Richard V.Hamilton. Betsy's caprice
a play in six scenes
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Copyright © 1996 by Author
Email: PnNBr@aol.com
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CHRIS, 29, a dramatist.
JOANNE COLERIDGE, DUCHESS OF MULBERRY, 40.
BETSY COLERIDGE, 17, her daughter.
LIONEL COLLINS, 26, an actor.
WILLIAM, 29, a dramatist.
ANNE, 38, William's wife.
THE MAN IN BLACK.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK.
JULIAN, 35, a theatre manager.
ANDRI DE MAISSE, 40, Henri IV's ambassador.
Scene One. Nothing and no one on the stage. Twilight. Stage-right,
enter Chris running - a handsome young man, dark, slender, tall, wearing
dark clothes. He stops dead center, looks back frantically. He wipes his
forehead. His hand reaches reluctantly for the long sword at his hip. With a
sudden surge of resolution, he tears the sword out of the sheath and
retraces his steps slowly. Before he can reach the exit, a Man In Black In A
Mask enters stage-left and calls out softly.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Christopher.
Chris swings rapidly around, pointing his sword at the stranger.
Please calm down. There is no danger at this point.
A pause.
CHRIS
No?
THE MAN IN BLACK
No.
CHRIS
Swear to me that you're not just mocking me.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Please sheathe your sword and stop talking nonsense.
After some hesitation, Chris sheathes his sword, goes to stage-center,
stops.
People do go astray once in a while. It's human nature, you know.
Stage-left, enter the Woman In Black, wearing a mask, soundlessly.
CHRIS
I haven't gone astray. I simply want out.
THE MAN IN BLACK
That, my dear fellow, is quite impossible, I'm afraid. The Service does
not recruit people and teach them skills only to let them leave whenever
they please and use what they've learned to their advantage.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Loyalty doesn't seem to be one of your strong points, sir.
Chris turns around rapidly.
CHRIS
Huh?!
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
You knew what you were getting into.
(a pause; in a less severe tone)
What is it you lack, anyway? You have money. You have excellent
lodgings. You've become somewhat famous recently in certain circles. Your
poetry has won you the admiration of some connoisseurs. What more can you
possibly want?
CHRIS
I.... I don't know. Peace. Time to write.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(almost disdainfully)
Why stop there? Family. Say it. You want to have a family.
CHRIS
Not particularly, no.
THE MAN IN BLACK
At the time of your initiation, you were asked certain questions. You
were supposed to answer them truthfully. Did you?
CHRIS
To the best of my knowledge, yes.
THE MAN IN BLACK
One of the questions was about affections. You said you didn't love
anyone, that you weren't particularly engaged anywhere. Is that true still?
CHRIS
Er....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Is it?
CHRIS
Yes.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Are you sure? There are secrets and then there are secrets. The secrets
you've been entrusted with belong to the Service.
CHRIS
I've never betrayed anyone's trust, and God alone....
THE MAN IN BLACK
God? Since when have you been religious, Christopher?
CHRIS
I?
THE MAN IN BLACK
Yes, you.
CHRIS
I've always.... more or less....
THE MAN IN BLACK
Those who are in the Service belong to no one except the Queen. Did you
lie to us, Chris?
(a pause)
It's hopeless. He's not willing to give up anything.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Pardon me, Robert. I think we should give him another chance. He's
rendered us quite a few services.
(at Chris)
It was through him that the two most dangerous conspiracies, one of
them Babington's, were discovered, two revolts nipped in the bud.
A pause.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(at Chris)
Yes. Poor Anthony, cut off in the twenty-sixth year of his stormy life.
Poor Mary. The Scots miss her.
(a pause)
But I'm warning you, Christopher. This is really your last chance. The
next time you try to shield someone, or simply to conceal from us the
results of your inquiries, we'll renounce you altogether. Is that
understood?
A pause.
CHRIS
Yes.
A pause.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(kindly)
Now, here's something we'd like you to do. You seem to be on friendly
terms with the Earl of Warwick. Correct?
CHRIS
Yes.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
He happens to admire your poetry. I believe he once even financed a
publication or two, just to get you started.
CHRIS
Yes.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Old Warwick is conspiring against the throne. At least that's what the
information you've provided seems to suggest.
CHRIS
Er.... No. I never.... He's not.... he's not connected with any plot.
THE MAN IN BLACK
But he is, Chris. The most dangerous plot the Service ever dealt with.
We wouldn't want to eliminate him at this point. It's too early. We want to
watch his every step, though. He might become suspicious. He might try and
make his escape. What we'd like you to do is go to him and do your best
assuring him that he'll be perfectly safe for a while.
A pause.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
You are not answering, sir.
CHRIS
What do you want me to say?
THE MAN IN BLACK
Is the assignment clear to you?
CHRIS
Yes.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Are you going to do it?
A pause.
CHRIS
Yes.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Good.
(a pause)
Remember, this is your last chance, Christopher. For a Service man, the
only place of retirement is the grave.
The Man In Black crosses the stage, passing Chris and slapping him on
the shoulder. The Man In Black joins the Woman In Black and they are gone,
stage-right. Chris is staring in front of himself, facing the audience.
Stage-left, enter De Maisse - a handsome, if somewhat affected, man
clad in bright colors, with a long sword at his hip. He has a French accent.
DE MAISSE
Pardon me, Monsieur. Is that structure called.... er....
(produces a notebook and consults it)
....the London Bridge?
(a pause)
Monsieur?
(Chris remains motionless)
Hm. A deaf Englishman. Well, well.
He goes off towards the backdrop and looks intently in all directions
consulting his notebook from time to time. He continues doing this
throughout Chris' scene with Anne.
Stage-left, enter Anne. She approaches Chris tentatively.
ANNE
Excuse me, sir. Do you happen to know where Lord Chamberlain's Men
lodge these days?
A pause. Slowly, Chris turns to her.
CHRIS
Eh?
ANNE
Lord Chamberlain's Men....
CHRIS
(darkly)
I remember you.
(a pause)
Now, let me see. Something trivial. Elizabeth? Nah. Mary Jane?
Something like that.... Something mind-bogglingly trivial. Anne! You're
Anne, aren't you? Wobbly's wife?
ANNE
That's my name, sir, but....
He clenches his teeth and with a tremendous effort composes himself,
becoming at once gentler and merrier.
CHRIS
Of course. Lord Chamberlain's - the lousiest, dirties, most
disreputable bunch of former choir boys and second-rate merchants calling
themselves actors. And you've just arrived here to see one of them, poor
creature! You do have the misfortune of being his lawful bride, and I both
pity you and commend you on it. I pity you because your position is piteous,
and I commend you because I'm generally in the habit of commending anyone
doing anything the least bit original. Marrying a person of Wobbly's stamp
was a most original move on your part. At least one of you must have been
drunk at the time. Kids okay? And Wobbly's dear old father, the decorous
Philistine, is he still the same as his son-in-law once described him to me
after a particularly grim night we spent over a jug of brackish beer? A
stingy, cross, witless monster?
ANNE
I'm sorry, sir, this is a little bit overwhelming.... You seem to know
my husband?
CHRIS
Know him, Madam? Not true. Only your husband knows your husband, from
which it follows that I, not being your husband, know exactly nothing about
the man in question. He's somewhat talented, rather silly, very nasty at
times, and a bad actor. Anything beyond that is anybody's guess.
ANNE
A bad actor?
CHRIS
Atrocious.
ANNE
Well, sir, on my part, I think he's rather good.
CHRIS
Oh, yes - in Greek and Roman tragedy, perhaps, where you're supposed to
wail and windmill your arms like a madman. But one couldn't find a surer way
to ruin a modern piece than to cast your husband for it. He's fit to be a
bit player, perhaps, or a stage hand.
ANNE
(with some hostility)
And what may your name be, may I ask?
CHRIS
Oh. My name. Yes, of course. You don't want to know. I'm one of those
dubious fellows who can learn anyone's name without revealing his own. We're
the faithful servants of the Great Bitch, my dear Anne, and you'd better not
meddle in my affairs.
(to the audience, sonorously)
Is there anyone here who wishes to say anything against the Great
Bitch? Huh? Would you like to conspire against her, perhaps? I dare you, I
defy you to say one word! I'm here to make sure that the Wonder Lady is safe
and sound! Understand?
ANNE
I'm sorry. I'd better go.
CHRIS
Oh, yes. My regards to Wobbly.
ANNE
Who's Wobbly?
CHRIS
One of those hapless rascals whom posterity will never forgive for
marrying a woman without a sense of humor.
Suddenly, Anne laughs. Chris frowns at her.
ANNE
I think I know who you are. You wrote that piece - what's it called?
Something about a German doctor who sold his soul?
Chris raises his eyebrows, goggles at her. She smiles triumphantly.
CHRIS
You've read it?
ANNE
Yes.
CHRIS
Did you like it?
ANNE
Not much. But it shows a lot of promise. You should work on your verse
more. It's still very rough around the edges.
CHRIS
May I walk you to Wobbly's place?
ANNE
No, thank you.
CHRIS
This is a dangerous city. You never know whom you may encounter on your
way to your husband's dwellings.
ANNE
Indeed.
CHRIS
So, why don't you let me....
ANNE
I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself, thank you.
CHRIS
Are you sure?
Anne laughs.
ANNE
Quite sure, thank you.
Anne walks, shaking his head and laughing, towards the exit
stage-right.
Chris waits for her to exit. He shrugs.
De Maisse closes his notebook, turns, and approaches Chris.
DE MAISSE
Pardon me, Monsieur. Your conversation with the lady who just left
gives me grounds to suppose that you are not deaf after all. I am a
Frenchman, as you've probably been able to gather from my accent. This is my
first time in this city. Please, could you tell me where the Queen's palace
is?
Chris smiles.
CHRIS
The Queen does not reside in the city, Monsieur. She prefers the
outskirts.
DE MAISSE
Oh, I see. Thank you very much. May I also mention without offending
you that I find you rather attractive? No? Well, just a thought.
He goes off to the backdrop and resumes sightseeing.
CHRIS
Wobbly knows how to select a woman. Impeccable taste. If only I had a
wife like that! Well, Chris old man. What are we going to do now? What do we
tell old Warwick?
(thinks, twitches his nose)
Well, there is no such thing as chivalry, I suppose. There are only
degrees of being a pig.
Off-stage, a woman laughs melodiously and drunkenly. A male voice says
brightly, "All right, I'll see you later, then." On his way out, stage-left,
Chris bumps into Lionel, - a stunningly handsome man, with the velvety
well-controlled high baritone of a stage professional whose forte is playing
young powerful kings. He is handsomely and artistically drunk.
LIONEL
Ah, Chris! How you doing, old man!
He sways and falls into Chris's arms.
CHRIS
Lionel, please. I have to run.
LIONEL
(disengaging)
That's all right. Let me just sit here for a while. I'll be fine. Hey,
Chris, you look wonderful. Very pale and all. A true artist!
CHRIS
Are you sure you're going to be all right? Don't you have a performance
tonight?
LIONEL
What, in your lousy play? Nah. I hate that play. Hey, Chris. You're a
lousy writer; did you know that?
CHRIS
Why, thank you. You're a hopeless actor.
LIONEL
Hey, Chris, I feel so good.... Fucking Joanne will roast me alive for
this.
CHRIS
I hope she does.
(turns to go; stops)
Hey, and, Lionel?
LIONEL
Yes?
CHRIS
Keep your hands off Betsy, all right?
LIONEL
Why?
CHRIS
Someone might cut them off for you one day, that's why.
Lionel sits down against the backdrop, laughs. Chris shrugs, exits
stage-left.
LIONEL
Come near me, nymph, that I might plant a kiss
Upon your gentle instep; join me in
The feast of youth....
Or something. Who wrote that? I'm not sure. I feel so good. I.... I'm
the greatest actor in the world! Everybody says so.
He lowers his head and falls silent.
Stage-right, enter the Man In Black and the Woman In Black.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Now, where is he? You see, I told you.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
He must have stopped for a drink someplace.
THE MAN IN BLACK
His instructions were to go directly to Warwick's.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Don't be so hard on him.
THE MAN IN BLACK
He's impulsive, shrewd, and completely unreliable. And then there's
that other fellow, his friend. Also a playwright of sorts. Warwick might
escape while we're dallying with all these reprobates!
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
However, dear Robert, it seems to me that your hatred for your uncle
takes priority over even your sense of duty.
THE MAN IN BLACK
My uncle! The one who conspires against the throne! The one who has
deprived me of my property, taken away my income, and married my bride!...
We must do away with Chris. It may be wise to get rid of his friend too -
Chris may have conferred some secrets to him. In our business, one must
never take any chances.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
His friend is perfectly innocent. He's just a poet, amusing himself
with playwriting and making a living by acting in vulgar plays.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Whence this explicit data, may I ask?
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(ironically)
Do you imagine you're my only source of information?
(a pause; seriously)
His plays are rather good; his poetry is excellent. I almost feel like
helping him. You know, he's much better than all that trash they stage at
the playhouses these days.
A pause.
THE MAN IN BLACK
I don't understand. Playhouses? Are they supposed to be amusing or
something?
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Perhaps if his works were performed at a better place, he'd stand a
better chance.... Lord Chamberlain's Men have the worst playhouse in all of
Christendom.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(it dawns on him)
Chris! Of course! He must have slipped you some manuscripts to promote
his bosom friend....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Yes, and they were quite good. Not to mention that they told me a great
deal about their author's attitude in regard to those who run this country
today. Loyalty is hard to come by these days, Robert. I think I'll see to it
that he gets a better theatre.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Need I remind you, Madam, that the Warwick plot is a very real thing.
The safety of the throne is at stake. In my opinion, theatres and such
should be removed altogether from our agenda.
LIONEL
Grrrrrrr!
The Man In Black clutches his sword. The Woman In Black stops him by
touching him on the elbow. De Maisse turns around.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Drunken swine!
LIONEL
Drunken swine yourself.
The Man In Black rolls his eyes. The Woman In Black laughs.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Looks like it's Lionel.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(to the Woman In Black)
Please excuse me, Madam. I must speak to him.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Sure. Go ahead.
She smiles. He approaches Lionel and says quietly,
THE MAN IN BLACK
Lionel. What are you doing here?
LIONEL
Oh, just chilling, man. Just hanging out.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Did you see Chris?
LIONEL
Yes. He was on his way to your uncle's place.
THE MAN IN BLACK
You're not making this up, are you?
LIONEL
That's what I don't like about the spying business. Always suspicious.
Never trust anyone. Oops, what's this?
He produces a scroll from under his cloak and hands it to the Man In
Black. The latter opens and reads it. His face brightens.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Thank you, Lionel.
LIONEL
The man's name is Kyd. He's a playwright of sorts, too. Why don't you
call on him and see what he says.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Kyd, eh?
He nods. He returns to the Woman In black, speaks to her quietly.
There's news, Madam. Old Warwick has been in touch with the King of
France. Here. We can't afford to wait any longer. We must send someone
immediately to his house; not Chris, but a man of action.
He hands her the scroll. She reads it briefly, nods. The two of them,
with an air of determination, exit hastily stage-right.
Lionel rises slowly. He is completely sober.
LIONEL
A better theatre, eh?
He thinks. Stage-right, enter Betsy.
Betsy is a plain-looking blond creature, thin, with small breasts, a
high but even voice. She is very much a teenager, and awkward. Yet, there
are redeeming qualities in her. While trying to persuade herself and others
that she is beautiful in a singular, ineffable way, she can really be so
each time she is preoccupied with something other than her looks and the
reaction they produce.
She attempts to cross the stage and exit stage-left without looking at
Lionel. He smiles.
Hey, Betsy darling!
BETSY
(stops; without looking at him)
Please don't speak to me. You know I don't like you.
LIONEL
Mommy at home?
BETSY
Yes, she is.
LIONEL
Could you tell her I'll be over soon?
BETSY
No.
LIONEL
Are you jealous?
BETSY
(indignantly)
I said, don't speak to me!
(a pause)
What have I done to deserve this? Why do I have to bump into you no
matter where I go?
LIONEL
You like me. Admit it.
BETSY
I hate your guts. You're the most treacherous, vicious, obnoxious
person I've ever seen.
