THE HONEYMOON
WORKS BY ARNOLD BENNETT
NOVELS
A MAN FROM THE NORTH
ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS
LEONORA
A GREAT MAN
SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE
WHOM GOD HATH JOINED
BURIED ALIVE
THE OLD WIVES' TALE
THE GLIMPSE
HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND
CLAYHANGER
THE CARD
HILDA LESSWAYS
THE REGENT
FANTASIAS
THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL
THE GATES OF WRATH
TERESA OF WATLING STREET
THE LOOT OF CITIES
HUGO
THE GHOST
THE CITY OF PLEASURE
SHORT STORIES
TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS
THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS
THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS
BELLES-LETTRES
JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN
FAME AND FICTION
HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR
THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR
THE REASONABLE LIFE
HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY
THE HUMAN MACHINE
LITERARY TASTE
THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND
DRAMA
POLITE FARCES
CUPID AND COMMON SENSE
WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS
THE HONEYMOON
THE GREAT ADVENTURE
* * * * *
(In Collaboration with EDEN PHILLPOTTS)
THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCE
THE STATUE: A ROMANCE
(In Collaboration with EDWARD KNOBLAUCH)
MILESTONES
THE HONEYMOON
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
BY
ARNOLD BENNETT
THIRD EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published_ _October 5th 1911_
_Second Edition_ _January 5th 1912_
_Third Edition_ _1914_
CHARACTERS
FLORA LLOYD _Widow, aged 28._
MRS. REACH HASLAM _A Novelist, aged 56._
MR. REACH HASLAM _Her Husband, aged 58._
CEDRIC HASLAM _Their eldest Son, aged 32._
CHARLES HASLAM _Their second Son, aged 22._
THE BISHOP OF CHELMSFORD _Aged 55._
MR. FRAMPINGTON _Aged 30._
GASTON _A Swiss Waiter, aged 23._
CUTHBERT _Mrs. Reach Haslam's Butler._
CAST OF THE PLAY
AS PRODUCED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF MR. DION
BOUCICAULT AT THE ROYALTY THEATRE,
LONDON, 6TH OCT., 1911.
FLORA LLOYD MISS MARIE TEMPEST.
MRS. REACH HASLAM MISS KATE SERJEANTSON.
MR. REACH HASLAM MR. DION BOUCICAULT.
CEDRIC HASLAM MR. GRAHAM BROWNE.
CHARLES HASLAM MR. BASIL HALLAM.
BISHOP OF CHELMSFORD MR. BERTE THOMAS.
MR. FRAMPINGTON MR. DENNIS EADIE.
GASTON MR. CECIL ROSE.
CUTHBERT MR. HORTON COOPER.
NOTES ON CHARACTERS IN ACT I
FLORA LLOYD. Beautiful. Elegant. Charming. All in the highest
degree possible. The whole play turns on these qualities in her.
CEDRIC HASLAM. Renowned aviator. The taciturn inventive Englishman.
Very self-controlled, but capable of passionate moments.
Obstinate, with enormous force of character. His movements,
gestures, and speech have a certain air of slow indolence, but
are at the same time marked by that masculine harshness and
brusqueness which would specially appeal to a woman like Flora.
No one could guess from his demeanour that he is famous.
CHARLES HASLAM. Boyish. Impulsive. Very self-centred. But very
agreeable.
MRS. REACH HASLAM. Majestic. Richly dressed. The foremost
woman-novelist in England and America. Her name a household word.
No sense of humour. But she is very, very far from being a fool,
and the part is not a low-comedy part. This play shows the least
sympathetic side of her.
MR. REACH HASLAM. The husband of a celebrity. Strong sense of
sardonic humour, which has very little outlet. Always exceedingly
polite and even deferential to his wife, yet preserving his own
dignity. A prim, dry, precise man.
GASTON. There are scores of Gastons in the hotels and restaurants
of the West End. He does not differ from the type.
The Acting Rights of this Play are reserved. Applications for
permission to perform should be made to Messrs. J. B. PINKER & SON,
Talbot House, Arundel Street, Strand, London, W.C. 2, from whom all
particulars as to terms may be obtained.
THE HONEYMOON
ACT I.
_A sitting-room in the only hotel at a small seaside resort in
Essex. Old-fashioned Victorian furniture, producing a picturesque
general effect. Some modern touch, such as a framed coloured
advertisement of pneumatic tyres._
_Door_, R., _leading to hall, principal entrance, and kitchen.
Door_, L., _leading through a porch to the garden. A large
window, divided into three portions by stonework, at the back:
the panes are small; one of these portions is open, the others
are closed._
_Through the window can be seen a view of the garden, and the sea
in the distance. The fireplace is not seen._
CEDRIC _and_ FLORA _are seated at either side of a tea-table_.
TIME: _Afternoon in June. Sunshine._
FLORA. Another cup? (CEDRIC, _looking at her, makes no reply_.)
Cedric! Another cup? (_with a touch of very good-humoured
impatience_).
(CEDRIC _rises, goes round the
table to her, takes hold of her,
and kisses her_.)
CEDRIC. (_Standing over her, she looking up at him._) I've been
wanting to do that for about thirty solid minutes.
FLORA. Then why didn't you, my poor boy? (CEDRIC _gives a gesture
to show that he doesn't know why_) ... Instead of keeping us both
waiting like that! (_Reflective._) And yet it's barely three
hours since you kissed me in the vestry!
CEDRIC. Vestry be dashed! And here's another thing I've been
wanting to do (_he carefully kisses her ear_).
FLORA. My ear!
CEDRIC. Precisely, your ear! Strange!... And I can tell you
something even stranger. Shall I? (_She nods._) When I'm standing
over you I feel as if I should like to kill you! Yes, really,
Fluff! It takes me all of a sudden! You know--when you lean out
of a high balcony and you feel you must jump--well, it's that
sort of a feeling.
