Second Plays by A. A. Milne

A >> A. A. Milne >> Second Plays

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

ALICE. Yes, sir.

MR. KNOWLE. And then--bring in the whiskey.

ALICE. Yes, sir. (She goes out, and returns a moment later) He says,
thank you very much, sir, but he really won't come in, and he's very
sorry indeed to trouble you about the petrol.

MR. KNOWLE. Ah! I'm afraid we were too allusive for him.

ALICE (hopefully). Yes, sir.

MR. KNOWLE. Well, we won't be quite so subtle this time. Present Mr.
Knowle's compliments, and say that I shall be very much honoured if he
will drink a glass of whiskey with me before proceeding on his
journey.

ALICE. Yes, sir.

MR. KNOWLE. And then--bring in the whiskey.

ALICE. Yes, sir. (She goes out. In a little while she comes back
followed by the stranger, who is dressed from head to foot in a long
cloak.) Mr. Gervase Mallory.

[She goes out.

MR. KNOWLE. How do you do, Mr. Mallory? I'm very glad to see you.
(They shake hands.)

GERVASE. It's very kind of you. I really must apologise for bothering
you like this. I'm afraid I'm being an awful nuisance.

MR. KNOWLE. Not at all. Are you going far?

GERVASE. Collingham. I live at Little Malling, about twenty miles
away. Do you know it?

MR. KNOWLE. Yes. I've been through it. I didn't know it was as far
away as that.

GERVASE (with a laugh). Well, perhaps only by the way I came. The fact
is I've lost myself rather.

MR. KNOWLE. I'm afraid you have. Collingham. You oughtn't to have come
within five miles of us.

GERVASE. I suppose I oughtn't.

MR. KNOWLE. Well, all the more reason for having a drink now that you
_are_ here.

GERVASE. It's awfully kind of you.

(ALICE comes in.)

MR. KNOWLE. Ah, here we are. (ALICE puts down the whiskey.) You've
told Peters?

ALICE. Yes, sir. He's looking after it now.

MR. KNOWLE. That's right, (ALICE goes out.) You'll have some whiskey,
won't you?

GERVASE. Thanks very much.

(He comes to the table.)

MR. KNOWLE. And do take your coat off, won't you, and make yourself
comfortable?

GERVASE. Er--thanks. I don't think---- (He smiles to himself and keeps
his cloak on.)

MR. KNOWLE (busy with the drinks). Say when.

GERVASE. Thank you.

MR. KNOWLE. And soda?

GERVASE. Please. . . . Thanks!

(He takes the glass.)

MR. KNOWLE (giving himself one). I'm so glad you came, because I have
a horror of drinking alone. Even when my wife gives me cough-mixture,
I insist on somebody else in the house having cough-mixture too. A
glass of cough-mixture with an old friend just before going to bed----
(He looks up) But do take your coat off, won't you, and sit down and
be comfortable?

GERVASE. Er--thanks very much, but I don't think---- (With a shrug and
a smile) Oh, well! (He puts down his glass and begins to take it off.
He is in fancy dress--the wonderful young Prince in blue and gold of
MELISANDE'S dream.)

(MR. KNOWLE turns round to him again just as he has put his cloak
down. He looks at GERVASE in amazement.)

MR. KNOWLE (pointing to his whiskey glass). But I haven't even begun
it yet. . . . Perhaps it's the port.

GERVASE (laughing). I'm awfully sorry. You must wonder what on earth
I'm doing.

MR. KNOWLE. No, no; I wondered what on earth _I'd_ been doing.

GERVASE. You see, I'm going to a fancy dress dance at Collingham.

MR. KNOWLE. You relieve my mind considerably.

GERVASE. That's why I didn't want to come in--or take my cloak off.

MR. KNOWLE (inspecting him). It becomes you extraordinarily well, if I
may say so.

GERVASE. Oh, thanks very much. But one feels rather absurd in it when
other people are in ordinary clothes.

MR. KNOWLE. On the contrary, you make other people feel absurd. I
don't know that that particular style would have suited me, but
(looking at himself) I am sure that I could have found something more
expressive of my emotions than this.

GERVASE. You're quite right. "Dress does make a difference, Davy."

MR. KNOWLE. It does indeed.

