brothers, finding themselves quite unnoticed, retire into the shade of
their twangum tree. BELLE GARRICK has been hovering behind TOPSY for
some time past. She is more obviously pretty than her sister,
full-bosomed and with a loose, red, laughing mouth. Unable to attract
TOPSY'S attention, she turns round and calls, "HENRIKA." A pale face
with wide, surprised eyes peeps round the trunk, hairy like a
mammoth's leg, of a kadapoo tree with magenta leaves and
flame-coloured blossoms. This is HENRIKA, TOPSY'S youngest sister. She
is dressed in a little white muslin frock set off with blue ribbons._)
HENRIKA.
(_Tiptoes forward._) Here I am; what is it? I was rather frightened of
that man. But he really seems quite nice and tame, doesn't he?
BELLE.
Of course he is! What a goose you are to hide like that!
HENRIKA.
He seems a nice, quiet, gentle man; and _so_ clever.
BELLE.
What good hands he has, hasn't he? (_Approaching TOPSY and whispering
in her ear._) Your hair's going into your eyes, my dear. Toss it back
in that pretty way you have. (_TOPSY tosses her head; the soft, golden
bell of hair quivers elastically about her ears._) That's right!
CAIN.
(_Bounding into the air and landing with feet apart, knees bent, and a
hand on either knee._) Oh, nyum nyum!
ASTON.
Oh, the beauty of that movement! It simply makes one catch one's
breath with surprised pleasure, as the gesture of a perfect dancer
might.
SIR JASPER.
Beautiful, wasn't it?--a pleasure purely æsthetic and æsthetically
pure. Listen to Cain.
ASTON.
(_To TOPSY._) And do you ever try writing yourself? I'm sure you ought
to.
SIR JASPER.
Yes, yes, we're sure you ought to. Eh, Cain?
TOPSY.
Well, I have written a little poetry--or rather a few bad verses--at
one time or another.
ASTON.
Really now! What about, may I ask?
TOPSY.
Well . . . (_hesitating_) about different things, you know. (_She fans
herself rather nervously._)
BELLE.
(_Leaning over TOPSY'S shoulder and addressing ASTON directly._)
Mostly about Love. (_She dwells long and voluptuously on the last
word, pronouncing it "lovv" rather than "luvv."_)
CAIN.
Oh, dat's good, dat's good; dat's dam good. (_In moments of emotion
CAIN'S manners and language savour more obviously than usual of the
Old Plantation._) Did yoh see her face den?
BELLE.
(_Repeats, slowly and solemnly._) Mostly about Love.
HENRIKA.
Oh, oh. (_She covers her face with her hands._) How could you? It
makes me tingle all over. (_She runs behind the kadapoo tree again._)
ASTON.
(_Very seriously and intelligently._) Really. That's very interesting.
I wish you'd let me see what you've done some time.
SIR JASPER.
We always like to see these things, don't we, Aston? Do you remember
Mrs. Towler? How pretty she was! And the way we criticized her
literary productions. . . .
ASTON.
Mrs. Towler. . . . (_He shudders as though he had touched something
soft and filthy._) Oh, don't, Jasper, don't!
SIR JASPER.
Dear Mrs. Towler! We were very nice about her poems, weren't we? Do
you remember the one that began:
"My Love is like a silvern flower-de-luce
Within some wondrous dream-garden pent:
God made my lovely lily not for use,
But for an ornament."
Even Cain, I believe, saw the joke of that.
ASTON.
Mrs. Towler--oh, my God! But this is quite different: this girl really
interests me.
SIR JASPER.
Oh yes, I know, I know. She interests you too, Cain, doesn't she?
CAIN.
(_Prances two or three steps of a cake-walk and sings._) Oh, ma honey,
oh, ma honey.
ASTON.
But, I tell you, this is quite different.
SIR JASPER.
Of course it is. Any fool could see that it was. I've admitted it
already.
ASTON.
(_To TOPSY._) You will show them me, won't you? I should so much like
to see them.
TOPSY.
