Part 4

SIR SOLOMON [_with a glance at him_]. I fully understand what you must be feeling. Believe me, I have the deepest sympathy for you; especially, as you must realize, when I am in some sort the cause of your misfortune.

BELVOIR [_violently_]. Misfortune? What misfortune?

SIR SOLOMON [_a little uneasy_]. Well, well, we won’t quarrel over a word. [_Soothingly._] I have another matter to talk to you about.

BELVOIR [_coldly_]. Indeed! What is it?

[SIR SOLOMON _looks nettled for a moment, then continues smoothly_]. It’s about Muriel. You, of course, realize that in the circumstances a continuance of your engagement is impossible.

BELVOIR. Impossible! Why?

SIR SOLOMON [_beginning to get ruffled_]. Surely you don’t need me to tell you why! Be reasonable!

BELVOIR. Reasonable? Why should I be reasonable?

SIR SOLOMON [_is about to retort, but checks himself, then speaks_]. Lord Belvoir, I don’t know why you are adopting this curious attitude, but I am sure you would not wish to take advantage of Muriel’s reluctance to break off an engagement which she cannot possibly desire to continue, but which in the circumstances her natural sensitiveness may prevent her repudiating.

BELVOIR. You say she wishes to be released from our engagement.

SIR SOLOMON [_evasively but with an assumed vigour_]. Naturally, she must do so.

BELVOIR [_politely_]. You must forgive me if I fail to see the necessity or to accept the implication.

SIR SOLOMON [_angrily_]. That’s nonsense! You must see that she can’t possibly marry you.

BELVOIR. I am sorry not to share your low opinion of me, but I don’t. I, on the contrary, think very highly of you. I think your manners are charming.

SIR SOLOMON [_exasperated_]. Don’t waste your irony on me! You refuse to release her. Very well! It is not of any consequence, but I must say I’m surprised, I expected you to act like a gentleman.

BELVOIR [_with cold irony_]. I! A gentleman! Do you come into a gentleman’s presence disinfected like that?

SIR SOLOMON [_shrugging his shoulders_]. I’ve already said that you have my deepest sympathy.

[_Rising from his seat._

BELVOIR [_controlling himself with an effort_]. Sympathy! Do you think that if you were not Muriel’s father I should tolerate these insults? I accept you such as you are; I make no reference to your defects, personal or moral, but do you therefore think yourself perfect? My God! I have at least as much difficulty in stomaching you as you have me! _You_ have my deepest sympathy!

SIR SOLOMON. Thank you, but you see, unlike you, I do not need it. I at least do not fill my daughter with repulsion.

BELVOIR [_startled_]. Repulsion!

SIR SOLOMON [_mockingly_]. Does that surprise you? Why have you never been to our house during the last three months? You simply did not dare to meet her?

BELVOIR. While there was hope I wished to spare her unnecessary annoyance.

SIR SOLOMON. Annoyance! Three months’ absence to spare a woman a little annoyance! Well, let that pass, but now? Dare you see her now?

BELVOIR [_after a slight pause_]. Yes.

SIR SOLOMON [_seeming surprised for a moment, then he laughs_]. I’ve always said few men have the pluck to face the truth about themselves.... You’ll have a rude awakening!

BELVOIR. Perhaps, but in that case I shall feel I have had a fortunate escape.

SIR SOLOMON [_sneering_]. You do value yourself highly. What attraction do you think you can possibly have for a woman?

BELVOIR. Am I so different a person to-day from the man I was three months ago?

SIR SOLOMON. You are only physically abhorrent! But perhaps you believe in the marriage of souls?

BELVOIR [_with a slight shudder_]. I believe that I do not exist merely as a smell.

SIR SOLOMON. That is true, though there is very little a woman gets from a man except through her senses. If there were no other man in the world, no doubt any woman would accept you. But have you something that no other man has got? [_He bursts out into laughter._] Ha! Ha! Ha! Of course you have! Ha! Ha! Ha! [BELVOIR _waits without stirring_. SIR SOLOMON _suddenly stops laughing. He continues deliberately_] Have you anything else that no other man has got which a woman can share, can appreciate and enjoy, which will make it worth her while to endure such a sacrifice as marrying you entails?