FLORA. What particular _kind_ of homicide?
CEDRIC. Oh! (_at a loss_) a kind of a fierce crushing. (_She
smiles._) You think it's justifiable?
FLORA. I don't mind so long as I know my risks.
CEDRIC. (_After staring at her, with a convinced air._) _We_ shall
get on together all right!
FLORA. Yes, I think we're doing rather well so far, considering
(_turning the ring on his finger_).
CEDRIC. Considering what?
FLORA. Considering how nervous we both are, naturally (_drops his
hand_).
CEDRIC. (_Moving away. Half to himself._) Yes, and we shall keep
getting more nervous!
FLORA. (_Resuming exactly the same matter-of-fact tone as when she
first put the question._) Another cup?
CEDRIC. (_Similar tone._) How many have I had?
FLORA. I don't know, dear.
CEDRIC. I've had enough, then.
FLORA. Well, about our programme. Suppose we settle it a bit.
CEDRIC. Yes, let's. (_Sits down._)
FLORA. I do think it was a lovely idea to start off without any
programme at all! Heaven itself couldn't say where we shan't be
this time next week!
CEDRIC. Well, subject to your approval, I don't mind informing
heaven that anyhow we shan't be here.
FLORA. Tired of this place--already?
CEDRIC. On the contrary! But it's too small to hold a couple that
have just walked out of a vestry. One hotel, one flagstaff,
one boat, one sea. No pier, no tea-shop, no concert, and very
probably no moon.
FLORA. Extraordinary how even three hours of married life will
change a man! You always used to be rather keen on quietness,
solitude, old flannel suits, and so on.
CEDRIC. Now look here, Fluff! This honeymoon programme is
important. Er--(_hesitates_).
FLORA. (_Nods._) Let's talk as man to man.
CEDRIC. The fact is I've always had a very distinct theory
about honeymoons. Far from the madding crowd is a mistake on
a honeymoon.... Solitude! Wherever you are, if you're on a
honeymoon, you'll get quite as much solitude as is good for you
every twenty-four hours. Constant change and distraction--that's
what wants arranging for. Solitude will arrange itself.
FLORA. I didn't expect this from you, dear.
CEDRIC. (_Hastily, apologetic._) Simply a theory! I've had no
practical experience, and I'm perfectly ready to sit at your feet
in the matter. Honestly, I don't care a straw. I may be wrong,
and if you----
FLORA. (_Solemnly._) You aren't wrong! You're quite fearfully right!
CEDRIC. (_After staring at her with a convinced air._) We _shall_
get on together--that's a bedrock certainty! Now this place ought
to be excellent for a beginning, but I should imagine that about
a couple of days of it would do us.
FLORA. I never suspected--no, really, I never _did_ suspect--that
any man could have as much common-sense, _before_hand, as you
have, Cedric. Not to speak of courage!
CEDRIC. Cheek, you mean. But then, of course, I _am_ supposed to
have a bit of nerve. Well, that's settled. We are to travel, then.
FLORA. The point is, where?
CEDRIC. Where would you like?
FLORA. (_Radiantly._) _Any_where.
CEDRIC. What about Paris?
FLORA. Oh, not Paris.
CEDRIC. Why not?
FLORA. We should be simply mobbed. My dearest boy, have you ever
heard speak of the simplicity of genius?
CEDRIC. I seem to have read about it somewhere, perhaps in the
ladies' papers.
FLORA. Well, you won't understand it, because you've got
it--acutely.
CEDRIC. And here all these years I've been taking myself for rather
a crafty person!
FLORA. Do you know how many times I've counted your portrait in the
weeklies this year? One hundred and forty-six! And that's not
reckoning the pictures where your aeroplane's so high up that you
only look like a fly in a mouse-trap.
CEDRIC. In my simple mind I'd always thought that the surest way
never to be recognised in the street was to have your portrait in
the papers.
FLORA. And then there's your likeness to your mother! A hundred and
fifty-one thousand copies of your dear mother's last novel sold
up to yesterday--so I saw in the "Telegraph." And then her new
novel out to-day!
CEDRIC. I'm not suggesting that we should camp out in Piccadilly
for our honeymoon, my dove and my love; I said Paris.
FLORA. All London will be in Paris.
CEDRIC. What--next week?
FLORA. Every week. Excuse me asking a pointed question, dearest,
but have you ever been to Paris--I mean, since the flood?
CEDRIC. Yes. My knowledge of the unwieldy goods department of the
big railway stations is probably matchless.
FLORA. Well, if you'd stepped outside the stations you'd know that
Paris is now exclusively inhabited by nice respectable people
from London and nice respectable people from Arizona; and when
they aren't cricking their necks to look at aeroplanes, they're
improving their minds with your dear mother's latest novel.
CEDRIC. (_Mock serious._) Will you believe me--I'd no notion of
this at all!
FLORA. I tell you what--I wouldn't mind going to Paris under an
assumed name.
CEDRIC. Oh, no!
FLORA. Why not? It would be amusing.
CEDRIC. I don't see myself travelling under a false name. I suppose
I am too English.
FLORA. Well, I don't see myself in a Paris hotel as the bride of
the most celebrated English aviator, and the daughter-in-law
of the most celebrated English lady-novelist. I do not! (_With
a characteristic gesture._) Mobbed isn't the word for what we
should be.
CEDRIC. (_Gazing at her._) You must have noticed that I'm not what
you'd call gushing. I've known myself go for a month without
using a single superlative; but really, my most dear girl, my
Fluffiest, when you strike an attitude like that, you're more
marvellously and ineffably adorable than ever. Your beauty, your
charm, your enormous slap-upness--(_changing his tone_)--Well,
ecstasy is not my line.... I only said Paris because the mater
asked me if I thought we should be going there, and I told her it
was possible.
