Authors: Nigel Dennis
Cards of Identity (36 page)
‘We will have more room for grief once he is out of the way,’ said Dr Shubunkin. ‘So don’t let’s put the cart before the horse.’
‘It begins to sound like a tumbril,’ said the President.
‘You will be much happier, you know,’ said Father Orfe, ‘in an identity that really suits you.’
‘You don’t think that is stretching our theory?’ asked the President.
‘It seems to me to follow admirably,’ said Dr Musk. ‘It would be a poor theory if it didn’t.’
‘It would lack all the qualities of absolute finality that every good theory must have,’ said Father Orfe. ‘It would leave room for doubt. You wouldn’t want that, would you?’
‘Why, no, I don’t think so,’ said the President. ‘I had always realized, of course, that every theory must reach a fatal conclusion, but it had not occurred to me that this time the conclusion would be me.’
‘I don’t think this is a time for jokes,’ said Mr Harcourt peevishly. ‘If the President intends to resign, as I gather he does, he owes it to the club to do so with dignity.’
‘Gentlemen,’ said Captain Mallet, rising suddenly, ‘let me warn you that in a few minutes the staff play is due to begin and that we cannot put it off.’
‘I warmly agree,’ said the President.
‘Surely that’s fiddling while Rome’s burning?’ said Father Orfe.
‘You will hear no objections from Rome,’ said the President.
‘It is heartening, gentlemen,’ said the captain, ‘to see our old friend go out with a jest.’
‘He has not much option,’ said Mr Jamesworth. ‘Besides, the tragic vein was never his forte.’
There was a knock on the door and Mrs Paradise appeared. ‘We are all ready, sir,’ she said, dropping the captain a curtsey.
‘And so are we, Florence,’ he replied.
‘Do all the gentlemen have their programmes, sir?’
‘They do, Florence.’
‘Then shall I put out the lights?’
‘By all means. And draw the curtains.’
| CAST | |
| T HE P RINCE OF A NTIOCH | Herbert Towzer |
| C APTAIN J ACK | Henry Jellicoe |
| C OUNT OF B AALBECK | Mrs Chirk |
| D UKE OF B URGUNDY | Miss Blanche Tray |
| K ING OF A RTOIS | Herbert Towzer |
| K ING OF A RTOIS ’ P RIME M INISTER | Henry Jellicoe |
| T URNKEY | Miss Blanche Tray |
| G HOSTS | Mrs Chirk |
| H ERMIONE | Mrs Paradise |
| C ATRIONA | Miss Blanche Tray |
| R ADEGUND | Miss Finch |
| Q UEEN OF A RTOIS | Mrs Paradise |
Other Dukes, Lords, Counsellors, Courtiers, Pikemen, etc. played by all members of the staff, according to convenience.
Spoken by Mrs Chirk
Thank you, good friends, your welcone warms my heart
(Now, clap ye all, and justify my start).
Retard your orange ’til our acts are sped;
Cast not its blood upon the Prologue’s head.
* * *
Before you walks a company of men
That’s sad and weary in its acumen.
We ask you: who are you, and what are we
That play as riddlers with identity?
Are you our hosts, who pay us for our pains,
Or is it we boards you, and entertains?
Answer me not! Can any answer be?
Can any tie one tight identity?
E’en he that’s
Will
’
d
this play is self-mistaken,
Flitched like a hog to make a
Bacon:
Is yoked to
Oxford
to conform a
Vere,
Is skinned and tanned, so
Dyer’s
hand appear.
The skeleton that’s left, with this all done
Must course a
Derby
e’er his race is run,
Yet still must hear that he was much remiss
In wearing laurel which was pluckt by
Chris.
Was ever butcher’s boy so tricked and baited,
So carved to sirloin – or so well related?
Nay, never was; hence he hath thought it fit
To add to his apportionments, his bit;
T’assuage, in mirth, the sadness of his fame,
Which all acknowledge but decline his name.
Our play’s a riddle in which ours display
The guises which your living selves portray;
The many semblances that make one you,
Shall play, through us, the game of who is who.
And play it fair, as players only can
Who’ve played your play since play and time began.
Scene: A furious seashore: enter, on spars, the Prince of Antioch, disguised as a common sailor, and a sea-captain.
PRINCE
:
Fundament! Fundament! Do I find bottom?
CAPT
:
Aye, zany, anchor thy soles!
Cut short thy prayers; they’re curtly answered.
Oh, I am froze white as my grandfather’s beard!
Off! Fetch sere sticks;
We’ll build such fire the north star himself
Will find his ice a-sweat.
PRINCE
:
Who orders me? Am I one that’s ordered?
CAPT
(
striking
him
): Sticks, goose, rummage thy bill!
Waste not my chilled surmise
On thy peculiar. Art so wet i’ the pan
Thou hast forgot thyself? I’ll fetch flint.
Exit
Captain
in
search
of
flints.
PRINCE
(
picking
up
sticks
): He does not see the toity prince,
Shrouded in sables, hung in gold carats,
Who lolled the poop, pond’ring an Assyrian theme,
Barking him orders till his knee-caps creaked
Much as these woody bones
(breaks
a
twig).
Thus, too,
Was my dear greatness snapped, when that vast storm
Screaming from northward in a harpy’s veil,
O’er powered the barque in which I was in route
(From Thule on successful embassy) back
To my desert throne. A state of caution
Warned me to this disguise, lest I in turmoil,
Should be despoilt.
Takes
a
handful
of
rubies
from
his
pocket.
But now, I’ll drop it off and be myself.
With these I’ll bribe the churl to take me home.
Enter
Captain,
with
flints.
Here, Captain, precious gems; look, look!
