C.-C. I felt I had done my duty by society and I determined to devote the rest of my life to my own entertainment. The House of Commons had always bored me excessively and the scandal of our divorce gave me an opportunity to resign my seat. I have been relieved to find that the country got on perfectly well without me.
Lady Kitty. But has love never entered your life?
C.-C. Tell me frankly, Kitty, don’t you think people make a lot of unnecessary fuss about love?
Lady Kitty. It’s the most wonderful thing in the world.
C.-C. You’re incorrigible. Do you really think it was worth sacrificing so much for?
Lady Kitty. My dear Clive, I don’t mind telling you that if I had my time over again I should be unfaithful to you, but I should not leave you.
C.-C. For some years I was notoriously the prey of a secret sorrow. But I found so many charming creatures who were anxious to console that in the end it grew rather fatiguing. Out of regard to my health I ceased to frequent the drawing-rooms of Mayfair.
Lady Kitty. And since then?
C.-C. Since then I have allowed myself the luxury of assisting financially a succession of dear little things, in a somewhat humble sphere, between the ages of twenty and twenty-five.
Lady Kitty. I cannot understand the infatuation of men for young girls. I think they’re so dull.
C.-C. It’s a matter of taste. I love old wine, old friends and old books, but I like young women. On their twenty-fifth birthday I give them a diamond ring and tell them they must no longer waste their youth and beauty on an old fogey like me. We have a most affecting scene, my technique on these occasions is perfect, and then I start all over again.
Lady Kitty. You’re a wicked old man, Clive.
C.-C. That’s what I told you. But, by George! I’m a happy one.
Lady Kitty. There’s only one course open to me now.
C.-C. What is that?
Lady Kitty. [With a flashing smile.] To go and dress for dinner.
C.-C. Capital. I will follow your example.
[As Lady Kitty goes out Elizabeth comes in.
Elizabeth. Where is Arnold?
C.-C. He’s on the terrace. I’ll call him.
Elizabeth. Don’t bother.
C.-C. I was just strolling along to my cottage to put on a dinner jacket. [As he goes out.] Arnold.
[Exit C.-C.
Arnold. Hulloa! [He comes in.] Oh, Elizabeth, I’ve found an illustration here of a chair which is almost identical with mine. It’s dated 1750. Look!
Elizabeth. That’s very interesting.
Arnold. I want to show it to Porteous. [Moving a chair which has been misplaced.] You know, it does exasperate me the way people will not leave things alone. I no sooner put a thing in its place than somebody moves it.
Elizabeth. It must be maddening for you.
Arnold. It is. You are the worst offender. I can’t think why you don’t take the pride that I do in the house. After all, it’s one of the show places in the county.
Elizabeth. I’m afraid you find me very unsatisfactory.
Arnold. [Good-humouredly.] I don’t know about that. But my two subjects are politics and decoration. I should be a perfect fool if I didn’t see that you don’t care two straws about either.
Elizabeth. We haven’t very much in common, Arnold, have we?
Arnold. I don’t think you can blame me for that.
Elizabeth. I don’t. I blame you for nothing. I have no fault to find with you.
Arnold. [Surprised at her significant tone.] Good gracious me! what’s the meaning of all this?
Elizabeth. Well, I don’t think there’s any object in beating about the bush. I want you to let me go.
Arnold. Go where?
Elizabeth. Away. For always.
Arnold. My dear child, what are you talking about?
Elizabeth. I want to be free.
Arnold. [Amused rather than disconcerted.] Don’t be ridiculous, darling. I daresay you’re run down and want a change. I’ll take you over to Paris for a fortnight if you like.
Elizabeth. I shouldn’t have spoken to you if I hadn’t quite made up my mind. We’ve been married for three years and I don’t think it’s been a great success. I’m frankly bored by the life you want me to lead.
Arnold. Well, if you’ll allow me to say so, the fault is yours. We lead a very distinguished, useful life. We know a lot of extremely nice people.
Elizabeth. I’m quite willing to allow that the fault is mine. But how does that make it any better? I’m only twenty-five. If I’ve made a mistake I have time to correct it.
