Part 5

[_At this moment the door opens and_ NOSEGAY _enters with a knife and plate which he places on the table. He goes out_. BELVOIR _at once takes the knife and is about to insert it in the popomack_.

MURIEL [_imploringly_]. Stop, Reggie! I came to tell you. Oh, do forgive me, but I can’t!

[ANTHONY _creeps out into the shadow_.

BELVOIR [_thunderstruck_]. Muriel! What do you mean?

MURIEL [_clenching her gloved hands_]. I simply can’t do it. I can’t! I can’t!

BELVOIR [_helplessly_]. But, Muriel, you promised. We’ve been months waiting for this day. I don’t understand you!

MURIEL. I don’t understand myself.

BELVOIR. But why this sudden change?

MURIEL. It isn’t a sudden change. I’ve known all the time in my heart that I couldn’t do it, but I’ve been too great a coward to tell you.

BELVOIR. But ... Muriel, don’t you love me?

MURIEL. I’m very fond of you, Reggie, but I can’t marry you.

BELVOIR. Can’t marry me? Muriel darling, you’re frightened, but it’s nothing. Now just eat this, and all will be well.

MURIEL [_firmly_]. Reggie, it’s no good. I’m not going to marry you.

BELVOIR. I don’t understand. What is the matter? Muriel! [_He moves towards her to take her in his arms, but she recoils._

MURIEL. Don’t make it harder for me, Reggie!

BELVOIR [_furiously_]. Hard for you, but what about me? Do you expect me to take any notice of such nonsense. [_He seizes her and kisses her passionately, but she resists strenuously and at last he lets her go._

MURIEL. Give me some brandy quick!

[_He rushes to a cupboard and pours out some in a tumbler. She drinks it._

MURIEL. [_coldly_]. Now will you let me go?

BELVOIR [_imploringly_]. Muriel, what’s the matter with you? Why have you changed?

MURIEL. I am awfully sorry, Reggie, but I have found that my feelings are not what I thought they were.

BELVOIR [_scornfully_]. Well, your father was right. He said you’d never be able to stand me now.

MURIEL. It isn’t that, I assure you.

BELVOIR. Oh, yes, it is.

MURIEL. You’re wrong! Even if I ate the popomack it would make no difference really!

BELVOIR [_laughing almost hysterically_]. Oh, wouldn’t it? Do you think the fellow you want to marry would have you then?

MURIEL [_flushing_]. I don’t want to marry anyone.

BELVOIR [_coldly_]. Let me tell you you’re a liar! Don’t you think I haven’t known this would happen? Here while I have been cooped up unable to take you about, other men have been seeing you, talking to you, dancing with you, riding with you! My God, to think what I’ve suffered! Day after day I have had to sit here absolutely helpless, knowing that every minute I was losing you, and [_with a change in tone_] losing you for ever to some worthless bounder who smells of tobacco instead of popomack!

MURIEL. I am sorry, Reggie, really!

BELVOIR. Are you quite sure you love this one? Do you know anything about love at all? How long do you think it will last?

MURIEL. I’ve told you before I’m not in love with anyone.

BELVOIR. I believe you. But now and then you want a man, and you’re not going to take a man who will be a nuisance as I shall be. Neither are you going to sacrifice the pleasures you’ve been accustomed to in order to go away and live with him. You haven’t got it in you to make yourself a new life with me.

MURIEL [_desperately_]. _Will_ you believe me! I am acting on instinct. Do you think I’d let anything stop me if I loved you?

BELVOIR. But, Muriel, you loved me; I know you loved me.

MURIEL. Perhaps I did. I don’t understand it.

BELVOIR. You’ll find you love me still. It is merely this unfortunate affair. Everything will come right if you take this [_offering her the popomack_]. Do, Muriel!

MURIEL. It’s no use, Reggie, I can’t.

BELVOIR. Well, there’s nothing more to be said. I wonder if you know what you do want.

MURIEL. I don’t think what I want exists.

BELVOIR. No, and if it did, you wouldn’t know it!

MURIEL. But I feel I ought not to do anything that I can resist doing. Why can’t you make me want you so badly, Reggie, that I should eat the popomack, or do anything for you?

BELVOIR. Yes; blame me that you don’t love me.

MURIEL. Well, you are to blame. There must be something lacking in you.

BELVOIR. My God! Why do I love you?

MURIEL. Perhaps you don’t, perhaps you only think you do! [_Holding out her hand_] Good-bye!

BELVOIR [_speechless_]. Oh ... er—good-bye.

