Plays of Near & Far by Lord Dunsany (best authors to read .txt) 📕

in Spring.

Antoninus: Never! My scourge is for such.

[Satan sighs. The girls laugh from the hill. Antoninus hears the laughter.

A look of fear comes over him.

Antoninus: Which ... (a little peal of girlish laughter off). Which cherry tree did you speak of?

Satan: This one over the window.

Antoninus (with an effort): It shall be held accursed. I will warn the brethren. It shall be cut down and hewn asunder and they shall burn it utterly.

Satan (rather sorrowfully): Ah, Antoninus.

Antoninus: You shall not tempt a monk of our blessed order.

Satan: They are coming this way, Antoninus.

Antoninus: What! What!

Satan: Have your scourge ready, Antoninus.

Antoninus: Perhaps, perhaps they have not merited extreme chastisement.

Satan: They have made a garland of may, a long white garland drooped from their little hands. Ah, if you were young, Antoninus.

Antoninus: Tempt me not, Satan. I say, tempt me not!

[The girls sing, Satan smiles, the girls sing on. Antoninus tip-toes to seat, back to window, and sits listening. The girls sing on. They pass the window and shake the branch of a cherry tree. The petals fall in sheets past the window. The girls sing on and Antoninus sits listening.

Antoninus (hand to forehead): My head aches. I think it is that song.... Perhaps, perhaps it is the halo. Too heavy, too heavy for us.

[Satan walks gently up and removes it and walks away with the gold disc. Antoninus sits silent.

Satan: When the moon is waning.

[Exit. More petals fall past the window. The song rings on. Antoninus sits quite still, on his face a new ecstacy.

CURTAIN. IF SHAKESPEARE LIVED TO-DAY DRAMATIS PERSONÆ Sir Webley Woothery-Jurnip
Mr. Neeks }
} Members of the Olympus.

Jergins, an old waiter.

Mr. Trundleben, Secretary of the Club.

Mr. Gleek, Editor of the "Banner and Evening Gazette" and member of the Olympus.

Scene

A room in the Olympus Club.

Time: After luncheon.

Sir Webley Woothery-Jurnip and Mr. Neeks sit by a small table. Further away sits Mr. Gleek, the Editor of the "Banner and Evening Gazette." Sir Webley Jurnip rises and rings the bell by the fire-place. He returns to his seat.

Mr. Neeks: I see there's a man called Mr. William Shakespeare putting up for the Club.

Sir Webley: Shakespeare? Shakespeare? Shakespeare? I once knew a man called Shaker.

Neeks: No, it's Shakespeare—Mr. William Shakespeare.

Sir Webley: Shakespeare? Shakespeare? Do you know anything about him?

Neeks: Well, I don't exactly recall—I made sure that you——

Sir Webley: The Secretary ought to be more careful. Waiter!

Jergins: Yes, Sir Webley. [He comes.

Sir Webley: Coffee, Jergins. Same as usual.

Jergins: Yes, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: And, Jergins—there's a man called Mr. William Shakespeare putting up for the Club.

Jergins: I'm sorry to hear that, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: Yes, Jergins. Well, there it is, you see; and I want you to go up and ask Mr. Trundleben if he'd come down.

Jergins: Certainly, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: And then get my coffee.

Jergins: Yes, Sir Webley.

[He goes slowly away.

Neeks: He'll be able to tell us all about him.

Sir Webley: At the same time he should be more careful.

Neeks: I'm afraid—I'm afraid he's getting rather, rather old.

Sir Webley: Oh, I don't know, he was seventy only the other day. I don't call that too old—nowadays. He can't be now, he can't be more than, let me see, seventy-eight. Where does this Mr. Shaker live?

Neeks: Shakespeare. Somewhere down in Warwickshire. A village called Bradford, I think, is the address he gives in the Candidates' Book.

Sir Webley: Warwickshire! I do seem to remember something about him now. If he's the same man I certainly do. William Shakespeare, you said.

