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MAGIC
A FANTASTIC COMEDY
[Illustration: G.K. Chesterton
From a photograph]
MAGIC
A FANTASTIC COMEDY
BY
G.K. CHESTERTON
G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1913
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY
G.K. CHESTERTON
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
THE CHARACTERS
THE DUKE
DOCTOR GRIMTHORPE
THE REV. CYRIL SMITH
MORRIS CARLEON
HASTINGS, _the Duke's Secretary_
THE STRANGER
PATRICIA CARLEON
_The action takes place in the Duke's Drawing-room._
NOTE
THIS play was presented under the management of Kenelm Foss at The
Little Theatre, London, on November 7, 1913, with the following cast:
THE STRANGER FRANKLIN DYALL
PATRICIA CARLEON MISS GRACE CROFT
THE REV. CYRIL SMITH O.P. HEGGIE
DR. GRIMTHORPE WILLIAM FARREN
THE DUKE FRED LEWIS
HASTINGS FRANK RANDELL
MORRIS CARLEON LYONEL WATTS
THE PRELUDE
SCENE: _A plantation of thin young trees, in a misty and rainy
twilight; some woodland blossom showing the patches on the earth
between the stems._
THE STRANGER _is discovered, a cloaked figure with a pointed hood.
His costume might belong to modern or any other time, and the
conical hood is so drawn over the head that little can be seen of
the face._
_A distant voice, a woman's, is heard, half-singing, half-chanting,
unintelligible words. The cloaked figure raises its head and
listens with interest. The song draws nearer and_ PATRICIA CARLEON
_enters. She is dark and slight, and has a dreamy expression.
Though she is artistically dressed, her hair is a little wild. She
has a broken branch of some flowering tree in her hand. She does
not notice the stranger, and though he has watched her with
interest, makes no sign. Suddenly she perceives him and starts
back._
PATRICIA. Oh! Who are you?
STRANGER. Ah! Who am I? [_Commences to mutter to himself, and maps out
the ground with his staff._]
I have a hat, but not to wear;
I wear a sword, but not to slay,
And ever in my bag I bear
A pack of cards, but not to play.
PATRICIA. What are you? What are you saying?
STRANGER. It is the language of the fairies, O daughter of Eve.
PATRICIA. But I never thought fairies were like you. Why, you are taller
than I am.
STRANGER. We are of such stature as we will. But the elves grow small,
not large, when they would mix with mortals.
PATRICIA. You mean they are beings greater than we are.
STRANGER. Daughter of men, if you would see a fairy as he truly is, look
for his head above all the stars and his feet amid the floors of the
sea. Old women have taught you that the fairies are too small to be
seen. But I tell you the fairies are too mighty to be seen. For they are
the elder gods before whom the giants were like pigmies. They are the
Elemental Spirits, and any one of them is larger than the world. And you
look for them in acorns and on toadstools and wonder that you never see
them.
PATRICIA. But you come in the shape and size of a man?
STRANGER. Because I would speak with a woman.
PATRICIA. [_Drawing back in awe._] I think you are growing taller as you
speak.
[_The scene appears to fade away, and give place to the milieu of_
ACT ONE, _the Duke's drawing-room, an apartment with open French
windows or any opening large enough to show a garden and one house
fairly near. It is evening, and there is a red lamp lighted in the
house beyond. The_ REV. CYRIL SMITH _is sitting with hat and
umbrella beside him, evidently a visitor. He is a young man with
the highest of High Church dog-collars and all the qualities of a
restrained fanatic. He is one of the Christian Socialist sort and
takes his priesthood seriously. He is an honest man, and not an
ass._
[_To him enters_ MR. HASTINGS _with papers in his hand._
HASTINGS. Oh, good evening. You are Mr. Smith. [_Pause._] I mean you are
the Rector, I think.
SMITH. I am the Rector.
HASTINGS. I am the Duke's secretary. His Grace asks me to say that he
hopes to see you very soon; but he is engaged just now with the Doctor.
SMITH. Is the Duke ill?
HASTINGS. [_Laughing._] Oh, no; the Doctor has come to ask him to help
some cause or other. The Duke is never ill.
SMITH. Is the Doctor with him now?
HASTINGS. Why, strictly speaking, he is not. The Doctor has gone over
the road to fetch a paper connected with his proposal. But he hasn't far
to go, as you can see. That's his red lamp at the end of his grounds.
SMITH. Yes, I know. I am much obliged to you. I will wait as long as is
necessary.
HASTINGS. [_Cheerfully._] Oh, it won't be very long.
[_Exit._
[_Enter by the garden doors_ DR. GRIMTHORPE _reading an open paper.
He is an old-fashioned practitioner, very much of a gentleman and
very carefully dressed in a slightly antiquated style. He is about
sixty years old and might have been a friend of Huxley's._
DOCTOR. [_Folding up the paper._] I beg your pardon, sir, I did not
notice there was anyone here.
SMITH. [_Amicably._] I beg yours. A new clergyman cannot expect to be
expected. I only came to see the Duke about some local affairs.
DOCTOR. [_Smiling._] And so, oddly enough, did I. But I suppose we
should both like to get hold of him by a separate ear.
SMITH. Oh, there's no disguise as far as I'm concerned. I've joined this
league for starting a model public-house in the parish; and in plain
words, I've come to ask his Grace for a subscription to it.