GERVASE. I feel it's almost wicked of me to be drinking a whiskey and
soda.

MR. KNOWLE. Very wicked. (Taking out his case) Have a cigarette, too?

GERVASE. May I have one of my own?

MR. KNOWLE. Do.

GERVASE (feeling for it). If I can find it. They were very careless
about pockets in the old days. I had a special one put in somewhere,
only it's rather difficult to get at. . . . Ah, here it is. (He takes a
cigarette from his case, and after trying to put the case back in his
pocket again, places it on the table.)

MR. KNOWLE. Match?

GERVASE. Thanks. (Picking up his whiskey) Well, here's luck, and--my
most grateful thanks.

MR. KNOWLE (raising his glass). May you slay all your dragons.

GERVASE. Thank you. (They drink.)

MR. KNOWLE. Well, now about Collingham. I don't know if you saw a map
outside in the hall.

GERVASE. I saw it, but I am afraid I didn't look at it. I was too much
interested in your prints.

MR. KNOWLE (eagerly). You don't say that you are interested in prints?

GERVASE. Very much--as an entire amateur.

MR. KNOWLE. Most of the young men who come here think that the art
began and ended with Kirchner. If you are really interested, I have
something in the library--but of course I mustn't take up your time
now. If you could bear to come over another day--after all, we are
neighbours----

GERVASE. It's awfully nice of you; I should love it.

MR. KNOWLE. Hedgling is the name of the village. I mention it because
you seem to have lost your way so completely----

GERVASE. Oh, by Jove, now I know where I am. It's so different in the
moonlight. I'm lunching this way to-morrow. Might I come on
afterwards? And then I can return your petrol, thank you for your
hospitality, and expose my complete ignorance of old prints, all in
one afternoon.

MR. KNOWLE. Well, but you must come anyhow. Come to tea.

GERVASE. That will be ripping. (Getting up) Well, I suppose I ought to
be getting on. (He picks up his cloak.)

MR. KNOWLE. We might just have a look at that map on the way.

GERVASE. Oh yes, do let's.

(They go to the door together, and stand for a moment looking at the
casement windows.)

MR. KNOWLE. It really is a wonderful night. (He switches off the
lights, and the moon streams through the windows) Just look.

GERVASE (with a deep sigh). Wonderful!

[They go out together.

(The hall is empty for a moment. Then GERVASE reappears. He has
forgotten his cigarette-case. He finds it, and on his way out again
stops for a moment in the moonlight, looking through the casement
windows.)

(MELISANDE comes in by the French windows. He hears her, and at the
same moment she sees him. She gives a little wondering cry. It is He!
The knight of her dreams. They stand gazing at each other. . . . Silently
he makes obeisance to her; silently she acknowledges it. . . . Then he is
gone.)

ACT II

(It is seven o'clock on a beautiful midsummer morning. The scene is a
glade in a wood a little way above the village of Hedgling.)

GERVASE MALLORY, still in his fancy dress, but with his cloak on,
comes in. He looks round him and says, "By Jove, how jolly!" He takes
off his cloak, throws it down, stretches himself, turns round, and,
seeing the view behind him, goes to look at it. While he is looking he
hears an unmelodious whistling. He turns round with a start; the
whistling goes on; he says "Good Lord!" and tries to get to his cloak.
It is too late. ERN, a very small boy, comes through the trees into
the glade. GERVASE gives a sigh of resignation and stands there. ERN
stops in the middle of his tune and gazes at him.

ERN. Oo--er! Oo! (He circles slowly round GERVASE.)

GERVASE. I quite agree with you.

ERN. Oo! Look!

GERVASE. Yes, it is a bit dressy, isn't it? Come round to the
back--take a good look at it while you can. That's right. . . . Been all
round? Good!

ERN. Oo!

GERVASE. You keep saying "Oo." It makes conversation very difficult.
Do you mind if I sit down?

ERN. Oo!

GERVASE (sitting down on a log). I gather that I have your consent. I
thank you.

ERN. Oo! Look! (He points at GERVASE'S legs.)

GERVASE. What is it now? My legs? Oh, but surely you've noticed those
before?

ERN (sitting down in front of GERVASE). Oo!