LIONEL
I'll tell Chris you were talking to a stranger near the Bridge. You
looked at him as though you worshipped him. He's not very good looking,
though. A minor author of sorts, I suppose. May I kiss you?
BETSY
No!
He jumps at her. She jumps back. He chases her all over the stage. They
exit running stage-left.
DE MAISSE
How very amusing. Plots, playhouses, and love affairs. London is
everything they told me it was, and more.
Blackout.
Scene Two. At rise, a room in a Bankside house. A table, a number of
chairs, a window. On the table, a large pile of manuscripts.
Joanne - youthful, energetic, vital, is sitting on the edge of the
table. She is vaguely attractive, somewhat overweight, reddish blond. Lionel
is standing beside her, his head lowered.
JOANNE
Really, Lionel, this is the limit. Your behavior has been quite
unseemly these past six months. You forget who I am. I am the Duchess of
Mulberry. The fact that I allow you to call me Joanne when we are in bed
does not mean that we are equals. Could you at least show me some gratitude
once in a while? I've made you a famous actor. For you sake alone, I'm now
running a theatre company which is operating at a loss. Do you absolutely
have to sleep with every seamstress you meet in the street? Is it positively
beyond your power to skip a few?
LIONEL
She isn't a seamstress.
JOANNE
I'm not discussing her profession right now.
She jumps off the table, paces.
What do I do with you, Lionel? Why do you have to humiliate me like
this? You're a great actor and a very handsome man; you also happen to be a
good lover. A little loyalty would make you almost human.
LIONEL
May I go now?
JOANNE
Go where?
LIONEL
Oh, I don't know. Here and there. To the inn.
JOANNE
And what are you going to do at the inn?
LIONEL
At the inn?
JOANNE
Yes. What are you going to do there?
LIONEL
I don't know. Stuff people usually do at an inn. Drink some beer. Play
a game or two.
JOANNE
There's plenty of beer here, and we could play any game you like.
LIONEL
Well, you know what I mean. I've been working very hard lately, I have
to relax a little bit once in a while. You know that, Duchess. I have a
performance tonight.
JOANNE
Yes, of course.
LIONEL
Will you come?
JOANNE
Of course. I always go to your performances. Fool that I am, I just
can't resist your talent. When you're performing, you have no equals. You're
going to ruin me one of these days.
LIONEL
Your husband has enough money to by half of London.
JOANNE
You leave the Duke out of this, do you hear? Insolent wretch!
Lionel smiles and turns away from her.
JOANNE
Why are you smiling? What's so funny?
(a pause)
Do you think you're the only one in the world? That I couldn't get a
different lover if I wished? Huh?
LIONEL
(suppressing a laugh)
I didn't say that.
JOANNE
Oh, you're so cocky. Well, for your information, some men still take a
vivid interest in me.
LIONEL
Good for you.
JOANNE
You don't believe me, do you?
He shrugs and turns away from her.
Oh, yeah? The Earl of Warwick is madly in love with me.
He turns to her and smiles skeptically.
You don't believe me? Then read this.
She reaches into her bodice and produces a tiny scroll. She hands it to
him. He takes it, opens it, and scans it.
Aloud, if you don't mind. With your skills, you should be able to do
that sonnet justice.
LIONEL
Old Warwick himself wrote this?
She sniffs indignantly.
Didn't know he was a poet.
JOANNE
Love can inspire anyone to become a poet.
Lionel strikes a pose and reads the sonnet with professional clarity.
LIONEL
A thousand chances I would gladly miss
Glory to gain but for thy love alone,
For the opportunity to plant a kiss
Upon thy opalescent collar bone.
So haughty, yet so exquisitely kind,
And so majestic, yet so feminine,
Thy charms are such that one must be quite blind
Not to give in at once. Alas, my sin
Was to allow pretties to have their turn
And let my passion in their sham warmth bask;
For not until I met thee did I learn
The startling truth that youth is but a mask;
Like in a painting once for decades sealed,
Only by age is true beauty revealed.
JOANNE
(triumphantly)
So there! Do you see now what an ungrateful little shit you are?
LIONEL
And it was Warwick himself who wrote this, right?
JOANNE
Why, certainly!
LIONEL
And he dedicated it to you.
JOANNE
Yes.
He returns the scroll to her. He is suddenly pensive. A pause.
LIONEL
(absentmindedly)
Look, there's a rat.
JOANNE
(panicking)
Where? Ah!
She jumps, runs around, and finally hangs from Lionel's neck, lifting
her feet off the floor.
Oh, I can't stand rats! Lionel! Do something!
He laughs, sits her on the table, spreads his arms wide and roars.
LIONEL
There. It's gone.
JOANNE
Stupid brute! This city is so full of them. Oh, Lionel, they frighten
me so.
He laughs, goes up to her.
LIONEL
It's all right. It's gone. See?
JOANNE
Let me catch my breath. Goodness gracious. You don't think it'll come
back, do you?....
He shrugs, chuckles.
All right, go now.
He makes for the door stage-right.
Lionel.
LIONEL
What? Oh.
He returns, kisses her very gently on the lips. She returns the kiss.
For a while, they continue kissing. He runs his hand through her hair,
kisses her neck. She closes her eyes. He takes her hand in his and kisses
her wrist. There is a knock on the door. They disengage. Joanne quickly
straightens her dress and touches her hair.
I'm off.
He quickly presses her to his chest, kisses her on the lips, breaks
away, runs and exits stage-right.
JOANNE
Ahem.... Come in.
Stage-left, enter Julian - a full-bodied, happy man who knows how to
enjoy a good meal. Just now, however, he is rather morose.
JULIAN
My Lady. We have a problem.
JOANNE
Sit down, Julian. No, not in that chair - you'll break it. This one.
Thank you. Well?
JULIAN
Madam, as your theatre manager, I....
JOANNE
Would you like a drink?
JULIAN
Er.... No, thank you.... Well, in fact.... I could use a beer.
He pours himself a mugful. He drinks and grunts appreciatively. He
takes out his hanky and wipes his brow.
Yes. Well. A messenger from Her Majesty came calling this morning.
JOANNE
Go on.
JULIAN
The players have been invited to perform at Court a month from now.
JOANNE
Excellent. So, where's the problem?
JULIAN
There's nothing to perform.
JOANNE
What do you mean?
JULIAN
You know. I'm not much of an expert in these matters. Were it up to me,
I'd just sell it or close it. The company is operating at a huge loss.
JOANNE
That's none of your business, Julian. Please continue.
JULIAN
Well, Duchess, I'd rather run your farms for you again. This theatre
stuff.... Well, all right. Her Majesty wishes to see a new play. So, all the
Romans and Greeks are out.
JOANNE
We perform modern plays as well.
JULIAN
Not too many.
JOANNE
Tamburlaine The Great?
JULIAN
Oh, come on, Lady Mulberry! The company's been playing that piece three
years straight. Everyone at Court knows it by heart. The courtiers
themselves could perform it if you asked them.
JOANNE
But we could give it a new interpretation.
Julian shrugs, sips beer. Joanne sits, goes through the stack of
manuscripts on the table.
There's nothing out there at the moment, really. I've been praying for
a new playwright to come along who could give Lionel an opportunity to shine
in a new role. But you know how playwrights are. They're either too stupid
or too stubborn. They think too highly of themselves, pretending to be men
of letters.
JULIAN
So where's the solution?
JOANNE
We'll have to go with Tamburlaine this time.
JULIAN
May I be frank with you, Duchess?
JOANNE
Please do, Julian.
JULIAN
There are nine playhouses in this city. Only three of them, including
ours, can perform in winter, being as they are indoor establishments. Only
one of these hosts a company called Her Majesty's Men. Ours is the only
theatre that gets tax breaks. We have the best actors. The best costumes.
The best equipment. And yet, ours is the only one operating at a loss. Year
after year, you have to....
JOANNE
We stand for quality.
JULIAN
Oh, quality be damned! Pardon me, Madam. What you really want is a few
comedies, a few genuine English-spirited side-splitting laugh machines that
will get us fans and revenue. Punch and Judy stuff.
JOANNE
Comedy, my dear Julian, can be, contrary to popular beliefs, an
elevated art form. Only Romans could do it justice. An Englishman cannot
write a comedy without slipping into slapstick humor, preposterous
situations, vulgar gestures, and so on. I wouldn't want Lionel to make a
fool of himself out there. It's bad enough that his profession is despised.
The last time the Earl of Warwick visited our theatre....
JULIAN
Duchess.
JOANNE
Yes?
JULIAN
Please, not so loud.
JOANNE
Not so loud? Why, what did I....
JULIAN
The name you just mentioned.
JOANNE
Oh?
(quietly)
You mean?...
JULIAN
Yes. He's been found guilty of something or other, I think. There are
rumors....
JOANNE
Really? Oh, my. Who could have thought!... He, of all people. If there
was a perfectly loyal gentlemen in the whole kingdom....
JULIAN
Please, Madam.
There is a knock on the door.
JOANNE
(without turning away from him)
Come in!
Stage-left, enter William - medium height, thin, somewhat awkward, hair
dark, eyes blue. If he wore a beard, it would be reddish. His voice is an
unconvincing high baritone. He has a manuscript under his arm.
WILLIAM
Oh, hello.... I'm sorry.
JOANNE
Oh, it's you. Let me find your play for you.
She goes through the pile of manuscripts. William stands awkwardly in
the middle of the stage. Julian sips beer and regards William amiably.
JULIAN
A young aspiring author, I presume?
WILLIAM
Er, yes.
JULIAN
Well, well. Tough out there, isn't it?
WILLIAM
Yes.
Julian rises and walks over to William, places his hand on the other
man's shoulder.
JULIAN
Just keep doing it. Just don't ever give up.
WILLIAM
I.... have.... a family to support.
JULIAN
Yes, I understand. It's very tough out there. But, with enough
patience, you'll get there, if you have it in you, that is. There's so much
competition out there these days. Everyone writes plays, but there are only
so many theatres, you know. But, if I were you, I wouldn't despair. You have
to believe in yourself.
JOANNE
Ah, here it is.
She hands William the manuscript. William accepts it but drops the
other one in the process. Pages scatter about the stage. He stoops to pick
them up, placing the returned manuscript on the floor. He gathers the
scattered pages hastily, briefly glancing at the text, making certain they
are in right order. Presently, he gives this up, embarrassed, and starts
lumping them together anyhow.
WILLIAM
You've read it, then, Madam?
JOANNE
Yes.
WILLIAM
Did you....
(stops gathering the pages, looks up at her)
....like it?
(a pause; tentatively)
Even a little bit?
JOANNE
It was interesting to read. I'm afraid we won't be able to produce it
here.
(a pause)
To be honest, I found it fairly confusing, and.... if it's meant to be
a combination of farce and satirical historical drama, then.... I'm afraid
it fails on both accounts.
(a pause)
I don't know. As a study of decadence and the morality of the rich,
there is very little of substance to get hold of. You know what I mean. The
structure, for instance, is inevitably faulty, simply because the themes of
power and money are - how should I put it? - meandered around rather
than.... rather than fully developed and explored. You see, if your piece
were to be more succinct, then the writing might be allowed to focus more
on.... on character and plot, which would help us find the heart of the
drama. As it is, I found it very difficult to.... to find.... in the current
draft.
A long pause. William resumes gathering the pages.
You could try other theatres.
WILLIAM
Yes, but.... er....
JOANNE
At any rate, I wish you luck.
WILLIAM
May I.... offer you another play?
JOANNE
Another one?
WILLIAM
Er.... yes. Another one.
JOANNE
(shrugs)
If you like.
He picks it up from the floor and hands it to her. She places it next
to the pile on the table.
JOANNE
I must warn you, though, that it'll be some time before I get to it.
We're so busy here.
WILLIAM
Yeah?... All right.... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take up so much of
your time. Er.... Good day, then, Madam. My lord, your servant.
He turns, stumbles, walks to the left, bumps into Betsy on his way out.
Oh, I'm very sorry. I seem to be despicably clumsy today.
BETSY
(staring at him)
It's all right.
WILLIAM
Well, if you'd excuse me now.
He squeezes by her and exits. She stares after him.
JULIAN
Funny fellow.
JOANNE
Yes.... So, do we still have a problem? Sit down, Betsy, don't stand by
the window, you'll catch pneumonia.
JULIAN
Excellent beer! There's nothing like a good sip of beer from time to
time. Cheers you up, it does.
JOANNE
Talk to me, Julian.
JULIAN
Well, yes, the problem's still there. We wouldn't want to bore Her
Majesty, would we?
JOANNE
So what do you propose?
JULIAN
I don't know. You're the doctor, I guess. I beg your pardon, Duchess.
Well, actually, why not give that guy a chance?
JOANNE
What guy?
JULIAN
The one who was here just now. Seems like a good sort.
JOANNE
Are you going to tell Her Majesty that? That he's a good sort? Surely
that will make everything quite all right.
JULIAN
Why, what's wrong with him?
JOANNE
He can't write, that's what's wrong. He doesn't know the first thing
about theatre. And his verse is simply awful. You know?
JULIAN
Well, does it scan, at least?
JOANNE
Scan? What.... What do you mean by scan?
JULIAN
Well. I'm not sure. I've heard the term used a few times. Seems that
good verse is supposed to scan.
JOANNE
I don't know. I don't remember hearing it. Anyway, what he thinks is
blank verse is really street talk. I remember now - that other piece of his.
Sounded like common people talking.
JULIAN
What's wrong with that?
JOANNE
Well, if one wanted to hear common people talk, one could just as well
go out in the street and listen to them. There's no admission fee. And his
story is so complicated, no one would be able to follow it. We can't afford
people leaving in the middle of a performance.
A pause. She opens at random the manuscript William left with her and
browses it, turning pages fiercely.
JULIAN
Well, I suppose you're right. Although we haven't had a full house in
years....
JOANNE
(browsing)
Same thing. He's just no good. Here, read this passage.
JULIAN
Well, you know, Madam, I'm not much of a reader. Can't read very well,
in fact. Reading is not my thing, I guess.
JOANNE
Oh. Well. Now, Betsy....
BETSY
Hi, Mom.
JOANNE
Julian, you'll have to excuse us. Something important must have
happened. She never visits me here during the day.
JULIAN
About the play, then?
JOANNE
Drop by later, we'll talk some more.
Julian hesitates, then rises and shuffles out.
BETSY
Is he upset?
JOANNE
Yes, as usual. A very fussy person. What's up?
She looks through the manuscripts on the table.
BETSY
I'm pregnant.
JOANNE
What!
BETSY
Just checking. You're paying attention. Good.
JOANNE
Don't ever scare me like that!
BETSY
Give me some money. I want to go to the fair.
JOANNE
What are you going to do there?
BETSY
Where, at the fair?
JOANNE
Yes. What are you going to do there?
BETSY
Well, I don't know. Look around. Have some fun. Take my mind off
things. I really miss going to the fair. Father used to take me to the fair
a lot when I was a kid. He doesn't seem to like me anymore. My views are
much too advanced for him, I suppose.
JOANNE
You're a grown-up now, Betsy. Fairs are boring. Besides, now that
you're a lady, it wouldn't befit you to mingle with commoners as much as you
used to.
BETSY
Speaking of commoners, I'd like to join a theatre company.
JOANNE
Will you please be serious?
BETSY
I am serious.
A pause. Joanne rises, walks over, strokes Betsy's hair gently.
JOANNE
What is it? A tooth ache? When's your period due? Why are you so moody?
BETSY
Mom - will you please listen?
JOANNE
Yes. Tell me.
BETSY
Read my coral lips. I. Want. To. Join. A. Theatre. Company. Got it now?
A pause.
JOANNE
You're mad.
BETSY
There's no cure for that. Anything else?
JOANNE
My own daughter.
BETSY
I can always change my name if it's our family's reputation you're
concerned about; don't worry, I'm not as inconsiderate as you seem to think.
JOANNE
But you're a girl.
BETSY
Yes, I already know that. I'm also clever and rather attractive, and
some men devour me with their eyes when I pass them in the street. Anything
else?
JOANNE
Girls don't belong in the theatre.
(a pause)
Oh! I see now. Have you been seeing him?
BETSY
I....
JOANNE
I thought I had positively forbidden you ever to see that man.
(a pause)
Well? Aren't you going to answer?
BETSY
I don't understand.
A pause.