FLORA. Will _she_ be there?
CEDRIC. No, no! Only, if we _should_ happen to go there, she wanted
me to count the panes of glass in a lamp-post on the Alexander
III. bridge. One of her realistic details, you know. I expect
she's got her hero staring absently up at that lamp-post--after
an indiscreet evening.... She may be depending on me.
FLORA. But surely that isn't a reason why we should go to Paris!
Your dear mother might have wanted to know the number of ribs in
the umbrella of the King of Siam--should we have had to book to
Bangkok?
CEDRIC. I was only----
FLORA. Husband, I must tell you something about your mother. I've
kept it a secret from you. Do you know what made her give up her
terrific scheme of our being married in the cathedral by the
Bishop, surrounded by the press of Europe?
CEDRIC. I thought our angel-tongues persuaded her out of it.
FLORA. Not at all. A threat did it. I dropped in on her one day for
a little private chat while you were at Blackpool. She was just
going to arrange with the Bishop. I told her confidentially--but
of course _nicely_--that if she wouldn't agree to us being
married by a curate at Chelmsford, with nobody but her and your
father and Charlie present, and nothing whatever in the papers
for at least a fortnight, then I should insist on being married
at a registry office.
CEDRIC. The deuce you did! What did she say?
FLORA. She merely said: "Of course your wish is our law, Mrs.
Lloyd." But the next day she was calling me "Flora" again.
CEDRIC. The mater folded up like that?
FLORA. There! (_Laughing._) Listen to your own tone, dearest.
Naturally she folded up. She only needs proper treatment.
CEDRIC. Well, I had a bit of a stir with her when I decided to give
up my amateur status; but I must say as a rule I get on very well
with the mater.
FLORA. So do I. It's because I get on so well with her that we had
a curate to-day instead of the Bishop. Rather a jolly curate,
didn't you think?
CEDRIC. Struck me as a queer lot.
FLORA. Of course they're all queer. I liked him because when he
asked me to sign my name he didn't say (_imitating the snigger of
a curate_) "for the last time." They always do, you know. It's
almost part of the service, for them. And if he had said it, I do
believe I should have screamed.
CEDRIC. I say, Fluff, why after hiding this secret for several
weeks--it's practically a double life that you've been
leading--why do you reveal it just at this particular moment?
FLORA. Oh--sheer caprice, my dearest! It just popped into my head.
CEDRIC. (_Somewhat troubled and awkward._) So your notion is that
the mater's moral empire over her family and the British public
might be checked without grave loss of life, eh?
FLORA. Cedric! (CEDRIC _looks at her, arrested and questioning_.)
What's the rarest thing in the world? Quick?
CEDRIC. Common-sense, of course.
FLORA. Oh! Good! I was afraid you might say a well-cooked potato.
CEDRIC. You ought to know me better than that.
FLORA. But, Cedric, it's only now that we're beginning to make each
other's acquaintance.
CEDRIC. That's true! But how did _you_ know that common-sense is
the rarest thing in the world?
FLORA. Because I've got so very little of it myself. But even a
very little will go a long way. Now, have I told you that our
marriage isn't going to be like ordinary marriages--I mean,
really?
CEDRIC. Well, you haven't exactly told me, but you've allowed me to
suspect the fact.
FLORA. Most marriages, and especially most honeymoons, are
third-rate simply because the people concerned in them don't
bring their bit of common-sense to bear on the problems that are
(_mock platform manner_)--er--continually arising. (_Laughing._)
I intend to keep my bit of common-sense healthy by constant
exercise. Common-sense, steadily applied, will solve any problem.
CEDRIC. (_Emphatically._) Any! (_After a pause._) Always
provided----
FLORA. (_Surprised._) Always provided?
CEDRIC. My dear, in this outpouring of wisdom I, too, must have my
share. Common-sense will solve any problem--any!--always provided
it is employed simultaneously with politeness. During a long
and varied career as a bachelor, dear spouse (_mock platform
manner_), I have noticed that marriage is usually the death of
politeness between a man and a woman. I have noticed that the
stronger the passion the weaker the manners. Now, my theory is
that politeness, instead of decreasing with intimacy--should
increase! And when I say "politeness" I mean common, superficial
politeness. I don't mean the deep-down sort of thing that you can
only detect with a divining-rod.... Pardon, you were saying?
FLORA. Cedric! (_Impulsively rushes to him and kisses him._) How
_right_ you are! It's exactly what I've been thinking for years.
Now, as to common-sense and the programme. It would be against
common-sense for us to begin by annoying your mother. If you
really do think your mother would be in the least upset by our
not going to Paris, naturally I shall be delighted to go. We
could stop just long enough to inspect the lamp-post--and then
off again.
CEDRIC. Oh, no! Oh, no! Of course she won't be upset!
FLORA. That's settled, then. Do you know I've had the tiniest
idea of going to Ostend, and then taking the Orient express to
Buda-Pesth? I'm dying to see Hungary, simply dying.
CEDRIC. My dearest, your life shall be saved regardless of cost.
FLORA. I do want an expensive honeymoon. Not because I'm
extravagant, but because a honeymoon is a solemn, important thing.
CEDRIC. A symbol.
FLORA. A symbol. And it ought to be done--well, adequately.
CEDRIC. Nineteen thousand pounds odd of mine is now on deposit
at my bank--all honestly taken by me out of the pockets of
ratepayers of various important towns in less than a year. And
when that's gone I can always get more at about the same rate, as
you know.
FLORA. Cedric! There is to be no flying during our honeymoon?
CEDRIC. Certainly not!
FLORA. And it is to last a full month, naturally.
CEDRIC. A full calendar month--with no address for letters.
FLORA. (_Sigh of ecstatic anticipation._) Two or three days, you
said, here?
CEDRIC. Yes, don't you think it's enough?
