by Half Hours
PHILIP (chuckling). A poor little affair that. ROBERT. He said to me you were a couple
whose life looked like being a romance. PHILIP. And he was right eh, Emily?
though he little thought what a romance. EMILY. No, he little thought what a romance. (They make a happy departure , and ROBERT is left reflecting.}
The curtain again falls, and rises im mediately, as the engraving shows, on the same office in the reign of King George. It is a foggy morning and a fire burns briskly. MR. DEVIZES, SENIOR, arrives for the day's work just as he came daily for over half a century. But he has no right to be here now. A year or two ago they got him to retire, as he was grown
194 THE WILL
feeble; and there is an understanding that he does not go out of his house alone. He has, as it were, escaped to-day, and his feet have carried him to the old office that is the home of his mind. He was almost portly when we saw him first, but he has become little again and as light as the schoolboy whose deeds are nearer to him than many of the events of later years. He arrives at the office, thinking it is old times, and a clerk sur veys him uncomfortably from the door.
CREED (not quite knowing what to do). Mr.
Devizes has not come in yet, sir. MR. DEVIZES (considering). Yes, I have.
Do you mean Mr. Robert ? CREED. Yes, sir. MR. DEVIZES (querulously). Always late.
Can't get that boy to settle down.
(Leniently) Well, well, boys will be
boys eh, Surtees?
THE WILL 195
CREED (wishing MR. ROBERT would come).
My name is Creed, sir. MR. DEVIZES (sharply). Creed? Don't know
you. Where is Surtees ? CREED. There is no one of that name in the
office, sir.
MR. DEVIZES (growing timid). No? I re member now. Poor Surtees ! (But his mind cannot grapple with troubles.) Tell him I want him when he comes in.
(He is changing, after his old custom^
into an office coat.} CREED. That is Mr. Dev Mr. Robert's coat,
sir. MR. DEVIZES. He has no business to hang
it there. That is my nail. CREED. He has hung it there for years, sir. MR. DEVIZES. Not at all. I must have it. Why does Surtees let him do it? Help me into my office coat, boy.
(CREED helps him into the coat he has taken off, and the old man is content.)
196 THE WILL
CREED (seeing him lift up the correspondence). I don't think Mr. Devizes would like you to open the office letters, sir. MR. DEVIZES (pettishly). What's that? Go away, boy. Send Surtees.
(To the relief of CREED, ROBERT arrives, and, taking in the situation, signs to the clerk to go. He has a more youth ful manner than when last we saw him, has ROBERT, but his hair is iron grey. He is kindly to his father.) ROBERT. You here, father? MR. DEVIZES (after staring at him). Yes, you are Robert. (A little frightened.) You are an old man, Robert. ROBERT (without wincing). Getting on, father. But why did they let you come? You haven't been here for years. MR. DEVIZES (puzzled). Years? I think I just came in the old way, Robert, without thinking.
ROBERT. Yes, yes. I '11 get some one to go home with you.
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MR. DEVIZES (rather abject} . Let me stay, Robert. I like being here. I won't dis turb you. I like the smell of the office, Robert.
ROBERT. Of course you may stay. Come over to the fire. (He settles his father by the fire in the one arm-chair.) There; you can have a doze by the fire.
MR. DEVIZES. A doze by the fire. That is all I 'm good for now. Once but my son hangs his coat there now. (Presently he looks up fearfully.) Robert, tell me something in a whisper: Is Surtees dead?
ROBERT (who has forgotten the name). Surtees ?
MR. DEVIZES. My clerk, you know.
ROBERT. Oh. Why, he has been dead this thirty years, father.
MR. DEVIZES. So long! Seems like yester day.
ROBERT. It is just far back times that seem clear to you now.
MR. DEVIZES (meekly). Is it.
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(ROBERT opens his letters, and his
father falls asleep. CREED comes.} CREED. Sir Philip Ross.
