by Tom Stoppard
Septimus: Madam, I regret the gazebo, I sincerely regret the gazebo - and the boat-house up to a point - but the Chinese bridge, fantasy! - and the shrubbery I reject with contempt! Mr Chater! - would you take the word of a jumped-up jobbing gardener who sees carnal embrace in every nook and cranny of the landskip!
thomasina: Septimus, they are not speaking of carnal embrace, are you, Mama?
lady croom: Certainly not. What do you know of carnal embrace?
thomasina: Everything, thanks to Septimus. In my opinion, Mr Noakes's scheme for the garden is perfect. It is a Salvator!
lady croom: What does she mean?
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noakes: (Answering the wrong question) Salvator Rosa, your ladyship, the painter. He is indeed the very exemplar of the picturesque style.
brice: Hodge, what is this?
Septimus: She speaks from innocence not from experience.
brice: You call it innocence? Has he ruined you, child? (Pause.)
Septimus: Answer your uncle!
thomasina: (To Septimus.) How is a ruined child different from a ruined castle?
Septimus: On such questions I defer to Mr Noakes.
noakes: (Out of his depth) A ruined castle is picturesque, certainly.
Septimus: That is the main difference. (To brice) I teach the classical authors. If I do not elucidate their meaning, who will?
brice: As her tutor you have a duty to keep her in ignorance.
lady croom: Do not dabble in paradox, Edward, it puts you in danger of fortuitous wit. Thomasina, wait in your bedroom.
thomasina: (Retiring) Yes, mama. I did not intend to get you into trouble, Septimus. I am very sorry for it. It is plain that there are some things a girl is allowed to understand, and these include the whole of algebra, but there are others, such as embracing a side of beef, that must be kept from her until she is old enough to have a carcass of her own.
lady croom: One moment.
brice: What is she talking about?
lady croom: Meat.
brice: Meat?
lady croom: Thomasina, you had better remain. Your
knowledge of the picturesque obviously exceeds anything the rest of us can offer. Mr Hodge, ignorance should be like an empty vessel waiting to be filled at the well of truth - not a cabinet of vulgar curios. Mr Noakes - now at last it is your turn-
noakes: Thank you, your ladyship -
lady croom: Your drawing is a very wonderful transformation. I would not have recognized my own garden but for your
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ingenious book - is it not? - look! Here is the Park as it appears to us now, and here as it might be when Mr Noakes has done with it. Where there is the familiar pastoral refinement of an Englishman's garden, here is an eruption of gloomy forest and towering crag, of ruins where there was never a house, of water dashing against rocks where there was neither spring nor a stone I could not throw the length of a cricket pitch. My hyacinth dell is become a haunt for hobgoblins, my Chinese bridge, which I am assured is superior to the one at Kew, and for all I know at Peking, is usurped by a fallen obelisk overgrown with briars -
noakes: (Bleating) Lord Little has one very similar-
lady croom: I cannot relieve Lord Little's misfortunes by adding to my own. Pray, what is this rustic hovel that presumes to superpose itself on my gazebo?
noakes: That is the hermitage, madam.
lady croom: I am bewildered.
brice: It is all irregular, Mr Noakes.
noakes: It is, sir. Irregularity is one of the chiefest principles of the picturesque style -
lady croom: But Sidley Park is already a picture, and a most amiable picture too. The slopes are green and gende. The trees are companionably grouped at intervals that show them to advantage. The rill is a serpentine ribbon unwound from the lake peaceably contained by meadows on which the right amount of sheep are tastefully arranged - in short, it is nature as God intended, and I can say with the painter, 'Et in Arcadia egoV 'Here I am in Arcadia,' Thomasina.
thomasina: Yes, mama, if you would have it so.
lady croom: Is she correcting my taste or my translation?
thomasina: Neither are beyond correction, mama, but it was your geography caused the doubt.
lady croom: Something has occurred with the girl since I saw her last, and surely that was yesterday. How old are you this morning?
thomasina: Thirteen years and ten months, mama.