FLORA. Oh! quite. We shall be gone before anybody's had time to
guess--(_breaking off_). Dearest, don't you think we came into
the hotel rather well?
CEDRIC. Fine. No one could suspect that we hadn't been _born_
married. I was proud of both of us.
(_Enter_ GASTON, R.)
GASTON. Shall I clear the table? (_Beginning to do so before
receiving permission._)
FLORA. Yes. (FLORA _and_ CEDRIC _rise_.)
GASTON. (_With a cheerful air, quite unconscious of his impudent
manner._) I suppose you stay here long time?
FLORA. (_Determined to snub the waiter._) Really!
CEDRIC. Why?
GASTON. Oh! honeymoon. Dull place. Fresh married English people
demand generally dull place.
(FLORA _collapses and exit
hurriedly into the garden_, L.
CEDRIC, _with more leisurely
dignity, lights a cigarette and
is about to follow her when he
stops and turns_.)
CEDRIC. By the way, I don't think we _shall_ stay long.
GASTON. (_After looking at_ FLORA _in the garden, impartially and
cheerfully_.) It is strange how English people have shame of
being married. One would say it was a crime in England. A young
man and young lady in English hotel--they like better that one
should think they not married. It is different in Switzerland. In
Switzerland we are proud. We tell all the world. Why not?
CEDRIC. So you come from Switzerland?
GASTON. Oh, yes. I am not English (_eagerly._) Geneva. My father is
a _fabricant_, a----
CEDRIC. Manufacturer.
GASTON. Yes, manufacturer of door-mats. My father makes door-mats
for all the hotels in Switzerland. Very big! Very important!
He says--I must go into the hotel business. He will buy me a
hotel. I learn everything. We do that in Switzerland. We are
_scientifique_. I have been in the kitchens. Now I am waiter. No
shame. Nobody could guess I am a gentleman.
CEDRIC. You mustn't be too hard on yourself, my friend. And so
you've come to England?
GASTON. My father says, Go to England. Study the English
_caractère_ in England. Very valuable. When I come to London I
could not speak English--no!
CEDRIC. When was that? Last week?
GASTON. No. It is a year, nearly. But I had at once a situation,
the first day, at the Grand Babylon Hotel.
CEDRIC. Rather awkward, wasn't it, not knowing English?
GASTON. Yes. That fatigues one--to hear a strange language all the
day.
CEDRIC. I meant for the customers.
GASTON. (_Nonchalant gesture._) They are now well habituated. Many
of them learn French or German, it saves time. English people are
so practical. They are not _logique_, but they are practical. Now
to-day I speak German, Italian, as perfectly as English.
CEDRIC. Remarkable! But surely a man of your enormous ability
is wasted in a sleepy place like this.... Perhaps you find it
amusing, though.
GASTON. (_Shakes his head. Passionately._) Dull! It is for my
health that I am here. Sleepy! Ah, my God! (_Disdainfully._) But
all England sleeps.... But next month I go to Germany. I shall
have done England.
CEDRIC. You like Germany.
GASTON. Ah! What a country! What organisation! What science! Never
sleeps! Always conquers! (_Patronisingly._) Do you think in
_your_ business the Germans will not conquer, at the end?
CEDRIC. My business?
GASTON. Yes. Aeroplanes.
CEDRIC. So you know that?
GASTON. I know everything.... Look at anileen!
CEDRIC. Anileen?
GASTON. Yes. Anileen--colours.
CEDRIC. Ah! You mean aniline dyes.
GASTON. Yes, I said so.
CEDRIC. What about them?
GASTON. What about them? England invented them. Germany has taken
them from you--all. That is science. All German now. So with
aeroplanes. England and France--proud, very proud. But at the
end, you will see ... at the end.
CEDRIC. Oh!
GASTON. And soon.
CEDRIC. I say, if it isn't a rude question, how _did_ you guess
that we were--er--on our honeymoon? It might be useful for me to
know.
GASTON. Ah, now--again! I read, I study. I alone in this sleepy
place. By example, no afternoon newspapers--none--came into
this place till I ordered one at the railway. I insisted. "The
Piccadilly Gazette"--you know--Thackeray--"written by gentlemen
for gentlemen." I read it every day. Ah! And is it not afraid of
Germany!
CEDRIC. Do you mean there's something about my marriage in the
"Piccadilly Gazette"?
GASTON. Yes. Do you want to read it?
CEDRIC. Well, I should rather like to see it, if I'm not
interfering with your studies.
GASTON. (_Taking paper out of his pocket._) There! (_Stands waiting
in a suggestive attitude._)
CEDRIC. (_Accepting paper._) Thanks! (_Looks at him and gives him a
tip._)
GASTON. (_Pocketing the coin._) Thanks!... And you will see about
Klopstock too. (_Picking up tray._)
CEDRIC. What about Klopstock?
GASTON. He comes to England soon as he has flyed at Breslau. Ah!
You will see! (_Exit_ R. _with tray_.)
(CEDRIC _sits down with paper, and
begins to read_.)
CEDRIC. (_Quietly._) Oh!
(_He drops the end of his cigarette
into a flower-pot; then takes
a cigar from his case, cuts
it, puts it in his mouth, and
produces a matchbox, but does not
light it._)
CEDRIC. Oh, indeed!
(_He goes to the window, and taps
on one of the closed panes. After
a moment_ FLORA _appears at the
open part of the window_. CEDRIC,
_with a motion of the hand,
indicates that he wishes her to
enter_.)
FLORA. (_Off, in a conspiratorial whisper._) Has the reader of
hearts quite gone? (CEDRIC _nods_.) Come out. (CEDRIC _beckons
her inwards with his finger_.)
(_Enter_ FLORA, L.)
FLORA. Oh, Cedric! What a blow! We're the honeymoon couple now of
Pixton-on-Sea. How did he guess?
