment I first set eyes on you, and when I heard of this law case, I said to myself that I'd come forward as a witness, but I shouldn't give any evidence away in advance. I said to myself I'd show you up once and for all in full court. However, his lordship prevailed on me. CARVE. Well? CYRUS. When my cousin and I were boys I've seen him with his shirt off. CARVE. True. And he's seen you with yours off. CYRUS. Now just here (pointing to left front neck below collar), just below his collar, my cousin Ilam Carve had two moles close together--one was hairy and the other wasn't. My cousin was very proud of them. CARVE. Oh! CYRUS. (Ferociously sarcastic.) I suppose you'll say you've had them removed? CARVE. (Casually.) No. Not precisely. CYRUS. Can you show them? CARVE. (Very casually.) Of course. TEXEL. (Slapping his knee.) Great! Great! CYRUS. (Staggered but obstinate.) Well, let's have a look at them. ALCAR. (To JANET.) Then doubtless you are familiar with this double phenomenon, Mrs. X? JANET. Yes. But he isn't so proud of his moles now as he used to be when he was a boy. ALCAR. Now, gentlemen, you see how beautifully clear the situation is. By one simple act we shall arrive at a definite and final result, and we shall have avoided all the noise and scandal of a public trial. Mr. X, will you oblige us very much by taking your collar off? JANET. (Jumping up.) Please, there's just one little thing. (To CARVE.) Wait a moment, dear. (To EBAG.) Mr. Ebag, how many of those pictures did you sell to Mr. Texel? EBAG. Fifteen. JANET. And you made a profit of over four hundred pounds on each? TEXEL. (Boisterously--laughing to EBAG.) You did? JANET. Fifteen times four hundred--that makes--how much does it make? TEXEL. Six thousand, madam. Thirty thousand dollars. Great! JANET. (To EBAG.) Don't you think we deserve some of that, as it were? EBAG. Madam, I shall be delighted to pay you five thousand four hundred pounds. That will be equivalent to charging you a nominal commission of ten per cent. JANET. Thank you. CARVE. I won't touch a penny of their wretched money. JANET. (Sweetly.) I wouldn't dream of asking you to, dearest. I shall touch it. Goodness knows what street we shall be in after this affair--and with my brewery shares gone simply all to pieces! Now, dearest, you can take it off. (She resumes her seat.) CARVE. (Lightly.) I'm hanged if I do! ALCAR. But, my dear Mr. X! CARVE. (Lightly.) I'm dashed if I take my collar off. CYRUS. (Triumphant.) Ha! I knew it. CARVE. Why should I offer my skin to the inspection of two individuals in whom I haven't the slightest interest? They've quarrelled about me, but is that a reason why I should undress myself? Let me say again, I've no desire whatever to prove that I am Ilam Carve. ALCAR. But surely to oblige us immensely, Mr. X, you will consent to give just one extra performance of an operation which, in fact, you accomplish three hundred and sixty-five times every year without any disastrous results. CARVE. I don't look at it like that. Already my fellow-citizens, expressing their conviction that I was a great artist, have buried me in Westminster Abbey--not because I was a great artist, but because I left a couple of hundred thousand pounds for a public object. And now my fellow-citizens, here assembled, want me to convince them that I am a great artist by taking my collar off. I won't do it. I simply will not do it. It's too English. If any person wishes to be convinced that I'm an artist and not a mountebank, let him look at my work (pointing vaguely to a picture), because that's all the proof that I mean to offer. If he is blind or shortsighted I regret it, but my neck isn't going to help him. TEXEL. Brilliant! Then we shall have the trial after all. CYRUS. Yes, but your brilliant friend will be on his way to South America before then. JANET. (Sweetly to CYRUS.) I assure you it's quite true about those moles. That's why he wears those collars. CYRUS. (Grimly.) No doubt.... (Repeating.) Nevertheless he'll be on his way to South America. CARVE. (Gaily.) Or Timbuctoo. CYRUS. (Significantly.) Unless you're stopped. CARVE. And who's going to stop me? All the laws of this country added together can't make me take my collar off if I don't want to. CYRUS. What about arresting you for bigamy? What about Holloway? I fancy at Holloway they have a short method with people who won't take their collars off. CARVE. Well, that will only be another proof that the name of this island is England. It will be telegraphed to the Continent that in order to prove to herself that she possessed a great artist, England had to arrest him for bigamy and shove him into prison.... Characteristic! Characteristic! ALCAR. (Who has moved across to JANET.) Mrs. X, can you-- JANET. (Rising to CARVE, winningly.) Now--Ilam. You're only laying up trouble for yourself, and for me too. Do please think of the trial. You know how shy you are, and how you tremble at the mere thought of a witness-box. CYRUS. I can believe it. CARVE. (Smiling at JANET.) I've got past shyness. I think it was the visit of my fine stalwart sons yesterday that cured me of shyness. I doubt if I shall ever be shy any more. JANET. (Appealingly.) Dearest, to please me! CARVE. (Curt now for the first time, with a flash of resentment.) No. JANET. (After a slight pause; hurt and startled; with absolute conviction, to LORD LEONARD ALCAR.) It's no use. He's made up his mind. EBAG. I have an idea that I can persuade-- JANET. (Hotly.) Excuse me. You can't. EBAG. I have an idea I can. But (hesitates) the fact is, not in the presence of ladies. JANET. Oh. If that's all--(walks away in a huff.) EBAG. (To JANET.) My deepest apologies. (LORD LEONARD ALCAR shows JANET out)
EBAG. (To CARVE.) You remember Lady Alice Rowfant? CARVE. (Taken aback.) That doesn't concern you. EBAG. (Ignoring this answer.) Pardon me if I speak plainly. You were once engaged to marry Lady Alice Rowfant. But a few days before your valet died you changed your mind and left her in the lurch in Spain. Lady Alice Rowfant is now in England. She has been served with a subpoena to give evidence at the trial. And if the trial comes on she will have to identify you and tell her story in court. (Pause.) Are you going to put her to this humiliation? (CARVE walks about. Then he gives a gesture of surrender.)
(The stage is darkened to indicate the passage of a few minutes.) _ |
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