Part 39

[The DRAGOONS back up R., watching the entrance of the Ladies. BUNTHORNE enters, L.U.E., followed by the Ladies, two and two, playing on harps as before. He is composing a poem, and is quite absorbed. He sees no one, but walks across the stage, followed by the Ladies, who take no notice of the DRAGOONS — to the surprise and indignation of those officers.]

[Bunthorne, the Ladies following, comes slowly down L. and then crosses the stage to R.] No. 4. In a doleful train (Chorus and Solos) Maidens, Ella, Angela, Saphir, Dragoons, and Bunthorne

MAIDENS In a doleful train Two and two we walk all day— For we love in vain! None so sorrowful as they Who can only sigh and say, Woe is me, alackaday! Woe is me, alackaday!

DRAGOONS Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous? A thorough-paced absurdity — explain it if you can. Instead of rushing eagerly to cherish us and foster us, They all prefer this melancholy literary man. Instead of slyly peering at us, Casting looks endearing at us, Blushing at us, flushing at us, flirting with a fan; They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us, jeering at us! Pretty sort of treatment for a military man! They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us, jeering at us! Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!

[Bunthorne, C.]

ANGELA [R. of BUNTHORNE] Mystic poet, hear our prayer, Twenty love-sick maidens we— Young and wealthy, dark and fair, All of county family. And we die for love of thee— Twenty love-sick maidens we!

MAIDENS Yes, we die for love of thee— Twenty love-sick maidens we!

BUNTHORNE [crossing to L.] Though my book I seem to scan In a rapt ecstatic way, Like a literary man Who despises female clay, I hear plainly all they say, Twenty love-sick maidens they!

[BUNTHORNE crosses to C.]

DRAGOONS [to each other] He hears plainly all they say, Twenty love-sick maidens they!

SAPHIR [L. of BUNTHORNE] Though so excellently wise, For a moment mortal be, Deign to raise thy purple eyes From thy heart-drawn poesy. Twenty lovesick maidens see— Each is kneeling on her knee!

[All kneel.]

MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens see— Each is kneeling on her knee!

BUNTHORNE [going R.] Though, as I remarked before, Any one convinced would be That some transcendental lore Is monopolizing me, Round the corner I can see Each is kneeling on her knee!

DRAGOONS Round the corner he can see Each is kneeling on her knee!

Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous? A thorough-paced absurdity — ridiculous! preposterous! Explain it if you can.

MAIDENS DRAGOONS

In a doleful train Now is not this ridiculous, Two and two we walk all day, and is not this preposterous? A thorough-paced absurdity— None so sorrowful as they explain it if you can.

For we love in vain! Instead of rushing eagerly None so sorrowful as they to cherish us and foster us, They all prefer this melancholy literary man.

Who can only sigh and say, Instead of slyly peering at us, Casting looks endearing at us, Blushing at us, flushing at us, Flirting with a fan;

Woe is me, alackaday! They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us, jeering at us! Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!

Woe is me, alackaday! They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us, jeering at us! Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!

Twenty love-sick maidens we, Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous? They all prefer this melancholy literary man.

And we die for love of thee! Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous? They all prefer this melancholy, Yes, we die for love of thee! melancholy literary man. Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous? COLONEL [R.C.] Angela! what is the meaning of this?

ANGELA [C.] Oh, sir, leave us; our minds are but ill-tuned to light love-talk.

MAJOR [L.C.] But what in the world has come over you all?

JANE [L.C.] Bunthorne! He has come over us. He has come among us, and he has idealized us.

DUKE Has he succeeded in idealizing you?

JANE He has!

DUKE Good old Bunthorne!

JANE My eyes are open; I droop despairingly; I am soulfully intense; I am limp and I cling!

[During this BUNTHORNE is seen in all the agonies of composition. The Ladies are watching him intently as he writhes. At last he hits on the word he wants and writes it down. A general sense of relief.]

BUN. Finished! At last! Finished!

[He staggers, overcome with the mental strain, into the arms of the COLONEL.]

COLONEL Are you better now?

BUN. Yes — oh, it's you! — I am better now. The poem is finished, and my soul has gone out into it. That was all. It was nothing worth mentioning, it occurs three times a day.

