Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  DAVID. Certainly, Mr. Shand. [While he does it, MAGGIE is seeing visions.]

  ALICK. What are you doing, Maggie?

  MAGGIE. This is the House of Commons, and I’m John, catching the Speaker’s eye for the first time. Do you see a queer little old wifie sitting away up there in the Ladies’ Gallery? That’s me. ‘Mr. Speaker, sir, I rise to make my historic maiden speech. I am no orator, sir’; voice from Ladies’ Gallery, ‘Are you not, John? you’ll soon let them see that’; cries of ‘Silence, woman,’ and general indignation. ‘Mr. Speaker, sir, I stand here diffidently with my eyes on the Treasury Bench’; voice from the Ladies’ Gallery, ‘And you’ll soon have your coattails on it, John’; loud cries of ‘Remove that little old wifie,’ in which she is forcibly ejected, and the honourable gentleman resumes his seat in a torrent of admiring applause.

  [ALICK and DAVID waggle their proud heads.]

  JOHN [tolerantly]. Maggie, Maggie.

  MAGGIE. You’re not angry with me, John?

  JOHN. No, no.

  MAGGIE. But you glowered.

  JOHN. I was thinking of Sir Peregrine. Just because I beat him at the poll he took a shabby revenge; he congratulated me in French, a language I haven’t taken the trouble to master.

  MAGGIE [becoming a little taller]. Would it help you, John, if you were to marry a woman that could speak French?

  DAVID [quickly]. Not at all.

  MAGGIE [gloriously]. Mon cher Jean, laissez-moi parler le francais, voulez-vous un interprete?

  JOHN. Hullo!

  MAGGIE. Je suis la soeur francaise de mes deux freres ecossais.

  DAVID [worshipping her]. She’s been learning French.

  JOHN [lightly]. Well done.

  MAGGIE [grandly]. They’re arriving.

  ALICK. Who?

  MAGGIE. Our guests. This is London, and Mrs. John Shand is giving her first reception. [Airily] Have I told you, darling, who are coming tonight? There’s that dear Sir Peregrine. [To ALICK] Sir Peregrine, this is a pleasure. Avez-vous…So sorry we beat you at the poll.

  JOHN. I’m doubting the baronet would sit on you, Maggie.

  MAGGIE. I’ve invited a lord to sit on the baronet. Voila!

  DAVID [delighted]. You thing! You’ll find the lords expensive.

  MAGGIE. Just a little cheap lord. [JAMES enters importantly.] My dear

  Lord Cheap, this is kind of you.

  [JAMES hopes that MAGGIE’s reason is not unbalanced.]

  DAVID [who really ought to have had education]. How de doo, Cheap?

  JAMES [bewildered]. Maggie —

  MAGGIE. Yes, do call me Maggie.

  ALICK [grinning]. She’s practising her first party, James. The swells are at the door.

  JAMES [heavily]. That’s what I came to say. They are at the door.

  JOHN. Who?

  JAMES. The swells; in their motor. [He gives JOHN three cards.]

  JOHN. ‘Mr. Tenterden.’

  DAVID. Him that was speaking for you?

  JOHN. The same. He’s a whip and an Honourable. ‘Lady Sybil

  Tenterden.’ [Frowns.] Her! She’s his sister.

  MAGGIE. A married woman?

  JOHN. No. ‘The Comtesse de la Briere.’

  MAGGIE [the scholar]. She must be French.

  JOHN. Yes; I think she’s some relation. She’s a widow.

  JAMES. But what am I to say to them? [‘Mr. Shand’s compliments, and he will be proud to receive them’ is the very least that the Wylies expect.]

  JOHN [who was evidently made for great ends]. Say I’m very busy, but if they care to wait I hope presently to give them a few minutes.

  JAMES [thunderstruck]. Good God, Mr. Shand!

  [But it makes him JOHN’S more humble servant than ever, and he departs with the message.]

  JOHN [not unaware of the sensation he has created]. I’ll go up and let the crowd see me from the window.

  MAGGIE. But — but — what are we to do with these ladies?

  JOHN [as he tramps upwards]. It’s your reception, Maggie; this will prove you.

  MAGGIE [growing smaller]. Tell me what you know about this Lady

  Sybil?

  JOHN. The only thing I know about her is that she thinks me vulgar.

  MAGGIE. You?

  JOHN. She has attended some of my meetings, and I’m told she said that.

  MAGGIE. What could the woman mean?

  JOHN. I wonder. When I come down I’ll ask her.

  [With his departure MAGGIE’S nervousness increases.]

  ALICK [encouragingly]. In at them, Maggie, with your French.

  MAGGIE. It’s all slipping from me, father.

  DAVID [gloomily]. I’m sure to say ‘for to come for to go.’

  [The newcomers glorify the room, and MAGGIE feels that they have lifted her up with the tongs and deposited her in one of the basins. They are far from intending to be rude; it is not their fault that thus do swans scatter the ducks. They do not know that they are guests of the family, they think merely that they are waiting with other strangers in a public room; they undulate inquiringly, and if MAGGIE could undulate in return she would have no cause for offence. But she suddenly realises that this is an art as yet denied her, and that though DAVID might buy her evening-gowns as fine as theirs [and is at this moment probably deciding to do so], she would look better carrying them in her arms than on her person. She also feels that to emerge from wraps as they are doing is more difficult than to plank your money on the counter for them. The COMTESSE she could forgive, for she is old; but LADY SYBIL is young and beautiful and comes lazily to rest like a stately ship of Tarsus.]