GERVASE. Really, I don't understand you. I came up here for a walk in
a perfectly ordinary blue suit, and you do nothing but say "Oo." What
does your father wear when he's ploughing? I suppose you don't walk
all round _him_ and say "Oo!" What does your Uncle George wear when
he's reaping? I suppose you don't--By the way, I wish you'd tell me
your name. (ERN gazes at him dumbly.) Oh, come! They must have told
you your name when you got up this moving.

ERN (smiling sheepishly). Ern.

GERVASE (bowing). How do you do? I am very glad to meet you, Mr.
Hearne. My name is Mallory. (ERN grins) Thank you.

ERN (tapping himself). I'm Ern.

GERVASE. Yes, I'm Mallory.

ERN. Ern.

GERVASE. Mallory. We can't keep on saying this to each other, you
know, because then we never get any farther. Once an introduction is
over, Mr. Hearne, we are--

ERN. Ern.

GERVASE. Yes, I know. I was very glad to hear it. But now--Oh, I see
what you mean. Ern--short for Ernest?

ERN (nodding). They calls me Ern.

GERVASE. That's very friendly of them. Being more of a stranger I
shall call you Ernest. Well, Ernest-- (getting up) Just excuse me a
moment, will you? Very penetrating bark this tree has. It must be a
Pomeranian. (He folds his cloak upon it and sits down again) That's
better. Now we can talk comfortably together. I don't know if there's
anything you particularly want to discuss--nothing?--well, then, I
will suggest the subject of breakfast.

ERN (grinning). 'Ad my breakfast.

GERVASE. You've _had_ yours? You selfish brute! . . . Of course, you're
wondering why I haven't had mine.

ERN. Bacon fat. (He makes reminiscent noises.)

GERVASE. Don't keep on going through all the courses. Well, what
happened was this. My car broke down. I suppose you never had a motor
car of your own.

ERN. Don't like moty cars.

GERVASE. Well, really, after last night I'm inclined to agree with
you. Well, no, I oughtn't to say that, because, if I hadn't broken
down, I should never have seen Her. Ernest, I don't know if you're
married or anything of that sort, but I think even your rough stern
heart would have been moved by that vision of loveliness which I saw
last night. (He is silent for a little, thinking of her.) Well, then,
I lost my way. There I was--ten miles from anywhere--in the middle of
what was supposed to be a short cut--late at night--Midsummer
Night--what would _you_ have done, Ernest?

ERN. Gone 'ome.

GERVASE. Don't be silly. How could I go home when I didn't know where
home was, and it was a hundred miles away, and I'd just seen the
Princess? No, I did what your father or your Uncle George or any wise
man would have done, I sat in the car and thought of Her.

ERN. Oo!

GERVASE. You are surprised? Ah, but if you'd seen her. . . . Have you
ever been alone in the moonlight on Midsummer Night--I don't mean just
for a minute or two, but all through the night until the dawn came?
You aren't really alone, you know. All round you there are little
whisperings going on, little breathings, little rustlings. Somebody is
out hunting; somebody stirs in his sleep as he dreams again the hunt
of yesterday; somebody up in the tree-tops pipes suddenly to the dawn,
and then, finding that the dawn has not come, puts his silly little
head back under his wing and goes to sleep again. . . . And the fairies
are out. Do you believe in fairies, Ernest? You would have believed in
them last night. I heard them whispering.

ERN. Oo!

GERVASE (coming out of his thoughts with a laugh). Well, of course, I
can't expect you to believe me. But don't go about thinking that
there's nothing in the world but bacon fat and bull's-eyes. Well,
then, I suppose I went to sleep, for I woke up suddenly and it was
morning, the most wonderful sparkling magical morning--but, of course,
_you_ were just settling down to business then.

ERN. Oo! (He makes more reminiscent noises.)

GERVASE. Yes, that's just what I said. I said to myself, breakfast.

ERN. 'Ad my breakfast.

GERVASE. Yes, but I 'adn't. I said to myself, "Surely my old friend,
Ernest, whom I used to shoot bison with in the Himalayas, has got an
estate somewhere in these parts. I will go and share his simple meal
with him." So I got out of the car, and I did what you didn't do,
young man, I had a bathe in the river, and then a dry on a
pocket-handkerchief--one of my sister's, unfortunately--and then I
came out to look for breakfast. And suddenly, whom should I meet but
my old friend, Ernest, the same hearty fellow, the same inveterate
talker as when we shot dragon-flies together in the swamps of Malay.
(Shaking his hand) Ernest, old boy, pleased to meet you. What about
it?