(The great SIR PHILIP enters, nearly sixty now, strong of frame still, but a lost man. He is in mourning, and carries the broken pieces of his life with an air of braggadocio. It should be understood that he is not a 'sympathetic* part, and any actor who plays him as such will be rolling the play in the gutter.) ROBERT (on his feet at once to greet such a
client). You, Sir Philip. PHILIP (head erect). Here I am. ROBERT (because it will out). How are
you?
PHILIP (as if challenged). I 'm all right great. (With defiant jocularity) Called on
the old business.
ROBERT. To make another will ? PHILIP. You 've guessed it the very first time. (He sees the figure by the fire.)
THE WILL 199
ROBERT. Yes, it 's my father. He 's dozing. Shouldn't be here at all. He forgets things. It 's just age.
PHILIP (grimly). Forgets things. That must be fine.
ROBERT (conventionally). I should like, Si* Philip, to offer you my sincere con dolences. In the midst of life we are How true that is. I attended the funeral.
PHILIP. I saw you.
ROBERT. A much esteemed lady. I had a great respect for her.
PHILIP (almost with relish). Do you mind, when we used to come here about the will, somehow she we always took for granted I should be the first to go.
ROBERT (devoutly). These things are hid from mortal eyes.
PHILIP (with conviction). There 's a lot hid. We needn't have worried so much about the will if well, let us get at it. (Fiercely) I haven't given in, you know.
ROBERT. We must bow our heads
200 THE WILL
PHILIP. Must we? Am I bowing mine ?
ROBERT (uncomfortably). Such courage in the great hour yes and I am sure Lady Ross
PHILIP (with the ugly humour that has come to him). She wasn't that.
ROBERT. The honour came so soon after wards I feel she would like to be thought of as Lady Ross. I shall always re member her as a fine lady richly dressed who used
PHILIP (harshly}. Stop it. That 's not how I think of her. There was a time before that she wasn't richly dressed (he stamps upon his memories). Things went wrong, I don't know how. It 's a beast of a world. I didn't come here to talk about that. Let us get to work.
ROBERT (turning with relief from the cemetery). Yes, yes, and after all life has its com pensations. You have your son who
PHILIP (snapping). No, I haven't. (This startles the lawyer.) I 'm done with him.
THE WILL 201
ROBERT. If he has been foolish
PHILIP. Foolish ! (Some dignity comes into the man.} Sir, I have come to a pass when foolish as applied to my own son would seem to me a very pretty word.
ROBERT. Is it as bad as that ?
PHILIP. He 's a rotter.
ROBERT. It is very painful to me to hear you say that.
PHILIP. More painful, think you, than for me to say it? (Clenching his fists.) But I 've shipped him off. The law had to wink at it, or I couldn't have done it. Why don't you say I pampered him and it serves me right ? It 's what they are all saying behind my back. Why don't you ask me about my girl ? That 's another way to rub it in.
ROBERT. Don't, Sir Philip. I knew her. My sympathy
PHILIP. A chauffeur, that is what he was. The man who drove her own car.
ROBERT. I was deeply concerned
202 THE WILL
PHILIP. I want nobody's pity. I Ve done with both of them, and if you think I 'm a broken man you 're much mistaken. I '11 show them. Have you your papers there ? Then take down my last will. I have everything in my head. I '11 show them.
ROBERT. Would it not be better to wait till a calmer
PHILIP. Will you do it now, or am I to go across the street ?
ROBERT. If I must.
PHILIP. Then down with it. (He wets his lips.} I, Philip Ross, of 77 Bath S
treet, W., do hereby revoke all former wills and testaments, and I leave everything of which I die possessed
ROBERT. Yes?
PHILIP. Everything of which I die pos sessed
ROBERT. Yes?
PHILIP. I leave it I leave it (The game is up.} My God, Devizes, I don't know what to do with it.
THE WILL 203
ROBERT. I I really come
PHILIP (cynically). Can't you make any sug gestions ?
ROBERT. Those cousins are dead, I think ?
PHILIP. Years ago.
ROBERT (troubled). In the case of such a large sum
PHILIP (letting all his hoarded gold run through his fingers). The money I've won with my blood. God in heaven! (Showing hi* teeth.) Would that old man like it to play with? If I bring it to you in sacks, will you fling it out of the window for me ?