[_She goes immediately._ BELVOIR _stands motionless for a moment and then walks about the room kicking everything that is light enough to be kicked painlessly_.] Damnation! [_He rings furiously._ NOSEGAY _enters_.] Where’s Captain Anthony?

NOSEGAY. I don’t know....

ANTHONY [_emerging from the shadows_]. Here I am.

[NOSEGAY _vanishes_.

BELVOIR [_looking towards the popomack_]. She won’t touch it. [_Furiously._] She’s got hold of some other man now! She’s a heartless minx! Her father was right, damn him!

ANTHONY [_ironically_] I thought she’d be a wonder if she took it.

BELVOIR. But she never seemed more desirable! Why did I let her go! Fool! Why didn’t I force her to eat it? My God! I am an idiot! She doesn’t know her own mind. Force is what she wants. My God, I am a fool!

ANTHONY. You can easily do the trick if you want to!

BELVOIR. What’s that you’re saying?

ANTHONY. You can easily get your own back on these folk.

BELVOIR. What do you mean? How?

ANTHONY. Give out that you’re cured by an antidote I’ve brought back from China. Invite them to a celebration dinner and give them the popomack disguised in the soup. Then you’ll all be in the same boat, and she’ll have to have you.

BELVOIR [_staring in astonishment_]. Splendid! My God, you’re a marvel! What an idea! I’ll fix it up at once. [_He goes to the bell and rings it._

[NOSEGAY _appears at the doorway. The scene fades. When the lights go up the table in_ BELVOIR’S _room is laid for a small dinner-party. The room seems empty. Presently the door opens and_ NOSEGAY _ushers in_ SIR PHILO _and_ LADY PHAORON: SIR PHILO _is in his diving-dress with helmet and trumpet_.

LADY PHAORON. Thank God he’s discovered an antidote. Now you’ll be able to get rid of that ridiculous affair, and lead a decent life.

SIR PHILO [_through his trumpet_]. What’s that, you say, my dear?

LADY PHAORON. For God’s sake pull yourself together! You’re not deaf, yet, are you?

SIR PHILO. No, but your voice reverberates so, my dear, in this helmet, you have no idea.

LADY PHAORON. I said thank God he’s found an antidote, so that you’ll be able to walk about like a civilized human being again.

SIR PHILO. Civilized?

LADY PHAORON. You heard quite well what I said.

SIR PHILO. I don’t want to be civilized. You wouldn’t have thought Thotmes III civilized.

LADY PHAORON. You’re not Thotmes III. You’re a Georgian knight.

SIR PHILO. A what?

LADY PHAORON [_exasperated_]. A Georgian knight, you fool!

SIR PHILO [_shouting_]. What’s a Georgian knight, you fool?

LADY PHAORON. God knows why I married you!

SIR PHILO. God knows what? What does God know?

[LADY PHAORON _gives him up and sits down with a resigned shrug. She helps herself to one of_ BELVOIR’S _cigars. They sit without speaking._ SIR PHILO, _who is usually brisk and talkative, is huddled up in a dejected mass of tubes and gadgets with his trumpet dangling forlornly upon his breast. Presently the door opens and_ NOSEGAY _ushers in_ SIR SOLOMON _and_ LADY OLIVIA _and_ MURIEL.

SIR SOLOMON. How d’ye do, Lady Phaoron? [_Louder._] Well, Philo, this is a most fortunate affair. Aren’t you looking forward to getting out of that rig-out?

[SIR PHILO _shakes hands spiritlessly and mumbles something unintelligible inside his helmet_.

LADY PHAORON. Of course, he is; it’s a godsend!

SIR PHILO [_shouting through his trumpet_]. I’m sick of God and what He sends.

LADY PHAORON [_loudly_]. There’s no call for blasphemy. I thought you couldn’t hear unless one shouted.

SIR PHILO [_shouting_]. I didn’t hear. I guessed.

LADY OLIVIA. I’m sure you must be delighted, Sir Philo. It must have been awful for you these last three months.

LADY PHAORON. Awful! It’s been positively ghastly! We’ve been nowhere; we’ve seen no one, and, what with shouting and being shouted at, my nerves are all in pieces.

SIR PHILO [_to_ LADY OLIVIA]. I’ve had a delightful time, the best time of my life.

[_Re-enter_ NOSEGAY _with another man-servant carrying soup-tureen_.

NOSEGAY. Will you please to be seated? His lordship has instructed me to ask you to begin; he has just telephoned and will be here presently. He was very particular that you should on no account wait.