Neeks: Yes, that's the name.

Sir Webley: Well, I certainly have heard about him now you mention it.

Neeks: Really! And what does he do?

Sir Webley: Do? Well, from what I heard he poaches.

Neeks: Poaches!

Sir Webley: Yes, a poacher. Trundleben deserves to get the sack for this. A poacher from the wilds of Warwickshire. I heard all about him. He got after the deer at Charlecote.

Neeks: A poacher!

Sir Webley: That's all he is, a poacher. A member of the Olympus! He'll be dropping in here one fine day with other people's rabbits in his pockets.

[Enter Jergins.

Jergins: Your coffee, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: My coffee. I should think so. (He sips it.) One needs it.

Jergins: Mr. Trundleben will be down at once, Sir Webley. I telephoned up to him.

Sir Webley: Telephoned! Telephoned! The Club's getting more full of new-fangled devices every day. I remember the time when—— Thank you, Jergins.

[Jergins retires.

This is a pretty state of things, Neeks.

Neeks: A pretty state of things indeed, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: Ah, here's Trundleben.

Neeks: He'll tell us all about it, Sir Webley. I'm sure he'll——

Sir Webley: Ah, Trundleben. Come and sit down here. Come and——

Trundleben: Thank you, Sir Webley. I think I will. I don't walk quite as well as I used, and what with——

Sir Webley: What's all this we hear about this Mr. Shakespeare, Trundleben?

Trundleben: Oh, ah, well yes, yes indeed. Well, you see, Sir Webley, he was put up for the Club. Mr. Henry put him up.

Sir Webley (disapprovingly): Oh, Mr. Henry.

Neeks: Yes, yes, yes. Long hair and all that.

Sir Webley: I'm afraid so.

Neeks: Writes poetry, I believe.

Sir Webley: I'm afraid so.

Trundleben: Well then, what does Mr. Newton do but go and second him, and there you are, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: Yes, a pretty state of things. Has he ... Does he ... What is he?

Trundleben: He seems to write, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: Oh, he does, does he? What does he write?

Trundleben: Well, I wrote and asked him that, Sir Webley, and he said plays.

Sir Webley: Plays? Plays? Plays? I'm sure I never heard ... What plays?

Trundleben: I asked him that, Sir Webley, and he said ... he sent me a list (fumbling). Ah, here it is.

[He holds it high, far from his face, tilts his head back and looks down his nose through his glasses.

He says—let me see—"Hamelt," or "Hamlet," I don't know how he pronounces it. "Hamelt, Hamlet"; he spells it "H-a-m-l-e-t." If you pronounce it the way one pronounces handle, it would be "Hamelt," but if——

Sir Webley: What's it all about?

Trundleben: Well, I gathered the scene was in Denmark.

Neeks: Denmark! H'm! another of those neutrals!

Sir Webley: Well, I wouldn't so much mind where the scene of the play was put, if only it was a play one ever had heard of.

Neeks: But those men who have much to do with neutrals are rather the men—don't you think, Sir Webley?—who ...

Sir Webley: Who want watching. I believe you're right, Neeks. And that type of unsuccessful play-wright is just the kind of man I always rather ...

Neeks: That's rather what I feel, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: It wouldn't be a bad plan if we told somebody about him.

Neeks: I think I know just the man, Sir Webley. I'll just drop him a line.

Sir Webley: Yes, and if he's all right there's no harm done, but I always suspect that kind of fellow. Well, what else, Trundleben? This is getting interesting.

Trundleben: Well, Sir Webley, it's really very funny, but he sent me a list of the characters in this play of his, "Hamelt," and, and it's really rather delicious——

Neeks: Yes?

Sir Webley: Yes? What is it?

Trundleben: He's got a ghost in his play. (He-he-he-he-he) A ghost! He really has.

Sir Webley: What! Not on the stage?