ROBERT. Sir Philip !
PHILIP (taking a paper from his pocket). Here, take this. It has the names and ad dresses of the half-dozen men I 've fought with most for gold; and I 've beaten them. Draw up a will leaving all my money to be divided between them, with my respectful curses, and bring it to my house and I '11 sign it.
204 THE WILL
ROBERT (properly shocked). But really I can't possibly
PHILIP. Either you or another; is it to be you?
ROBERT. Very well.
PHILIP. Then that 's settled. (He rises with a laugh. He regards MR. DEVIZES quiz zically.) So you weren't in at the last will after all, old Sleep by the Fire. (To their surprise the old man stirs.)
MR. DEVIZES. What 's that about a will ?
ROBERT. You are awake, father?
MR. DEVIZES (whose eyes have opened on PHILIP'S face). I don't know you, sir.
ROBERT. Yes, yes, father, you remember Mr. Ross. He is Sir Philip now.
MR. DEVIZES (courteously). Sir Philip? I wish you joy, sir, but I don't know you.
ROBERT (encouragingly). Ross, father.
MR. DEVIZES. I knew a Mr. Ross long ago.
ROBERT. This is the same.
MR. DEVIZES (annoyed). No, no. A bright young fellow he was, with such a dear.
THE WILL 205
pretty wife. They came to make a will. (He chuckles.} And bless me, they had only twopence halfpenny. I took a fancy to them; such a happy pair.
ROBERT (apologetically). The past is clearer to him than the present nowadays. That will do, father.
PHILIP (brusquely). Let him go on.
MR. DEVIZES. Poor souls, it all ended un happily, you know.
PHILIP (who is not brusque to him). Yes, I know. Why did things go wrong, sir? I sit and wonder, and I can't find the beginning.
MR. DEVIZES. That 's the sad part of it. There was never a beginning. It was always there. He told me all about it.
ROBERT. He is thinking of something else; I don't know what.
PHILIP. Quiet. What was it that was always there?
MR. DEVIZES. It was always in them a spot no bigger than a pin's head, but waiting
206 THE WILL
to spread and destroy them in the f ulness
of time. ROBERT. I don't know what he has got hold
of. PHILIP. He knows. Could they have done
anything to prevent it, sir ? MR. DEVIZES. If they had been on the watch.
But they didn't know, so they weren't
on the watch. Poor souls. PHILIP. Poor souls. MR. DEVIZES. It 's called the accursed thing.
It gets nearly everybody in the end, if
they don't look out.
(He sinks back into his chair and
forgets them.)
ROBERT. He is just wandering. PHILIP. The old man knows.
(He slowly tears up the paper he had
given ROBERT.) ROBERT (relieved). I am glad to see you do
that. PHILIP. A spot no bigger than a pin's head.
(A wish wells up in him, too late perhaps.)
THE WILL 807
I wish I could help some young things before that spot has time to spread and destroy them as it has destroyed me and mine.
ROBERT (brightly). With such a large for tune
PHILIP (summing up his life). It can't be done with money, sir.
(He goes away; God knows where.)
DER TAG
A PLAY
DEE TAG
A bare chamber lighted by a penny dip which casts shadows. On a hard chair by a table sits an EMPEROR in thought. To him come his CHANCELLOR and an OFFICER.
CHANCELLOR. Your Imperial Majesty
OFFICER. Sire
(The EMPEROR rises.) EMPEROR. Is that the paper ?
(Indicating paper in CHANCELLOR'S
hand.) CHANCELLOR (giving it to him). It awaits
only your Imperial Majesty's signature. OFFICER. When you have signed that paper, sire, the Fatherland will be at war with France and Russia.
EMPEROR. At last ! This little paper
CHANCELLOR. Not of the value of a bird's
211
DER TAG
feather until it has your royal signature. Then
EMPEROR. Then it will sing round the planet, the vibration of it will not pass in a hun dred years. My friend, how still the world has grown since I raised this pen. All Europe's listening. Europe! That's Germany, when I have signed. And yet
OFFICER. Your Imperial Majesty is not afraid to sign?