lady croom: Thirteen years and ten months. She is not due to be pert for six months at the earliest, or to have notions of
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taste for much longer. Mr Hodge, I hold you accountable. Mr Noakes, back to you -
noakes: Thank you, my -
lady croom: You have been reading too many novels by Mrs Radcliffe, that is my opinion. This is a garden for The Castle ofOtranto or The Mysteries of Udolpho -
chater: The Castle ofOtranto, my lady, is by Horace Walpole.
noakes: (Thrilled) Mr Walpole the gardener?!
lady croom: Mr Chater, you are a welcome guest at Sidley Park but while you are one, The Castle ofOtranto was written by whomsoever I say it was, otherwise what is the point of being a guest or having one? (The distant popping of guns heard.) Well, the guns have reached the brow -1 will speak to his lordship on the subject, and we will see by and by - (She stands looking out.) Ah! - your friend has got down a pigeon, Mr Hodge. (Calls out.) Bravo, sir!
Septimus: The pigeon, I am sure, fell to your husband or to your son, your ladyship - my schoolfriend was never a sportsman.
brice: (Looking out) Yes, to Augustus! - bravo, lad!
lady croom: (Outside) Well, come along! Where are my troops? (brice, noakes and chater obediently follow her, chater making a detour to shake Septimus's hand fervently.)
chater: My dear Mr Hodge!
(chater leaves also. The guns are heard again, a little closer.)
thomasina: Pop, pop, pop ... I have grown up in the sound of guns like the child of a siege. Pigeons and rooks in the close season, grouse on the heights from August, and the pheasants to follow - partridge, snipe, woodcock, and teal -pop - pop - pop, and the culling of the herd. Papa has no need of the recording angel, his life is written in the game book.
Septimus: A calendar of slaughter. 'Even in Arcadia, there am I!'
thomasina: Oh, phooey to Death!
(She dips a pen and takes it to the reading stand.)
I will put in a hermit, for what is a hermitage without a
hermit? Are you in love with my mother, Septimus?
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Septimus: You must not be cleverer than your elders. It is not polite.
thomasina: Am I cleverer?
Septimus: Yes. Much.
thomasina: Well, I am sorry, Septimus. (She pauses in her drawing and produces a small envelope from her pocket.) Mrs Chater came to the music room with a note for you. She said it was of scant importance, and that therefore I should carry it to you with the utmost safety, urgency and discretion. Does carnal embrace addle the brain?
Septimus: (Taking the letter) Invariably. Thank you. That is enough education for today.
thomasina: There. I have made him like the Baptist in the wilderness.
Septimus: How picturesque.
(LADY CROOM is heard calling distantly for THOMASINA who runs off into the garden, cheerfully, an uncomplicated girl. SEPTIMUS opens Mrs Chater9s note. He crumples the envelope and throws it away. He reads the note, folds it and inserts it into the pages of'The Couch of Eros9.)
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SCENE TWO
The lights come up on the same room, on the same sort of morning, in the present day, as is instantly clear from the appearance of HANNAH jarvis; and from nothing else.
Something needs to be said about this. The action of the play shuttles back and forth between the early nineteenth century and the present day, always in this same room. Both periods must share the state of the room, without the additions and subtractions which would normally be expected
. The general appearance of the room should offend neither period. In the case of props - books, paper, flowers, etc., there is no absolute need to remove the evidence of one period to make way for another. However, books, etc., used in both periods should exist in both old and new versions. The landscape outside, we are told, has undergone changes. Again, what we see should neither change nor contradict.
On the above principle, the ink and pens etc., of the first scene can remain. Books and papers associated with Hannah's research, in Scene Two, can have been on the table from the beginning of the play. And so on. During the course of the play the table collects this and that, and where an object from one scene would be an anachronism in another (say a coffee mug) it is simply deemed to have become invisible. By the end of the play the table has collected an inventory of objects.
HANNAH is leafing through the pages ofMrNoakes's sketch book. Also to hand, opened and closed, are a number of small volumes like diaries (these turn out to be Lady Groom's 'garden books'). After a few moments, HANNAH takes the sketch book to the windows, comparing the view with what has been drawn, and then she replaces the sketch book on the reading stand.
She wears nothing frivolous. Her shoes are suitable for the garden, which is where she goes now after picking up the theodolite from the table. The room is empty for a few moments.