(_Covered with confusion._) No, I really couldn't. You're a
professional, you see.
HENRIKA.
(_From behind the kadapoo tree._) No, you mustn't show them to him.
They're really mine, you know, a great many of them.
BELLE.
Nonsense! (_She stoops down and moves TOPSY'S foot in such a way that
a very well-shaped, white-stockinged leg is visible some way up the
calf. Then, to TOPSY._) Pull your skirt down, my dear. You're quite
indecent.
CAIN.
(_Putting up his monocle._) Oh, nyum nyum, ma honey! Come wid me to
Dixie Land. . . .
SIR JASPER.
H'm, a little conscious, don't you think?
ASTON.
But even professionals are human, my dear young lady. And perhaps I
might be able to give you some help with your writings.
TOPSY.
That's awfully kind of you, Mr. Tyrrell.
HENRIKA.
Oh, don't let him see them. I don't want him to. Don't let him.
ASTON.
(_With heavy charm._) It always interests me so much when I hear of
the young--and I trust you won't be offended if I include you in their
number--when I hear of the young taking to writing. It is one of the
most important duties that we of the older generation can perform--to
help and encourage the young with their work. It's a great service to
the cause of Art.
SIR JASPER.
That was what I was always saying to Mrs. Towler, if I remember
rightly.
TOPSY.
I can't tell you, Mr. Tyrrell, how delightful it is to have one's work
taken seriously. I am so grateful to you. May I send you my little
efforts, then?
CAIN.
(_Executes a step dance to the furious clicking of a pair of bones._)
SIR JASPER.
I congratulate you, Aston. A most masterful bit of strategy.
BELLE.
I wonder what he'll do next. Isn't it exciting? Topsy, toss your head
again. That's right. Oh, I wish something would happen!
HENRIKA.
What have you done? Oh, Topsy, you really mustn't send him my poems.
BELLE.
You said he was such a nice man just now.
HENRIKA.
Oh yes, he's nice, I know. But then he's a man, you must admit that. I
don't want him to see them.
TOPSY.
(_Firmly._) You're being merely foolish, Henrika. Mr. Tyrrell, a very
distinguished literary man, has been kind enough to take an interest
in my work. His criticism will be the greatest help to me.
BELLE.
Of course it will, and he has such charming eyes. (_A pause. The
music, which has, all this while, been faintly heard through the
ball-room door, becomes more audible. They are playing a rich, creamy
waltz._) What delicious music! Henrika, come and have a dance. (_She
seizes HENRIKA round the waist and begins to waltz. HENRIKA is
reluctant at first, but little by little the rhythm of the dance takes
possession of her till, with her half-closed eyes and languorous,
trance-like movements, she might figure as the visible living symbol
of the waltz. ASTON and TOPSY lean back in their seats, marking the
time with a languid beating of the hand. CAIN sways and swoons and
revolves in his own peculiar and inimitable version of the dance._)
SIR JASPER.
(_Who has been watching the whole scene with amusement._) What a
pretty spectacle! "Music hath charms. . . ."
HENRIKA.
(_In an almost extinct voice._) Oh, Belle, Belle, I could go on
dancing like this for ever. I feel quite intoxicated with it.
TOPSY.
(_To ASTON._) What a jolly tune this is!
ASTON.
Isn't it? It's called "Dreams of Desire," I believe.
BELLE.
What a pretty name!
TOPSY.
These are wonderful flowers here.
ASTON.
Let's go and have a look at them.
(_They get up and walk round the conservatory. The flowers light up as
they pass; in the midst of each is a small electric globe._)
ASTON.