ERN. 'Ad my--

GERVASE. S'sh. (He gets up) Now then--to business. Do you mind looking
the other way while I try to find my purse. (Feeling for it.) Every
morning when you get up, you should say, "Thank God, I'm getting a big
boy now and I've got pockets in my trousers." And you should feel very
sorry for the poor people who lived in fairy books and had no trousers
to put pockets in. Ah, here we are. Now then, Ernest, attend very
carefully. Where do you live?

ERN. 'Ome.

GERVASE. You mean, you haven't got a flat of your own yet? Well, how
far away is your home? (ERN grins and says nothing) A mile? (ERN
continues to grin) Half a mile? (ERN grins) Six inches?

ERN (pointing). Down there.

GERVASE. Good. Now then, I want you to take this-- (giving him
half-a-crown)--

ERN. Oo!

GERVASE. Yes, I thought that would move you--and I want you to ask
your mother if you can bring me some breakfast up here. Now, listen
very carefully, because we are coming to the important part.
Hard-boiled eggs, bread, butter, and a bottle of milk--and anything
else she likes. Tell her that it's most important, because your old
friend Mallory whom you shot white mice with in Egypt is starving by
the roadside. And if you come back here with a basket quickly, I'll
give you as many bull's-eyes as you can eat in a week. (Very
earnestly) Now, Ernest, with all the passion and emotion of which I am
capable before breakfast, I ask you: have you got that?

ERN (nodding). Going 'ome. (He looks at the half-crown again.)

GERVASE. Going 'ome. Yes. But--returning with breakfast. Starving
man--lost in forest--return with basket--save life. (To himself) I
believe I could explain it better to a Chinaman. (to ERN) Now then,
off you go.

ERN (as he goes off). 'Ad my breakfast.

GERVASE. Yes, and I wonder if I shall get mine.

(GERVASE walks slowly after him and stands looking at him as he goes
down the hill. Then, turning round, he sees another stranger in the
distance.)

GERVASE. Hullo, here's another of them. (He walks towards the log)
Horribly crowded the country's getting nowadays. (He puts on his
coat.)

(A moment later a travelling Peddler, name of SUSAN, comes in singing.
He sees GERVASE sitting on the log.)

SUSAN (with a bow). Good morning, sir.

GERVASE. (looking round). Good morning.

SUSAN. I had thought to be alone. I trust my singing did not
discommode you.

GERVASE. Not at all. I like it. Do go on.

SUSAN. Alas, the song ends there.

GERVASE. Oh, well, couldn't we have it again?

SUSAN. Perhaps later, sir, if you insist. (Taking off his hat) Would
it inconvenience you if I rested here for a few minutes?

GERVASE. Not a bit. It's a jolly place to rest at, isn't it? Have you
come far this morning?

SUSAN. Three or four miles--a mere nothing on a morning like this.
Besides, what does the great William say?

GERVASE. I don't think I know him. What does he say?

SUSAN. A merry heart goes all the way.

GERVASE. Oh, Shakespeare, yes.

SUSAN. And why, you ask, am I merry?

GERVASE. Well, I didn't, but I was just going to. Why are you merry?

SUSAN. Can you not guess? What does the great Ralph say?

GERVASE (trying hard). The great Ralph. . . . No, you've got me there.
I'm sure I don't know him. Well, what does he say?

SUSAN. Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of Empires
ridiculous.

GERVASE. Emerson, of course. Silly of me.

SUSAN. So you see, sir--I am well, the day is well, all is well.

GERVASE. Sir, I congratulate you. In the words of the great Percy--(to
himself) that's got him.

SUSAN (at a loss). The--er--great Percy?

GERVASE. Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

SUSAN (eagerly). I take you, I take you! Shelley! Ah, there's a poet,
Mr.--er--I don't think I quite caught your name.

GERVASE. Oh! My name's Gervase Mallory--to be referred to by
posterity, I hope, as the great Gervase.