BELVOIR [_gloomily_]. That is what I have got to find out.

SIR SOLOMON. Yes, and when in your presumption you have told yourself you possess it, you have got to find that _she_ desires it. Humph! like most men you are a fool where women are concerned! I tell you that in twelve months my daughter will be engaged to someone else. In twenty-four months she will be married to someone else. In three years she will have children by someone else, and the difference between those children and the children she would have had by you will not matter to her, or to the universe.

BELVOIR. It may be so, but I don’t believe it.

SIR SOLOMON. Do you think that if you were blotted out to-morrow it would make any difference to the future? Do you imagine the world would cease to go on, or that it would be the poorer without you? Every hen clucks when it has laid its egg, thinking it the only egg in the universe. Even supposing you are unique, that there is no one living exactly like you, and—which is quite another point—that your singularity is of value, do you really believe that Life which has produced you once cannot produce you again?

BELVOIR. That is what I believe, what I must believe.

SIR SOLOMON. Millions of worms crawling in the Palaeozoic mud struggled like you, each one for its existence, as if the future depended upon it. But did any one worm matter? Did they matter even in their millions? Poor blind existences, they could not conceive a world without worms, as you perhaps cannot conceive a world without men, but I tell you that men _and_ worms are like the foam on the waves of the sea, mere fleeting gestures of the wind signifying nothing.

BELVOIR. I do not believe it. The breath of life is not without but within. You yourself do not believe it or why should you care who marries your daughter?

SIR SOLOMON. I don’t. Do you think I believe she matters, or that whomever she married I should not despise, as I despise all men, lusting after women because they can’t help it, and slaving to satisfy their lusts? It is all loathsome, but I can at least cloak its loathsomeness in delighting my senses. I can feast my eyes on the beauty of the bride and the male vigour of the bridegroom, and in imagination enjoy their nuptial delight, drowning my disgust in champagne; but I will not tolerate [_with an expression of disgust_] an offence in my nostrils, as I would not keep a stinking weed in my garden among my roses.

BELVOIR [_pale_]. Are you sure that you may not fill your daughter with repulsion?

SIR SOLOMON [_going to the door_]. You do not know women, and Muriel is not my daughter for nothing. If she never meets you again she may pity you, and even remember you with what fools call affection, but if she met you, you could inspire her only with disgust.

[_Exit_ SIR SOLOMON.

[BELVOIR _turns and stares into the empty fireplace. Presently_ NOSEGAY _enters with a note which he presents to_ BELVOIR.

NOSEGAY. Miss Raub is downstairs, my lord, and asked me to give you this note.

BELVOIR [_opening it_]. Is she alone?

NOSEGAY. Yes, my lord.

BELVOIR [_hesitates and walks about the room_]. Ask her to come up. [_Exit_ NOSEGAY. _He returns in a moment and opens the door._

NOSEGAY. Miss Raub. [_Exit_ NOSEGAY.

[MURIEL _is charmingly dressed as usual. At the doorway she falters, turns visibly pale, then walks into the room._

MURIEL. I had to come. Why have you never been to see me?

BELVOIR [_he does not attempt to approach her, but moves farther away towards the piano_]. Your father has just been here.

MURIEL [_involuntarily_]. What a narrow escape!

BELVOIR. Ah! You realize that!

MURIEL [_nervously_]. Why was he here—any news—anything special?

BELVOIR. If you mean, did he bring any good news, No!

MURIEL. Any bad?

BELVOIR. Not really. Tell me, Muriel, have you ever shared these fatuous expectations of my being cured of this—?

MURIEL. Why fatuous? [_hesitatingly_]. I have always hoped....

BELVOIR. Well, there is no hope. Do you understand? Absolutely no hope!

MURIEL [_desperately_]. I don’t believe it! I can’t believe it!

BELVOIR. Professor Hermann says so. Your father has heard the same thing from Paris. You see, it is something quite out of the ordinary, and in a way natural. To alter it now is like trying to change the colour of one’s eyes.

MURIEL [_faltering_]. It’s incredible!