JOANNE
Betsy, please get a grip. I've been putting up with your whims for
centuries. But even my angelic patience has its limits. I'm not exactly
restricting your freedom or anything like that. I'm not old-fashioned. If it
weren't for me, you'd be married to a certain man named Robert. The nephew
of.... never mind. I persuaded your father to refuse him. I made him invent
the most ridiculous excuse. I knew you wouldn't be happy with that man. But
proprieties must be observed. Our family will not be talked about, you
understand?
BETSY
The whole city knows about you and Lionel, Mom.
Joanne slaps her across the face.
JOANNE
(through her teeth)
They may know about him, but at least they're not laughing. What they
know they keep to themselves. You'd do well to imitate them in that.
(a pause)
You're completely out of hand, Elizabeth. If I told your father what
you just told me, - about this theatre thing, I mean - he'd lock you up
until your wedding day.
Betsy rubs her cheek, sits.
BETSY
I asked Chris once about....
JOANNE
(thundering)
I absolutely forbid you to mention that name in my house. I knew it.
That's where all these ideas come from. That mocker! That blasphemer!
Betsy makes an impatient gesture.
BETSY
(with malice)
So, you're allowed, but I'm not, is that it? I know why you hate Chris.
You're jealous. You know he's in love with me. You envy me. Your own little
affair is a farce.
JOANNE
Is that how you're going to talk to your mother?
(suddenly softening, going over to Betsy)
Please. You've been going to the theatre a great deal, it seems. Love
is a playwright's invention, a young wench's folly, a fool's delusion.
Enter Chris.
BETSY
Chris!
JOANNE
Of all the impertinence in the world!
CHRIS
(clownishly)
Peace upon this humble abode! Duchess, you here! Permit me to tell you
that you are, in your own relentlessly unscrupulous way, even more entirely
beautiful just now than you were yesterday, and the day before. I would most
certainly compromise you sexually here and now were my heart not already
engaged elsewhere.
Joanne looks around, then throws her head back haughtily.
JOANNE
Please, sir, you must leave this place immediately.
CHRIS
But you can no longer call this den of thieves your own, Duchess.
Betsy giggles.
JOANNE
What do you mean, sir?
CHRIS
These walls - this filthy floor, those ugly chairs - everything here
belongs to posterity! My new and brilliant play shall bestow immortality
upon this unworthy place; for words, my dear lady, are mightier than marble
and sandstone and brick and mortar; for words live in memories, which are
not prone to oxidation, but are immune to cannon balls and more reliable
than.... than.... Betsy knows the rest. Betsy knows so many things, I
sometimes find myself wondering whether she should be let loose the way you
let her loose. She's a regular walking encyclopedia. A member of the Secret
Service I'm sure would be delighted to have a few words with her someplace
dark and cozy.
JOANNE
Mr. Chris, I ask you to leave this house. Now.
She rises and leaves quickly stage-left. Betsy laughs.
BETSY
Stop making fun of her, you silly brute! You know it only annoys her
more.
CHRIS
(laughing)
I can't help it.
BETSY
She's my mother.
CHRIS
Yes, I know. Everything about you is special, even your mother.
He embraces and kisses her on the lips.
BETSY
(disengaging)
Chris, are you ever going to grow up?
CHRIS
(thinks about this)
To know that that woman - ignorant, pompous, didactic, hypocritical,
vain - is running a theatre company! decides what plays to put on! which to
reject! I'm sorry, Betsy, your mother's a riot. Anyway, I have something to
propose, so why don't you sit down and listen.
BETSY
Are you....
CHRIS
What?
A pause. Betsy sits down and lowers her head. Chris remains standing,
his left hand on the hilt of his sword.
BETSY
Have you decided then?
CHRIS
Decided what?
BETSY
To marry me?
Chris laughs.
Why are you laughing?
CHRIS
A poor gentleman of obscure origin. A dash of Irish blood. A match for
a duke's daughter? No way, Betsy. Marriage between us is quite impossible at
the moment. Something better than that. We're going to France.
Betsy, downcast, turns her back to him. Some time passes before the
last word takes effect.
BETSY
France!
CHRIS
(swooping on her)
Yes. Don't worry, it's not very far, it's just south of the Channel.
The Earl of Warwick sets off tomorrow, and we're joining him.
(embraces her from behind, his chin on her shoulder)
A wonderful fellow, this Warwick person. I visited him last night; we
had a pleasant talk, just the two of us, over a jug of ale. I once rendered
him a little service, so he's offering to repay me in the same coin.
BETSY
Why? Why do you want to go there?
CHRIS
Oh, I don't know. To have some fun. They say there's a lot of fun in
France, what with the Huguenots and the Catholics slashing one another's
throats and stuff. There are theatres too, and it's generally warmer down
there. And no fog.
BETSY
Chris, I'm sorry, I think you're mad. What are you going to do in
France?
CHRIS
I'll get a job as a coachman. Or maybe I'll become a pimp. Or sell
silver spoons for newborns. What the hell is the difference? Besides, Lord
Warwick promises to cover whatever expenses we might run up.
BETSY
What about your writing?
CHRIS
Oh, I'll go on writing of course. What's to prevent me?
BETSY
You don't know any French.
CHRIS
A lot of people in Paris speak passable English. Besides, what
difference does it make where my stuff gets rejected - here or elsewhere?
BETSY
Chris, I'm not going. I don't know whether you're joking or not, but
I'm not going. My place is here, not in France. Who knows what the French
might think of me? They may not even find me attractive. I'm used to turning
heads in the street - that's not much, I know, but what more do I have?
CHRIS
(dismissing, somewhat uneasily, her last argument)
Are you going to talk about your silly whims again? Look, girls don't
act in theatres. That's absurd.
BETSY
It's not a whim. It's a dream, Chris, a beautiful dream. You're a man,
you'll never understand.
A pause.
CHRIS
A beautiful dream indeed. Even if you could pass yourself off as a boy,
you'd find yourself in the worst company imaginable. You know nothing about
actors.
BETSY
I know enough.
(solemnly)
The actor is supposed to convey to the world that which what great
authors have written. It's up to him to understand the author's intentions
and to personify his ideas. See? I know.
CHRIS
An author's work has to do with neither intentions nor ideas.
BETSY
Are you saying that authors are too stupid and shallow to have any
ideas?
CHRIS
I'm saying that good authors, when they're writing, are above such mere
trifles as ideas. Their chief concern is harmony.
BETSY
A bit over my head, that. However, if you were right about authors
being such elevated creatures, wouldn't it make the actor's responsibility
even greater?
CHRIS
No.
BETSY
No?
CHRIS
No.
(a pause)
Look at what the Great Bitch thinks of actors. In some of the
ordinances, they're lumped together with rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy
beggars. And for once I think she's quite right.
BETSY
Oh, you're insufferable, Chris! You're much too arrogant for your own
good. You shouldn't disdain everyone, especially not actors. After all, you
yourself write plays for them.
CHRIS
I write for audiences, not actors. An actor is a despicable creature,
devoid of personality - the better the actor, the meaner and smaller the
individual. For, in order to fill yourself with someone else, you have to
squeeze your own self out, to the last drop, and the less there is to
squeeze out, the easier the job. An actor will go a long way to achieve very
little; he will cheat, plot, betray, and renounce in order to eat, drink,
have shelter and not work. Actors are prone to vanity; they will give up the
ideal of a lifetime for a minute of applause. They are conceited; they think
it is they who are poetic, not their lines. They are dull; they have no
taste; they cannot distinguish between a good work and a bad one and are
more inclined to act in a vulgar hopeless farce than in a subtle comedy
because they find hopelessness more congenial to them. They are nauseatingly
conservative; they will refuse to accept the slightest innovation because it
defies the formula they are accustomed to. They are not Christians; they
venerate the dead author who cannot laugh at them and defile the living one
to keep him in his misery lest he should expose their pettiness. They are
cruel, heartless monsters; they repeatedly and with mad abandon betray their
own kind.
BETSY
I do not believe you. I'm sorry. I think you're bitter because they
keep rejecting your plays.
A pause.
CHRIS
I'm sorry. Really, Betsy, I'm very sorry. Do what you like, I have no
right to meddle in your affairs.
BETSY
Look, it's just for a little while. Let me just try it out, see how it
feels. Afterwards, if you wish, we could still go to France. A woman's
beauty is supposed to be universal. Who knows, they might like me there.
Chris hangs his head and remains motionless for a while. Betsy, sensing
at last that she has hurt his feelings, places her hand on his shoulder,
looks him in the eye. He turns away.
CHRIS
Yes, all right.
(makes an effort, livens)
By the way, there's a new production in town, I think we should see it.
Would you like to come? The premiere is tomorrow. It's by one of those
pompous asses who imitate the Greeks. Maybe I'll be able to talk Wobbly into
coming along.
BETSY
You're going to introduce me to your friend?
CHRIS
Eh? Oh, yes. Certainly. He can be loads of fun when he's in the mood.
BETSY
Tomorrow, then?
CHRIS
Tomorrow at noon, meet me at the usual place.
BETSY
Could we meet earlier?
CHRIS
No. I have to visit good old Warwick and tell him he'll be travelling
alone. In the meantime, would you like to take a walk along the Bankside?
Betsy laughs happily.
BETSY
You're going to take me to the fair?
CHRIS
Of course.
She throws herself on his neck.
BETSY
You're so good to me, Chris.
They kiss. Blackout.
Scene Three. William's rooms, shabby and cold. Stage-center, against
the backdrop, a basin. Stage-right, a table with two chairs, notes on it, an
ink well, a pen. Enter William, a blanket wrapped up over his clothes. He is
shivering.
WILLIAM
Why does it have to be so cold? Where's my handkerchief?
(sniffs)
This is a disaster, really.
(walks over to the basin, looks in it)
Ah, there it is. Let's get it out.
(puts his hand in the basin)
It's frozen over, damn it. I think I have another handkerchief
somewhere, but I have no idea where I put it.
(sniffs)
Let's try to get this one out somehow. I could stay home, of course.
Problem is, I'm hungry, and there isn't a penny anywhere. I must go and
borrow some money.
He exits and returns immediately with an ice pick. He applies it to the
ice in the basin. The effort produces no immediate results. A thought
strikes him. He abandons the pick, goes to the table and looks over a sheet
of paper on it.
The grocer refuses to extend my credit. He's a very crude fellow. Well,
grocers usually are. I tried explaining it to him. Told him that I'd pay him
back as soon as they paid me my wages, on which they are in arrears for two
months. No use. He told me all players were liars. He has a point there, of
course. But that's still no reason to starve them. Misapplied.... by
action.... dignified. Nonsense. The rhyme is rather ugly. Ugly, ugly. Now,
let's see. Dignified.... prophesied, lied, bide, guide, side, wide, cried,
intensified. Ride.
Enter a figure wrapped up to its eyes in black. William turns around
and jumps.
Shit! Who the hell are you!
CHRIS
(unwrapping)
Take it easy, Wobbly. It's only me.
WILLIAM
Scared the living daylights out of me! What's the big idea, anyway?
....Ride. I'm trying to come up with a good rhyme here. Why don't you ever
knock? I don't mind much, but it's ridiculous, in a way, how people keep
invading this place as though it were a player's hotel or something. Well,
in fact, that's what it is. Still.... What's the big idea? Huh? Hide....
belied....
CHRIS
To what word? Man, it's cold out there. No fire in this place, of
course.
(rubs his hands together)
....To what word?
WILLIAM
Huh? Oh. Misapplied.
CHRIS
(breathing on his hands)
Misapplied? Let's see.... Bride, chide, eyed....
WILLIAM
Eyed?
CHRIS
You know. Eyed.
He goes up to William and eyes him exaggeratedly.
Eyed.
WILLIAM
Oh. I see. Eyed. Like, a thousand-eyed dragon.
CHRIS
No, just the past tense of the verb. You know. To eye. As in eyeing
someone.
He eyes William again. William thinks hard about it.
WILLIAM
Oh.
Chris turns away, shrugs, makes a wide gesture encompassing most of the
known Universe.
CHRIS
Stride, pride, countryside, preside, tide.
WILLIAM
Snide, slide, allied, homicide, purified.
CHRIS
Cowhide, plied, belied.
WILLIAM
Maybe the critics are right, after all. Maybe there aren't enough
rhymes in the English language.
CHRIS
I wouldn't listen to the critics if I were you. Critics can't rhyme in
any language. And I'll bet they have fireplaces in their houses!
WILLIAM
Glide, applied.
CHRIS
Dignified.
WILLIAM
Dignified! Now, there's a thought! You really are a genius, Chris.
(Chris throws back his head in mock acknowledgement)
I would have never thought of that. Dignified. I don't think much of
dignity these days, I guess. Now, let's see. Virtue itself turns vice, being
misapplied. And vice sometime's by action.... but, whaddya know. That's what
I had here in the first place. Dignified.
CHRIS
Sounds ugly.
WILLIAM
Doesn't it? Well, no matter. I've had it with this piece. You know? I
mean, one can go on editing the same piece forever; but what's going to
happen with all the other pieces in the meantime?
CHRIS
I think I'll be moving to France soon.
WILLIAM
I mean, editing is fine only to a point. I usually overdo it in my
sonnets.... France? Why France, of all places?
Chris turns his back to him, stares at the audience. William is waiting
patiently. Chris lowers his head and closes his eyes.
CHRIS
What did you and Betsy talk about the other day?
WILLIAM
Strange country, France.
(frowns)
Betsy? Who's Betsy?
CHRIS
The girl you were talking with on the Bankside a couple of days ago.
WILLIAM
I.... Oh, her name is Betsy, then? Not very attractive, a bit
bashful?... She's rather intelligent, I think.
CHRIS
I suppose she is. Wobbly, in all honesty, you don't sleep with her? I
need to know.
WILLIAM
She told me all about her last trip to Italy. Er.... What? Sleep with
her? No. I.... What a minute. You?
Chris shakes his head, composes himself, turns to William.
CHRIS
By the way, someone was looking for you today....
A pause.
WILLIAM
Really?
CHRIS
Yes. That fellow, the Blackfriars player. You know, tall, blond, with a
crooked smile. Lionel.
WILLIAM
Lionel, Lionel.... Why?
CHRIS
Beats me. Why don't you change your lodgings? This place is horrible.
WILLIAM
What kind of place would you like to see me living in?
CHRIS
I don't know. A warmer one.
WILLIAM
Africa?
CHRIS
Within the city limits, I mean.
WILLIAM
Yes, and hire a chambermaid, a cook, and a few servants....
CHRIS
I realize that you're short on funds, but man, surely this isn't the
best your money can get you?
WILLIAM
No, it's more than I can afford, in fact.
CHRIS
Oh, stop.
WILLIAM
Get a grip, Chris. You're talking to one of Lord Chamberlain's Men.
CHRIS
Still....
WILLIAM
Whenever there's a plague scare, we are the first to be shut down by
the authorities. The conditions are disastrous, we have to charge less per
seat than any other theatre in the city. We have no stage machinery. We
don't provide true spectacles - we have to depend almost entirely on
dialogue. Most of the actors are mediocre. We have no roof - on winter
afternoons, we're lucky when we get half the house filled.
CHRIS
Did you try submitting your stuff to other theatres?
WILLIAM
Yes. This is the fifty-forth time someone's asked me this question over
the past week. I've been counting.
A pause.
CHRIS
I see. Well, at least you're not serving the Great Bitch. You'd have it
all, a theatre of your own, servants, chambermaids. Unfortunately, there's
always a price to pay. You wouldn't feel much like writing.
He goes over to the window, looks out.
WILLIAM
Now, where was I when you interrupted me, as is your ghastly habit?
CHRIS
In fact, I came to invite you to see a show tomorrow.
WILLIAM
What show?
CHRIS
A new play at the Blackfriars, with a lot of wailing. Some fashionable
imitator of the Roman style. My treat.
WILLIAM
Why do you bother going to those shows?
CHRIS
They're the easiest way to build one's confidence. When I'm down, when
I'm feeling blue, when I begin to doubt myself, I pay the admission fee and
see a piece of modern theatre. I come home almost cured, having satisfied
myself that no matter how hopeless I might deem my poor self, there are
people out there who are more hopeless still. And then there are women.
WILLIAM
Eh?
CHRIS
Oh, just a thought. There's a woman standing across the street who
resembles your wife rather closely, and she seems to be looking for
something or someone. Which reminds me - your wife was looking for you.