EMPEROR (flashing). Afraid!
OFFICER (abject). Oh, sire!
EMPEROR. I am irresistible to-day! "Red blood boils in my veins, to me every open door is the gift of a world, I hear a thousand nightingales, I could eat all the elephants in Hindustan and pick my teeth with the spire of Strasburg Cathedral."
OFFICER. That is the Fatherland to-day. Such as we are, that you have made us, each seeking to copy you in so far as man
DER TAG 213
can repeat his deity. It was you fashioned us into a sword, sire, and now the sword must speak.
EMPEROR (approvingly). There the sword spoke. And yet the wise one said: "Take not your enemies together but separately, lest the meal go to them instead of to you." One at a time ! (To CHANCELLOR) Why am I not a friend of Russia till France is out of the way, or France's friend until the Bear is muzzled? That was your part.
CHANCELLOR. For that I strove, but their mean minds suspected me. Sire, your signature ?
EMPEROR. What of Britain ?
OFFICER (intently). This. THE DAY, to which we have so often drunk, draws near.
EMPEROR. The Day ! To The Day ! (All sa lute The Day with their swords.) But when ?
OFFICER. Now if she wants it.
EMPEROR. There is no road to Britain until our neighbours are subdued. Then,
214 DER TAG
for us, there will be no roads that do not lead to Britain.
CHANCELLOR (suavely). Your Imperial Maj esty, Britain will not join in just now.
EMPEROR. If I was sure of that ?
CHANCELLOR. I vouch for it. So well we've chosen our time, it finds her at issue with herself, her wild women let loose, her colonies ready to turn against her, Ireland aflame, her paltry British Army sulking with the civic powers.
EMPEROR. These wounds might heal sud denly if German bugles sounded. It is a land that in the past has done things.
OFFICER. In the past, your Imperial Majesty; but in the past alone lies Britain's great ness.
EMPEROR. Yes, that's the German truth. Britain has grown dull and sluggish; a belly of a land, she lies overfed, no dreams within her such as keep Powers alive; and timid, too without red blood in her, but in its stead a thick yellowish fluid. The
DER TAG 215
most she'll play for is her own safety; pretend to grant her that, and she'll seek her soft bed again. Britain's part in the world's making is done: "I was," her epitaph.
CHANCELLOR. How well you know her, sire. All she needs is some small excuse for say ing: "I acted in the best interests of my money-bags." Tjhat excuse I've found for her. I have promised in your name a secret compact wit
h her that if she stands aloof, the parts of France we do not at present need we will not at present take.
EMPEROR. A secret bargain over the head of France, her friend ! Surely an infamous proposal.
CHANCELLOR. The British Government will not think so. Trust me to know them, sire. Your signature ?
EMPEROR (gleaming). I can fling a million men within the week across the border by way of Alsace and Lorraine.
216 DER TAG
OFFICER (frowning). There are a hundred gates to open that way.
EMPEROR. My guns shall open them.
OFFICER (with meaning). You can think of no easier road, sire?
EMPEROR. I think of it night and day.
OFFICER. One further north through Bel gium?
EMPEROR. If I could dare ! But no, that road is barred.
OFFICER (misunderstanding). On the con trary, sire
EMPEROR. Barred by a fortress no gun of mine may bear against by honour, by our plighted word.
OFFICER. Yes, sire
EMPEROR (after hesitating}. No, no! I will not so stain my name.
CHANCELLOR. I am with you, sire, but I fear it will not be so with France. She has grown cynical. She will find the road through Belgium.
EMPEROR. You seek to tempt me. She also signed the treaty.
DER TAG 217
CHANCELLOR. Your Imperial Majesty judges
others by yourself. I have private ground
for fearing that in the greed for a first
advantage, France will call the treaty but
a scrap of paper. EMPEROR. I think your private ground may
be your own private newspaper. CHANCELLOR. She will say that necessity
knows no law, or some such dastard
words. EMPEROR. Belgium is no craven: she will
fight the betrayer. CHANCELLOR. France will hack her way