Trundleben: Yes, on the stage!

Neeks: Well, well, well.

Sir Webley: But that's absurd.

Trundleben: I met Mr. Vass the other day—it was his four hundredth presentation of "The Nighty"—and I told him about it. He said that bringing a ghost on the stage was, of course—er—ludicrous.

Sir Webley: What else does he say he's done?

Trundleben: Er—er—there's an absurdly long list—er—"Macbeth."

Sir Webley: "Macbeth." That's Irish.

Neeks: Ah, yes. Abbey Theatre style of thing.

Trundleben: I think I heard he offered it them. But of course——

Sir Webley: No, quite so.

Trundleben: I gathered it was all rather a—rather a sordid story.

Sir Webley (solemnly): Ah!

[Neeks5 with equal solemnity wags his head.

Trundleben (focussing his list again): Here's a very funny one. This is funnier than "Hamlet." "The Tempest." And the stage directions are "The sea, with a ship."

Sir Webley (laughs): Oh, that's lovely! That's really too good. The sea with a ship! And what's it all about?

Trundleben: Well, I rather gathered that it was about a magician, and he—he makes a storm.

Sir Webley: He makes a storm. Splendid! On the stage, I suppose.

Trundleben: Oh yes, on the stage.

[Sir Webley and Neeks6 laugh heartily.

Neeks: He'd ... He'd have to be a magician for that, wouldn't he?

Sir Webley: Ha, ha! Very good! He'd have to be a magician to do that, Trundleben.

Trundleben: Yes, indeed, Sir Webley; indeed he would, Mr. Neeks.

Sir Webley: But that stage direction is priceless. I'd really like to copy that down if you'd let me. What is it? "The sea with a ship"? It's the funniest bit of the lot.

Trundleben: Yes, that's it, Sir Webley. Wait a moment, I have it here. The—the whole thing is "the sea with a ship, afterwards an island." Very funny indeed.

Sir Webley: "Afterwards an island"! That's very good, too. "Afterwards an island." I'll put that down also. (He writes.) And what else, Trundleben? What else?

[Trundleben holds out his list again.

Trundleben: "The Tragedy of—of King Richard the—the Second."

Sir Webley: But was his life a tragedy? Was it a tragedy, Neeks?

Neeks: I—I—well I'm not quite sure; I really don't think so. But I'll look it up.

Sir Webley: Yes, we can look it up.

Trundleben: I think it was rather—perhaps rather tragic, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: Oh, I don't say it wasn't. No doubt. No doubt at all. That's one thing. But to call his whole life a tragedy is—is quite another. What, Neeks?

Neeks: Oh, quite another.

Trundleben: Oh, certainly, Sir Webley. Tragedy is—er—is a very strong term indeed, to—to apply to such a case.

Sir Webley: He was probably out poaching when he should have been learning his history.

Trundleben: I'm afraid so, Sir Webley.

Sir Webley: And what else, eh? Anything more?

Trundleben: Well, there are some poems, he says.

[Holds up a list.

Sir Webley: And what are they about?

Trundleben: Well, there's one called ... Oh. I'd really rather not mention that one; perhaps that had better be left out altogether.

Neeks: Not...?

Sir Webley: Not quite...?

Trundleben: No, not at all.

Sir Webley and Neeks: H'm.

Trundleben: Left out altogether. And then there are "Sonnets," and—and "Venus and Adonis," and—and "The Phœnix and the Turtle."

Sir Webley: The Phœnix and the what?

Trundleben: The Turtle.

Sir Webley: Oh. Go on ...

Trundleben: One called "The Passionate Pilgrim," another "A Lover's Complaint."

Sir Webley: I think the whole thing's very regrettable.

Neeks: I think so too, Sir Webley.

Trundleben (mournfully): And there've been no poets since poor Browning died, none at all. It's absurd for him to call himself a poet.

Neeks: Quite so, Trundleben, quite so.