WILLIAM
She's here?
Chris shrugs, walks away from the window. William stands transfixed.
CHRIS
Why do I always forget what her name is? Something abominably trivial.
Mary Jane? Listen, that sonnet you wanted to show me....
WILLIAM
My wife?
He rushes to the window, looks out, jumps away, turns pale.
CHRIS
You look troubled.
WILLIAM
Please, Chris. You have to do something. I can't see her just now.
CHRIS
Well, you could slip out the back door and take a long walk.
WILLIAM
Brilliant!
He rushes to the door. Suddenly, he stops.
CHRIS
What now?
WILLIAM
Ah, blithering idiot! The hanky!
He dashes to the basin, picks up the ice pick and makes a feverish
attempt to extricate the hanky.
CHRIS
May I....
WILLIAM
I can't go out without my hanky. It's beastly cold out, and my nose
will start running immediately.
CHRIS
You're so vain, Wobbly.
WILLIAM
Just don't even ask.
Enter Anne.
ANNE
William!
A painful pause. William sighs ruefully, shrugs, looks at her.
WILLIAM
Why don't you ever knock?
ANNE
What!
CHRIS
Listen, guys, I think I'll just drop by later. William, remember, we're
going to see that play.
WILLIAM
Yes, all right.
Chris smiles, bows to Anne.
CHRIS
Madam, your servant.
Anne more or less ignores him. He wraps himself up and exits
stage-left.
ANNE
Aren't you glad to see me?
A pause.
WILLIAM
Yes, very glad.
ANNE
Give me a kiss?
He walks over to her, hesitates, kisses her. She throws herself on his
neck.
ANNE
Oh, William, I missed you so much. The kids miss you too.
WILLIAM
How's Suzanne?
ANNE
(disengaging, pouting)
She's all right.
(a pause)
Why does it always have to be Suzanne? Always! Never Hamnet, never
Judith, always Suzanne! She's the least amiable of the three. She's naughty.
She's wayward. Whenever I try to remonstrate with her, she always says,
"Daddy would only approve," or "Daddy told you to stay out of these
matters." She's intolerable.
WILLIAM
(smiles)
She's lovely.
A pause.
ANNE
Oh, all right. She's lovely. But she misses you too. It's all your
fault.
WILLIAM
My fault! You're the one who took them away.
ANNE
You forced me. Do you imagine we could live in this dump? Look at this
place. I'll bet you have rats here. It's cold, it's filthy. The children
need fresh air and at least one square meal every day.
WILLIAM
Yes. I suppose they do.
ANNE
I just don't understand you. What is it that you find so wonderful
about this city?
WILLIAM
There are no theatres in the countryside.
ANNE
Yes, there are. There are touring companies.
WILLIAM
They don't accept outsiders' manuscripts.
ANNE
Oh, and I suppose that here, in this city, people just snap up those
manuscripts, just seize them even before you finish them, and pay you in
gold for them. William, you must face it at last. You've been at it for
years. No one needs your writing. It's good, it's amusing, but it just
doesn't fit the requirements.
WILLIAM
I do get produced.
ANNE
Yes, by a company that doesn't make enough money even to pay its own
actors. William, darling, you must leave this place and come back with me.
Your father has agreed to give you a job at one of his shops.
WILLIAM
Oh, so you've been talking to Dad, haven't you?
ANNE
Who do you think has been supporting us all this time? Do you imagine
that four people can subsist on the miserly sums you send us from time to
time; that these sums can keep us fed and clothed and sheltered? William, if
you still love me, even just a little bit, please come with me.
WILLIAM
You know, Anne, each time you bring up this lovely topic, it only makes
our rift more obvious.
ANNE
You don't love me anymore?
A pause.
WILLIAM
I was a boy of eighteen, and I met a woman, vital, open-minded, sweet,
perfectly capable of thinking for herself. I fell in love instantly,
irrevocably. Every morning we woke up smiling, both of us. We were children
of light. Then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, this woman began to change.
I was quite puzzled at first to discover that we had different value
systems. Quite sure of her natural charms, she decided it was no longer
necessary to listen when I had something to say, to look when I pointed
something out to her in the street, to smile when I complimented her, to
feel special when I planted an eager kiss on her gentle foot. To suffer when
I suffered, to dream when I dreamt, to cover her face when I gnashed my
teeth in frustration. She developed certain traits that would be natural in
a merchant's wife but were completely alien to my spirit. Suddenly, our one
world cracked down the middle, and the two halves started drifting away from
each other. Everything we once shared vanished. I flatter myself that my own
value system never really changed much. I loved that Anne - the sweet,
beautiful Anne of rainy mornings and forest murmurs, crossing a field with a
graceful gait; this Anne - no longer caring what I think of her appearance,
no longer bothering to conceal her mundane purposes, this Anne who refuses
to give me another chance while planning and restructuring my life for me
behind my back, conferring with my father, this Anne I never loved.
A pause.
ANNE
I don't quite see why you think I'm a different woman now because I
hate this place you live in.
WILLIAM
Then by George go and see and eye doctor! This place is all I can
afford at this point, and it's much better than most places in which today's
authors and actors live. Here, when I get out in the street, I hear human
speech instead of my father's advice; I see people's faces instead of cows
and pigs; this is my world, and I'm sorry it has failed to become yours too.
ANNE
I've always been afraid of this, William.
WILLIAM
Oh?
ANNE
Did it ever occur to you that, in marriage, compromise was a necessary
component? Perhaps the most important one?
WILLIAM
I thought it was trust.
ANNE
(not listening)
Throughout our relationship, I've always been the one who sacrificed,
yielded, and obeyed. You only think of yourself; you never asked me what I
wanted in this life; what my dreams were. You were selfish enough to presume
that my sole purpose was to assist you in attaining fame. For you sake, I
abandoned my friends, left my education unfinished, learned to be a quick
and good cook and housekeeper. I too used to have ambitions, but they
weren't important to you; so, I abandoned them.
WILLIAM
I never asked you to do any of that.
ANNE
Oh, no?
WILLIAM
(firmly)
No.
A pause.
ANNE
We would have never survived otherwise. I always washed and sowed and
took care of the children and cooked. You were always out drinking, or
seeing plays, or conversing with suspicious characters. The only time you'd
be home was when you thought you had to write something. And your acting
career is a joke. You know it's just a sinecure for you, yet another way to
amuse yourself. You know you're a lousy actor, William.
WILLIAM
You remind me of street peddlers who force dubious services on you and
then demand to be paid for them.
ANNE
You don't have to insult me!
WILLIAM
Our last four years, Anne. Remember them? Each time I came home, I
would be subjected to an atmosphere of quiet hostility. Yes, you always
liked my writing - but you imagined, as you still do, that it just
materialized out of nothing, that no work, no considerable effort ever went
into it. Each time I came home, you'd demand that I immediately start doing
something - some chore, and then take offence because I wouldn't. You'd take
offence because I didn't pay any attention to the children. You'd take
offence because I threw my clothes all over the place. Because I didn't want
to talk to you. Because I didn't want dinner. You'd pout and refuse to speak
to me, and I would have to leave again, because writing is the kind of
business in which it is impossible to accomplish anything when there is
hostility around you, especially when it's directed at you personally. You
asked me whether it ever occurred to me that compromise was important. Well,
I ask you, did it ever occur to you that in the past ten years, each time I
tried to work at home, I never wrote a passage without being interrupted by
you, interrupted with a most innocent smile? that you have an amazing
ability to come up with the stupidest questions or comments whenever I sit
down to work? that each time, each fucking time, Anne, you would apologize
for the interruption, and would go on apologizing until there was no
question of my getting some of the concentration back?
ANNE
(savagely)
Well, I'm sorry!
WILLIAM
You don't need to do it even now.
ANNE
A spare room for you to work in would have solved, can still solve,
every problem in this family. The country air....
WILLIAM
Men are so made, Anne, that, even if I could manage to keep you and
your voice out of that room, and forbade you to ever knock on its door in
order to call my attention to something or other, I would probably feel
guilty each time I entered it.
ANNE
You will regret this.
WILLIAM
I know.
ANNE
Is there another woman in your life?
A pause. Anne goes up to him and looks him in the eye. He is silent.
There is, isn't there? Tell me.
He grabs the ice pick and begins working it furiously. Presently, he
injures his finger. He cries out and sucks on it. Anne turns sharply and
goes off, almost bumping into Betsy as she exits.
I beg your pardon.
(to William)
If you change your mind, you're always welcome at our house. By the
way, do you have any money?
WILLIAM
Er.... why?
ANNE
I need some to get back. Well, never mind, I'll ask my sister. She's
only a few blocks from here; she just married a grocer.
BETSY
I'm sorry.
Anne exits. Betsy, dressed as a boy, scans the room, takes a deep
breath. She looks at William and suddenly gasps and covers her mouth in
horror. William looks at her, still sucking his finger.
I'm.... I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?
(a pause)
Are you one of Lord Chamberlain's men?
WILLIAM
Yes.
BETSY
I....
WILLIAM
What do you want, boy? People just aren't tactful anymore.
BETSY
I'd like to join your company.
WILLIAM
Then you must speak to the manager.
BETSY
But there's no one else in the whole house. Everyone's gone out.
WILLIAM
Yeah.... Well....
He turns to her, squints, stops sucking his finger, goes to the table.
BETSY
It's just that I really want to be an actor. It's very important to me,
you see.
WILLIAM
(not looking at her; absent-mindedly)
Well, well.
BETSY
I'd like to try out for your company. Please, may I?
WILLIAM
(absently)
Yeah, all right.
BETSY
So, what do I do?
WILLIAM
(turns to her)
Well, normally they'd give you a page from a play, and you'd read it
aloud, and they'd see whether you could act or not.
(giggles)
BETSY
May I do that now?
WILLIAM
What? Oh.
(suppresses a laugh)
I'm sorry, I'm not really into it just now. Could you come back later?
BETSY
Please, sir. I may not have the courage later. I'm very nervous even
now.
WILLIAM
Oh, well.
He picks a page from the pile on the table at random, hands it to her,
goes to the basin, takes the pick, puts it down again.
BETSY
(looking at the page)
You want me to read this?
WILLIAM
Yeah. Go ahead.
He turns away, goes over to the table. Presently, he picks up a
manuscript and stares at it.
BETSY
(somewhat puzzled)
Dear William. I'm afraid that we will have to disappoint you again by
turning the script down and by saying that we don't feel your work is suited
to our theatre. This play is so labyrinthine in terms of plot and narrative
that it's impossible to get a hold of what is going on, a confusion which
was not helped by a lack of internal logic and a somewhat liberally
interpreted pentameter. I'm sorry to disappoint you again. However, I would
suggest that you try attending some workshops which might help to develop
your work and to establish what works and what doesn't dramatically. Yours
Sincerely.... er....
(stammers)
Joanne Coleridge.... Duchess of Mulberry.
William drops the manuscript on the table. He frowns, walks over to
Betsy, snatches the letter from her.
WILLIAM
Give me that.
(scans it)
Oh. The lady's been quick this time. Poor Romeo.
(as an afterthought, shrugging)
Stupid bitch.
Betsy puts her palm to her mouth. William laughs, crumples the letter,
goes over to the table, picks out another sheet.
Here. This may be better in terms of grammar, if anything.
Betsy accepts the sheet, looks over it. He says without looking at her,
With a voice like that, you'll be assigned women's parts most of the
time.
BETSY
I understand that. I wouldn't mind.
WILLIAM
Have you acted before?
BETSY
Er.... no.
WILLIAM
How old are you?
BETSY
Seventeen.
WILLIAM
How's your memory? Can you memorize lines quickly?
BETSY
(looking up from the sheet)
I.... Actually.... I haven't tried.
WILLIAM
Sit down.
She does. He looks at her calmly. She smiles shyly.
BETSY
Why are you looking at me like that?
WILLIAM
Where were you born?
BETSY
(promptly, showing determination)
In Wales.
WILLIAM
West Country, eh? I see. Do you know any Latin?
BETSY
(promptly)
Some.
WILLIAM
Parents living?
BETSY
(promptly)
Yes.
WILLIAM
Do you drink much?
BETSY
(promptly)
No.
WILLIAM
When did you have your last period?
BETSY
(promptly)
Two weeks ago.
A pause. She realizes her blunder and is about to protest. He
interrupts her quickly by placing his hand on hers.
WILLIAM
Please.
He walks over to the window, looks out.
BETSY
I'm very sorry, sir.
WILLIAM
Why this particular company, pray? Aren't there better companies in
this city?
BETSY
(on the verge of tears)
I thought I'd have to start somewhere.
WILLIAM
At the bottom. Eh?
BETSY
I'm very sorry I've taken up so much of your time.
She rises, goes to the door stage-right, carrying the sheet with her
absent-mindedly.
WILLIAM
Stop.
BETSY
It's all right.
WILLIAM
Stop!
He rushes after her, grabs her by the arm. He drags her back to the
chair, forces her to sit down.
Sometimes things are done best when they are done on a whim. What's
theatre life but a network of quirks? Poor Anne, noble Anne, brave Anne.
You're the girl I met at the Bridge.
BETSY
Yes, and I'm really sorry I interrupted you in the middle of
something....
WILLIAM
Yes, I was trying to figure out how much money I could get for my hat.
BETSY
(joyously)
Really?
WILLIAM
Yes.
BETSY
(relieved)
And I thought you were composing poetry, so I thought, oh my, I must
have ruined a masterpiece just now! Oh, I'm so glad....
WILLIAM
(suspiciously)
How did you know I was a poet?
BETSY
Oh, I can usually tell these things. You see a person talking to
himself without moving his lips. The absent look. The head is thrown back a
little bit. People keep bumping into him, and he doesn't turn around to tell
them off....
WILLIAM
I usually do.... Oh, but that's Chris! That's exactly his habit. He
always composes in the street.
BETSY
Chris?
(suddenly cautious, blushing)
You know Chris?
WILLIAM
Not exactly. Only Chris really knows Chris. But we are acquainted. You
must be Betsy. He told me you were a bit eccentric.
BETSY
(suspiciously)
What else did he tell you about me?
WILLIAM
Oh, lots of things. However, let us continue our little experiment.
It's getting interesting.
He paces, pondering. Suddenly, he runs to the table, looks through the
pile of manuscripts, extracts a page. He speaks to her sternly and she
cowers.
Here, go through this quickly. Then you'll read it out loud to me. Is
that clear?
BETSY
Why are you looking at me like that? You're frightening me. I'm scared.
WILLIAM
That's what auditions are all about. Go ahead.
Betsy glances at the pages, reads the first lines.
BETSY
(monotonously)
I am a princess, sir....
(looks up at William; quickly and expressively)
I am a princess, sir. A heart of ice
Beats in my chest. I cannot love as freely
As common people do. The sacred duty
Of.... monarchs..... is to be.... equally suave....
(she begins to sob convulsively)
WILLIAM
Hold it, hold it. Calm down, will you!
She stops reading; she sobs desperately. He is looking at her
critically. He squints, takes a deep breath, paces, suddenly swoops on her.
Now, you see, you're a princess. You were brought up in a certain way,
all right? Like, there should be some inherent like dignity here, some
hauteur, some natural arrogance. At the same time, you're a woman, a woman
in love, and suffering. Think about it. You're telling the man you love to
beat it in order to preserve your mission in life. You're also telling him
you don't love him, hoping that he'll believe you and give up. Also, you've
just signed his death sentence, and that's a factor too, however small it
may seem to you.
BETSY
I thought it was to lessen his pain.
WILLIAM
What, to kill him?
BETSY
No, to tell him I don't love him.
WILLIAM
No. First of all, this will only increase his pain, if anything. Second
of all, in love, when a sacrifice is being made, people think only of
themselves. It's a kind of self-preserving selfishness. Know what I mean?
Suffering for both yourself and your lover is more than any human heart
could take. So, once again, with feeling.
BETSY
I.... What?
WILLIAM
Have another go at it. I'm listening.
Betsy looks at him in astonishment. He makes a face. She looks at the
page again, collects her nerve, takes a deep breath.
BETSY
I am a princess, sir. A heart of ice
Beats in my chest. I cannot love as freely
As common people do. The sacred duty
Of monarchs is to be equally suave
Towards everyone.