[Sees PATIENCE, who has entered during this scene.]

Ah, Patience! Dear Patience!

[Holds her hand; she seems frightened.]

ANGELA Will it please you read it to us, sir?

SAPHIR This we supplicate. [All kneel.]

BUN. Shall I?

DRAGOONS No!

BUN. [annoyed — to PATIENCE] I will read it if you bid me!

PATIENCE [much frightened] You can if you like!

BUN. It is a wild, weird, fleshy thing; yet very tender, very yearning, very precious. It is called, "Oh, Hollow! Hollow! Hollow!"

PATIENCE Is it a hunting song?

BUN. A hunting song? No, it is not a hunting song. It is the wail of the poet's heart on discovering that everything is commonplace. To understand it, cling passionately to one another and think of faint lilies. [They do so as he recites]

"OH, HOLLOW! HOLLOW! HOLLOW!"

What time the poet hath hymned The writhing maid, lithe-limbed, Quivering on amaranthine asphodel, How can he paint her woes, Knowing, as well he knows, That all can be set right with calomel?

When from the poet's plinth The amorous colocynth Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills, How can he hymn their throes Knowing, as well he knows, That they are only uncompounded pills?

Is it, and can it be, Nature hath this decree, Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell? Or that in all her works Something poetic lurks, Even in colocynth and calomel? I cannot tell.

[He goes off, L.U.E. All turn and watch him, not speaking until he has gone.]

ANGELA How purely fragrant!

SAPHIR How earnestly precious!

PATIENCE Well, it seems to me to be nonsense.

SAPHIR Nonsense, yes, perhaps — but oh, what precious nonsense!

COLONEL This is all very well, but you seem to forget that you are engaged to us.

SAPHIR It can never be. You are not Empyrean. You are not Della Cruscan. You are not even Early English. Oh, be Early English ere it is too late!

[Officers look at each other in astonishment.]

JANE [looking at uniform] Red and Yellow! Primary colors! Oh, South Kensington!

DUKE We didn't design our uniforms, but we don't see how they could be improved!

JANE No, you wouldn't. Still, there is a cobwebby grey velvet, with a tender bloom like cold gravy, which, made Florentine fourteenth century, trimmed with Venetian leather and Spanish altar lace, and surmounted with something Japanese — it matters not what — would at least be Early English! Come, maidens.

[Exeunt Maidens, L.U.E., two and two, singing refrain of "Twenty love-sick maidens we". PATIENCE goes off L. The Officers watch the Ladies go off in astonishment.] No. 4a. Twenty love-sick maidens we (Chorus) Maidens

[As the MAIDENS depart, the DRAGOONS spread across the stage.]

MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we, Love-sick all against our will. Twenty years hence we shall be Twenty love-sick maidens still! Ah, miserie!

DUKE Gentlemen, this is an insult to the British uniform.

COLONEL A uniform that has been as successful in the courts of Venus as on the field of Mars! No. 5. When I first put this uniform on (Solo and Chorus) Colonel and Dragoons

[The DRAGOONS form their original line.]

Song — COLONEL

When I first put this uniform on, I said, as I looked in the glass, "It's one to a million That any civilian My figure and form will surpass. Gold lace has a charm for the fair, And I've plenty of that, and to spare, While a lover's professions, When uttered in Hessians, Are eloquent ev'rywhere!" A fact that I counted upon, When I first put this uniform on!

Chorus of DRAGOONS

By a simple coincidence, few Could ever have counted upon, The same thing occurred to me, When I first put this uniform on!

COL. I said, when I first put it on, "It is plain to the veriest dunce, That every beauty Will feel it her duty To yield to its glamour at once. They will see that I'm freely gold-laced In a uniform handsome and chaste"— But the peripatetics Of long-haired aesthetics Are very much more to their taste— Which I never counted upon, When I first put this uniform on!

CHORUS By a simple coincidence, few Could ever have reckoned upon, I didn't anticipate that, When I first put this uniform on!

[The DRAGOONS go off angrily, R.]

[Enter BUNTHORNE, L.U.E., who changes his manner and becomes intensely melodramatic.] No. 6. Am I alone and unobserved? (Recitative and Solo) Bunthorne

BUN. [Up-stage, he looks off L. and R.] Am I alone, And unobserved? I am! [comes down] Then let me own I'm an aesthetic sham! [and walks tragically to down-stage, C.]