This purple one with eyes is the assafoetida flower. Don't put your
nose too near; it has a smell like burning flesh. This is a
Cypripedium from Sumatra. It is the only man-eating flower in the
world. Notice its double set of teeth. (_He puts a stick into the
mouth of the flower, which instantly snaps to, like a steel trap._)
Nasty, vicious brute! These blossoms like purple sponges belong to the
twangum tree; when you squeeze them they ooze blood. This is the
Jonesia, the octopus of the floral world: each of its eight tentacles
is armed with a sting capable of killing a horse. Now this is a most
interesting and instructive flower--the patchouli bloom. It is perhaps
the most striking example in nature of structural specialization
brought about by Evolution. If only Darwin had lived to see the
patchouli plant! You have heard of flowers specially adapting
themselves to be fertilized by bees or butterflies or spiders and
such-like? Well, this plant which grows in the forests of Guatemala
can only be fertilized by English explorers. Observe the structure of
the flower; at the base is a flat, projecting pan, containing the
pistil; above it an overarching tube ending in a spout. On either side
a small crevice about three-quarters of an inch in length may be
discerned in the fleshy lobes of the calix. The English traveller
seeing this plant is immediately struck by its resemblance to those
penny-in-the-slot machines which provide scent for the public in the
railway stations at home. Through sheer force of habit he takes a
penny from his pocket and inserts it in one of the crevices or slots.
Immediate result--a jet of highly scented liquid pollen is discharged
from the spout upon the pistil lying below, and the plant is
fertilized. Could anything be more miraculous? And yet there are those
who deny the existence of God. Poor fools!
TOPSY.
Wonderful! (_Sniffing._) What a good scent.
ASTON.
The purest patchouli.
BELLE.
How delicious! Oh, my dear . . . (_She shuts her eyes in ecstasy._)
HENRIKA.
(_Drowsily._) Delicious, 'licious. . . .
SIR JASPER.
I always like these rather _canaille_ perfumes. Their effect is
admirable.
ASTON.
This is the leopard-flower. Observe its spotted skin and its thorns
like agate claws. This is the singing Alocusia--Alocusia
Cantatrix--discovered by Humboldt during his second voyage to the
Amazons. If you stroke its throat in the right place, it will begin to
sing like a nightingale. Allow me. (_He takes her by the wrist and
guides her fingers towards the palpitating throat of a gigantic flower
shaped like a gramophone trumpet. The Alocusia bursts into song; it
has a voice like Caruso's._)
CAIN.
Oh, nyum nyum! What a hand! Oh, ma honey. (_He runs a thick black
finger along TOPSY'S arm._)
TOPSY.
What a remarkable flower!
BELLE.
I wonder whether he stroked my arm like that by accident or on
purpose.
HENRIKA.
(_Gives a little shiver._) He's touching me, he's touching me! But
somehow I feel so sleepy I can't move.
TOPSY.
(_She moves on towards the next flower: BELLE does not allow her to
disengage her hand at once._) What a curious smell this one has!
ASTON.
Be careful, be careful! That's the chloroform plant.
TOPSY.
Oh, I feel quite dizzy and faint. That smell and the heat . . . (_She
almost falls: ASTON puts out his arm and holds her up._)
ASTON.
Poor child!
CAIN.
Poh chile, poh chile! (_He hovers round her, his hands almost touching
her, trembling with excitement: his white eyeballs roll horribly._)
ASTON.
I'll open the door. The air will make you feel better. (_He opens the
conservatory door, still supporting TOPSY with his right arm. The wind
is heard, fearfully whistling: a flurry of snow blows into the
conservatory. The flowers utter piercing screams of rage and fear;
their lights flicker wildly; several turn perfectly black and drop on
to the floor writhing in agony. The floral octopus agitates its
tentacles; the twangum blooms drip blood; all the leaves of all the
trees clap together with a dry, scaly sound._)
TOPSY.
(_Faintly._) Thank you; that's better.
ASTON.
(_Closing the door._) Poor child! Come and sit down again; the
chloroform flower is a real danger. (_Much moved, he leads her back
towards the seat._)
CAIN.
(_Executes a war dance round the seated couple._) Poh chile, poh
chile! Nyum nyum nyum.
SIR JASPER.
One perceives the well-known dangers of playing the Good Samaritan
towards an afflicted member of the opposite sex. Pity has touched even
our good Cain to tears.
BELLE.
Oh, I wonder what's going to happen! It's so exciting. I'm so glad
Henrika's gone to sleep.