At the last line, enter Lionel, picking up the thread quickly.
LIONEL
Even your former lover!
BETSY
(startled, continues)
That, sir, is one big subject we shall not
Discuss at length; since you're a man of sense
And delicate, and tactful, and devoted,
You'll never be so crude as to remind me
Of childish pranks in which, children of nature,
We used so indiscreetly to indulge.
LIONEL
(hotly)
A year has not elapsed since in my arms
I held you last.
BETSY
My Lord, be kind to me.
LIONEL
Your hair against my cheek, your hand in mine,
Your name upon my lips.
BETSY
But will you listen
To reason, sir?
LIONEL
If reason be this coldness,
This artful fancy, this unGodly treason
Of everything I cherish in this world,
Then, by your leave, madam, I will not listen.
BETSY
I've signed your sentence, sir. Tomorrow morning
You'll die. Your Cleopatra is no longer
A helpless child. No morbid protestations
Will help your lot.
LIONEL
Are we holding an audition here?
WILLIAM
(who was quite taken in, and is now startled back into reality)
Oh. I'm sorry. What an interesting piece, after all.
LIONEL
Yes. I ran across a copy once and couldn't tear myself away. A bit too
melodramatic, if you ask me, but quite captivating. Who wrote it, any idea?
WILLIAM
One of our company's actors, I would imagine.
Lionel laughs. Betsy is eager to know William's opinion and is quite
annoyed by Lionel's presence.
BETSY
(to Lionel)
Thank you for bearing me out, sir.
LIONEL
(smiling)
You're most welcome, my boy.
WILLIAM
What an idea, though! Not bad at all.
(walks over to Betsy, inspects her appearance critically)
Yes. I think this just might work. Except....
LIONEL
Er.... William, I believe?
WILLIAM
Yes.
LIONEL
Of Lord Chamberlain's Men?
WILLIAM
Yes.
LIONEL
Ah, good. You do know who I am, do you not?
WILLIAM
Well, yes, of course. Lionel Collins, the actor.
LIONEL
The best one in the whole city.
BETSY
(delightedly)
Oh! You are Lionel Collins! Oh, how wonderful! I thought it was you,
but I couldn't be sure. Oh, I saw you in Tamburlaine, you were magnificent!
LIONEL
Betsy, are you sick or something?
BETSY
Sir?
LIONEL
You're not doing this, Betsy. Whatever it is you're up to, it's just a
new whim of yours, as usual. I'm here to audition, and it is extremely
important for me to get accepted, and you're in the way. Please get out.
Girls don't act in plays. If you'd kindly excuse us....
WILLIAM
I beg your pardon.
LIONEL
Oh, yes. I am here to audition. Does this surprise you? It is so,
nevertheless.
BETSY
(to Lionel)
I'm not leaving until he says I should.
(indicates William)
WILLIAM
You wish to join our company.
LIONEL
That's correct.
BETSY
(finally realizes this)
Oh, but you must be mad, Lionel. Are you serious? You mean, you're
going to leave Mom's theatre and join these vagrants?
LIONEL
Well, you want to join them too, right?
BETSY
I'm only a beginner. One has to start somewhere.
LIONEL
(waves her off, to William)
Sir, I believe your company is the only one in town in which I would be
able fully to utilize my considerable skills. Permit me to join it. If you
don't have any openings for leads at the moment, fine, I'll take any role.
If not, I could work as a prompter.
WILLIAM
Well.... I'm afraid I'm not qualified to make such decisions....
LIONEL
Oh yes you are. And remember, my presence alone can draw a thousand
people into your theatre even on the coldest of all afternoons. Am I hired?
WILLIAM
But, sir, you are speaking to the wrong person, I assure you. I'm just
a poor second-rate actor. You must speak to the manager, really.
LIONEL
I'm sure you could handle the manager for me if you wished to do so.
You have more leverage around this place than you let on, and don't ask me
how I know this, I just do. I press my question. Am I hired?
WILLIAM
I....
Enter the Man In Black rapidly. He scans the room, draws his sword,
goes to the door stage-right, pushing William rudely out of the way with one
hand. He kicks the door, looks in, comes back, grabs William by the throat.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Where is he? Huh? Where's that abominable, despicable rat, that vile,
treacherous friend of yours? Answer me, you vermin!
WILLIAM
(struggling to get free)
What friend? What are you talking.... about....
THE MAN IN BLACK
Your poetic friend. Master Christopher. Where is he? Huh?
WILLIAM
I don't know!
THE MAN IN BLACK
Oh, you don't know, huh!
He shoves William on the floor.
LIONEL
Excuse me, sir....
THE MAN IN BLACK
(to William)
I give you exactly one second to make up your filthy mind as to whether
you want to....
LIONEL
(impressively)
Excuse me, sir!
The Man In Black dashes for him with the intention to punch but stops
abruptly, seeing that there is a pistol in Lionel's hand.
BETSY
(to the Man In Black)
Do be sensible, sir. Believe me, he won't think twice about shooting
you, he's very cruel and insensitive and has no conscience whatever. All he
wants is attention, and you'd better give him some. I'm speaking from
experience.
LIONEL
(to the Man In Black)
Do please remove your mask, sir. It's impolite, walking around in a
mask, thinking that the whole world is but a mask ball. Away with it.
The Man In Black stares at Lionel. He is outraged and stomps his foot
impatiently.
BETSY
Oh, please, sir, do as he asks. It won't kill you if you take that mask
off, You can always put it back on afterwards.
The Man In Black removes the mask.
LIONEL
Well well well, what do you know! Young Warwick, in person. How's your
dear old uncle, is he all right? You weren't brought up properly, Warwick.
Do you forget the old English saying that a man's home is his castle?
THE MAN IN BLACK
You'll hang for this, Master Lionel, or whatever your proper name's
supposed to be. I don't care who you really are. It is not entirely clear
yet what part you played in the Warwick plot. But marginal evidence is
easily procured against anyone these days. I mean, anyone. Is that clear,
Lionel?
LIONEL
Mister Collins, if you don't mind. Anyway, I will not hang for this, as
you put it, simply because in order to hang me, you'd have to explain to a
lot of people how and why you - a member o the Secret Service, special
training and all - were put off your course by a vagabond actor who, however
brilliant, handsome, resourceful, and witty - for I am all of those things -
is nevertheless merely an actor. Let me emphasize this. Merely an actor.
(smiles radiantly)
As to some plot or other, that's pure libel, for which you can be sued.
Now, we have some business still to transact, William and I. You interrupted
us. Please leave now, and make sure I don't find you waiting up for me
around the corner with your dagger drawn; you might not like what happens to
you if I do.
A pause.
BETSY
Do as he says, sir. You can't imagine how vicious and treacherous this
man can be. If you had to go through everything I go through because of him,
you'd know better than contradict him, believe me. The man is a perfect
monster.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Now, look. All I need to know is where Christopher is. I swear no harm
will come to anyone here if you could just tell me where to find him.
LIONEL
Well, William did tell you just then that he doesn't know, did he not?
THE MAN IN BLACK
William's lying.
LIONEL
That, sir, is your own fault. You forced him with your rudeness and
your threats. Instead of merely not telling you, he had to lie.
Enter the Woman In Black.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Robert.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Er....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
What are you doing here?
THE MAN IN BLACK
Looking for Chris.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Go to the palace immediately. Lord Chamberlain wants to see you.
There's news from Walter.
THE MAN IN BLACK
I....
LIONEL
(lowering his pistol)
Don't you have any manners, you brainless sack of shit? The lady wants
you to leave.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(to the Woman In Black)
Madam....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(coldly, with near-fury)
Robert, please just do as you're told.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Very well.
He bows to her; casts a threatening glance at Lionel; gets an
exaggeratedly threatening glance back; and exits quickly stage-left.
The Woman In Black smiles at Lionel. They exchange a rapid humorous
glance. Lionel smiles back, his eyes sparkling.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(to Lionel)
I apologize for Robert's behavior, Master William. By the way, you do
resemble someone.... Oh, of course - Lionel Collins, the player, the lover
of the Duchess of Mulberry, and Warwick's confidant....
LIONEL
(suppressing a laugh)
As a matter of fact, Madam, I am Lionel Collins. As to the other things
you've mentioned....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(suppressing a giggle)
You are?
(looks at the other two)
LIONEL
....I'm here particularly because I'm trying to severe certain links
and disassociate myself altogether from certain ugly events which seem to
have stained my reputation somewhat.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Oh.
(to William, smiling)
You are, then....
LIONEL
(interrupting cheerfully)
I see that I've been libeled; however, I've never been involved in any
plots, nor have I ever been Lord Warwick's confidant; the best proof of
which is the fact that I'm here, auditioning for Master William with an eye
to joining his company. I covet no riches. I'm only a humble player who is
happy in his trade and wishes nothing more than to be allowed to practice
it.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Master William?
WILLIAM
That is my name, Madam.
A pause.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(looking at Betsy)
And?
BETSY
I'm....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
How very curious. How's Mom, all right? I do so hope she's well.
Anyway, Mr. Collins, you're rather a clever person, I admit. Now, Master
William, you are an author, I believe?
WILLIAM
I?
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Yes, you. Personally.
WILLIAM
Er, yes, sort of.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Some of your poetry is quite beautiful, if a bit simplistic. However,
you also write plays. There's one I remember in particular; the one about a
certain member of the York branch in which your political views were set
forth, especially in regard to the pretenders. You don't seem to sympathize
with the Yorks, then?
WILLIAM
Madam, I....
(shakes his head)
I'm merely an artist.... I'm not allowed to take sides.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Oh, Master William!
WILLIAM
(frowning)
I.... That man who was here.... Chris. He's after Chris.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
You have no beliefs, then? No convictions whatsoever?
WILLIAM
Er.... Well, not exactly. I believe....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Yes?
WILLIAM
I believe in God.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
And?
WILLIAM
(resolutely)
I believe that no true believer must ever take sides. Madam, Chris
is....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(skeptically)
Where does it say so?
WILLIAM
(decided)
Madam, one can either love one's neighbor or participate in plots. One
cannot do both. I think.... that, while struggling to right herself
politically....
(looks down at the table, picks up a sheet absently)
....England has been ignoring matters of far greater importance than
one's right to own; sacrificing far grander concepts than one's right to
gain. We are a peaceful race torn apart by hatred; a nation so deeply
immersed in hypocrisy that we can no longer face ourselves in a
looking-glass. Now, that's not what Our Lord's own Son came down to die for.
We have long forgotten what love is. I....
The Woman In Black sits slowly, watching William. Lionel is smiling
sheepishly, looking sideways. Betsy is wide-eyed.
No one dares to love any longer, for love and fear, love and hypocrisy,
love and mistrust do not.... er.... mix easily. Our women no longer abandon
themselves utterly to their husbands; and the husbands have become unworthy
of their wives' love. We have a frigid bitch on the throne....
Lionel turns away and rolls his eyes. Betsy closes her eyes and expects
to die. The Woman In Black raises her head haughtily.
....who separates lovers, who sets father against son and brother
against brother only to satisfy her malicious humor.... And yet, I pity
her.... She has never experienced true love. No woman is born frigid. They
become so when they refuse to trust their lovers. I.... had a mistress
once.... I was seventeen. She was a beautiful creature, but she counted
heavily on my seemingly imminent rise in the world of trade. Even in her
happiest moments, at night, with her eyes closed, her mouth open, her hips
thrashing, she kept thinking of the five or so shops I was going to manage
soon in my father's name. When it finally dawned on her that I had other
ideas regarding my career, she left. Reluctantly, painfully - but she left
me after making love to me one last time - and that night was absolutely the
worst in my admittedly limited experience.
LIONEL
A little personal touch.
Suddenly, William frowns as if remembering something. The three are
watching him. He turns and walks over to the basin. He grabs the pick and
starts working it again. General consternation.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Er.... Excuse me?
LIONEL
He's slightly off his rocker. Most authors are rather eccentric.
BETSY
(sincerely)
Poor guy.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Master William!
Suddenly, William drops the pick and crosses over to the Woman In Black
as if struck by a brilliant new idea. She is tempted to back away from him,
chair and all. Preoccupied, he is all urgency.
WILLIAM
You know, a friend of mine is in trouble. He made a single error when
he was very, very young. They want to kill him now. This must be prevented
somehow. He is said to have taken part in some plot or other. That's
nonsense. I know for a fact that he's been writing a new play these past
four months. I've read bits of it, it's a grand little thing. It's
physically impossible to write like that and take part in conspiracies at
the same time.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Why are you telling me all this?
WILLIAM
Besides, he's really quite harmless. He's a ham, a poseur, a natural.
He loves theatrics, he's fond of practical jokes, he makes it his business
to be thought of as big and bad and mean. But.... I've known him for a
couple of years now.... He's a coward. We are taught to disdain cowards. We
adore tyrants, we glorify murderers, we find ways to justify the thief and
the rapist. Cowards we shun. Until we suddenly find out that most people,
including ourselves, are cowards. That's when we begin to hate them. But....
Cowards are gentler and sweeter than the brave man, who tends to be cruel
and heartless. Cowards are more thoughtful that heroes who are customarily
bone-headed. Chris is a coward. Only a person who has known fear can
describe it. Please, he must be spared.
A pause. The Woman In Black rises. She is an inch taller than William.
She looks him in the face.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Young man, I forgive you your rashness and your meddling in affairs
that do not at all concern you. There are things still beyond your
perception. But you must be very careful in the future.
William and the Woman In Black glare at each other.
Quietly, stealthily, Lionel gets hold of Betsy's hand and pulls her
towards the exit. Betsy, fascinated by the confrontation, is at first
annoyed, then surprised. At last, confusion. Half-heartedly, she lets Lionel
lead her away. They exit quietly.
WILLIAM
Why should I? So that, sooner or later, I could become the Queen's
lover, as Chris once was; and then be sacrificed to one cause or another, as
he is about to be sacrificed?
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(haughtily and gravely)
He was never the Queen's lover.
WILLIAM
No, of course not. The Queen has no sense of humor.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
What's that supposed to mean?
WILLIAM
She does not see how denying the obvious can be comical.
The Woman In Black rises. They stand facing each other.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
You know, Master William, those words alone are enough to have you
broken on the wheel.
William is visibly shaken. He steps back, looks away.
WILLIAM
I didn't mean to insult Her Majesty.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
One must always remember his place.
WILLIAM
Yes.
The Woman In Black hesitates. Now that he is subdued, he is far less
interesting than when he was insolent. Suddenly, she smiles.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
We'll let it slide. Deep down in your heart, you're as loyal as anyone,
I'm sure. A certain work of yours which has been brought to our attention
shows that you're devoted to the Queen. Would you like an opportunity to
prove your loyalty to her?
WILLIAM
Er.... I'm.... Do I have to prove it? I mean....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
So that there's no doubt. There is a special group, you see, a
fraternity almost, which encompasses all stations of life; they are
everywhere; each of them knows the Queen personally and serves her to the
best of his abilities. Each is then rewarded according to his merits. You're
welcome to join them, Master William, whenever you like.
A pause.
WILLIAM
Strange.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
What is?
WILLIAM
There are all kinds of trades out there; yet it never occurs to anyone
to ask a carpenter to do anything other than carpeting; the farmer runs his
farm; the horse breeder breeds horses; the general leads armies into battle.
Only the artist is always asked to do things he is not naturally qualified
for. Why? Because our work is lighter? No. It's oftentimes harder than most.
Because they need us less than a good horse? No. People would rather be
entertained than galloped over. Only today, I've already been asked to
become a clerk, a farmer, and a manager in quick succession. Now I'm being
asked to try my hand at spying.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Spying! Who's talking of spying?
WILLIAM
Man is a weak creature, Madam. Press me a little, and I'll be anything
you like. You wish me to become a spy? I will. A farmer? Gladly. Anything.
But will I be the same man when I quit writing?
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Why should you quit writing?
WILLIAM
Because the two are incompatible, as Chris has demonstrated. So, it all
depends on what the Queen really wants. Does she want poets to love her and
to write her sonnets; or does she want snakes to bite people for her and to
loathe her for it? Talent or servitude? Theatres or prisons?
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Master William!
WILLIAM
Does she want artists to kiss her hand, or hypocrites to lick her
boots? I'd probably make a fine bootlicker - I'm not as bad an actor as they
say, after all. Well? Should I get down on all fours and lick it?