SIR SOLOMON [_to_ NOSEGAY _as they seat themselves where indicated_]. Where’s the antidote? Sir Philo Phaoron won’t be able to eat until he has it.

NOSEGAY [_as he serves the soup_]. I don’t know, sir. Perhaps Lord Belvoir will bring it with him.

SIR SOLOMON [_who is in a good humour_]. This is excellent soup, Philo. It has a most delicious flavour. What is it, Nosegay? I’ve never tasted it before.

NOSEGAY. It’s a new recipe, sir; we’ve never had it before.

SIR SOLOMON. You must get Belvoir to give it to you, Olivia; don’t you think it’s quite remarkable?

LADY OLIVIA. It is excellent.

[_They all eat the soup except_ SIR PHILO.]

SIR SOLOMON [_shouting jovially to_ SIR PHILO]. Can’t you put one of those tubes in the soup?

LADY OLIVIA. You’ll soon be able to enjoy a dinner-party again. I’m surprised you’re not more excited about it. [_The soup is cleared away._ NOSEGAY _and the waiter go out_.]

SIR PHILO. I think people should eat alone. I don’t know whatever Belvoir wanted to find an antidote for. I was perfectly happy.

MURIEL. Well, you ask him. Here he is.

[_The door opens and_ BELVOIR _enters_.

BELVOIR. Good evening! How d’ye do, Lady Olivia. [_He shakes hands with her and_ LADY PHAORON _and bows to_ MURIEL]. I must apologize for asking you to sit down to dinner without me, but it was unavoidable.

SIR SOLOMON. Congratulations, Belvoir. It’s a most wonderful bit of fortune. How did it happen?

BELVOIR. I suppose you all notice that I’ve absolutely recovered.

SIR SOLOMON. Absolutely. [_The rest nod._

BELVOIR. You can ... smell nothing?

SIR SOLOMON. Nothing! It’s wonderful!

BELVOIR. You don’t seem very pleased, Sir Philo.

SIR SOLOMON. You know, I don’t believe he wants to take the antidote; he likes going about in that fantastic get-up.

LADY PHAORON. Ridiculous! he must take it. Make him take it at once, Lord Belvoir.

SIR PHILO [_lugubriously_]. If there’s an antidote I suppose I shall have to take it. There’s no point in going about like this if you can cure yourself any minute. You’d simply be a fraud, and no one would take any interest in you.

BELVOIR [_quietly but very distinctly_]. Well, Sir Philo, allow me to tell you that you are cured already. [_They all gasp in astonishment._] I mean what I say! Take off that suit, and prove it. [SIR SOLOMON _helps him off with his helmet_.

LADY PHAORON [_delighted_]. Cured! Oh, how can I thank you, my dear Lord Belvoir?

[MURIEL, _who has been silently watching, suddenly changes colour, the truth of the situation bursts upon her_.

MURIEL [_starting forward_]. My God, he’s tricked us!

SIR SOLOMON [_turning white_]. What do you mean?

LADY OLIVIA [_shocked_]. Muriel!

MURIEL. Can’t you see why we can’t smell him, and why we shan’t be able to smell Sir Philo? He’s given us the popomack in the soup!

SIR SOLOMON. My God!

SIR PHILO [_dancing excitedly, his head bare_]. Hurray! Hurray!

SIR SOLOMON. Shut up, you blithering buffoon! [_To_ BELVOIR, _who is standing calm but pale_] _Is_ this true?

BELVOIR [_deliberately_]. Yes, every one of us in this room stinks worse than a skunk, and like the skunk, we alone are unconscious of it.

LADY PHAORON [_as it slowly dawns on her_]. My God! [_She reels backward into a chair, half-fainting._

SIR PHILO [_his expression changing from one of extreme joy to one of disappointment and exasperation_]. What! she smells too now?

BELVOIR [_grimly_]. Yes; you’ll have to get another diving-suit for her.

SIR PHILO [_beaming, as this new aspect dawns upon him_]. Of course! Splendid! We’ll never be able to hear each other again!

LADY PHAORON [_blubbering_]. I’ll not wear one of those horrid things! I think it’s wicked of you, Lord Belvoir, wicked! What have I done to deserve such treatment? I’d rather die than go about like that. [_She weeps._

SIR PHILO [_jumping excitedly about_]. Splendid! Splendid! Belvoir, you’re a marvel! She’s human at last!

SIR SOLOMON [_violently_]. Do stop this idiotic jabber! You’ll drive me mad! Belvoir, I think you’re a scoundrel!