  COMTESSE [smiling divinely, and speaking with such a pretty accent].

  I hope one is not in the way. We were told we might wait.

  MAGGIE [bravely climbing out of the basin]. Certainly — I am sure if you will be so — it is —

  [She knows that DAVID and her father are very sorry for her.]

  [A high voice is heard orating outside.]

  SYBIL [screwing her nose deliciously]. He is at it again, Auntie.

  COMTESSE. Mon Dieu! [Like one begging pardon of the universe] It is Mr. Tenterden, you understand, making one more of his delightful speeches to the crowd. WOULD you be so charming as to shut the door?

  [This to DAVID in such appeal that she is evidently making the petition of her life. DAVID saves her.]

  MAGGIE [determined not to go under]. J’espere que vous — trouvez — cette — reunion — interessante?

  COMTESSE. Vous parlez francais? Mais c’est charmant! Voyons, causons un peu. Racontez-moi tout de ce grand homme, toutes les choses merveilleuses qu’il a faites.

  MAGGIE. I — I — Je connais — [Alas!]

  COMTESSE [naughtily]. Forgive me, Mademoiselle, I thought you spoke

  French.

  SYBIL [who knows that DAVID admires her shoulders]. How wicked of you, Auntie. [To MAGGIE] I assure you none of us can understand her when she gallops at that pace.

  MAGGIE [crushed]. It doesn’t matter. I will tell Mr. Shand that you are here.

  SYBIL [drawling]. Please don’t trouble him. We are really only waiting till my brother recovers and can take us back to our hotel.

  MAGGIE. I’ll tell him.

  [She is glad to disappear up the stair.]

  COMTESSE. The lady seems distressed. Is she a relation of Mr. Shand?

  DAVID. Not for to say a relation. She’s my sister. Our name is Wylie.

  [But granite quarries are nothing to them.]

  COMTESSE. How do you do. You are the committee man of Mr. Shand?

  DAVID. No, just friends.

  COMTESSE [gaily to the basins]. Aha! I know you. Next, please! Sybil, do you weigh yourself, or are you asleep?

  [LADY SYBIL has sunk indolently into a weighing-chair.]

  SYBIL. Not quite, Auntie.

  COMTESSE [the mirror of la politesse]. Tell me all about Mr. Shand.

  Was it here that he — picked up the pin?

  DAVID. Th
e pin?

  COMTESSE. As I have read, a self-made man always begins by picking up a pin. After that, as the memoirs say, his rise was rapid.

  [DAVID, however, is once more master of himself, and indeed has begun to tot up the cost of their garments.]

  DAVID. It wasn’t a pin he picked up, my lady; it was L300.

  ALICK [who feels that JOHN’s greatness has been outside the conversation quite long enough]. And his rise wasn’t so rapid, just at first, David!

  DAVID. He had his fight. His original intention was to become a minister; he’s university-educated, you know; he’s not a workingman member.

  ALICK [with reverence]. He’s an M.A. But while he was a student he got a place in an iron-cementer’s business.

  COMTESSE [now far out of her depths]. Iron-cementer?

  DAVID. They scrape boilers.

  COMTESSE. I see. The fun men have, Sybil!

  DAVID [with some solemnity]. There have been millions made in scraping boilers. They say, father, he went into business so as to be able to pay off the L300.

  ALICK [slily]. So I’ve heard.

  COMTESSE. Aha — it was a loan?

  [DAVID and ALICK are astride their great subject now.]

  DAVID. No, a gift — of a sort — from some well-wishers. But they wouldn’t hear of his paying it off, father!

  ALICK. Not them!

  COMTESSE [restraining an impulse to think of other things]. That was kind, charming.

  ALICK [with a look at DAVID]. Yes. Well, my lady, he developed a perfect genius for the iron-cementing.

  DAVID. But his ambition wasn’t satisfied. Soon he had public life in his eye. As a heckler he was something fearsome; they had to seat him on the platform for to keep him quiet. Next they had to let him into the Chair. After that he did all the speaking; he cleared all roads before him like a fire-engine; and when this vacancy occurred, you could hardly say it did occur, so quickly did he step into it. My lady, there are few more impressive sights in the world than a Scotsman on the make.

  COMTESSE. I can well believe it. And now he has said farewell to boilers?

  DAVID [impressively]. Not at all; the firm promised if he was elected for to make him their London manager at L800 a year.

  COMTESSE. There is a strong man for you, Sybil; but I believe you

  ARE asleep.

  SYBIL [stirring herself]. Honestly, I’m not. [Sweetly to the others] But would you mind finding out whether my brother is drawing to a close?

  [DAVID goes out, leaving poor ALICK marooned. The COMTESSE is kind to him.]