He gets down and puts out his tongue. He crawls towards her. She steps
back. He looks inquiringly up at her. She extends her hand and turns away.
He rises, bends, and takes her hand. He kisses it and holds it in his own
for a moment. She turns and looks at him. They look each other in the eye,
William still bent over her hand. He straightens, still holding her hand.
She inches closer to him and half-closes her eyes. She turns her face up to
his.
Please spare Chris, Your Majesty.
She opens her eyes. She withdraws her hand and steps back. Again, they
face each other. This time, William's gaze is cold and steady. The Woman In
Black turns slowly around and exits stage-left.
William stands motionless for a while. Presently, he turns and walks to
the basin. He snatches the ice pick and delivers a splendid blow. He throws
the pick down, reaches into the basin, and extracts the handkerchief.
Triumphantly, he shows it to the audience.
At last!
Curtain.
Scene One. Outside the Blackfriars.
Enter the Woman In Black, followed by De Maisse and the Man In black.
The Woman In Black is furious. She stops, leans on the Man In Block, and
inspects disgustedly the sole of her left shoe.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
This is an outrage. We ought to pass a law against this sort of thing.
Stupid people, why don't they ever clean up after their ugly dogs!
DE MAISSE
A very good idea, Your Majesty.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(lets go of the Man In Black's shoulder)
I'm very sorry, Monsieur De Maisse. We're not making a good impression
on you, I'm afraid.
DE MAISSE
My diplomatic mission here, Madam, does not include gathering
impressions.
She smiles at his perfect composure and indicates the backdrop with a
nod.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
This is the Blackfriars, our best theatre. Looks a bit shabby. London
is a very filthy, run-down city, wouldn't you say? To think that we could
have all those loafers who have so much free time on their hands put to work
cleaning the place up instead of engaging in hopeless conspiracies!
THE MAN IN BLACK
(smiling ominously)
Madam, please. Our friend here is not really interested in our domestic
squabbles.
DE MAISSE
Oh, don't mind me, I beg you. I'm quite used to the general atmosphere
of this backwoods country by now.
A pause. The Man In Black turns slowly and looks De Maisse in the eye.
THE MAN IN BLACK
What do you mean, exactly?
DE MAISSE
Please, sir, do not speak directly into my face.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(taunting him)
Oh? And why not, may I ask?
DE MAISSE
Your breath, sir, stinks most abominably. You should rinse your mouth
with salt water once in a while.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(furious)
Don't tell me what to do, you French faggot!
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Robert, please. I'm sorry, De Maisse, he....
THE MAN IN BLACK
(incensed)
I will not have foreigners fling insults at me. I've had one hell of a
week, I'm tired, and this frog-eater here has the nerve to criticize me! If
he doesn't like the way my breath smells, maybe he should smell his own ass
once in a while....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Robert!
The Man In Black falls silent. De Maisse raises his eyebrows in genteel
surprise.
Now, they have.... De Maisse! Are you listening?
DE MAISSE
Yes, Madam.
Turns his head to her politely.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
They have a performance here tonight, so why don't we....
THE MAN IN BLACK
(on an impulse)
Why don't I just run him through, then.
He draws his sword. De Maisse steps back calmly and draws his.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Gentlemen.
DE MAISSE
Be at your ease, Madame, this shall not take long. C'est bien,
Monsieur.
(throws himself on guard)
Vive la France!
They cross swords.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Robert, I'll pardon old Warwick and exile you if you don't stop at
once. De Maisse, I'll find out from Henri your king who your current lover
is and have him killed.
They touch their swords a few more times reluctantly, think better of
it, and stop. The Man In Black sheathes his sword disgustedly. De Maisse
tries the point of his sword with his finger pensively, hesitates, but
sheathes it all the same.
Enter Julian carrying a scroll.
Ah, hello there.
JULIAN
Your Majesty. Here's the bill of sale you requested.
The Woman In Black takes it from him, inspects it, passes it to the Man
In Black.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Robert, when you have the chance, give this to the person in whose
rooms you made such a hysterical scene today.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Er.... Madam.... I haven't had a chance to speak with him yet.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Why would you want to speak with him?
THE MAN IN BLACK
Well, we can't just give him everything without requesting some
services in return. With Chris gone, and until we find someone suitable, we
might as well use his friend in the interim.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
I don't think that such a good idea. He' not competent enough in these
matters. I believe he'll be far more useful to us as merely a theatre
manager and a writer of plays.
(to Julian)
My good man, you are, I believe, a servant of some sort in the duchess
of Mulberry's House, in a way?
JULIAN
I do have the honor of....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
The theatre seems to have been occupying most of your time lately.
JULIAN
That is correct, Your Majesty.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
But you are not a city person?
JULIAN
No, Your Majesty. I am a farmer.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
I appreciate your cooperation. The Duchess will be very angry with you,
I'm afraid.
JULIAN
Your Majesty promised me your protection.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
I never go back on my word. As of today, you no longer belong to the
Duchess. You will serve the throne directly. On Jolly Riggers Street, there
is a house with a slanting red roof. Do you know it?
Julian shudders and is reluctant to answer, seeing where this is
leading.
Well, do you?
JULIAN
I do, Your Majesty.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Go there now. You'll be given an advance and shown around. They will
supply your instructions sometime next week.
JULIAN
(quivering)
Your Majesty, that is not what I was hoping for.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Maybe not. It's what you're getting, nevertheless.
JULIAN
Oh, no. I couldn't.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
That's enough talking now. Go and do as you're told.
JULIAN
Please, Your Majesty, hear me out. I feel....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(a bit of temper showing)
I'm not going to be talked back by you, little man! Do you hear?
(calmly)
Nor am I particularly interested in your feelings.
JULIAN
(quivering)
Your Majesty, I'm much honored, but I must refuse.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(sweetly)
Would you rather be broken on the wheel?
The Man In Black grins. De Maisse is watching with great curiosity.
JULIAN
But.... Oh, please have pity on me, Your Majesty!...
He falls on his knees.
I have a wife and four kids. I'm a simple farmer.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
The more reason for you to join the Service. Believe me, it's not as
bad as it seems at first. The pay is good. Much better than the income of a
farmer. Up with you, and go away now.
Julian rises and exits stage-left.
Insolent little wretch. De Maisse, is this kind of thing tolerated in
France?
DE MAISSE
No, Your Majesty. People of low order are not allowed to speak to their
superiors unless they are specifically commanded to do so.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
A very wise rule. We will see whether we can implement it here. England
has always been too liberal. Ever since John signed the Magna Carta. I'll
see whether I can tear the damn thing up and throw the pieces in their faces
one of these days.
Enter Joanne.
JOANNE
Your Majesty!
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Good afternoon, Duchess. Robert, stop glaring at De Maisse. Go have a
drink. I'll see you at the theatre tonight.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Your Majesty....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Go, I said.
The Man In Black wavers; presently, throwing another threatening glance
at De Maisse, he turns on his heel and leaves.
Now, my dear De Maisse, let me introduce you. This is Lady Mulberry.
Duchess, De Maisse here is King Henri's embassador.
De Maisse bows and kisses Joanne's proffered hand gallantly.
JOANNE
Very pleased to meet you, Monsieur. Your Majesty, I just learned
something utterly devastating. The Blackfriars....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Yes, Robert bought it in my name from the owner. I intend to make a
gift of it to someone whose work I happen to admire. I'm sorry if this is
unpleasant, although I can't imagine why.
JOANNE
Your Majesty, I.... was rather.... fond of that particular theatre.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
You may go on being fond of it, there's no low against it as yet.
JOANNE
The present troupe of actors, I thought, was especially capable.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Most of them will be retained by the company, I believe.
JOANNE
The choice of plays....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Yes, that will have to change. Monsieur De Maisse here was astonished
when he familiarized himself with the repertoire. Weren't you, De Maisse?
DE MAISSE
(protesting)
Your Majesty....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
He was particularly puzzled by the fact that so many ancient, outdated
works are being put on which fail to attract anyone except people from out
of town.
JOANNE
But tonight....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Yes, tonight they're performing a new piece by a well-known idiot who
thinks he can imitate ancient Greeks. The new management will do away with
this kind of nonsense. It's a shame that the only good play produced by the
company over the past five years was Tambulaine The Great. Its author
happens to be a man of considerable talent, and I'm surprised, and so is
Monsieur De Maisse here, that the old management made no effort to solicit
more plays from him despite the fact that he is, I believe, a frequent guest
at the house of one of the company's principles.
A pause.
JOANNE
The.... author?
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
I believe he was, still is, perhaps, on intimate terms with the
daughter of the said principle.
Joanne is wide-eyed.
DE MAISSE
(recovering his composure)
How very amusing. You know, Your Majesty, it's the little things like
this that make this country appealing. Makes one feel as though he were a
character in a play. Ah, England!
JOANNE
Your Majesty, I beseech you.... You have the power to reverse this....
Please give the old management another chance.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
By the way, Duchess. A certain person dedicated a sonnet to you
recently. This person turned out to be a vile conspirator and they're
looking for him now in order to arrest him. Do you have any idea of his
whereabouts?
(turns to De Maisse)
Imagine, my dear De Maisse, the turpid creature wants to make this
venerable woman his mistress.
DE MAISSE
(looking skeptically at Joanne)
Well, Madame, he must be a very queer person.... Not that the lady
isn't quite admirable in certain respects. She is. But....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
(sternly)
She's married, De Maisse. I know that in France this wouldn't amount to
much, but here we are rather strict about marriage.
De Maisse smiles. The Woman In Black continues lightly.
The sonnet was, in fact, quite beautiful, which brings up the question
of its true authorship. The Duchess, not being an expert in these matters,
was quite taken in.
De Maisse laughs.
In fact, certain elements of its style makes one want to talk to the
new manager of the Blackfriars. The man is known to receive commissions for
sonnets occasionally which are subsequently passed by those who commission
them as their own. A vile practice, but the man has been hard up for money
all his life. Well, the company he now owns will set that right. Oh, look,
there's a rat.
Joanne panics and throws herself on De Maisse's neck.
JOANNE
Oh, sir! Please do something! I can't stand rats!
De Maisse is astonished.
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Calm down, Duchess. I see it's running the other way. It's gone.
JOANNE
(releasing De Maisse)
Pardon me, sir. Rats will be my death one of these days. Your
Majesty....
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Good afternoon, Duchess. Monsieur, let me show you the Bankside, it's
quite beautiful at this time of day.
The Woman In Black leads the way stage-right. De Maisse follows her. He
glances back at the Duchess, giggles. They are gone. Joanne, shaken,
crushed, stares in front of herself.
A pause.
Stage-right, enter Chris. He looks pensive. His head is tilted back,
his lips are moving slowly, mouthing inaudible words. He walks slowly across
the stage and passes Joanne without noticing her. She is still staring,
still transfixed. Half-way to the exit, Chris stops and bends, removing a
shoe. He squats and hits the shoe against the ground several times, trying
to extricate whatever it is that was bothering him just now. He straightens,
puts the shoe back on. He makes an uncertain gesture with his hand, passes
his palm over his forehead, walks on and exits stage-left.
A pause.
Stage-right, enter Lionel and Betsy.
BETSY
What's the rush?
LIONEL
We have to find Chris and warn him. Don't you understand? His life is
in danger.
BETSY
How?
Lionel waves her off impatiently. At this point, Joanne jerks herself
out of her coma and turns around.
JOANNE
Hey!
They look at her.
BETSY
Mother!
LIONEL
(resignedly)
Oh, no.
JOANNE
Lionel, I'm so sorry.
LIONEL
Why, what's the matter?... Er.... Did you see Chris?
JOANNE
Lionel, they've blackmailed Julian into selling out. But don't worry,
we'll buy another company. It may not be tomorrow, but in a month or two....
LIONEL
What was that?
JOANNE
There's a new owner now. They'll be producing a lot of trash, it seems.
But don't worry; I'll see to it that your reputation stays intact. You'll
have a new theatre soon.
BETSY
Mother, I'm sorry.
JOANNE
So am I, Betsy. The best theatre in town!
LIONEL
It's all right, Duchess, you need not worry on my account.
JOANNE
Oh, Lionel....
LIONEL
I can take care of myself. Incidentally, who is the new owner?
JOANNE
Oh, what difference does it make?... I can't remember. Lord
Chamberlain's Men, I think....
BETSY
Lord Chamberlain's!
LIONEL
(turns to Betsy, smiling faintly)
Fate.
BETSY
(with conviction)
Providence.
JOANNE
There's no question, of course, of your staying on with them. I'm going
to arrange everything.
LIONEL
No need, Duchess. As a matter of fact, I am staying on with them.
JOANNE
(stunned)
Lionel!
LIONEL
I must grow as an actor. Leads who stop growing soon fall out of
fashion.
JOANNE
Lionel, what are you talking about? You're not going to debase yourself
by participating in their stupid farces. Tell me you're joking.
LIONEL
We must find Chris. Duchess....
JOANNE
(moving towards him)
Ungrateful rat! This is your gratitude! After all I've done for you,
you just dump me like so much trash!
BETSY
I'd better run. She's going to make a scene.
LIONEL
Betsy, we must....
JOANNE
(thundering)
I'm going to strangle you with my own hands!
BETSY
Chris is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
Joanne goes for Lionel's throat. He tries to shake her off. Betsy
shakes her head in cold amazement. Stage-left, enter Chris running,
frightened, looking over his shoulder. Betsy looks, sees, turns to Lionel,
who is holding Joanne by the wrists.
You wanted Chris. Here he is.
CHRIS
Betsy!
He looks over his shoulder. Lionel releases Joanne.
JOANNE
Filthy snake!
Chris runs up to Betsy.
CHRIS
Betsy, now's the time. Are you ready?
BETSY
(annoyed)
Ready for what?
CHRIS
We must leave. Immediately.
JOANNE
(to Lionel)
You're not a man, Lionel. You're a monster.
LIONEL
(to Chris)
What the hell happened? You look like you just saw a ghost.
BETSY
I'm sorry, Chris. I'm not going anywhere.
JOANNE
(to Lionel)
Take it all back. Everything you just said.
CHRIS
Betsy!
LIONEL
(to Chris)
Listen, Chris....
Joanne slaps him across the face.
LIONEL
Ouch!
BETSY
(annoyed and feeling guilty)
Mother, will you please behave yourself! This is a public place, for
crying out loud!
CHRIS
Do you mean that?....
BETSY
I'm sorry, Chris. I suppose I've betrayed you.
LIONEL
Chris, you must run, they're after you.
CHRIS
(to Betsy)
What's the matter? Have I offended you?
Betsy turns away impatiently.
JOANNE
(to Lionel)
You stupid creep!
LIONEL
Chris, did you hear what I just said?
Joanne makes another attempt to strike him. He catches her wrist and
roars at her.
Shut up!
She is so astonished, she freezes and stares at him. He turns to Betsy.
You too!
Betsy draws back. The floor is his. He turns to Chris.
Lord Warwick is on his way to France and beyond anyone's reach. They
suspect you of high treason. Whether it was really you who warned him is
unimportant. They want your head, and they'll get it unless you act now.
Leave. Immediately. Stay off major highways. On your way to the Channel,
don't speak to anyone. If anyone calls out to you, don't answer. Decline all
offers to share a meal. Don't stop anywhere until you reach France. My
regards to old Warwick.
CHRIS
(the truth dawns on him)
You!
LIONEL
Yes.
CHRIS
But.... It seems to me, sir, that you're not doing anything different
from what I did. You're betraying your trust.
LIONEL
I'm allowed. So would be Robert if he wished to let someone off the
hook. Our rank is higher than yours, that's all. I can't stop them from
chasing you. But I can tell you to take precautions.
CHRIS
Why can't you stop them?
LIONEL
Because the chase was ordered by the highest authority possible.
CHRIS
(desperate)
No! The Great Bitch?
LIONEL
Yes.
CHRIS
I thought Robert bore me a grudge.
LIONEL
He does. But so does she, and her grudge seems to be even greater than
his. And she knows how to bear grudges, believe me. The odds are against
you. The sooner you clear out, the better.
CHRIS
Betsy....
LIONEL
Forget it, Chris. Be a man. She never really loved you.
BETSY
(turns to him, furious)
How dare you!
Stage-right, enter William.