CEDRIC. (_Scarcely listening to her._) Fluff, read this (_hands her
paper with his finger on a particular paragraph_). Top of second
column.
FLORA. (_Reads._) "We are informed that Mr. Cedric Haslam, the
celebrated aviator (CEDRIC _shows surprise_) was married
privately this morning at Chelmsford to Mrs. Flora Lloyd, widow
of the late Mr. Artemus Lloyd, stockbroker, who at one time was
a well-known figure in the Kaffir Circus. Mr. and Mrs. Reach
Haslam, the bridegroom's parents, and his brother, Mr. Charles
Haslam, were present. The happy pair are spending the first part
of the honeymoon at Pixton-on-Sea. By a curious coincidence, Mrs.
Reach Haslam's new novel, 'The Wiving of the Chancellor,' appears
on the very day of the marriage of her eldest son." (_Shaking her
head._) Only one thing is possible. Flight. Immediate flight! And
plenty of it! Cedric, I suppose this is your dear mother's doing?
CEDRIC. I should doubt it. More probably some accidental leakage.
She hates the very thought of self-advertisement.
FLORA. Oh! I _know_. But I've always noticed she's somewhat unlucky
in the matter of leakages. Your father ought to study plumbing.
CEDRIC. (_Slightly impatient._) That's nothing. That's not what I
wanted you to read. I hadn't even noticed that. Look! (_Pointing
to a paragraph._)
FLORA. "Dissensions in the Cabinet. Extraordinary rumours."
CEDRIC. No, no. (_Takes the paper and reads._) "The German
Invasion. To-morrow, upon the conclusion of the Breslau meeting,
Herr Klopstock will pack up his victorious new mono-plane
and start for England. He announces his intention of trying
within three weeks for the ten thousand pounds prize recently
offered by the Aero Club to the first aviator who flies over
Snowdon. Herr Klopstock, who has already, we understand, taken
the whole of a hotel at Beddgelert for the accommodation of
his staff, is convinced that his machine will rise easily to
at least four thousand feet. The Kaiser has just christened
the aeroplane the Black Eagle, by telegraph, and has assured
the renowned aviator and ex-professor of the heartiest good
wishes of himself and his house. His youngest grandchild,
Prince--um--um--Fatherland--um--The news will certainly create a
considerable sensation in England as it has done in Germany." I
should say it would.
FLORA. Why should it?
CEDRIC. What! The Kaiser's Black Eagle flying over the highest
mountain in England, and getting ten thousand pounds for the job!
It's unthinkable! How does it strike you?
FLORA. It strikes me that it would have been much simpler and less
expensive not to have offered the ten thousand pounds. It's
altogether too tempting. Besides, it seems to me anybody ought to
be able to fly over a little thing like Snowdon, seeing how they
sail over the Pyrenees and all that sort of thing.
CEDRIC. My adorable child, don't talk like a member of the public.
Henceforth you are in the know. The fogs alone make Snowdon
worse than the Pyrenees. And then the Aero Club has been clever
enough to ordain that the aviator is to start and land within
four miles of the summit. How is a man to get off on such
ground, and where is he to land without breaking wood? And then
the business of finding his way! He's bound to do a lot of
corkscrewing to get up, and nothing less than six thousand feet
would be safe.
FLORA. (_With a gesture dismissing all that._) Well, I don't think
it's quite nice of Mr. Klopstock. It ought to have occurred
to him. But then, it never does seem to occur to Germans....
I've often noticed that in hotels. They don't seem to perceive.
(_Different tone._) Will he succeed?
CEDRIC. He _might_. I don't think he would; not with his present
horse-power; but he just might.
FLORA. Well, most probably he won't. And then you can try in July
as you originally intended, and get the money after all. Then
there will have been some _sense_ in the prize, anyway.
CEDRIC. It isn't the money.
FLORA. Surely it isn't the mountain?
CEDRIC. (_Following his own thought._) We've got to come out on top
in this business. I must get to business in the middle of next
week. It'll take a day to modify those wingtips, and another to
tune her up. Oh! I shall be ready long before he is. But I'll
give him a chance to get nicely installed in his hotel. I should
like Herr Klopstock and his crew to admire the beautiful scenery.
FLORA. (_Casually._) You must be at the works next week?
CEDRIC. It's me or nobody! No use trying to disguise that fact,
Fluff!
FLORA. Perhaps in the heat of the moment you've forgotten that you
happened to get married this morning, Cedric.
CEDRIC. I wish we hadn't happened to get married this morning.
(_She looks at him._) I mean, I wish we'd happened to get married
a week ago. Frantic nuisance! However, there you are! It simply
means we shall be fixed up a bit sooner in the flat----
FLORA. But the flat won't be anything like ready by next week.
CEDRIC. Never mind, we'll sleep at the Grand Babylon, or in
the backyard. (_A little pause._) Of course as a nuisance it
completely baffles description.... To-day of all days....
However, Fluff, as I said before with profound truth--there you
are! It would never do in this world to give the German lot
even a chance. The thing's too spectacular--altogether too
spectacular. If it was a question of beating us quietly and for
ever in technics or manufacture, the B.P. wouldn't think twice
about it; but Snowdon is Snowdon, and a black eagle is a black
eagle, and (_comically_) in short, madam, England will turn to
your husband in its hour of peril. In other words, Fluff, it's up
to me.
FLORA. (_Lightly._) I say, Cedric.
CEDRIC. Well?
FLORA. I thought we were agreed about a full calendar month.
CEDRIC. (_After a pause; as lightly as possible._) Do you mean you
think I ought to let Snowdon slide? Do you really----
FLORA. Yes, of course. Don't you?
CEDRIC. You aren't serious?
FLORA. (_Persuasively._) My dearest boy, is there any reason why I
shouldn't differ from you and yet be serious?