This air severe Is but a mere Veneer!

This cynic smile Is but a wile Of guile!

This costume chaste Is but good taste Misplaced!

Let me confess! A languid love for Lilies does not blight me! Lank limbs and haggard cheeks do not delight me! I do not care for dirty greens By any means. I do not long for all one sees That's Japanese. I am not fond of uttering platitudes In stained-glass attitudes. In short, my mediaevalism's affectation, Born of a morbid love of admiration!

[Tiptoes up-stage, looking L. and R., and comes back down, C.]

If you're anxious for to shine in the high aesthetic line as a man of culture rare, You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and plant them ev'rywhere. You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of your complicated state of mind, The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a transcendental kind.

And ev'ry one will say, As you walk your mystic way, "If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for me, Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must be!"

Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have long since passed away, And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of good Queen Anne was Culture's palmiest day. Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new, and declare it's crude and mean, For Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the Empress Josephine.

And ev'ryone will say, As you walk your mystic way, "If that's not good enough for him which is good enough for me, Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must be!"

Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your languid spleen, An attachment a la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a not- too-French French bean! Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high aesthetic band, If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand.

And ev'ryone will say, As you walk your flow'ry way, "If he's content with a vegetable love which would certainly not suit me, Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be!"

[At the end of his song, PATIENCE enters, L. He sees her.]

BUN. Ah! Patience, come hither. [She comes to him timidly.] I am pleased with thee. The bitter-hearted one, who finds all else hollow, is pleased with thee. For you are not hollow. Are you?

PATIENCE No, thanks, I have dined; but — I beg your pardon — I interrupt you. [Turns to go; he stops her.]

BUN. Life is made up of interruptions. The tortured soul, yearning for solitude, writhes under them. Oh, but my heart is a-weary! Oh, I am a cursed thing! [She attempts to escape.] Don't go.

PATIENCE Really, I'm very sorry.

BUN. Tell me, girl, do you ever yearn?

PATIENCE I earn my living.

BUN. [impatiently] No, no! Do you know what it is to be heart- hungry? Do you know what it is to yearn for the Indefinable, and yet to be brought face to face, dally, with the Multiplication Table? Do you know what it is to seek oceans and to find puddles? That's my case. Oh, I am a cursed thing! [She turns again.] Don't go.

PATIENCE If you please, I don't understand you — you frighten me!

BUN. Don't be frightened — it's only poetry.

PATIENCE Well, if that's poetry, I don't like poetry.

BUN. [eagerly] Don't you? [aside] Can I trust her? [aloud] Patience, you don't like poetry — well, between you and me, I don't like poetry. It's hollow, unsubstantial — unsatisfactory. What's the use of yearning for Elysian Fields when you know you can't get `em, and would only let `em out on building leases if you had `em?

PATIENCE Sir, I—

BUN. Patience, I have long loved you. Let me tell you a secret. I am not as bilious as I look. If you like, I will cut my hair. There is more innocent fun within me than a casual spectator would imagine. You have never seen me frolicsome. Be a good girl — a very good girl — and one day you shall. If you are fond of touch-and-go jocularity — this is the shop for it.

PATIENCE Sir, I will speak plainly. In the matter of love I am untaught. I have never loved but my great-aunt. But I am quite certain that, under any circumstances, I couldn't possibly love you.

BUN. Oh, you think not?

PATIENCE I'm quite sure of it. Quite sure. Quite.

BUN. Very good. Life is henceforth a blank. I don't care what becomes of me. I have only to ask that you will not abuse my confidence; though you despise me, I am extremely popular with the other young ladies.

PATIENCE I only ask that you will leave me and never renew the subject.

BUN. Certainly. Broken-hearted and desolate, I go. [Goes up- stage, suddenly turns and recites.]

"Oh, to be wafted away, From this black Aceldama of sorrow, Where the dust of an earthy to-day Is the earth of a dusty to-morrow!"

It is a little thing of my own. I call it "Heart Foam". I shall not publish it. Farewell! Patience, Patience, farewell!

[Exit BUNTHORNE.]