Arnold. I can’t bring myself to take you very seriously.
Elizabeth. You see, I don’t love you.
Arnold. Well, I’m awfully sorry. But you weren’t obliged to marry me. You’ve made your bed and I’m afraid you must lie on it.
Elizabeth. That’s one of the falsest proverbs in the English language. Why should you lie on the bed you’ve made if you don’t want to? There’s always the floor.
Arnold. For goodness’ sake don’t be funny, Elizabeth.
Elizabeth. I’ve quite made up my mind to leave you, Arnold.
Arnold. Come, come, Elizabeth, you must be sensible. You haven’t any reason to leave me.
Elizabeth. Why should you wish to keep a woman tied to you who wants to be free?
Arnold. I happen to be in love with you.
Elizabeth. You might have said that before.
Arnold. I thought you’d take it for granted. You can’t expect a man to go on making love to his wife after three years. I’m very busy. I’m awfully keen on politics and I’ve worked like a dog to make this house a thing of beauty. After all, a man marries to have a home, but also because he doesn’t want to be bothered with sex and all that sort of thing. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you and I’ve been in love ever since.
Elizabeth. I’m sorry, but if you’re not in love with a man his love doesn’t mean very much to you.
Arnold. It’s so ungrateful. I’ve done everything in the world for you.
Elizabeth. You’ve been very kind to me. But you’ve asked me to lead a life I don’t like and that I’m not suited for. I’m awfully sorry to cause you pain, but now you must let me go.
Arnold. Nonsense! I’m a good deal older than you are and I think I have a little more sense. In your interests as well as in mine I’m not going to do anything of the sort.
Elizabeth. [With a smile.] How can you prevent me? You can’t keep me under lock and key.
Arnold. Please don’t talk to me as if I were a foolish child. You’re my wife and you’re going to remain my wife.
Elizabeth. What sort of a life do you think we should lead? Do you think there’d be any more happiness for you than for me?
Arnold. But what is it precisely that you suggest?
Elizabeth. Well, I want you to let me divorce you.
Arnold. [Astounded.] Me? Thank you very much. Are you under the impression I’m going to sacrifice my career for a whim of yours?
Elizabeth. How will it do that?
Arnold. My seat’s wobbly enough as it is. Do you think I’d be able to hold it if I were in a divorce case? Even if it were a put-up job, as most divorces are nowadays, it would damn me.
Elizabeth. It’s rather hard on a woman to be divorced.
Arnold. [With sudden suspicion.] What do you mean by that? Are you in love with some one?
Elizabeth. Yes.
Arnold. Who?
Elizabeth. Teddie Luton.
[He is astonished for a moment, then bursts into a laugh.
Arnold. My poor child, how can you be so ridiculous? Why, he hasn’t a bob. He’s a perfectly commonplace young man. It’s so absurd I can’t even be angry with you.
Elizabeth. I’ve fallen desperately in love with him, Arnold.
Arnold. Well, you’d better fall desperately out.
Elizabeth. He wants to marry me.
Arnold. I daresay he does. He c
an go to hell.
Elizabeth. It’s no good talking like that.
Arnold. Is he your lover?
Elizabeth. No, certainly not.
Arnold. It shows that he’s a mean skunk to take advantage of my hospitality to make love to you.
Elizabeth. He’s never even kissed me.
Arnold. I’d try telling that to the horse marines if I were you.
Elizabeth. It’s because I wanted to do nothing shabby that I told you straight out how things were.
Arnold. How long have you been thinking of this?
Elizabeth. I’ve been in love with Teddie ever since I knew him.
Arnold. And you never thought of me at all, I suppose.
Elizabeth. Oh, yes, I did. I was miserable. But I can’t help myself. I wish I loved you, but I don’t.
Arnold. I recommend you to think very carefully before you do anything foolish.
Elizabeth. I have thought very carefully.
Arnold. By God! I don’t know why I don’t give you a sound hiding. I’m not sure if that wouldn’t be the best thing to bring you to your senses.
Elizabeth. Oh, Arnold, don’t take it like that.