WILLIAM
Ah, Chris! Oh, look who's here.... Everybody.
Betsy steps towards him quickly.
BETSY
Who was that woman? Is she gone?
WILLIAM
Oh. It's you. Yes. Er.... Chris?...
BETSY
Wait. What have you decided?
WILLIAM
About what?
(to Chris)
Look, I don't know whether it's going to improve or worsen anything,
but I've spoken with someone about you....
Chris clutches his head and moans.
CHRIS
This is a nightmare. Wobbly, why are you involved in this?
WILLIAM
Me? I don't know that I'm particularly involved in anything.... I....
LIONEL
He's not involved. At least not yet. Chris?
CHRIS
Yes?
LIONEL
There's one thing I'm sure of. So long as your friend here is around,
no one will dare touch you. He's under special protection. I have to talk to
this lady here. Let's meet at the inn after the performance. I'll give you
all you'll need to make it safe to France.
CHRIS
Lionel....
LIONEL
Please, take your friends someplace, have a snack, and come to the
theatre. We'll be doing this pseudo-Greek nonsense tonight, you don't want
to miss it, do you? Master William, I look forward to being directed by you.
William is baffled, and Betsy overwhelmed. Chris is decided. He nods
and leads his friends away. Lionel turns to Joanne.
LIONEL
Now, Duchess....
JOANNE
Who are you, Lionel Collins? That's not your real name, is it?
LIONEL
What difference does it make? Now, make sure you don't breathe a word
of what you've just heard here. Master William is a capable man, and he
writes brilliant plays.
JOANNE
I see. It still comes down to the same thing. You don't need me
anymore.
LIONEL
I didn't say that.
JOANNE
You meant it.
LIONEL
No.
He smiles. Her eyes widen. She steps back.
You know, Duchess, you shouldn't have slapped me so hard. Now my cheek
will blow up to an absurd size. How am I suppose to act with a cheek the
size of your buttock?
JOANNE
Lionel.... What are you doing?
He steps towards her. He takes her by the shoulders.
LIONEL
We go on as usual. You'll still see me in all my shows, and we'll
remain lovers for as long as you wish.
JOANNE
But.... Why?
LIONEL
I'm kind of fond of you, that's all.
He runs his hand through her hair.
JOANNE
Now wait a minute.... I'm so confused all of a sudden. You're a member
of the Secret Service, is that it?
LIONEL
No more and no less.
JOANNE
Acting is only a front.
LIONEL
I wouldn't put it that way. I adore acting, and I think I'm rather good
at it. Don't you think I'm rather good at it?
JOANNE
You're magnificent at it.
LIONEL
Your understatements are beginning to annoy me, but fine, I'll accept
magnificent. Anyway, why don't we go to your place and spend these few hours
together? And then go to the theatre?
JOANNE
(suddenly smiling and inclining her head slyly)
Suppose we're late for the performance?
LIONEL
(indignantly)
Do you imagine they'll dare begin without me?
She laughs. He smiles, kisses her on the lips. She returns the kiss.
Curtain.
Scene Two. A cheap sort of inn. A table in the middle, with chairs
around it. On the table, a pitcher and three clay mugs. The Man In Black is
sitting at the table, sipping ale from a large crude mug. Stage-left, enter
Lionel, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.
LIONEL
Robert. What are you doing here?
THE MAN IN BLACK
Meditating. Are you done clowning?
LIONEL
Quite. They're still cheering like mad. Most of them are out-of-town
merchants; never saw a theatrical performance before. The piece is sheer
nonsense. Takes more than that to lure the average Londoner into the place.
This will change when the new owner assumes his duties. He hasn't been told
yet, poor devil.
He sits down, pours himself a mugful from the pitcher.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Was the Queen present?
LIONEL
Yes.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Did you speak with her?
LIONEL
Yes, and she promised to recompense you for whatever loss you think
you've suffered because of your uncle.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(rising)
Well, I'd better go. By the way, are you going to dump your Duchess?
A pause.
LIONEL
Why does this interest you?
THE MAN IN BLACK
Now that my uncle is gone, she can no longer be of any use to us.
LIONEL
(smiling)
I see. You know, this constant urge you have to do your uncle one
better is an intolerable bore. Why is it that you absolutely must succeed
where he has failed? Why don't you try acting or playwrighting instead?
THE MAN IN BLACK
You're keeping her, then?
LIONEL
I can't very well do that; the lady's married.
A pause.
THE MAN IN BLACK
(fraternizing)
Well, if the husband is the only obstacle, why not do away with him?
A pause.
LIONEL
(nonchalantly)
My dear Robert, what a low-born creature like yourself may deem
appropriate is not always so for a man of my birth and position.
(sternly)
Please stop meddling in my affairs.
(casually)
I'm expecting some friends. Would you mind very much if I asked you to
leave?
THE MAN IN BLACK
(furious, humiliated; almost whispers)
Yes, Duke.
Lionel smiles contemptuously. The Man In Black turns around and exits
stage-left. Lionel sips from his mug.
Off-stage, loud merriment. Enter Chris and William. Chris is carrying a
guitar; he is slightly drunk. They are followed in by Betsy who is laughing.
CHRIS
What a piece! The author must be a genius. Don't you think he's a
genius? Wobbly?
WILLIAM
(frowning)
How did that line go?
(suddenly giggles)
CHRIS
Oh, I don't know. Hi, Lionel. Let me see. Oh my most beautiful
bodacious mermaid! I, standing on my gouty knees before you.... Wobbly?
WILLIAM
Declare that you must soon accept my offer
Of marriage, otherwise I'll puke profusely.
CHRIS
Accept, o gorgeous, all I have to offer....
WILLIAM
My castle, land, myself and my six inches....
CHRIS
Or else I'm liable loudly to fart.
Both laugh. Betsy, blushing, is trying not to. Lionel smiles.
LIONEL
Nice instrument.
CHRIS
A real Spanish guitar, man! Just bought it off a Spanish journeyman.
Boy, do those Castilians smell! Listen, I haven't played in ages. In fact, I
don't remember playing since my last trip to Spain. Seven years ago! Get
that shit off the table, or I'll spill it.
Lionel removes the pitcher, placing it on the floor. Chris sits on the
edge of the table. William sits in one of the chairs, Betsy stands next to
it. Chris tries the strings.
A bit out of tune. Let me see.
He tries a few chords, satisfying himself that he still can.
Now, listen to this. Ahem. The Ballad Of An Author Making Up His Mind.
Now, I want everyone's attention here.
WILLIAM
Just don't fall over.
CHRIS
Never fear, old man! Listen, all.
(sings, accompanying himself on the guitar)
I have two girls who run my show,
And Bill has none.
Bess was born high and Joe Anne low,
And both are fun,
Yet Billy claims a lighter load
Is easier packed:
His Mary Jane minds his abode
But not his act.
Where Bess is subtle and astute,
Joe Anne is straight.
Yet they share traits which, saint or brute,
One learns to hate:
Their merits differ but, alas,
Their faults concur;
For each time Bess falls on her ass,
Joe Anne must err.
My name is Chris, and I know this
(And you'll agree):
Though I can't say that Billy's way
Appeals to me,
Scorned by Joe Anne and vilified
By haughty Bess,
One day I might give it a try
Nevertheless.
He plays a few chords, stops. He jumps off the table and, turning
around, bows to his audience. William and Lionel applaud. Betsy is pensive.
WILLIAM
I've always said you're ore of a minstrel than a playwright. Good song,
though.
CHRIS
Your problem, Wobbly, is that you're not at all musical. A typical
Englishman is not supposed to be musical, in fact.
William shrugs, smiles crookedly. Suddenly, he remembers.
WILLIAM
By the way, Lionel, permit me to....
LIONEL
No need, sir. The play was lousy. I don't like congratulations that
sound like, well, commiserations. Now, Chris.
Lionel reaches into his pocket and produces a bundle of scrolls.
Here are some maps and instructions. All easy to follow.
CHRIS
(sobering up)
Thank you.
He takes the bundle, twirls it in his hands pensively, stuffs it in his
pocket and becomes morose.
LIONEL
France is as good a place as any, I suppose.
WILLIAM
(frowning at Chris)
France? You are going there, after all?
CHRIS
Yes. I need a vacation. Such is my opinion, and also, I hope, that of
my close friends and relatives. Listen, Wobbly, you take care of yourself,
all right? And especially of her.
BETSY
Now, Chris!...
CHRIS
Do not interrupt me, Betsy. Whatever may happen to you, Wobbly, don't
ever think that you can start all over again. Clean slate my ass. Writers do
not earn bad reputations, they are born with them. No one will ever trust
you or take you seriously. Except her. Funny, but she has that quality.
She's the real thing, Wobbly. When I found out, it was too late. I met her
too early, when she was still unformed, an affected little Philistine with
crazy ideas and ugly teeth; full of complexes. From start to finish, our
affair was one unending caprice. And listen, man, I.... never really liked
you, but.... Ah, shit, I need a drink.
Enter De Maisse.
DE MAISSE
Good evening, gentlemen. My lady, your servant. Now, is Master William
here by any chance?
CHRIS
I'm tired of this fellow.
WILLIAM
Now, Chris, let me clarify a few things for you. First, I haven't the
slightest intention....
DE MAISSE
Now, Her Majesty, in order to express her extreme appreciation of your
works, sir, would like to offer you a present.
CHRIS
Good for her. To me, she only offered a past.
DE MAISSE
(producing a scroll)
This document is to confirm that as of today, you are the owner of the
Blackfriars theatre. Her Majesty would like you to come with me immediately
to claim it. Please.
Betsy opens her mouth. Lionel smiles. Chris frowns.
WILLIAM
I see. Thank you.
(accepts the scroll absentmindedly)
Now, Chris, the important thing is, I think I could persuade Her
Majesty....
CHRIS
Wobbly....
WILLIAM
She could still pardon you.
De Maisse is astonished. Chris shakes his head.
CHRIS
The Great Bitch? Not in a thousand years, Wobbly. These capricious
broads, once they get past a certain age, are so vindictive and vain they'll
sell their mother to the devil to see you cringe.
DE MAISSE
Master William....
WILLIAM
Just a minute. Now, Chris, you don't understand....
LIONEL
Master William, I think you should thank the gentleman who brought you
the good news.
WILLIAM
Yeah, all right....
BETSY
I think....
CHRIS
Forget it, Wobbly. Just thank this faggot here and go meet your
destiny. Whatever you do, though, keep your gratitude to yourself. Don't
waste it on the Great Bitch, she's not worth it.
WILLIAM
Chris, you'll be pardoned before long. As a matter of fact....
CHRIS
Pardoned. What am I guilty of?
WILLIAM
You'll see, Chris. The Queen likes you. She'll tell you so herself,
you'll see. Even tonight. In writing.
(to De Maisse)
Sir, I'm ready.
De Maisse shrugs, leads the way. He and William exit stage-left. Betsy
looks after them. Chris looks at her, smiling ruefully.
CHRIS
Well?
BETSY
Chris, you're a wonderful person....
CHRIS
Please. Don't. You want to be with him? Go. Go, Betsy.
She hesitates, looks at Lionel. Lionel smiles and nods. She rises
reluctantly. Suddenly, she dashes out.
LIONEL
Curious fellow.
CHRIS
Who?
LIONEL
Master William. Anyway, why don't you explain to me why you had to warn
old Warwick? Is he a good person?
CHRIS
Warwick? The man's the meanest son of a bitch I ever met.
LIONEL
Was it gratitude, then?
CHRIS
Gratitude?
LIONEL
I believe he financed one of your publications once.
CHRIS
That was part of the bargain. He was going to seduce some duchess or
other; he asked me to write him a sonnet for her, so that he could send it
to her as his own. Which I did, but only after I made sure the press was
already running. Warwick is stingy as hell, and the last person one can
trust. Not what you'd call a charitable person.
LIONEL
Do you remember the sonnet?
CHRIS
Some of it.
LIONEL
How did it go?
CHRIS
Oh, who cares. ....I used Wobbly's favorite rhyme scheme. A bit boring,
but serves the purpose well.
LIONEL
So why did you have to go and warn Warwick?
CHRIS
Lionel, what's the matter with you? It was in my power to save him, so
I just went ahead and did it. How difficult is this to understand?
A pause.
LIONEL
I see. Well, I have news for you.
He reaches into his pocket and produces a scroll. He throws it
nonchalantly on the table. Chris looks askance at him.
Break the seal and read it. It's for you.
Chris does so. He squints, holds the scroll close to his face. He sets
it down on the table, wipes his forehead, brings the scroll close to his
face again.
You're nearsighted, aren't you?
CHRIS
This says that the Queen grants me her pardon.
LIONEL
That's correct.
CHRIS
I am forgiven, then?
LIONEL
Unless some new evidence turns up, you're free to do whatever you like.
They've made an exception for you. You may consider yourself a member of the
Secret Service no longer.
Chris rises. He is very pale. The hand which is holding the manuscript
is shaking. He steadies it by pressing the scroll to his chest.
CHRIS
I can't believe this.
LIONEL
There will be no new evidence, I trust. Or am I wrong?
Chris is about to say something. He inhales deeply and holds his
tongue.
If I were you, I'd still go abroad for a while. Let this whole Warwick
business blow over and settle. Make sure you come back with at least three
new plays, and make sure there are major parts for me in all three of them.
Chris smiles faintly.
CHRIS
I can't fucking believe this.... I.... How come you're an actor,
Lionel?
LIONEL
(laughs)
You should know these things, Chris. You're a writer. Man shall always
seek that which he does not possess. How come you're a nobleman?
CHRIS
I?
LIONEL
Yes, the son of a shoemaker. The Service. That's why you joined in the
first place. You knew that sooner or later your plays would be produced. But
nobility papers - no fame and no money could buy you that. The Service
granted you your little title; it granted me the opportunity to do that
which I adore doing. A duke cannot possibly join a theatre company without
making a laughingstock of himself. But a Service man can become anything on
earth, and everyone minds his own business in the meantime. We were both
stuck for a while. On your part, you have somehow found your way out.
Myself, I'm pretty much doomed. But I have what I want. I'm an actor.
He rises. Chris sits.
I'm going to join the festivities. Your friend is being crowned the
king of clowns. I'd advise you not to appear there now. Leave. Just pick up
and go. You'll get all the money you want from Warwick. See you in three
years, son of a shoemaker.
He leaves quickly stage-left. Chris bends over the table, clutches his
head. A pause.
Stage-right, enter the Man In Black.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Christopher.
Chris shudders, stares in front of himself.
The time of reckoning has come. Don't move.
He goes around the table and sits beside Chris.
CHRIS
I have Her Majesty's pardon.
THE MAN IN BLACK
You have my permission to shove it up your ass. Go ahead, I'll wait.
No? Well. A friend of yours has been arrested.
CHRIS
What friend?
THE MAN IN BLACK
His surname is Kyd. Also a playwright of sorts.
Chris stares.
It seems, from the evidence he has provided, that my dear old uncle
wasn't the first person who escaped justice thanks to your - how should I
put it? - endeavors.
CHRIS
You tortured him!
THE MAN IN BLACK
The Kyd person? Sure. You wouldn't believe how little it takes to push
a human being past his natural limits. The Great Inquisitor has nothing on
us, trust me. It seems, Christopher, that it's almost a passion with you to
save lives. What are you trying to do, gain a free passage to Paradise? I
would have expected a better taste from a man of letters in fact. You don't
discriminate. I've looked over the list of criminals wondering at large
thanks to your efforts. Goodness gracious! Dukes and peasants, peers and
commoners, state treasury embezzlers and horse-thieves, Jews converted and
otherwise, protestants, Catholics, baronesses and prostitutes, a vagabond
Spanish fiddler, an Italian prince. Mere seven years! Awesome.
A pause. The Man In Black's gaze becomes reflective.
At first, I thought of presenting the Queen with the list, just to show
her whom it was she was pardoning. Then I thought better of it. Women are
capricious, you know. She might pardon you again. We can't have that now,
can we?
He slaps Chris across the face. The blow is hard enough to take Chris
out of the chair. He staggers but remains on his feet. The Man In Black
rises heavily and faces Chris.
I'm off to France. I can't entrust this business to anyone else. My
dear old uncle must die. But I couldn't bear the thought of leaving without
settling the score with you, Christopher. Do you have any idea how much
humiliation your charity has caused me?