BELVOIR. I have made up my mind. I am not going to waste my life going from specialist to specialist and running after every new quack, who thinks he can cure me of a disability of which I am not conscious, which in no way affects my mental or physical vigour, and which is really as irrelevant to my true personality as a wooden leg. If I am not to become like one of these unhappy victims of imaginary diseases who exist only as a subject for medical experiment and discussion, I must abolish from my mind the very existence of this affliction. This would be quite easy for me to do if I could live absolutely alone, but as that is impossible, the only alternative is for my friends also to be completely oblivious of it, to put it completely out of their minds for ever. Those who cannot do this I shall not number among my friends, and I will take care to show them that they are not wanted. [_He pauses_, MURIEL _does not speak. Anxiously_] Muriel, you are silent! What are you thinking?

MURIEL [_softly_]. You are asking a great deal from them. You, of course, do not realize how much.

BELVOIR. Muriel! Is it so very much? To ignore a mere sensation, an ugly sensation, if you will, but do they never put up with ugliness in the world about them? Are they so sensitive that they cannot tolerate a slight physical discomfort for the sake of— [_He hesitates._

MURIEL [_gently_]. For the sake of what?

BELVOIR [_stares in front of him: he does not dare to look at her_]. I have not always wholly liked the people I have known intimately. There have been things about them, personal things, sometimes physical, sometimes neither physical nor mental, but far deeper, which have aroused in me profound distaste. I have even felt about some that they were evil, a feeling far worse than any that can be caused by a mere physical deformity, yet I have never turned my back on them without a consciousness of loss.

MURIEL [_with a slight shudder_]. How one longs to be brave!

BELVOIR [_he does not look at her_]. Muriel!

MURIEL [_as if in a dream_]. I do not understand these things. One does them, or one doesn’t do them, and one never knows what one is going to do. I am afraid of myself. What am I going to do? [_She walks slowly towards_ BELVOIR, _who stands absolutely motionless, and puts her arms around him_.] Reg—! [_She faints._

[BELVOIR _places her gently on the chesterfield and rings the bell_. [NOSEGAY _enters_.

BELVOIR. Miss Raub has fainted. Call the housekeeper, and bring some brandy.

CURTAIN

Act IV

SCENE:—LORD BELVOIR’S _old rooms in Half Moon Street. Time:—Evening. Nothing is changed except for a few books and miscellaneous articles. Seated in an armchair facing the picture is the_ SECOND YOUNG MAN _of Act I. In another chair is the_ FIRST YOUNG MAN. _They are smoking after dinner._

FIRST YOUNG MAN. You say Lord Belvoir shot himself. Was it in this room?

SECOND YOUNG MAN. It isn’t known whether it was here or in his bedroom.

FIRST YOUNG MAN. What was the reason?

SECOND YOUNG MAN. There were all sorts of stories about his having eaten a Popomack and smelling horribly; it was a most mysterious affair.

FIRST YOUNG MAN. I wonder you care to live here.

SECOND YOUNG MAN. I didn’t intend it. But I had always wanted that picture. You remember how annoyed I was when we went back to the gallery and discovered that it had just been bought. Then when I heard all his things were to be sold I came here to see it, and when I was here looking at it, I suddenly thought why shouldn’t I buy everything, and live here myself?

FIRST YOUNG MAN. What a strange idea!

SECOND YOUNG MAN. Not at all. I had always been attracted by what I had heard of Lord Belvoir, although I had never met him; the very fact that he had bought that picture seemed to be a link between us, and the impulse came over me so suddenly and was so strong it was just as if I was doing something that had always been inevitable.

FIRST YOUNG MAN [_with a shudder_]. I shouldn’t like to live here. There’s something queer about the place, I should feel it was haunted.

SECOND YOUNG MAN [_leaning forward_]. It _is_ haunted.

FIRST YOUNG MAN [_startled_]. Good God! What do you mean?

SECOND YOUNG MAN [_in a strange voice_]. I have been trying to understand what happened to Lord Belvoir, and I often sit at night looking at that picture, and slowly, as I sit there, I feel that I am getting very near to what happened. I feel it is all round me, printed as it were indelibly upon the air, and that it requires only a very little to make it all suddenly visible. [_In a lower tone._] That is why I have moved nothing since I came here. Everything is exactly as it was when he went out for the last time, or stood in this room and shot himself. And I’ll tell you something more. I believe I know exactly where he shot himself.

FIRST YOUNG MAN. Good God!