Arnold. How do you expect me to take it? You come to me quite calmly and say: “I’ve had enough of you. We’ve been married three years and I think I’d like to marry somebody else now. Shall I break up your home? What a bore for you! Do you mind my divorcing you? It’ll smash up your career, will it? What a pity!” Oh, no, my girl, I may be a fool, but I’m not a damned fool.
Elizabeth. Teddie is leaving here by the first train to-morrow. I warn you that I mean to join him as soon as he can make the necessary arrangements.
Arnold. Where is he?
Elizabeth. I don’t know. I suppose he’s in his room.
[Arnold goes to the door and calls.
Arnold. George!
[For a moment he walks up and down the room impatiently. Elizabeth watches him. The Footman comes in.
Footman. Yes, sir.
Arnold. Tell Mr. Luton to come here at once.
Elizabeth. Ask Mr. Luton if he wouldn’t mind coming here for a moment.
Footman. Very good, madam.
[Exit Footman.
Elizabeth. What are you going to say to him?
Arnold. That’s my business.
Elizabeth. I wouldn’t make a scene if I were you.
Arnold. I’m not going to make a scene.
[They wait in silence.
Why did you insist on my mother coming here?
Elizabeth. It seemed to me rather absurd to take up the attitude that I should be contaminated by her when . . .
Arnold. [Interrupting.] When you were proposing to do exactly the same thing. Well, now you’ve seen her what do you think of her? Do you think it’s been a success? Is that the sort of woman a man would like his mother to be?
Elizabeth. I’ve been ashamed. I’ve been so sorry. It all seemed dreadful and horrible. This morning I happened to notice a rose in the garden. It was all overblown and bedraggled. It looked like a painted old woman. And I remembered that I’d looked at it a day or two ago. It was lovely then, fresh and blooming and fragrant. It may be hideous now, but that doesn’t take away from the beauty it had once. That was real.
Arnold. Poetry, by God! As if this were the moment for poetry!
[Teddie comes in. He has changed into a dinner jacket.
Teddie. [To Elizabeth.] Did you want me?
Arnold. I sent for you.
[Teddie looks from Arnold to Elizabeth. He sees that something has happened.
When would it be convenient for you to leave this house?
Teddie. I was proposing to go to-morrow morning. But I can very well go at once if you like.
Arnold. I do like.
Teddie. Very well. Is there anything else you wish to say to me?
Arnold. Do you think it was a very honourable thing to come down here and make love to my wife?
Teddie. No, I don’t. I haven’t been very happy about it. That’s why I wanted to go away.
Arnold. Upon my word you’re cool.
Teddie. I’m afraid it’s no good saying I’m sorry and that sort of thing. You know what the situation is.
Arnold. Is it true that you want to marry Elizabeth?
Teddie. Yes. I should like to marry her as soon as ever I can.
Arnold. Have you thought of me at all? Has it struck you that you’re destroying my home and breaking up my happiness?
Teddie. I don’t see how there could be much happiness for you if Elizabeth doesn’t care for you.
Arnold. Let me tell you that I refuse to have my home broken up by a twopenny-halfpenny adventurer who takes advantage of a foolish woman. I refuse to allow myself to be divorced. I can’t prevent my wife from going off with you if she’s determined to make a damned fool of herself, but this I tell you: nothing will induce me to divorce her.
Elizabeth. Arnold, that would be monstrous.
Teddie. We could force you.
Arnold. How?
Teddie. If we went away together openly you’d have to bring an action.
Arnold. Twenty-four hours after you leave this house I shall go down to Brighton with a chorus-girl. And neither you nor I will be able to get a divorce. We’ve had enough divorces in our family. And now get out, get out, get out!
[Teddie looks uncertainly at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth. [With a little smile.] Don’t bother about me. I shall be all right.
Arnold. Get out! Get out!
END OF THE SECOND ACT
THE THIRD ACT
The Scene is the same as in the preceding Acts.
It is the night of the same day as that on which takes place the action of the second Act.
Champion-Cheney and Arnold, both in dinner jackets, are discovered. Champion-Cheney is seated. Arnold walks restlessly up and down the room.
C.-C. I think, if you’ll follow my advice to the letter, you’ll probably work the trick.