SUSAN. Not a poet, too?

GERVASE. Well, no, not professionally.

SUSAN. But one with the poets in spirit--like myself. I am very glad
to meet you, Mr. Mallory. It is most good-natured of you to converse
with me. My name is Susan, (GERVASE bows.) Generally called Master
Susan in these parts, or sometimes Gentleman Susan. I am a travelling
Peddler by profession.

GERVASE. A delightful profession, I am sure.

SUSAN. The most delightful of all professions. (He begins to undo his
pack,) Speaking professionally for the moment, if I may so far
venture, you are not in any need of boot-laces, buttons, or
collar-studs?

GERVASE (smiling). Well, no, not at this actual moment. On almost any
other day perhaps--but no, not this morning.

SUSAN. I only just mentioned it in passing--_en passant_, as the
French say. (He brings out a paper bag from his pack.) Would the fact
of my eating my breakfast in this pleasant resting place detract at
all from your appreciation of the beautiful day which Heaven has sent
us?

GERVASE. Eating your _what_?

SUSAN. My simple breakfast.

GERVASE (shaking his head). I'm very sorry, but I really don't think I
could bear it. Only five minutes ago Ernest--I don't know if you know
Ernest?

SUSAN. The great Ernest?

GERVASE (indicating with his hand). No, the very small one--Well,
_he_ was telling me all about the breakfast he'd just had, and now
_you're_ showing me the breakfast you're just going to have--no, I
can't bear it.

SUSAN. My dear sir, you don't mean to tell me that you would do me the
honour of joining me at my simple repast?

GERVASE (jumping up excitedly). The honour of joining you!--the
_honour_! My dear Mr. Susan! Now I know why they call you Gentleman
Susan. (Shaking his head sadly) But no. It wouldn't be fair to you. I
should eat too much. Besides, Ernest may come back. No, I will wait.
It wouldn't be fair.

SUSAN (unpacking his breakfast). Bacon or cheese?

GERVASE. Cheese--I mean bacon--I mean--I say, you aren't serious?

SUSAN (handing him bread and cheese). I trust you will find it up to
your expectations.

GERVASE (taking it). I say, you really--(Solemnly) Master Susan, with
all the passion and emotion of which I am capable before breakfast, I
say "Thank you." (He takes a bite) Thank you.

SUSAN (eating also). Please do not mention it. I am more than repaid
by your company.

GERVASE. It is charming of you to say so, and I am very proud to be
your guest, but I beg you to allow me to pay for this delightful
cheese.

SUSAN. No, no. I couldn't hear of it.

GERVASE. I warn you that if you will not allow me to pay for this
delightful cheese, I shall insist on buying all your boot-laces. Nay,
more, I shall buy all your studs, and all your buttons. Your
profession would then be gone.

SUSAN. Well, well, shall we say tuppence?

GERVASE. Tuppence for a banquet like this? My dear friend, nothing
less than half-a-crown will satisfy me.

SUSAN. Sixpence. Not a penny more.

GERVASE (with a sigh). Very well, then. (He begins to feel in his
pocket, and in so doing reveals part of his dress. SUSAN opens his
eyes at it, and then goes on eating. GERVASE finds his purse and
produces sixpence, which he gives to SUSAN.) Sir, I thank you. (He
resumes his breakfast.)

SUSAN. You are too generous. . . . Forgive me for asking, but you are not
by chance a fellow-traveller upon the road?

GERVASE. Do you mean professionally?

SUSAN. Yes. There is a young fellow, a contortionist and
sword-swallower, known locally in these parts as Humphrey the Human
Hiatus, who travels from village to village. Just for a moment I
wondered--

(He glances at GERVASE's legs, which are uncovered. GERVASE hastily
wraps his coat round them.)

GERVASE. I am not Humphrey. No. Gervase the Cheese Swallower. . . .
Er--my costume--

SUSAN. Please say nothing more. It was ill-mannered of me to have
inquired. Let a man wear what he likes. It is a free world.

GERVASE. Well, the fact is, I have been having a bathe.

SUSAN (with a bow). I congratulate you on your bathing costume.

GERVASE. Not at all.

SUSAN. You live near here then?

GERVASE. Little Malling. I came over in a car.