One of the other doors opens to admit CHLOfi and BERNARD. She is the daughter of the house and is dressed casually. BERNARD, the visitor, wears a suit and a tie. His tendency is to dress flamboyantly,
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but he has damped it down for the occasion, slightly. A peacock-coloured display handkerchief boils over in his breastpocket. He carries a capacious leather bag which serves as a briefcase. chloE: Oh! Well, she was here ... BERNARD: Ah. . . the french window .. . chloE: Yes. Hang on.
(CHLOE steps out through the garden door and disappears from view. BERNARD hangs on. The second door opens and VALENTINE looksin.)
valentine: Sod.
(valentine goes out again, closing the door. chloE returns,
carrying a pair of rubber boots. She comes in and sits down and
starts exchanging her shoes for the boots, while she talks.) chloE: The best thing is, you wait here, save you tramping
around. She spends a good deal of time in the garden, as you
may imagine. Bernard: Yes. Why? chloE: Well, she's writing a history of the garden, didn't you
know? Bernard: No, I knew she was working on the Croom papers
but... chloE: Well, it's not exactly a history of the garden either. I'll let
Hannah explain it. The trench you nearly drove into is all to
do with it. I was going to say make yourself comfortable but
that's hardly possible, everything's been cleared out, it's en
route to the nearest lavatory. Bernard: Everything is?
chloE: No, this room is. They drew the line at chemical 'Ladies''. Bernard: Yes, I see. Did you say Hannah? chloE: Hannah, yes. Will you be all right?
(She stands up wearing the boots.)
I won't be. . . (But she has lost him.) Mr Nightingale? Bernard: (Waking up) Yes. Thank you. Miss Jarvis is Hannah
Jarvis the author? chloE: Yes. Have you read her book? Bernard: Oh, yes. Yes. chloE: I bet she's in the hermitage, can't see from here with the
marquee. . .
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Bernard: Are you having a garden party?
chloE: A dance for the district, our annual dressing up and general drunkenness. The wrinklies won't have it in the house, there was a teapot we once had to bag back from Christie's in the nick of time, so anything that can be destroyed, stolen or vomited on has been tactfully removed; tactlessly, I should say -(She is about to leave.)
Bernard: Um - look - would you tell her - would you mind not mentioning my name just yet?
chloE: Oh. All right.
Bernard: (Smiling) More fun to surprise her. Would you mind?
chloE: No. But she's bound to ask . .. Should I give you another name, just for the moment?
Bernard: Yes, why not?
chloE: Perhaps another bird, you're not really a Nightingale. (She leaves again. BERNARD glances over the books on the table. He puts his briefcase down. There is the distant pop-pop of a shotgun. It takes BERNARD vaguely to the window. He looks out. The door he entered by now opens and GUS looks into the room. Bernard turns and sees him.)
Bernard: Hello.
(GUS doesn't speak. He never speaks. Perhaps he cannot speak. He has no composure, and faced with a stranger, he caves in and leaves again. A moment later the other door opens again and valentine crosses the room, not exactly ignoring Bernard and yet ignoring him.)
valentine: Sod, sod, sod, sod, sod, sod . . . (As many times as it takes him to leave by the opposite door, which he closes behind him. Beyond it, he can be heard shouting. Chlo! Chlo! Bernard's discomfort increases. The same door opens and valentine returns. He looks at Bernard.)
Bernard: She's in the garden looking for Miss Jarvis.
valentine: Where is everything?
Bernard: It's been removed for the, er . . .
valentine: The dance is all in the tent, isn't it?
Bernard: Yes, but this is the way to the nearest toilet.
valentine: I need the commode.
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Bernard: Oh. Can't you use the toilet?
valentine: It's got all the game books in it.
Bernard: Ah. The toilet has or the commode has?
valentine: Is anyone looking after you?
Bernard: Yes. Thank you. I'm Bernard Nigh— I've come to see
Miss Jarvis. I wrote to Lord Croom but unfortunately I
never received a reply, so I -valentine: Did you type it? BERNARD: Type it?
valentine: Was your letter typewritten? Bernard: Yes. valentine: My father never replies to typewritten letters.
{He spots a tortoise which has been half-hidden on the table.)