BELVOIR [_coldly_]. Pardon me. I ate the popomack at your house; you have now eaten it at mine. That is all.

SIR SOLOMON [_hotly_]. But I did not premeditate it. I acted in ignorance; it was a pure accident!

BELVOIR. And it is now a pure accident that you have eaten it here. The accident that Muriel no longer loves me [_pause_]. But I love her and no one else is going to have her.

MURIEL [_passionately_]. Do you think I’d have anything to do with you now? I’d rather die!

BELVOIR [_grimly_]. It is easy to say that, but wait until you have had months of isolation as I have had, months without speaking to anyone except through a telephone, and then you’ll change your mind.

MURIEL [_gloomily_]. Do you think that matters? Do you think you’ve got me even if I am forced to live with you because there’s no one else in all this world to live with? [_She clenches her hands._] No one else in all this world!

BELVOIR [_bitterly_]. Yes, imagine that yesterday you had the whole world to live with! What is this wonderful world? A mass of squirming reptiles walking on their hind legs! There is not a single man in this universe whom you could put in my place at this moment, and say truly that you would be prepared to abandon everything for him. You cannot forgive _me_ this trick, but there is no one, _no one_ you could forgive, and there never will be!

MURIEL. I hate the sight of you!

BELVOIR. Perhaps I also hate you. I cannot think that love would act like this. But this way I shall win you, and if I had really loved you I should have lost you.

MURIEL. O how I hate this talk about love! I don’t want to love, I want to live!

BELVOIR. Well, you shall live with me.

MURIEL. You will wish you were dead. Yes, perhaps I shall live with you, a vile, hateful life because neither of us is free, bound to each other by a hunger as basic as the need for food, yet only a partial hunger, a hunger in which only a fragment of us takes part, dragging the rest of us with it. Why couldn’t you let me go, and wait?

BELVOIR. Wait! I’ve waited for thirty years, and now I should wait for ever, for I should meet no one. Better have you than nothing.

MURIEL. You are wrong. This way you are not getting me! You are getting nothing that will satisfy a _man_! You are no better than a dog or a monkey!

BELVOIR. I am a monkey, an enlarged and more intelligent monkey. We are all monkeys!

MURIEL [_looking at him steadily_]. Now I know why I couldn’t love you. I never could understand it, but now I know.

BELVOIR. I suppose you think you are perfect, you think you could fall in love with nothing less than a god. I am not so ambitious.

MURIEL [_scornfully_]. You! Anyone would do for you. You’d fall into the first woman’s arms who would take pity on you.

BELVOIR. You underrate yourself. Do you think I would have taken this trouble for anybody?

MURIEL. Oh, no doubt you have a good taste in clothes.

BELVOIR [_intensely_]. Do you know you are extraordinarily beautiful?

MURIEL. Oh, you’d be a judge of that too!

BELVOIR [_passionately_]. Muriel, I love you. Before your beauty God would tremble. I cannot live without you.

MURIEL. That is another reason why I do not love you. I can love no man who wants to find his life in me.

BELVOIR [_gloomily_]. I should find no life in you, but you would be something.

MURIEL. I don’t want to be something. I want to be everything and nothing.

SIR SOLOMON [_grimly_]. Well, Belvoir, you’ve got the best of us and Muriel, too, for she’ll never be able to marry anyone else unless she does the same as you’ve done, and—[_the idea suddenly striking him_] why shouldn’t we? Have you any of that popomack left?

BELVOIR [_gloomily_]. I don’t know. I expect so.

SIR SOLOMON [_rubbing his hands_]. But of course, that’s the thing to do. Why, it will solve all our difficulties. I’ll invite everyone I know; we’ll have a regular banquet. By God! all my friends and all my enemies too. There are dozens of people who’d give their souls to be asked to dinner by us. Well, they shall all come! Ha! ha!

[_He laughs fiendishly._

SIR PHILO [_almost whining_]. And what’ll become of me when everyone’s eaten the popomack?

[_No one takes any notice of him and he goes on mumbling disconsolately._

SIR SOLOMON. Well, Muriel, you won’t need to marry our friend Belvoir after all. You can invite the man you want.

MURIEL. Oh, you are all loathsome! I shall invite no one!

BELVOIR [_to_ SIR SOLOMON]. You seem to take it for granted that I am going to give you the popomack.

SIR SOLOMON [_craftily_]. Why should you refuse? The more people there are who have eaten it the better for all of us.