Arnold. I don’t like it, you know. It’s against all my principles.
C.-C. My dear Arnold, we all hope that you have before you a distinguished political career. You can’t learn too soon that the most useful thing about a principle is that it can always be sacrificed to expediency.
Arnold. But supposing it doesn’t come off? Women are incalculable.
C.-C. Nonsense! Men are romantic. A woman will always sacrifice herself if you give her the opportunity. It is her favourite form of self-indulgence.
Arnold. I never know whether you’re a humorist or a cynic, father.
C.-C. I’m neither, my dear boy; I’m merely a very truthful man. But people are so unused to the truth that they’re apt to mistake it for a joke or a sneer.
Arnold. [Irritably.] It seems so unfair that this should happen to me.
C.-C. Keep your head, my boy, and do what I tell you.
[Lady Kitty and Elizabeth come in. Lady Kitty is in a gorgeous evening gown.
Elizabeth. Where is Lord Porteous?
C.-C. He’s on the terrace. He’s smoking a cigar. [Going to window.] Hughie!
[Porteous comes in.
Porteous. [With a grunt.] Yes? Where’s Mrs. Shenstone?
Elizabeth. Oh, she had a headache. She’s gone to bed.
[When Porteous comes in Lady Kitty with a very haughty air purses her lips and takes up an illustrated paper. Porteous gives her an irritated look, takes another illustrated paper and sits himself down at the other end of the room. They are not on speaking terms.
C.-C. Arnold and I have just been down to my cottage.
Elizabeth. I wondered where you’d gone.
C.-C. I came across an old photograph album this afternoon. I meant to bring it along before dinner, but I forgot, so we went and fetched it.
Elizabeth. Oh, do let me see it! I love old photographs.
[He gives her the album, and she, sitting down, puts it on her knees and begins to turn over the pages. He stands over her. Lady Kitty and Port
eous take surreptitious glances at one another.
C.-C. I thought it might amuse you to see what pretty women looked like five-and-thirty years ago. That was the day of beautiful women.
Elizabeth. Do you think they were more beautiful then than they are now?
C.-C. Oh, much. Now you see lots of pretty little things, but very few beautiful women.
Elizabeth. Aren’t their clothes funny?
C.-C. [Pointing to a photograph.] That’s Mrs. Langtry.
Elizabeth. She has a lovely nose.
C.-C. She was the most wonderful thing you ever saw. Dowagers used to jump on chairs in order to get a good look at her when she came into a drawing-room. I was riding with her once, and we had to have the gates of the livery stable closed when she was getting on her horse because the crowd was so great.
Elizabeth. And who’s that?
C.-C. Lady Lonsdale. That’s Lady Dudley.
Elizabeth. This is an actress, isn’t it?
C.-C. It is, indeed. Ellen Terry. By George! how I loved that woman!
Elizabeth. [With a smile.] Dear Ellen Terry!
C.-C. That’s Bwabs. I never saw a smarter man in my life. And Oliver Montagu. Henry Manners with his eye-glass.
Elizabeth. Nice-looking, isn’t he? And this?
C.-C. That’s Mary Anderson. I wish you could have seen her in “A Winter’s Tale.” Her beauty just took your breath away. And look! There’s Lady Randolph. Bernal Osborne — the wittiest man I ever knew.
Elizabeth. I think it’s too sweet. I love their absurd bustles and those tight sleeves.
C.-C. What figures they had! In those days a woman wasn’t supposed to be as thin as a rail and as flat as a pancake.
Elizabeth. Oh, but aren’t they laced in? How could they bear it?
C.-C. They didn’t play golf then, and nonsense like that, you know. They hunted, in a tall hat and a long black habit, and they were very gracious and charitable to the poor in the village.
Elizabeth. Did the poor like it?
C.-C. They had a very thin time if they didn’t. When they were in London they drove in the Park every afternoon, and they went to ten-course dinners, where they never met anybody they didn’t know. And they had their box at the opera when Patti was singing or Madame Albani.
Elizabeth. Oh, what a lovely little thing! Who on earth is that?
C.-C. That?
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 405