Oh! Where have you been hiding, Lightning? {He picks up
the tortoise.) Bernard: So I telephoned yesterday and I think I spoke to you -valentine: To me? Ah! Yes! Sorry! You're doing a talk about -
someone - and you wanted to ask Hannah - something -Bernard: Yes. As it turns out. I'm hoping Miss Jarvis will look
kindly on me. valentine: I doubt it. Bernard: Ah, you know about research? valentine: I know Hannah. Bernard: Has she been here long? valentine: Well in possession, I'm afraid. My mother had read
her book, you see. Have you? Bernard: No. Yes. Her book. Indeed. valentine: She's terrifically pleased with herself. Bernard: Well, I dare say if I wrote a bestseller -valentine: No, for reading it. My mother basically reads
gardening books. Bernard: She must be delighted to have Hannah Jarvis writing a
book about her garden. valentine: Actually it's about hermits.
(GUS returns through the same door, and turns to leave again.)
It's all right, Gus - what do you want? -
(But gus has gone again.)
Well. . . I'll take Lightning for his run.
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Bernard: Actually, we've met before. At Sussex, a couple of years ago, a seminar . . .
valentine: Oh. Was I there?
Bernard: Yes. One of my colleagues believed he had found an unattributed short story by D. H. Lawrence, and he analysed it on his home computer, most interesting, perhaps you remember the paper?
valentine: Not really. But I often sit with my eyes closed and it doesn't necessarily mean I'm awake.
Bernard: Well, by comparing sentence structures and so forth, this chap showed that there was a ninety per cent chance that the story had indeed been written by the same person as Women in Love. To my inexpressible joy, one of your maths mob was able to show that on the same statistical basis there was a ninety per cent chance that Lawrence also wrote the Just William books and much of the previous day's Brighton and Hove Argus.
valentine: (Pause) Oh, Brighton. Yes. I was there. (And
&nb
sp; looking out.) Oh - here she comes, I'll leave you to talk. By the way, is yours the red Mazda?
Bernard: Yes.
valentine: If you want a tip I'd put it out of sight through the stable arch before my father comes in. He won't have anyone in the house with a Japanese car. Are you queer?
Bernard: No, actually.
valentine: Well, even so.
(valentine leaves, closing the door. Bernard keeps staring at the closed door. Behind him, hannah comes to the garden door.)
hannah: Mr Peacock?
(BERNARD looks round vaguely then checks over his shoulder for the missing Peacock, then recovers himself and turns on the Nightingale bonhomie.)
Bernard: Oh . . . hello! Hello. Miss Jarvis, of course. Such a pleasure. I was thrown for a moment - the photograph doesn't do you justice.
hannah: Photograph?
(Her shoes have got muddy and she is taking them off.)
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Bernard: On the book. I'm sorry to have brought you indoors, but Lady Chloe kindly insisted she -
hannah: No matter - you would have muddied your shoes.
Bernard: How thoughtful. And how kind of you to spare me a little of your time. (He is overdoing it. She shoots him a glance.)
hannah: Are you a journalist?
Bernard: (Shocked) No!
hannah: (Resuming) I've been in the ha-ha, very squelchy.
Bernard: (Unexpectedly) Ha-AaA!
hannah: What?
Bernard: A theory of mine. Ha-hah, not ha-ha. If you were strolling down the garden and all of a sudden the ground gave way at your feet, you're not going to go 'ha-ha', you're going to jump back and go 'ha-hah!', or more probably, 'Bloody 'ell!'... though personally I think old Murray was up the pole on that one - in France, you know, 'ha-ha' is used to denote a strikingly ugly woman, a much more likely bet for something that keeps the cows off the lawn. (This is not going well for Bernard but he seems blithely unaware. HANNAH stares at him for a moment.)
hannah: Mr Peacock, what can I do for you?
Bernard: Well, to begin with, you can call me Bernard, which is my name.
hannah: Thank you.
(She goes to the garden door to bang her shoes together and scrape off the worst of the mud.)
Bernard: The book! - the book is a revelation! To see Caroline Lamb through your eyes is really like seeing her for the first time. I'm ashamed to say I never read her fiction, and how right you are, it's extraordinary stuff- Early Nineteenth is my period as much as anything is.