BELVOIR [_uneasily, evidently wrestling with himself_]. And I shall lose Muriel. I know the craftiness of women. She won’t invite the man she wants, but he’ll be there, oh yes, he’ll be there! [MURIEL _says nothing, but throws one profound look at him. He continues, turning to_ MURIEL] You think I am weak because I need you so badly, but I tell you you are wrong. I cannot live without your beauty. I cannot live without _you_, divine spirit that you are. For there is no one who knows how beautiful you are, no one but me; no one who will watch you fade day by day upon the air with such passion and such pity. I want to possess you, for you are me. I want to find myself, for you are myself. No one will know you; you will go about the earth unrecognized, but I know you. And because you are imperishable, and because no man will find you, I will let you go free.

[_The scene slowly fades. When it is light again_, BELVOIR _is seen seated in his chair with his book on his knee exactly as he sat down after speaking on the telephone to_ MURIEL. _His eyes are closed, but it is impossible to tell whether he is asleep. There is silence. Presently a clock is heard striking._ BELVOIR _opens his eyes, and, surprised, gazes round the room. He gets up and walks thoughtfully across to the bell, which he rings_. NOSEGAY _enters_.

BELVOIR. Has a Captain Anthony been here, Nosegay?

NOSEGAY [_puzzled_]. No one of that name that I know of, my lord.

BELVOIR [_putting his hand to his head_]. Has no one been here, not Sir Solomon and Miss Raub?

NOSEGAY. No one, my lord. [BELVOIR _walks away thoughtfully_.] Is there anything else?

BELVOIR. No, very well. [NOSEGAY _goes out_.] Extraordinary! [_He looks at his watch. He walks to the telephone. He takes off the receiver eagerly in obvious uneasiness._] Mayfair 2713! Hullo! Is that Mayfair 2713? I want to speak to Miss Raub, please. Hullo! Is that you, Muriel, back safely?... Who brought you home?... Tell me what was it you wanted to say to me? What! You’re going to marry Clavelly! But, Muriel, you’re engaged to me!... Muriel, I don’t understand.... [_He drops the receiver and walks into the centre of the room._] I can do nothing, nothing!... [_He walks about the room, stands a moment in reflection and then crosses to the bell and rings it._

[NOSEGAY _enters_.

NOSEGAY [_after standing for a moment_]. You rang for me, my lord.

BELVOIR. Go and buy me a cheap revolver.

NOSEGAY [_surprised_]. But I can’t get one at this hour, my lord.

BELVOIR. What’s that? Oh, of course not! Never mind, in the morning will do. [NOSEGAY _goes out_. [_The lights fade and go up again on the two_ YOUNG MEN, _sitting gazing as if in a trance straight before them_.

SECOND YOUNG MAN [_slowly moving and looking round with a shudder_]. Did you see?

FIRST YOUNG MAN [_whispering_]. Yes. My God! how awful! So that was how it happened. But did I really see it, or have you been telling it to me so vividly that I imagined it all happening as you spoke?

SECOND YOUNG MAN. But how did I know it? Did I imagine it? I wonder!

FIRST YOUNG MAN. I don’t understand at the end Belvoir’s waking up and finding that no Captain Anthony had ever called and that there had been no dinner-party.

SECOND YOUNG MAN. Well, you see, it’s quite simple. Belvoir had been advertising for a popomack, and Muriel had promised to take it when they got it and then marry him; but they have been advertising for some time without success, and Belvoir has been getting more and more depressed as he never sees Muriel and he hears of her going about everywhere with other men, so that when she tells him to ring her up when she gets back home as she has something important to say, it makes him at once uneasy and works on his mind sub-consciously to such an extent that when he falls asleep in his chair he starts dreaming. When he wakes and discovers it is a dream and telephones Muriel he finds that his fear that he had lost her, which was the root of his dream, has proved correct.

FIRST YOUNG MAN. But why did he shoot himself before that picture?

SECOND YOUNG MAN. Do you remember the couple in the gallery that day we saw that picture?

FIRST YOUNG MAN. I remember there was a couple sitting down.

SECOND YOUNG MAN. Yes, it was Belvoir and Miss Raub, and that picture had evidently some cherished association for Belvoir.

FIRST YOUNG MAN [_going up to the picture and looking at it_]. I see there’s a red paper disc stuck in the corner of the glass. I have often seen it on pictures at shows. What does it mean?

SECOND YOUNG MAN. It means—[_he suddenly bursts into savage laughter, then stops dead and continues with slow emphasis_] it means _Sold_.

CURTAIN

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THE BRITISH DRAMA LEAGUE LIBRARY OF MODERN BRITISH DRAMA

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