TOPSY.
It was silly of me to go all faint like that.
ASTON.
I ought to have warned you in time of the chloroform flower.
BELLE.
But it's such a lovely feeling now--like being in a very hot bath with
lots of verbena bath-salts, and hardly able to move with limpness, but
just ever so comfortable and happy.
ASTON.
How do you feel now? I'm afraid you're looking very pale. Poor child!
CAIN.
Poh chile, poh chile! . . .
SIR JASPER.
I don't know much about these things, but it seems to me, my dear
Aston, that the moment has decidedly arrived.
ASTON.
I'm so sorry. You poor little thing . . . (_He kisses her very gently
on the forehead._)
BELLE.
A--a--h.
HENRIKA.
Oh! He kissed me: but he's so kind and good, so kind and good. (_She
stirs and falls back again into her drowsy trance._)
CAIN.
Poh chile, poh chile! (_He leans over ASTON'S shoulder and begins
rudely kissing TOPSY'S trance-calm, parted lips. TOPSY opens her eyes
and sees the black, greasy face, the chryselephantine smile, the pink,
thick lips, the goggling eyeballs of white enamel. She screams.
HENRIKA springs up and screams too. TOPSY slips on to the floor, and
CAIN and ASTON are left face to face with HENRIKA, pale as death and
with wide-open, terrified eyes. She is trembling in every limb._)
ASTON.
(_Gives CAIN a push that sends him sprawling backwards, and falls on
his knees before the pathetic figure of HENRIKA._) Oh, I'm so sorry,
I'm so sorry. What a beast I am! I don't know what I can have been
thinking of to do such a thing.
SIR JASPER.
My dear boy, I'm afraid you and Cain knew only too well what you were
thinking of. Only too well . . .
ASTON.
Will you forgive me? I can't forgive myself.
HENRIKA.
Oh, you hurt me, you frightened me so much. I can't bear it. (_She
cries._)
ASTON.
O God! O God! (_The tears start into his eyes also. He takes HENRIKA'S
hand and begins to kiss it._) I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.
SIR JASPER.
If you're not very careful, Aston, you'll have Cain to deal with
again. (_CAIN has picked himself up and is creeping stealthily towards
the couple in the centre of the conservatory._)
ASTON.
(_Turning round._) Cain, you brute, go to hell! (_CAIN slinks back._)
Oh, will you forgive me for having been such a swine? What can I do?
TOPSY.
(_Who has recovered her self-possession, rises to her feet and pushes
HENRIKA into the background._) Thank you, it is really quite all
right. I think it would be best to say no more about it, to forget
what has happened.
ASTON.
Will you forgive me, then?
TOPSY.
Of course, of course. Please get up, Mr. Tyrrell.
ASTON.
(_Climbing to his feet._) I can't think how I ever came to be such a
brute.
TOPSY.
(_Coldly._) I thought we had agreed not to talk about this incident
any further. (_There is a silence._)
SIR JASPER.
Well, Aston? This has been rather fun.
BELLE.
I wish you hadn't been quite so cold with him, Topsy. Poor man! He
really is very sorry. One can see that.
HENRIKA.
But did you see that awful face? (_She shudders and covers her eyes._)
ASTON.
(_Picking up his dummy and manipulating it._) It is very hot in here,
is it not? Shall we go back to the dancing-room?
TOPSY.
(_Also takes up her dummy._) Yes, let us go back.
ASTON'S DUMMY.
Isn't that "Roses in Picardy" that the band is playing?
TOPSY'S DUMMY.
I believe it is. What a very good band, don't you think?
ASTON'S DUMMY.
Yes; it plays during dinner, you know, at the Necropole. (_To
JASPER._) Lord, what a fool I am! I'd quite forgotten; it was she who
told me so as we came in.
TOPSY'S DUMMY.
At the Necropole? Really.
ASTON'S DUMMY.
A very good band and a very good floor.
TOPSY'S DUMMY.