PATIENCE What on earth does it all mean? Why does he love me? Why does he expect me to love him? [going R.] He's not a relation! It frightens me!

[Enter ANGELA, L.]

ANGELA Why, Patience, what is the matter?

PATIENCE Lady Angela, tell me two things. Firstly, what on earth is this love that upsets everybody; and, secondly, how is it to be distinguished from insanity?

ANGELA Poor blind child! Oh, forgive her, Eros! Why, love is of all passions the most essential! It is the embodiment of purity, the abstraction of refinement! It is the one unselfish emotion in this whirlpool of grasping greed!

PATIENCE Oh, dear, oh! [beginning to cry]

ANGELA Why are you crying?

PATIENCE To think that I have lived all these years without having experienced this ennobling and unselfish passion! Why, what a wicked girl I must be! For it is unselfish, isn't it?

ANGELA Absolutely! Love that is tainted with selfishness is no love. Oh, try, try, try to love! It really isn't difficult if you give your whole mind to it.

PATIENCE I'll set about it at once. I won't go to bed until I'm head over ears in love with somebody.

ANGELA Noble girl! But is it possible that you have never loved anybody?

PATIENCE Yes, one.

ANGELA Ah! Whom?

PATIENCE My great-aunt—

ANGELA Great-aunts don't count.

PATIENCE Then there's nobody. At least — no, nobody. Not since I was a baby. But that doesn't count, I suppose.

ANGELA I don't know. Tell me about it. No. 7. Long years ago, fourteen maybe (Duet) Patience and Angela

PATIENCE [R.] Long years ago — fourteen, maybe, When but a tiny babe of four, Another baby played with me, My elder by a year or more;

A little child of beauty rare, With marv'lous eyes and wondrous hair, Who, in my child-eyes, seemed to me All that a little child should be!

[She goes to ANGELA, L.C.]

Ah, how we loved, that child and I! How pure our baby joy! How true our love — and, by the bye, He was a little boy!

ANGELA Ah, old, old tale of Cupid's touch! I thought as much — I thought as much! He was a little boy!

PATIENCE Pray don't misconstrue what I say— Remember, pray — remember, pray, He was a little boy!

ANGELA No doubt! Yet, spite of all your pains, The interesting fact remains - He was a little boy!

BOTH Ah, yes, in/No doubt, yet spite of all my/your pains, The interesting fact remains— He was a little boy! He was a little boy!

[Exit ANGELA, L.]

PATIENCE [R.C.] It's perfectly dreadful to think of the appalling state I must be in! I had no idea that love was a duty. No wonder they all look so unhappy! Upon my word, I hardly like to associate with myself. I don't think I'm respectable. I'll go at once and fall in love with... [As she turns to go up R., GROSVENOR enters, R.U.E. She sees him and turns back.] a stranger! No. 8. Prithee, pretty maiden (Duet) Patience and Grosvenor

GROSVENOR [up-stage, R. ] Prithee, pretty maiden — prithee, tell me true, (Hey, but I'm doleful, willow willow waly!) Have you e'er a lover a-dangling after you? Hey willow waly O! [coming down-stage]

I would fain discover If you have a lover! Hey willow waly O!

PATIENCE [L.] Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free— (Hey, but he's doleful, willow willow waly!) Nobody I care for comes a-courting me— Hey willow waly O! Nobody I care for Comes a-courting — therefore, Hey willow waly O!

GROSVENOR [C.] Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me? (Hey, but I'm hopeful, willow willow waly!) I may say, at once, I'm a man of propertee— Hey willow waly O! Money, I despise it; Many people prize it, Hey willow waly O!

PATIENCE Gentle Sir, although to marry I design— (Hey, but he's hopeful, willow willow waly!) As yet I do not know you, and so I must decline. Hey willow waly O! To other maidens go you— As yet I do not know you,

BOTH Hey willow waly O! GROS. Patience! Can it be that you don't recognize me?

PATIENCE [down L.] Recognize you? No, indeed I don't!

GROS. Have fifteen years so greatly changed me?

PATIENCE [turning to him] Fifteen years? What do you mean?

GROS. Have you forgotten the friend of your youth, your Archibald? — your little playfellow? Oh, Chronos, Chronos, this is too bad of you! [Comes down, C.]