SECOND YOUNG MAN. He came and stood in front of this picture and shot himself there [_rising and continuing with suppressed excitement_]. He stood just here, do you see? Now why did he do that?

[_He clasps his head and paces up and down._

FIRST YOUNG MAN. But how do you know all this?

SECOND YOUNG MAN [_resuming his seat_]. I suddenly saw it as I sat looking at that picture. I believe if we look at it long enough and surrender ourselves to the influence of this place, we shall see all that happened in this room [_in a whisper_]. Can’t you feel that it is all here?

FIRST YOUNG MAN [_shivering_]. There’s something strange about this place.

SECOND YOUNG MAN. It’s Belvoir! He’s here! Everything that passed through his mind as he stood gazing at that picture before he shot himself! He lived it all over again that last day, and we shall see it. Look there! Look! It’s Belvoir.

[_The lights go out and then rise again on the same scene. There is no one in the room but_ BELVOIR _and he is reading. Presently he looks at his watch and goes to the telephone._

BELVOIR. Mayfair 2713, yes, please. Hallo! Is that Mayfair 2713? I want to speak to Miss Raub; will you put me through? Hallo! Is that you, Muriel?... Yes, the same as usual! What have you been doing to-day?... Did you enjoy it?... Who was there?... Yes.... Was Clavelly there?... Oh, did he?... Yes, but I felt nervous, going out for the first time for weeks. However, it was splendidly arranged. There was not even a commissionaire at the door. I had the whole gallery to myself. Nosegay waited downstairs for me. I stayed there a couple of hours, and looked at all my favourite pictures. The English loan collection is admirable. There are some beautiful early Johns. One, a dark gipsyish girl in a blue and yellow spotted frock, dark blue blouse, and a curious bluish grey hat, lying by a mountain lake. Extraordinarily rich, but strangely still and reposeful. That alone was worth the trouble. They’ve got the _Smiling Woman_ in there and a lot of other good things. I saw the Orpen your father lent them.... I thought it extremely clever, but unsatisfying, rather like him. Yes, several water-colours: you know the Cotman I keep in this room and a couple of others I had sent up from Belvoir. I suppose you’re going to-morrow to the private view.... Who’s going with you?... Oh! How is your mother?... No, not one so far. Phaoron tells me our advertisement for the popomack has been appearing in the Chinese papers for a good many weeks now, but that’s no reason to be despondent. There are not likely to be many people alive even in China who have ever heard of it, and the news that someone is advertising will only get about slowly ... [_he looks at his watch_]. It’s just on half-past seven.... Must you? Where are you dining?... Yes, I’ve met them once, about a year ago.... Good-bye, darling. You’ve something to say to me! What is it! Tell me now! Oh, very well, I’ll ring up when you get back. About eleven, will that do?

[_He rings off, walks about the room for a few minutes, and then returns to his armchair and takes up the book he was reading. Presently he seems to have fallen asleep._ [_Enter_ NOSEGAY.

NOSEGAY. There’s a man downstairs, my lord, who says he has come about an advertisement. Did you expect anyone?

BELVOIR. About an advertisement. It must be about the popomack! [_Eagerly._] Show him up. Wait a moment. What sort of a man is he?

NOSEGAY. He’s a man of about fifty, my lord, and looks rather like a sailor.

BELVOIR. Very well, show him up.

[NOSEGAY _goes out and presently returns with_ CAPTAIN ANTHONY, _who is carrying a large handkerchief which he holds to his nose. He wears the soft loose clothes of the_ OLD MAN _in Act I, whom he exactly resembles except that he has a white beard_.

NOSEGAY. Captain Anthony. [_Exit._

BELVOIR [_rising and holding out his hand_]. How do you do? My name is Belvoir, Lord Belvoir.

ANTHONY. Very pleased to meet you, Lord Belvoir.

BELVOIR. Will you have a cigar? Do you mind helping yourself? They’re in that box. Take a chair. That’s a comfortable one.

ANTHONY [_takes one_]. Thank you.

BELVOIR. I suppose it was the advertisement in the _Times_ you saw?

ANTHONY. No, I never see the _Times_. I only got in yesterday.

BELVOIR. Then you’ve no doubt come from the East?

ANTHONY. Yes. Shanghai.