SUSAN. Little Malling? That's about twenty miles away.

GERVASE. Oh, much more than that surely.

SUSAN. No. There's Hedgling down there.

GERVASE (surprised). Hedgling? Heavens, how I must have lost my
way. . . . Then I have been within a mile of her all night. And I never
knew!

SUSAN. You are married, Mr. Mallory?

GERVASE. No. Not yet.

SUSAN. Get married.

GERVASE. What?

SUSAN. Take my advice and get married.

GERVASE. You recommend it?

SUSAN. I do. . . . There is no companion like a wife, if you marry the
right woman.

GERVASE. Oh?

SUSAN. I have been married thirty years. Thirty years of happiness.

GERVASE. But in your profession you must go away from your wife a good
deal.

SUSAN (smiling). But then I come back to her a good deal.

GERVASE (thoughtfully). Yes, that must be rather jolly.

SUSAN. Why do you think I welcomed your company so much when I came
upon you here this morning?

GERVASE (modestly). Oh, well----

SUSAN. It was something to tell my wife when I got back to her. When
you are married, every adventure becomes two adventures. You have your
adventure, and then you go back to your wife and have your adventure
again. Perhaps it is a better adventure that second time. You can say
the things which you didn't quite say the first time, and do the
things which you didn't quite do. When my week's travels are ever, and
I go back to my wife, I shall have a whole week's happenings to tell
her. They won't lose in the telling, Mr. Mallory. Our little breakfast
here this morning--she will love to hear about that. I can see her
happy excited face as I tell her all that I said to you, and--if I
can remember it--all that you said to me.

GERVASE (eagerly). I say, how jolly! (Thoughtfully) You won't forget
what I said about the Great Percy? I thought that was rather good.

SUSAN. I hope it wasn't too good, Mr. Mallory. If it was, I shall find
myself telling it to her as one of my own remarks. That's why I say
"Get married." Then you can make things fair for yourself. You can
tell her all the good things of mine which _you_ said.

GERVASE. But there must be more in marriage than that.

SUSAN. There are a million things in marriage, but companionship is at
the bottom of it all. . . . Do you know what companionship means?

GERVASE. How do you mean? Literally?

SUSAN. The derivation of it in the dictionary. It means the art of
having meals with a person. Cynics talk of the impossibility of
sitting opposite the same woman every day at breakfast. Impossible to
_them_, perhaps, poor shallow-hearted creatures, but not impossible to
two people who have found what love is.

GERVASE. It doesn't sound very romantic.

SUSAN (solemnly). It is the most romantic thing in the whole world. . . .
Some more cheese?

GERVASE (taking it). Thank you. . . . (Thoughtfully) Do you believe in
love at first sight, Master Susan?

SUSAN. Why not? If it's the woman you love at first sight, not only
the face.

GERVASE. I see. (After a pause) It's rather hard to tell, you know. I
suppose the proper thing to do is to ask her to have breakfast with
you, and see how you get on.

SUSAN. Well, you might do worse.

GERVASE (laughing). And propose to her after breakfast?

SUSAN. If you will. It is better than proposing to her at a ball as
some young people do, carried away suddenly by a snatched kiss in the
moonlight.

GERVASE (shaking his head). Nothing like that happened last night.

SUSAN. What does the Great Alfred say of the kiss?

GERVASE. I never read the _Daily Mail_.

SUSAN. Tennyson, Mr. Mallory, Tennyson.

GERVASE. Oh, I beg your pardon.

SUSAN. "The kiss," says the Great Alfred, "the woven arms, seem but to
be weak symbols of the settled bliss, the comfort, I have found in
thee." The same idea, Mr. Mallory. Companionship, or the art of having
breakfast with a person. (Getting up) Well, I must be moving on. _We_
have been companions for a short time; I thank you for it. I wish you
well.

GERVASE (getting up). I say, I've been awfully glad to meet you. And I
shall never forget the breakfast you gave me.

SUSAN. It is friendly of you to say so.

GERVASE (hesitatingly). You won't mind my having another one when
Ernest comes back--I mean, if Ernest comes back? You won't think I'm
slighting yours in any way? But after an outdoor bathe, you know, one
does----

SUSAN. Please! I am happy to think you have such an appetite.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16