  COMTESSE. Thank you very much. [Which helps ALICK out.] Don’t you love a strong man, sleepy head?

  SYBIL [preening herself]. I never met one.

  COMTESSE. Neither have I. But if you DID meet one, would he wakes you up?

  SYBIL. I dare say he would find there were two of us.

  COMTESSE [considering her]. Yes, I think he would. Ever been in love, you cold thing?

  SYBIL [yawning]. I have never shot up in flame, Auntie.

  COMTESSE. Think you could manage it?

  SYBIL. If Mr. Right came along.

  COMTESSE. As a girl of to-day it would be your duty to tame him.

  SYBIL. As a girl of to-day I would try to do my duty.

  COMTESSE. And if it turned out that HE tamed you instead?

  SYBIL. He would have to do that if he were MY Mr. Right.

  COMTESSE. And then?

  SYBIL. Then, of course, I should adore him. Auntie, I think if I ever really love it will be like Mary Queen of Scots, who said of her Bothwell that she could follow him round the world in her nighty.

  COMTESSE. My petite!

  SYBIL. I believe I mean it.

  COMTESSE. Oh, it is quite my conception of your character. Do you know, I am rather sorry for this Mr. John Shand.

  SYBIL [opening her fine eyes]. Why? He is quite a boor, is he not?

  COMTESSE. For that very reason. Because his great hour is already nearly sped. That wild bull manner that moves the multitude — they will laugh at it in your House of Commons.

  SYBIL [indifferent]. I suppose so.

  COMTESSE. Yet if he had education —

  SYBIL. Have we not been hearing how superbly he is educated?

  COMTESSE. It is such as you or me that he needs to educate him now.

  You could do it almost too well.

  SYBIL [with that pretty stretch of neck]. I am not sufficiently interested. I retire in your favour. How would you begin?

  COMTESSE. By asking him to drop in, about five, of course. By the way, I wonder is there a Mrs. Shand?

  SYBIL. I have no idea. But they marry young.

  COMTESSE. If there is not, there is probably a lady waiting for him, somewhere in a boiler.

  SYBIL. I dare say.

  [MAGGIE descends.]

  MAGGIE. Mr. Shand will be down directly.

  COMTESSE. Thank you. Your brother has been giving us such an interesting account of his career. I forget, Sybil, whether he said that he was married.

  MAGGIE. No, he’s not married; but he will be soon.

  COMTESSE. Ah! [She is merely making conversation.] A friend of yours?

  MAGGIE [now a scorner of herself]. I don’t think much of her.

  COMTESSE. In that case, tell me all about her.

  MAGGIE. There’s not much to tell. She’s common, and stupid. One of those who go in for self-culture; and then when the test comes they break down. [With sinister enjoyment] She’ll be the ruin of him.

  COMTESSE. But is not that sad! Figure to yourself how many men with greatness before them have been shipwrecked by marrying in the rank from which they sprang.

  MAGGIE. I’ve told her that.

  COMTESSE. But she will not give him up?

  MAGGIE. No.

  SYBIL. Why should she if he cares for her? What is her name?

  MAGGIE. It’s — Maggie.

  COMTESSE [still uninterested]. Well, I am afraid that Maggie is to do for John. [JOHN comes down.] Ah, our hero!

  JOHN. Sorry I have kept you waiting. The Comtesse?

  COMTESSE. And my niece Lady Sybil Tenterden. [SYBIL’S head inclines on its stem.] She is not really all my niece; I mean I am only half of her aunt. What a triumph, Mr. Shand!

  JOHN. Oh, pretty fair, pretty fair. Your brother has just finished addressing the crowd, Lady Sybil.

  SYBIL. Then we must not detain Mr. Shand, Auntie.

  COMTESSE [who unless her heart is touched thinks insincerity charming]. Only one word. I heard you speak last night. Sublime! Just the sort of impassioned eloquence that your House of Commons loves.

  JOHN. It’s very good of you to say so.

  COMTESSE. But we must run. Bon soir.

  [SYBIL bows as to some one far away.]

  JOHN. Goodnight, Lady Sybil. I hear you think I’m vulgar. [Eyebrows are raised.]

  COMTESSE. My dear Mr. Shand, what absurd —

  JOHN. I was told she said that after hearing me speak.

  COMTESSE. Quite a mistake, I —

  JOHN [doggedly]. Is it not true?

  SYBIL [‘waking up’]. You seem to know, Mr. Shand; and as you press me so unnecessarily — well, yes, that is how you struck me.

  COMTESSE. My child!

  SYBIL [who is a little agitated]. He would have it.

  JOHN [perplexed]. What’s the matter? I just wanted to know, because if it’s true I must alter it.

  COMTESSE. There, Sybil, see how he values your good opinion.

  SYBIL [her svelte figure giving like a fishingrod]. It is very nice of you to put it in that way, Mr. Shand. Forgive me.

  JOHN. But I don’t quite understand yet. Of course, it can’t matter to me, Lady Sybil, what you think of me; what I mean is, that I mustn’t be vulgar if it would be injurious to my career.

  [The fishingrod regains its rigidity.]

  SYBIL. I see. No, of course, I could not affect your career, Mr