He slaps Chris again. Chris backs away. The Man In Black catches him by
the neck and holds him in front of himself at his arm's length.
Vagabond players talking back to me! I could have been duke two months
ago!
He shoves Chris on the floor. He kicks him. Chris crawls away from him.
My uncle married the girl I loved. Fine! Let him keep it. I proposed to
another girl. I didn't love her. But she was of high birth, and her father
had millions. I was refused by her father, whose wife my uncle was trying to
seduce at the moment! She said I wasn't sufficiently well-bred!
CHRIS
Betsy.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Yes. Betsy. Lionel sleeps with her mother. Suddenly I found out that
you, of all people, are the daughter's lover!
CHRIS
Wait a minute!
THE MAN IN BLACK
Shut up!
His kick misses. Chris manages to crawl away in time. Now he rises,
holding his side.
CHRIS
You're not marrying Betsy.
THE MAN IN BLACK
If he refuses me a second time, when I'm a duke, I'll just do away with
him. I'm sick and tired of all these little warms of no consequence with
handles to their names! And I'm tired of you, Christopher.
He draws his sword. Chris jumps back.
Don't run away from me, Chris. You know it's useless.
Chris draws his own sword and throws himself clumsily on guard. The Man
In Black laughs.
You wish to do some fencing, I see.
CHRIS
You are not marrying Betsy, Robert.
THE MAN IN BLACK
Put that sword away, Christopher. You know you can't fence.
He lunges forward. Chris backs away in a circular manner, swinging his
sword wildly. The Man In Black chuckles and presses. It is evident that he
is only playing with Chris. An ominous smile is on his lips. They go around
the table. Chris tries to pull the chair between them. The Man In Black
kicks the chair away. He makes a thrust. Chris jumps back, swinging his
sword.
Curtain.
Scene three. The plaza in front of the Blackfriars. Lit torches.
The Woman In Black, now brilliantly attired in light colors and without
a mask, is at last frankly and unmistakably the Queen. She is chatting
pleasantly with De Maisse.
THE QUEEN
I assure you, my dear Monsieur De Maisse, there's nothing unusual about
it. It is simply one of our traditions. Women do not become players in this
country - simple as that.
DE MAISSE
But surely this doesn't strike anyone as strange? Any country has a
number of conventions; and the French are no better than anyone else, I
suppose. But this! I mean, people must feel that something is wrong. Unless,
of course, there aren't many theatre goers here.
THE QUEEN
Most Londoners are theatre goers. Our national pastime, you know.
DE MAISSE
Well, I'm sorry, Your Majesty. It's just.... Unnatural! I just can't
believe that they all take it as a matter of course, especially the women.
THE QUEEN
Sure they do. You may ask anyone. There's someone coming - ask her.
Stage-right, enter Anne. She intends to pass by them when De Maisse
stops her.
DE MAISSE
My dear girl.
Anne who, at her age, is not used to be addressed in this fashion,
stops and turns slowly, a faint smile playing on her lips.
ANNE
I'm sorry. Did you just call me your dear girl?
DE MAISSE
Well, yes.
Anne laughs. The Queen smiles. De Maisse, refusing to see the joke,
frowns and fingers his moustache.
ANNE
Well?
DE MAISSE
Doesn't it strike you as very odd that only men are employed by theatre
companies?
Anne has to think about this. The Queen looks triumphantly at De
Maisse.
ANNE
What do you mean exactly, sir?
DE MAISSE
Well, you know. Men playing female parts. Don't you find that strange?
ANNE
Oh. But that's just one of the conventions. That's how theatre is. You
aren't from around here, are you?
She seems to be amused if not outright patronizing.
DE MAISSE
No. I'm sorry. I press my question. The particular convention of having
men play female parts; you don't find anything wrong with it?
ANNE
Well, from the purely logical point of you, there's plenty wrong with
it. But theatre is neither logical nor pure. For instance.... Well, have you
ever been to a theatre?
DE MAISSE
Yes.
ANNE
Well, then. For instance, there's always the boy who runs out between
the scenes carrying a sign. It says on the sign where the next bit of action
is going to take place. Like, it's a forest, or a castle, or riverbank, as
the case might be. But the stage is still the stage. You don't actually see
the forest, or the castle, just imagine that they're there. Or, if you
actually listen to what the players say - it's all blank verse. People don't
speak like that. Yet it's taken for granted that characters in plays all
speak like that. Same with the rest. Theatre is an art form, and like any
other art form, it must have its boundaries and, well, conventions. Take one
away, and it won't be theatre anymore. See what I mean?
The Queen is so impressed by Anne's soundness of judgement and sense of
logic that she draws forth and says,
THE QUEEN
My dear, you seem to know a great deal about theatre.
ANNE
Well, I've been married to a playwright for quite a while now, so I
guess I ought to know a thing or two.
DE MAISSE
Oh! We'd better ask someone else, then. You're naturally too partial.
THE QUEEN
And is your husband a good playwright, dear?
ANNE
I think he's rather good. Nothing grand, you understand, but fairly
good.
THE QUEEN
Is he famous?
ANNE
(frowns)
Famous? How can a playwright be famous?
THE QUEEN
Well, certainly Aristophanes is famous?
ANNE
Oh, but that's classics. Aristophanes died more than a thousand years
ago, didn't he?
THE QUEEN
What is your name, dear?
ANNE
Anne, Madam.
THE QUEEN
Your surname?
DE MAISSE
Madam, the Duchess.
THE QUEEN
Oh.
Enter Joanne.
JOANNE
Madam....
THE QUEEN
Good evening, Duchess. Are you here for the festivities?
JOANNE
Festivities?
DE MAISSE
Her Majesty has been generous enough to pay for the little carnival
tonight, celebrating the new owner's ascent. Masks will be worn and scenes
from various plays will be recited.
ANNE
Ah! There's a new owner, then?
JOANNE
I'm not feeling well, Your....
THE QUEEN
Stay, Duchess. A friend of yours will no doubt wish to take part in the
festivities, especially in the recital part.
DE MAISSE
Oh, yes, Duchess. It's going to be most amusing.
Enter Lionel and Betsy.
LIONEL
(sonorously)
Ladies and gentlemen! Permit me to introduce a new member of Lord
Chamberlain's Men, Thomas Carlyle.
The Queen inclines her head. Anne looks with interest. Joanne nearly
faints. De Maisse rushes to her side and helps her remain on her feet.
DE MAISSE
Something has happened to the good Duchess. Duchess?
JOANNE
Lionel!
LIONEL
I give you my word of honor, Madam. It's perfectly all right.
JOANNE
Thomas Carlyle!
BETSY
I....
LIONEL
(quickly to Betsy)
Go ahead.
Betsy strikes a pose. The rest of them form a semi-circle to the left
of her, with De Maisse still assisting Joanne.
BETSY
O beautiful Adonis, come, my love,
My idol who has robbed me of my peace,
You are that which I have been dreaming of,
My gift divine and rare, my sweet caprice.
LIONEL
The passion of this captivating creature
Is irresistible; no man could bear
Waiting a moment longer; every feature
In her speaks of delight and tender care.
BETSY
If this be lust....
She stops, seeing William enter stage-right. Lionel turns around, sees
him two.
LIONEL
Ah. It would be only fair if we let the new owner open the festivities.
Your Majesty....
THE QUEEN
Duke. Please.
LIONEL
I'm sorry.
ANNE
William.
She crosses over to him. Betsy makes a movement, Lionel holds her hand.
WILLIAM
Er.... Why is everyone looking at me?
ANNE
I'm afraid to think this.
(looks over her shoulder at the others)
I.... No. Hear for yourself, whatever it may be.
LIONEL
My dear Master William, Her Majesty is good enough to make you a
present of that little hut over there, current residents included. In
addition, I myself congratulate you most sincerely and hope that you still
remember your promise to accept me as a member of your company.
WILLIAM
Yes. I mean, thank you.
ANNE
(quietly)
Oh, William. Go and thank the Queen.
WILLIAM
Anne....
Betsy twists herself free and runs over to William.
BETSY
Master William, you must go and thank the Queen.
ANNE
(through her teeth)
Are you his mistress?
BETSY
Whose?
WILLIAM
Thank the Queen. Yes. All right. Anne, get a grip. Look at her, she's
merely a child.
ANNE
(skeptically yet hopefully)
You don't have a mistress, then?
BETSY
Master William! Madam, let him go and thank the Queen first. You may
always figure out the rest later.
WILLIAM
(irritably)
Of course I have a mistress. I thought we'd established that.
Anne closes her eyes, opens them, and pushes William towards the Queen
almost violently.
William crosses the stage, stops in front of the Queen, bows.
Your Majesty.... I was just thinking. I'm very grateful, of course.
Thanks a lot. I mean, real nice of you and all. But, you see.... a friend of
mine is in danger.
The Queen makes an impatient gesture. De Maisse looks at her, than at
William. He seems to be amused.
Enter Chris dragging the corpse of the Man In Black. He crosses to
center stage, drops the corpse, wipes his forehead with the back of his
hand.
CHRIS
Good evening, all. I hope I'm not too late. Ah, you haven't started
yet. Good.
General consternation.
WILLIAM
Chris....
CHRIS
Yeah, Wobbly man, this is, like, grand, right? You were about to thank
Her Majesty for everything she's done for you. Go ahead. Don't mind me. You
were just going to speak of gratitude and beauty and all. Beauty. We're
still pagans in this country. We worship beauty out of context.
Lionel makes a step towards Chris. De Maisse and the Queen remain
standing, curious as to what is going to happen next. Betsy is frightened.
William is trying to rationalize what it is that is going on.
CHRIS
(to Lionel)
Don't come near me, actor.
BETSY
Chris!
CHRIS
Ah, Betsy. You alone can sense it. Good girl. Not even Wobbly, with all
his insight and talent and what all else can figure this simple truth out.
Eh, Wobbly?
THE QUEEN
De Maisse, please go and round up the first guard squad you can find,
and bring them here.
DE MAISSE
Your Majesty....
CHRIS
No need, Madam. Think I'm going to escape?
Betsy begins to cry.
LIONEL
Betsy. It's all right. Now, Chris....
JOANNE
I always knew he was a troublemaker.
Chris straightens up and throws her a flaming glance.
CHRIS
Did you ever, Madam! How very observant of you. Yet the fact that I was
also a playwright failed to draw your attention altogether. Strange, isn't
it? For three years, your theatre company performed a play of mine. It never
occurred to you that its author was head over heels in love with your
daughter.
Betsy covers her face.
Shut up, Betsy.
BETSY
Oh, Chris!
CHRIS
(drawing his sword)
We serve the Great Bitch!
William steps towards him, says quietly,
WILLIAM
Chris, come with me. We'll figure out a way to get you to France.
CHRIS
(laughs)
France? Wobbly, don't be naive. Once the Great Bitch is angry with you,
it's curtains. My only regret is that I must now die a murderer. I didn't
want to kill him! I don't even know how to fence. He came to kill me. So
that he could....
He looks at Betsy, falls silent.
WILLIAM
Chris....
CHRIS
No false generosity, Wobbly. I have less than an hour to live. Let them
call the guards, let them sentence me to torture. Ah, this is freedom at
last. They don't have time to do anything to me.
WILLIAM
(quietly)
Chris, you're mad. This is suicide. Shut up.
CHRIS
Wobbly, please come to grips with this. There are all kinds of people
in the Secret Service. Commoners and dukes. Shepherds and their masters. But
they all have one thing in common. Their blades are poisoned. Brave Robert
here made a beautiful thrust. Except he forgot that I couldn't fence. I
slipped, fell to one knee, closed my eyes. He pinned himself on my sword.
But he touched me. He touched me!
(smiles)
A mere scratch, Wobbly, but, since the blade was poisoned, I'm soon to
follow him. Sweet, isn't it? Why don't you use it in a play, Wobbly. I give
you my permission.
He falls to one knee, clutches his chest. He drops his sword.
ANNE
Poor man.
She walks over to him. He looks up at her, smiles. She takes out a
handkerchief and wants to wipe his forehead. He rises with an effort, stops
her.
CHRIS
I was afraid, Madam, that your husband here was going to commit a
terrible mistake. You see, that's what we authors usually do in this kind of
situation. People laugh at us and kick us when we're down, and starve us,
and break up our families. Then, suddenly, someone takes pity on the poor
bastard and - lo and behold! a genius is among us! When this happens, we
forget everything; we're so overwhelmed, we pour out gratitude right and
left. Artists tend to be over-generous with their gratitude. They have so
much to give, you see. Before they know it, they start making promises. I
know I did. Betsy!
BETSY
Chris!
She rushes to him at last, but he looks over her head at the Queen.
CHRIS
Not you.
He walks over unsteadily. He looks the Queen in the eye, smiles.
Your body is still so young. Graceful as ever. But you should never
remove that mask you're so fond of wearing. Your face betrays you. There are
few vices that aren't written in it. It startled me nine years ago. It
startles me still.
He turns to Joanne. She backs away from him.
Stop. We're never what we'd like ourselves to be. Duchess - remember,
three years ago, you tried to seduce me?
JOANNE
(pleading to everyone)
This is absurd!
CHRIS
I wouldn't have minded much. Except I had just met your daughter. I,
who used to laugh at virtue, who always posed as a lady-killer, a bold
seducer, discovered that I was hopelessly monogamous. Funny, isn't it?
He turns to Lionel who is looking at Joanne in astonishment.
Remember, I told you.... Lionel, pay attention. Remember, when you
officially recruited me, I told you that writing was just a hobby for me?
Some hobby.
LIONEL
You have no right to blame me. I offered you an alternative only an
hour ago.
CHRIS
Yeah, and then I decided to get myself killed. Just to keep the element
of surprise on my side.
He walks over to William.
Wobbly, I once told you I disliked you a great deal. Well, you're the
only friend I ever had.
WILLIAM
Chris, I....
CHRIS
Stick to playwriting. That's your true vocation. Your sonnets suck.
He goes into the foreground, faces the audience.
Finally, I, mocker, pagan, discovered that I had faith. I, who used to
disdain mankind found myself making love to it, all of it at once. I,
atheist and sinner, turned to God when they were dancing around their pagan
bonfire. Betsy....
The Queen makes a movement. Chris almost laughs and then almost doubles
over from pain.
Not you.
Betsy looks at him.
Stop whining and wipe your nose, it's awfully red. You look ridiculous.
He swings around, moves all the way up to the footlights, turns his
back to the audience and addresses the lot of them.
Well, hello there, ladies and gentlemen! Smug ladies and kindly little
gentlemen!
A pause.
DE MAISSE
I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I'd better leave for a while, I think. This is
very stressful for me.
Chris falls down, raises himself on an elbow.
CHRIS
Wobbly.
William rushes to him, knees.
I'm frightened a little, Wobbly. Anyway, please treat her gently.
WILLIAM
Whom?
CHRIS
Oh, don't be so dim, Wobbly. This isn't the time. She deserves to be
treated gently. ....I think. There's an art to being a woman's lover, I
suppose. You know it. I don't.
WILLIAM
What do you mean?
CHRIS
You know what I mean. Caressing them, kissing them, being gentle.
Gentle. I wanted to be gentle to her. She wouldn't let me. She was always so
shy, so shy. You know? That's what's always been missing in my scribbling.
No, I wouldn't touch her. Wouldn't force myself on her. Couldn't. She can be
so beautiful, so vulnerable.
WILLIAM
There were others.
CHRIS
No. I've never slept with a woman in my entire life. Except, of course,
in my imagination. Doesn't matter. I got stuck last night. I was writing a
new play, and there was this monologue. The guy is standing on a cliff,
looking over the sea. The last two lines are supposed to rhyme. I couldn't
find the rhyme. The word is fleece. He looks over the sea, and says,
something, something, ivory fleece.
William thinks.
WILLIAM
Peace.
CHRIS
Too trivial.
WILLIAM
Er.... Timepiece. Police. Cease.
CHRIS
Lease. Greece. Oh, you so hopeless, Wobbly.
WILLIAM
Caprice.
Chris struggles to rise to his feet.
CHRIS
Exactly.
(giggles)
Caprice.
He falls face down and remains motionless. A pause.
CURTAIN
FINIS
Last-modified: Mon, 07 Jun 1999 14:56:34 GMT