BELVOIR. Did you see the advertisement there?

ANTHONY. Well, not exactly, but I heard of it, and as I was coming home, I found out all the particulars. I thought I might come and see the person. That advertisement did not say much.

BELVOIR. It said a high price would be paid to anyone who could procure, or could inform the advertiser how to procure a popomack fruit. That seems to me quite enough.

ANTHONY. No doubt, no doubt, if it were a matter of ordinary business. But the popomack is not ordinary business. I am curious to discover how you came to know anything about it. I am astonished that you came to eat it.

BELVOIR. Well, there is very little to tell. A friend of mine received from China, where he has a business house, a popomack, and having heard how rare a delicacy it was, he invited myself and others to dinner some three months ago. One other guest beside myself ate this fruit with the unfortunate result of which you are no doubt conscious, and we simply want to obtain another popomack. That is the purpose of our advertisement.

ANTHONY. I see. I suppose you know all about the popomack by now.

BELVOIR. Well, no one seems to know very much about it. Few people in the world have ever heard of it, and it seems highly probable that my friend and I are the only people living who have tasted one.

ANTHONY. No, that is not so!

BELVOIR. Ah! then you know where this fruit can be got?

ANTHONY. Do you mind telling me why you want another popomack?

BELVOIR. I am engaged to the daughter of the man who gave that dinner. When she has eaten it, we are going to get married.

ANTHONY. Twenty years ago, when I was before the mast, I was in a brig engaged in the island trade of the China sea. We had with us a young man who had run away from home to be a sailor; his name was Marjoribanks, but he called himself Marchbanks, same as your name is Belvoir, but you call it Beaver. We had been driven out of our course in a storm, and at daybreak one morning we found ourselves near a small island. As we wanted water we manned a boat and landed a party who scoured about to find a spring. Presently Marjoribanks returned with a huge blue fruit which he had found growing. We decided to cut it and try it, but on opening it there came forth such a stench that no one could touch it except young Marjoribanks, who ate the whole thing under our eyes before you could say Jack Robinson. When the fruit was all gone, however, the stench remained, and seemed to come from Marjoribanks. We ducked him in the sea, but still he smelt. We didn’t know what to do with him, it was almost impossible to go near him, and so we left him on the island.

BELVOIR. You mean to say you left him alone on the island?

ANTHONY. Yes, we sailed away, and for all I know he’s there to this day.

BELVOIR. Could you find that island again?

ANTHONY. I daresay I could.

BELVOIR. Well, will you take my yacht _Adventuress_, and bring back a popomack, or as many as you can?

ANTHONY. Well, that’s a proposition; but I dare say I might accept it. When shall I start?

BELVOIR. O, you can start at once.

ANTHONY. Excellent! Do you know I should rather like to see poor Marjoribanks again. I have often thought about him.

BELVOIR. Well, I’ll give you a letter to the officer in charge of the _Adventuress_ at Southampton, he will supply you with all you require, and when you return wire me and come straight here with the popomack.

ANTHONY. I will. [_The scene fades. When it becomes visible again_, BELVOIR _is still in his chair. The door opens, and_ NOSEGAY _appears_.

NOSEGAY. Captain Anthony has arrived, my lord.

BELVOIR [_excitedly_]. Show him up!

[_The door opens and_ CAPTAIN ANTHONY _enters_.

ANTHONY. I hope you got my wire, sir.

BELVOIR. Yes, have you got it?

ANTHONY. Yes, here it is. [_He takes from a large bag a popomack and places it on the table._

BELVOIR. I have told Miss Raub; she will be here to eat it in a few moments, and then, Anthony, we shall be married the day after to-morrow, and you must come to our wedding.

ANTHONY. I shall be delighted. [_Enter_ NOSEGAY.

NOSEGAY. Miss Raub, my lord.

BELVOIR. Show her up; and, Nosegay, bring a knife and plate.

NOSEGAY. Yes, my lord.

[_Exit. The door opens and_ MURIEL _enters_.

BELVOIR. Muriel! Allow me to introduce you to Captain Anthony.

[_They shake hands, and_ BELVOIR _walks about the room in a state of great excitement_. MURIEL _is pale and obviously distressed_.

MURIEL [_hesitatingly_]. Reggie!