Yes, it's a perfect floor, isn't it? Like glass. . . . (_They go out,
followed by their respective families. BELLE supports HENRIKA, who is
still very weak after her shock._)
BELLE.
How exciting it was, wasn't it, Henrika?
HENRIKA.
Wasn't it awful--too awful! Oh, that face. . . . (_CAIN follows ASTON
out in silence and dejection. SIR JASPER brings up the rear of the
procession. His face wears its usual expression of slightly bored
amusement. He lights a cigarette._)
SIR JASPER.
Charming evening, charming evening. . . . Now it's over, I wonder
whether it ever existed. (_He goes out. The conservatory is left
empty. The flowers flash their luminous pistils; the eyes of the
assafoetida blossoms solemnly wink; leaves shake and sway and rustle;
several of the flowers are heard to utter a low chuckle, while the
Alocusia, after whistling a few derisive notes, finally utters a loud,
gross Oriental hiccough._)
THE CURTAIN SLOWLY DESCENDS.
CYNTHIA
WHEN, some fifty years hence, my grandchildren ask me what I did when
I was at Oxford in the remote days towards the beginning of our
monstrous century, I shall look back across the widening gulf of time
and tell them with perfect good faith that I never worked less than
eight hours a day, that I took a keen interest in Social Service, and
that coffee was the strongest stimulant in which I indulged. And they
will very justly say--but I hope I shall be out of hearing. That is
why I propose to write my memoirs as soon as possible, before I have
had time to forget, so that having the truth before me I shall never
in time to come be able, consciously or unconsciously, to tell lies
about myself.
At present I have no time to write a complete account of that decisive
period in my history. I must content myself therefore with describing
a single incident of my undergraduate days. I have selected this one
because it is curious and at the same time wholly characteristic of
Oxford life before the war.
My friend Lykeham was an Exhibitioner at Swellfoot College. He
combined blood (he was immensely proud of his Anglo-Saxon descent and
the derivation of his name from Old English _lycam_, a corpse) with
brains. His tastes were eccentric, his habits deplorable, the range of
his information immense. As he is now dead, I will say no more about
his character.
To proceed with my anecdote: I had gone one evening, as was my custom,
to visit him in his rooms at Swellfoot. It was just after nine when I
mounted the stairs, and great Tom was still tolling.
"In Thomae laude
Resono bim bam sine fraude,"
as the charmingly imbecile motto used to run, and to-night he was
living up to it by bim-bamming away in a persistent _basso profondo_
that made an astonishing background of discord to the sound of frantic
guitar playing which emanated from Lykeham's room. From the fury of
his twanging I could tell that something more than usually cataclysmic
had happened, for mercifully it was only in moments of the greatest
stress that Lykeham touched his guitar.
I entered the room with my hands over my ears. "For God's sake----" I
implored. Through the open window Tom was shouting a deep E flat, with
a spread chord of under- and over-tones, while the guitar gibbered
shrilly and hysterically in D natural. Lykeham laughed, banged down
his guitar on to the sofa with such violence that it gave forth a
trembling groan from all its strings, and ran forward to meet me. He
slapped me on the shoulder with painful heartiness; his whole face
radiated joy and excitement.
I can sympathize with people's pains, but not with their pleasures.
There is something curiously boring about somebody else's happiness.
"You are perspiring," I said coldly.
Lykeham mopped himself, but went grinning.
"Well, what is it this time?" I asked. "Are you engaged to be married
again?"
Lykeham burst forth with the triumphant pleasure of one who has at
last found an opportunity of disburdening himself of an oppressive
secret. "Far better than that," he cried.
I groaned. "Some more than usually unpleasant amour, I suppose." I
knew that he had been in London the day before, a pressing engagement
with the dentist having furnished an excuse to stay the night.
"Don't be gross," said Lykeham, with a nervous laugh which showed that
my suspicions had been only too well founded.
"Well, let's hear about the delectable Flossie or Effie or whatever
her name was," I said, with resignation.
"I tell you she was a goddess."
"The goddess of reason, I suppose."