CEDRIC. No, of course not. But in a case like this--if there
was anybody else to take my place, I wouldn't mind. Of course
Smith-James could do it if only he would use our machine--but he
won't. Nothing would induce him to. So as I keep on saying--there
you are!
FLORA. But what does it matter? Is it because the other man's
machine has been called the Black Eagle in a telegram that
you----
CEDRIC. Yes, partly.
FLORA. Oh! So that if this canvas-backed duck flies first over a
lump of mud called Snowdon----
CEDRIC. But don't I tell you Snowdon is the highest mountain in
England?
FLORA. No, it isn't.
CEDRIC. Pardon me. Three thousand five hundred and seventy feet.
The next highest is----
FLORA. Well, you go and tell Lloyd George that Snowdon is the
highest mountain in England, and see what you'll get.
CEDRIC. Wales, then. It's all the same.
FLORA. (_With great charm._) If you're thinking of the ten thousand
pounds, I don't mind informing you, as a great secret, that I
wouldn't sell a single day of my honeymoon with you for ten
times ten thousand pounds. But I told you I wanted an expensive
honeymoon, didn't I?
CEDRIC. (_Shaking his head and with calm certainty._) The money
doesn't influence me that much! (_Snaps his fingers._) I don't
wish to flatter myself, but I think I could light your cigarette
with a bank note as gracefully as anybody. No----
FLORA. You're pulling away at that cigar of yours, but I suppose
you know it isn't lighted.
CEDRIC. Isn't it? (_As he lights the cigar._) No! This Snowdon
business. Well, it's a symbol (_half to himself_). I wonder how
I can make you understand that.
FLORA. (_Fascinatingly._) Oh! Force is unnecessary, I understand
that. But who was it said just now that the honeymoon was a
symbol? It stands for all our married life. It's the most
exciting and interesting time we shall ever have. And you can't
put a honeymoon off, you know. It isn't like a box of cigars that
you can keep in a cupboard and enjoy one of them every now and
then when you've got a few minutes to spare. It must happen now
or never. You can't postpone it. You can only kill it. (_Smiles
lightly._)
CEDRIC. (_Taking hold of her, in a caressing tone._) She's tragic!
FLORA. (_Disengaging herself._) Oh, no!
CEDRIC. Now just listen to me, Fluff. I'm really thinking at least
as much of you as of myself. This affair is bound to have an
influence on my career.
FLORA. And what about its influence on mine?
CEDRIC. Same thing. I suppose our interests are identical.
FLORA. My poor simple boy, do you really believe that?
CEDRIC. Well, dash it, aren't you my wife?
FLORA. So far as I'm concerned, it would be more correct to say
that you're my husband. In fact, you've got a career as my
husband.
CEDRIC. (_Anxious to be fair._) Certainly. And you as my wife.
But----
FLORA. One second, dearest. You're unique as an aviator, aren't you?
CEDRIC. (_Conventionally modest._) Oh--well----
FLORA. Now. Man to man. Give your modesty a rest. Really, don't you
consider you've proved yourself unique in your line?
CEDRIC. (_Hesitatingly, chivalrously._) I suppose I'm just about as
unique in my line as you are in yours, my dear.
FLORA. Now that's very nice of you.
CEDRIC. Not at all.
FLORA. Yes, it is, because it's exactly what I wanted you to say.
You've often said that I'm unique, and I just wanted you to say
it again at this identical particular instant. Of course I could
have reminded you of it, but that wouldn't have been quite so
effective. That's why it's very nice of you.
CEDRIC. So you are unique--I'll say it as often as you like.
FLORA. I warn you, you're giving yourself away.
CEDRIC. Delighted!
FLORA. I wouldn't care to repeat all the lovely adjectives you've
used about me. If you weren't such a determined enemy of gush and
superlatives--people might suspect that sometimes you exaggerated
the tiniest bit when you talked about me, _to_ me. But of course
_I_ know you never do exaggerate, at any rate consciously, and
_you_ know you're a very good judge.
CEDRIC. What of?
FLORA. Us!... Now look here, Cedric, don't you think it would be
a pity to stop this creature, who is so unique in her line,
from giving a full exhibition of her unique powers at a unique
moment; at the very height of her career. You know, she'll never
have another opportunity like this of proving that she really is
unique in her line.
CEDRIC. What do you call her line? Let's be clear.
FLORA. (_Quietly, off-handedly, after a pause._) To charm. Merely
that.
CEDRIC. By God! She can do that. But (_winningly, but half to
himself_), I hardly know how to put it.
FLORA. I think you do, dearest; but you're so nice, you don't like
to. You wanted to make a comparison between the importance of
your line and the importance of mine. I admit all that. I'm quite
humble. I fully admit that if Hyde Park were full of aviators
and Battersea Park were full of charming young women, rather
pretty and--er--chic--(_gesture to show off her frock_)--I fully
admit that not a man among you would ever _dream_--of crossing
the river. I fully admit that if every aviator in Europe gave
up business to-morrow the entire world would go into mourning,
whereas if all the charming women retired from business they'd
never be missed. Still----
CEDRIC. (_Appreciative._) You're a witty girl----
FLORA. We're both rather witty, aren't we, at times?
CEDRIC. But the fact is I wasn't going to make any comparison at
all between our respective lines. I was only going to point out
that you can keep on being charming all the time. You're always
charming; you're always doing _your_ line. Whereas for my line I
have to choose times and seasons--or rather I don't choose 'em,
they're chosen for me, as, for instance, just now. Wherever we
are, honeymoon or no honeymoon, you're--well, you're giving an
exhibition flight.
FLORA. Now, Cedric, your good nature's getting the better of your
sincerity. I'm not always charming. Ask your dear mother. And
have you forgotten our historic shindy about the length of your
moustache scarcely three months ago? I'm _not_ always charming.