PATIENCE Archibald! Is it possible? Why, let me look! It is! It is! [takes his hands.] It must be! Oh, how happy I am! I thought we should never meet again! And how you've grown!

GROS. Yes, Patience, I am much taller and much stouter than I was.

PATIENCE And how you've improved!

GROS. [dropping her hands and turning] Yes, Patience, I am very beautiful! [Sighs.]

PATIENCE But surely that doesn't make you unhappy?

GROS. Yes, Patience. Gifted as I am with a beauty which probably has not its rival on earth, I am, nevertheless, utterly and completely miserable.

PATIENCE Oh — but why?

GROS. My child-love for you has never faded. Conceive, then, the horror of my situation when I tell you that it is my hideous destiny to be madly loved at first sight by every woman I come across!

PATIENCE But why do you make yourself so picturesque? Why not disguise yourself, disfigure yourself, anything to escape this persecution?

GROS. No, Patience, that may not be. These gifts — irksome as they are — were given to me for the enjoyment and delectation of my fellow-creatures. I am a trustee for Beauty, and it is my duty to see that the conditions of my trust are faithfully discharged.

PATIENCE And you, too, are a Poet?

GROS. Yes, I am the Apostle of Simplicity. I am called "Archibald the All-Right" — for I am infallible!

PATIENCE And is it possible that you condescend to love such a girl as I?

GROS. Yes, Patience, is it not strange? I have loved you with a Florentine fourteenth-century frenzy for full fifteen years!

PATIENCE Oh, marvelous! I have hitherto been deaf to the voice of love. I seem now to know what love is! It has been revealed to me — it is Archibald Grosvenor!

GROS. Yes, Patience, it is! [She goes into his arms.]

PATIENCE [as in a trance] We will never, never part!

GROS. We will live and die together!

PATIENCE I swear it!

GROS. We both swear it!

PATIENCE [recoiling from him] But — oh, horror!

GROS. What's the matter?

PATIENCE Why, you are perfection! A source of endless ecstasy to all who know you!

GROS. I know I am. Well?

PATIENCE Then, bless my heart, there can be nothing unselfish in loving you!

GROS. Merciful powers! I never thought of that!

PATIENCE To monopolize those features on which all women love to linger! It would be unpardonable!

GROS. Why, so it would! Oh, fatal perfection, again you interpose between me and my happiness!

PATIENCE Oh, if you were but a thought less beautiful than you are!

GROS. Would that I were; but candour compels me to admit that I'm not!

PATIENCE Our duty is clear; we must part, and for ever!

GROS. Oh, misery! And yet I cannot question the propriety of your decision. Farewell, Patience!

PATIENCE Farewell, Archibald! [they both turn to go.] [suddenly] But stay!

GROS. Yes, Patience?

PATIENCE Although I may not love you — for you are perfection - - there is nothing to prevent your loving me. I am plain, homely, unattractive!

GROS. Why, that's true!

PATIENCE The love of such a man as you for such a girl as I must be unselfish!

GROS. Unselfishness itself! No. 8a. Though to marry you would very selfish be (Duet) Patience and Grosvenor

PATIENCE Though to marry you would very selfish be—

GROSVENOR Hey, but I'm doleful — willow willow waly!

PATIENCE You may, all the same, continue loving me —

GROSVENOR Hey willow waly O!

BOTH All the world ignoring, You'll/I'll go on adoring— Hey, willow waly O!

[They go off sadly — PATIENCE, L., GROSVENOR, R.U.E.] No. 9. Let the merry cymbals sound (Finale of Act I) Ensemble

[Enter BUNTHORNE, crowned with roses and hung about with garlands, and looking very miserable. He is led by ANGELA and SAPHIR (each of whom holds an end of the rose-garland by which he is bound), and accompanied by procession of Maidens. They are dancing classically, and playing on cymbals, double pipes, and other archaic instruments. JANE last, with a very large pair of cymbals.]

[The procession enters over the drawbridge, BUNTHORNE being preceded by the Chorus. They go R. and round the stage, ending with BUNTHORNE down L.C., with ANGELA on his R., SAPHIR on his L., JANE up C.]