"A goddess," Lykeham continued; "the most wonderful creature I've ever
seen. And the extraordinary thing is," he added confidentially, and
with ill-suppressed pride, "that it seems I myself am a god of sorts."
"Of gardens; but do come down to facts."
"I'll tell you the whole story. It was like this: Last night I was in
town, you know, and went to see that capital play that's running at
the Prince Consort's. It's one of those ingenious combinations of
melodrama and problem play, which thrill you to the marrow and at the
same time give you a virtuous feeling that you've been to see
something serious. Well, I rolled in rather late, having secured an
admirable place in the front row of the dress circle. I trampled in
over the populace, and casually observed that there was a girl sitting
next me, whom I apologized to for treading on her toes. I thought no
more about her during the first act. In the interval, when the lights
were on again, I turned round to look at things in general and
discovered that there was a goddess sitting next me. One only had to
look at her to see she was a goddess. She was quite incredibly
beautiful--rather pale and virginal and slim, and at the same time
very stately. I can't describe her; she was simply perfect--there's
nothing more to be said."
"Perfect," I repeated, "but so were all the rest."
"Fool!" Lykeham answered impatiently. "All the rest were just damned
women. This was a goddess, I tell you. Don't interrupt me any more. As
I was looking with astonishment at her profile, she turned her head
and looked squarely at me. I've never seen anything so lovely; I
almost swooned away. Our eyes met----"
"What an awful novelist's expression!" I expostulated.
"I can't help it; there's no other word. Our eyes did meet, and we
both fell simultaneously in love."
"Speak for yourself."
"I could see it in her eyes. Well, to go on. We looked at one another
several times during that first interval, and then the second act
began. In the course of the act, entirely accidentally, I knocked my
programme on to the floor, and reaching down to get it I touched her
hand. Well, there was obviously nothing else to do but to take hold of
it."
"And what did she do?"
"Nothing. We sat like that the whole of the rest of the act,
rapturously happy and----"
"And quietly perspiring palm to palm. I know exactly, so we can pass
over that. Proceed."
"Of course you don't know in the least; you've never held a goddess's
hand. When the lights went up again I reluctantly dropped her hand,
not liking the thought of the profane crowd seeing us, and for want of
anything better to say, I asked her if she actually was a goddess. She
said it was a curious question, as she'd been wondering what god I
was. So we said, how incredible: and I said I was sure she was a
goddess, and she said she was certain I was a god, and I bought some
chocolates, and the third act began. Now, it being a melodrama, there
was of course in the third act a murder and burglary scene, in which
all the lights were turned out. In this thrilling moment of total
blackness I suddenly felt her kiss me on the cheek."
"I thought you said she was virginal."
"So she was--absolutely, frozenly virginal; but she was made of a sort
of burning ice, if you understand me. She was virginally
passionate--just the combination you'd expect to find in a goddess. I
admit I was startled when she kissed me, but with infinite presence of
mind I kissed her back, on the mouth. Then the murder was finished and
the lights went on again. Nothing much more happened till the end of
the show, when I helped her on with her coat and we went out together,
as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and got into a
taxi. I told the man to drive somewhere where we could get supper, and
he drove there."
"Not without embracements by the way?"
"No, not without certain embracements."
"Always passionately virginal?"
"Always virginally passionate."
"Proceed."
"Well, we had supper--a positively Olympian affair, nectar and
ambrosia and stolen hand-pressures. She became more and more wonderful
every moment. My God, you should have seen her eyes! The whole soul
seemed to burn in their depths, like fire under the sea----"
"For narrative," I interrupted him, "the epic or heroic style is
altogether more suitable than the lyrical."
"Well, as I say, we had supper, and after that my memory becomes a
sort of burning mist."
"Let us make haste to draw the inevitable veil. What was her name?"
Lykeham confessed that he didn't know; as she was a goddess, it didn't
really seem to matter what her earthly name was. How did he expect to
find her again? He hadn't thought of that, but knew she'd turn up
somehow. I told him he was a fool, and asked which particular goddess
he thought she was and which particular god he himself.