And I don't _want_ to be always charming. Who would? As for
exhibition flights, you've never seen me give one. You think you
have, but what you've seen up to now is nothing. I don't mind
telling you that I had arranged a rather sensational exhibition
flight for the next month. It would last just thirty-one days. I
don't mind telling you that I've thought a good deal about it,
and made all my elaborate preparations. It really would be a pity
to interfere with it. And you know it can't be postponed. I don't
choose time and season any more than you do.
CEDRIC. But surely, Fluff, this flight can proceed, as I say,
wherever we are?
FLORA. You think so? And what about my grandstand?
CEDRIC. I shall always be your grandstand.
FLORA. Shall you? I can only do my best when I've got the undivided
attention of my audience. I hope I should never come _quite_ to
earth, but I don't see myself being unique in my line for the
benefit of a man who is busy (_with the faintest touch of irony
in her tone_) counting the misfires in his motor, or dreaming
about the barometer.
CEDRIC. Naturally, if you don't see the importance of this Snowdon
business to us----
FLORA. (_Consciously very charming again._) But I do see it
perfectly well. A woman unique in her own line is not necessarily
a gaping idiot in every other line. I admit the immense
importance of Snowdon to us. I won't argue. In my time I've been
told that I was too well-dressed to be able to argue. I simply
want to ask you this--what, for you, is the _most_ important
thing in life? Now, let's be straight. Have you married as a
supreme end, or is your supreme end to move yourself about in the
air without visible means of support? Now (_smiling_), look me in
the face, and be a man.
CEDRIC. You're putting very fundamental questions.
FLORA. Is marriage a relaxation from flying, or do you fly in order
to have the means for practising the whole art of marriage under
favourable conditions? Do you live most intensely when you're
battling with the breeze, or when you're (_dropping her voice_)
with me? I only want to know. Because if you live most intensely
when you're with me, this honeymoon should be worth more to us
than forty Snowdons.
CEDRIC. (_A little coldly._) Say no more, Snowdon is chucked. Of
course, my position is impossible. You have only to insist.
FLORA. (_Losing her self-control._) Insist? Insist that you neglect
an aeroplane so that you can stay with me? My dear boy, I'm
incapable of taking such a mean advantage of an aeroplane. An
aeroplane can't insist. And I can assure you I shan't.
CEDRIC. Do you know that you're scarcely logical?
FLORA. Not logical? In not insisting?
CEDRIC. (_Somewhat at a loss._) I mean generally. For instance,
when we began, your first argument was that we couldn't shorten
the honeymoon because the flat wouldn't be ready.
FLORA. One can't think of everything at once. You mustn't forget
I've never been called to the bar. If I'd known what was coming,
no doubt I should have prepared my case and had it typewritten,
and sent copies to the press.... And then what about your being
illogical?
CEDRIC. Me?
FLORA. Yes. When I ask you for a straight answer you protest that
I'm putting very fundamental questions. Did you expect me to put
shallow questions? Did you expect me to enquire whether you'd
used Pears' soap?
CEDRIC. Now look here, Fluffiest----
FLORA. (_Angry._) Cedric, I wish you wouldn't call me that. You've
only started it since we were married. I can stand Fluff, but I
don't like Fluffy, and my objection to Fluffiest is intense.
CEDRIC. I beg your pardon.
FLORA. (_Recovering herself sweetly._) It's I who beg yours. For
the moment I was forgetting that "common superficial politeness"
that you ranked with common-sense.
CEDRIC. My dear child, everything's all right. The honeymoon shall
not be shortened by a single day. Everything's absolutely all
right.
FLORA. (_Shakes her head._) It isn't. You're only giving way to
please me.
CEDRIC. Well, really---- (_laughing_).
FLORA. Cedric. Honestly. Yes or no. Do you think I ought to yield
to the aeroplane?
CEDRIC. (_They look at each other._) I think you oughtn't to ask
quite such questions?
FLORA. (_Agreeing._) No. Such questions ought to be asked earlier.
But human nature is so--human, that probably it wouldn't be any
use asking them any earlier. They might even be considered rude.
In fact, it _is_ considered rude for _fiancés_ to worry each
other with any questions that really matter. (_Pause. In a vague
voice._) Whether you prefer a flat or a house, and the colour of
the drawing-room chairs--that's about as far as you are supposed
to go. (_Another pause._) Well?
CEDRIC. (_Approaching her._) What?
FLORA. Do you think I ought to yield to the aeroplane?
CEDRIC. (_Stands still, very firmly._) My dear girl, if you ask me
to be straight, I think the Snowdon business isn't a thing to be
neglected. (_Pause at high tension._)
FLORA. (_Plaintively._) Common-sense doesn't seem to be such a
wonderful cure for difficulties after all. (_Fiercely._) Oh! If
I had faith, wouldn't I just move that mountain into the sea!
(_Gives a sob._)
CEDRIC. Flora, what can I say?
FLORA. (_Controlling herself._) There's nothing else to be said--by
either of us. It's--it's hopeless.
(_Enter_ CHARLES HASLAM, R.,
_cautiously. He is in motoring
attire._)
CHARLES. (_At the door, to someone outside._) It's all right. We've
caught 'em (_within the room_).
CEDRIC. (_Extremely puzzled; frowning._) Hello!
CHARLES. Hello!... Flora, what's the matter?
FLORA. (_Collecting herself; ironically._) Oh, nothing! nothing!
This is a nice kind idea of yours, to come and relieve our
solitude, but did you expect us not to be startled?
(_Enter_ MR. REACH HASLAM.)
CEDRIC. Hello. (MR. REACH HASLAM _gives a deprecating gesture_.)
MR. R. HASLAM. My dear Flora!
(_Enter_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)
CEDRIC. Any more?
(_Enter_ GASTON.)