CAPT
:
Put off your sanguine pebbles! All’s now
Grown green; red’s but a boiled lobster.
Give me your sticks.
Kindles
fire.
PRINCE
:
This hotty beam exonerates my chills.
CAPT
:
Stand that the rising flame may cause the sea,
Hugging its harbourage in your worsted cape,
To be expelled right out in ghostly steam.
Thus did I when we foundered off Ragusa,
Spalato, Joppa, Tenereef, and Ness,
And many other wrecks of which I shall
In due course tell you, down
To the last detail.
PRINCE
:
So many founderings?
CAPT
:
Was never a storm,
Turning uncertain in the seven skies,
But saw me peaceful in a distant sea
And chose me for her seat.
PRINCE
:
Yet thus thou hast escaped men’s follies ashore, Captain?
CAPT
:
Nay, nay, all them too I’ve had.
PRINCE
:
What! Treason, revolt, dissent? Landsmen’s furies?
CAPT
:
Never a month absent. They wait me at the port.
PRINCE
:
Some heaven’s protected thee.
CAPT
:
Ay, some heaven and a cutlass.
PRINCE
(aside):
Through this hard wretch, if I am resolute,
I may at last draw wisdom from her well,
For he, salt as a winter bean, may
Keep ajar a whole philosophy
To feed a tender prince.
Off, royal self and panoply! I’ll be
His mate and pupil; thumb his horny book,
And take fresh wisdom home to Antioch. All my
Advisers, counsellors, and nobs, I’ll
Rule with tar and salt, a sailor king,
Shrewd as a flea.
To
Captain.
Knowst thou this shore, sir?
CAPT:
Your sir is pleasing in my ears; no sound
Has quite the sweetness of the bending spine.
As to this shore, I see upon a dune
A tug of twitch-grass: where that couchie
Grows, Nature dictates the sand of Brittany.
PRINCE
:
Thrice-cloven Gaul, salute you this triune!
One, a hard Captain, wombed in a canvas gut;
Two, a soft Prince, tutored in all but life;
Three, a poor student, fumbling a new book.
Whence now, sir, captain?
CAPT
:
Art steamed, clam?
PRINCE
:
All but my marrow.
CAPT
:
We’ll find a farmhouse: on its fringe, I’ll
Hang, spying out the land.
At my demand you’ll climb the guardian roost,
Abduct a creamy goose
And hasten back. I’ll tend our rear.
PRINCE
(aside)
:
His methods are not nice nor honourable,
But I’ll not question one whose mischief bold
Doubtless conceals a soul as wise as gold.
Exeunt.
Scene:
A
Chamber
in
the
Palace
of
the
Duke
of
Brittany.
Enter
the
Duke,
Counsellors,
and
Attendants.
DUKE
:
Tedium engrosses me. Another hour,
Another face, all different, all the same.
Is business done?
COUN
:
A few more peasants ask you justice.
DUKE
:
Murderous few! Enter, assassins!
Enter
1st
Peasant.
1ST P
:
Most noble Lord, Serene Preponderance –
DUKE
:
Plea, sir! Law is a mouse-trap,
Sprung in a trice!
1ST P
:
Your honourable steward hath proclaimed
That I, my flocks, my whole demesne,
And wife and bairns, numbering seventeen,
Are forfeit all to you.
DUKE
:
Harsh! Harsh! Give him a groat for a new codpiece.
Ha! Ha!
Exit
1st
Peasant.
Enter
2nd
Peasant.
2
ND
P
:
I fished a troutlet from your stream.
Tomorrow I’ll be hanged.
DUKE
:
Good riddance! Hang and be damned!
Wait! Where was the catch?
2
ND
P
:
Beneath the sallow, at the gloomy bend
They call Lejeune’s.
DUKE
:
Here’s information to dry on a gallows! Give him
A golden livre; appoint him
My Counsellor of Fish.
2
ND
P
:
Delicious Duke, protect you God!
Exit
2nd
Peasant.
COUN
:
All done, my lord. Wouldst play at chess?
Arranges
board.
They
play.
DUKE
:
Ha! I’ll chop you a mitre! Ha, Ha!
COUN
:
My mouth turns dry, but I’ll cry check, my Lord.
DUKE
:
Hounds and cameras; here: take it, take it!
Kicks
chess-board
into
the
air.
ATTEND
:
Hermione is here, my Lord.
Enter
Hermione.
DUKE
:
Come near, Hermione. Rosiest
Of blossoms, Sharon’s choicest nut:
Sugar me, sweetmeat; pluck me till my strings
Fret to a gallop.
HERM
:
I’ll take you to my boudoir,
Show you my brushes tortoiseshell;
My charms, my lockets, sprigs, and fairey sprays,
Wind you in pinky silk of bodyguard,
Closet your humour in a secret drawer,
Coddle your langour
Into sharp infamy.
DUKE
:
She half persuades me. No, no;
’Tis but old nip and tuck
Veiled in a rainbow. Take the old bag away!
Exit
Hermione.
What now? Where’s my new clown?
ATTEND
:
Clown! Clown!
COUN
:
The rogue is absent, lord.
DUKE
:
Find him, old goat!
His oddities delight me. False
As the plover’s cry, they hide deep wisdom.
Oh miserable man, unhappy me,
Fixed as an alter, dull as a keystone;
Condemned to duty, as a kitchen knife’s
Clenched to a grindstone. To hang,
Promote, and pardon, play on a board,
Fuddle a witch – what fates
This dismal round? I am
Deader than any doornail. Oh, oh!
Where is my clown?
Exit
Attendants
in
a
flurry,
shouting
Clown, Clown!