FLORA. Well, this _is_ a pleasure. Unusual perhaps----
MRS. REACH HASLAM. My dear son, my dear Flora---- (_Turns to_ _Mr.
Reach Haslam_.) Father---- (_Stops._)
MR. REACH HASLAM. (_To_ GASTON, _who is hovering inquisitively
about_.) If there is the slightest doubt in your mind as to the
exact geographical situation of the door----
GASTON. Please? (_Meaning "I beg your pardon, I didn't catch what
you said!"_)
(MR. REACH HASLAM _goes to door_,
R., _and signals to_ GASTON _to
depart. Exit_ GASTON. MR. REACH
HASLAM _closes door_.)
CEDRIC. (_Aside to_ CHARLES.) What the hell's up?
CHARLES. (_Loudly._) Well, Rick----
MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles, what did I tell you before you came in?
I'll thank you to go and sit down over there. (CHARLES _obeys_.)
FLORA. Suppose we all sit down, shall we? Well, what _did_ you tell
him before he came in?
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Sits._) Believe me, Flora, I never felt so
unequal to a situation in my life.
CEDRIC. Look here, dad, do you mind telling me in one word what
this is all about?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Yes, your father will tell you. The circumstances
are exceedingly difficult--in fact, painful. But they have to be
faced, and faced with dignity. The various necessary steps must
be taken, in their proper order, very carefully. The first step
is to inform you and Flora of the facts. Your father will inform
you; as the head of the family, and the fount of authority, the
statement comes more properly from him. I decided that absolutely
as we motored down. (_To_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Dear----
MR. R. HASLAM. Yes, dear. (_To_ CEDRIC _and_ FLORA.) You know we
went straight back to town when you'd left the church. As soon as
we had----
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Interrupting, to_ CEDRIC _and_ FLORA.) You
needn't be alarmed. As I said, the circumstances are painful, but
once faced as we shall face them, they really amount to nothing.
The principal thing was to catch you in time. Thank heaven, we've
done that!
CHARLES. Thank my masterly and audacious driving!
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Staring him down._) If we had failed! (_Gesture
of despair to_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Dear----
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Nodding to her politely._) As soon as we had
finished lunch your mother set herself to work, her work being
very much behind----
MRS. R. HASLAM. Never mind all that. Do it as gently as you can,
but come to the point at once. I am quite sure that is best.
MR. R. HASLAM. The telephone?
MRS. R. HASLAM. The telephone.
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Nodding to her politely._) We were rung up on
the telephone. Your mother was walking about in meditation,
and as she was nearest to the telephone she answered it. She
then said to me, "It's the Bishop of Chelmsford." I was at the
desk. In another moment she asked me to come to the telephone
and listen for myself as she could scarcely believe her ears.
I did so, and the Bishop--he was telephoning from the Palace
at Chelmsford--repeated at my request what he had said to your
mother, namely, that that curate who--er--officiated this
morning, suddenly awakened to a sense of beauty----
MRS. R. HASLAM. Sense of duty.
MR. R. HASLAM. I quite understood "beauty." It's true the Bishop
hasn't got a good telephone voice--probably more impressive at a
confirmation than on the telephone. I heard "beauty." However----
MRS. R. HASLAM. Sense of duty.
MR. R. HASLAM. No doubt you are right. I seemed to gather that it
was Flora's beauty that had roused his conscience.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no!
FLORA. That had what?
CHARLES. (_Coming towards the group, unable to control his
impatience._) Oh, hang it! The curate was a sham curate--not a
curate at all.
CEDRIC. (_Taking it in._) A sham curate!
FLORA. But surely such things don't happen?
MRS. R. HASLAM. That's what many people said when I made a
shopwalker successfully personate an archdeacon in "The Woman of
Kent." Everyone said so until Mr. Gladstone wrote that he found
the episode quite convincing. You remember, dear?
MR. R. HASLAM. Vividly.
MRS. R. HASLAM. I assure you it happens quite frequently that from
one cause or another people who think they are married are not
married. Why, sometimes special Acts of Parliament have to be
passed in order to set things right--when they've gone altogether
too far. I well recall that when I studied this subject, as of
course I did, coming across a case in which, owing to a church
having been consecrated very carelessly, a lady who supposed
herself to be the legitimate mother of sixteen children--poor
thing----
FLORA. (_Interrupting._) But do you mean to say we aren't married?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, of course, I want to put it as gently as
possible, but the fact is---- (_looking at her husband_).
MR. R. HASLAM. It would be an exaggeration to say that you are
married.
MRS. R. HASLAM. If my idea had been accepted of having the Bishop
to officiate--and he would have been only too enchanted--in the
cathedral, this dreadful thing could not have occurred. No case
of personating a bishop has ever been known.
CEDRIC. But what are we to do?
CHARLES. (_Airily._) Well, you must make the best of it.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Outraged._) Certainly not, Charles, you are
astounding. It would have looked better of you if you had
remained outside in charge of the car. Make the best of it,
indeed! (_To_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Father----
MR. R. HASLAM. (_To_ CEDRIC.) For the moment a policy of masterly
inactivity seems to be indicated.
(CURTAIN.)
NOTES ON CHARACTERS IN ACT II
THE BISHOP OF CHELMSFORD. Celibate. The typical Bishop who, while
the bent of his mind is reactionary, convinces himself that he
is exceedingly modern, and moving with the rapid times. No real
intellectual quality, but energetic and self-adaptive.
MR. FRAMPINGTON. A bland young man, with perfect manners and
perfect sangfroid. A single-minded person of immense intellectual
and spiritual originality. To himself he does not seem at all
peculiar, but merely natural.
CUTHBERT. Just a plain modern butler. I particularly do not want
this trifling part to be embroidered by the conventional butler
"business." If any genuine realistic butler "business" can be
brought into it, well and good.