DOCTOR. [_Grimly._] And, as it happens, I have joined in the petition
against the erection of a model public-house in this parish. The
similarity of our position grows with every instant.
SMITH. Yes, I think we must have been twins.
DOCTOR. [_More good-humouredly._] Well, what is a model public-house? Do
you mean a toy?
SMITH. I mean a place where Englishmen can get decent drink and drink it
decently. Do you call that a toy?
DOCTOR. No; I should call that a conjuring trick. Or, in apology to your
cloth, I will say a miracle.
SMITH. I accept the apology to my cloth. I am doing my duty as a priest.
How can the Church have a right to make men fast if she does not allow
them to feast?
DOCTOR. [_Bitterly._] And when you have done feasting them, you will
send them to me to be cured.
SMITH. Yes; and when you've done curing them you'll send them to me to
be buried.
DOCTOR. [_After a pause, laughing._] Well, you have all the old
doctrines. It is only fair you should have all the old jokes too.
SMITH. [_Laughing also._] By the way, you call it a conjuring trick that
poor people should drink moderately.
DOCTOR. I call it a chemical discovery that alcohol is not a food.
SMITH. You don't drink wine yourself?
DOCTOR. [_Mildly startled._] Drink wine! Well--what else is there to
drink?
SMITH. So drinking decently is a conjuring trick that you can do,
anyhow?
DOCTOR. [_Still good-humouredly._] Well, well, let us hope so. Talking
about conjuring tricks, there is to be conjuring and all kinds of things
here this afternoon.
SMITH. Conjuring? Indeed? Why is that?
_Enter_ HASTINGS _with a letter in each hand._
HASTINGS. His Grace will be with you presently. He asked me to deal with
the business matter first of all.
[_He gives a note to each of them._
SMITH. [_Turning eagerly to the_ DOCTOR.] But this is rather splendid.
The Duke's given £50 to the new public-house.
HASTINGS. The Duke is very liberal.
[_Collects papers._
DOCTOR. [_Examining his cheque._] Very. But this is rather curious. He
has also given £50 to the league for opposing the new public-house.
HASTINGS. The Duke is very liberal-minded.
[_Exit._
SMITH. [_Staring at his cheque._] Liberal-minded!... Absent-minded, I
should call it.
DOCTOR. [_Sitting down and lighting a cigar._] Well, yes. The Duke does
suffer a little from absence [_puts his cigar in his mouth and pulls
during the pause_] of mind. He is all for compromise. Don't you know the
kind of man who, when you talk to him about the five best breeds of dog,
always ends up by buying a mongrel? The Duke is the kindest of men, and
always trying to please everybody. He generally finishes by pleasing
nobody.
SMITH. Yes; I think I know the sort of thing.
DOCTOR. Take this conjuring, for instance. You know the Duke has two
wards who are to live with him now?
SMITH. Yes. I heard something about a nephew and niece from Ireland.
DOCTOR. The niece came from Ireland some months ago, but the nephew
comes back from America to-night. [_He gets up abruptly and walks about
the room._] I think I will tell you all about it. In spite of your
precious public-house you seem to me to be a sane man. And I fancy I
shall want all the sane men I can get to-night.
SMITH. [_Rising also._] I am at your service. Do you know, I rather
guessed you did not come here only to protest against my precious
public-house.
DOCTOR. [_Striding about in subdued excitement._] Well, you guessed
right. I was family physician to the Duke's brother in Ireland. I knew
the family pretty well.
SMITH. [_Quietly._] I suppose you mean you knew something odd about the
family?
DOCTOR. Well, they saw fairies and things of that sort.
SMITH. And I suppose, to the medical mind, seeing fairies means much the
same as seeing snakes?
DOCTOR. [_With a sour smile._] Well, they saw them in Ireland. I suppose
it's quite correct to see fairies in Ireland. It's like gambling at
Monte Carlo. It's quite respectable. But I do draw the line at their
seeing fairies in England. I do object to their bringing their ghosts
and goblins and witches into the poor Duke's own back garden and within
a yard of my own red lamp. It shows a lack of tact.
SMITH. But I do understand that the Duke's nephew and niece see witches
and fairies between here and your lamp.
[_He walks to the garden window and looks out._
DOCTOR. Well, the nephew has been in America. It stands to reason you
can't see fairies in America. But there is this sort of superstition in
the family, and I am not easy in my mind about the girl.
SMITH. Why, what does she do?
DOCTOR. Oh, she wanders about the park and the woods in the evenings.
Damp evenings for choice. She calls it the Celtic twilight. I've no use
for the Celtic twilight myself. It has a tendency to get on the chest.
But what is worse, she is always talking about meeting somebody, some
elf or wizard or something. I don't like it at all.
SMITH. Have you told the Duke?
DOCTOR. [_With a grim smile._] Oh, yes, I told the Duke. The result was
the conjurer.
SMITH. [_With amazement._] The _conjurer_?
DOCTOR. [_Puts down his cigar in the ash-tray._] The Duke is
indescribable. He will be here presently, and you shall judge for
yourself. Put two or three facts or ideas before him, and the thing he
makes out of them is always something that seems to have nothing to do
with it. Tell any other human being about a girl dreaming of the fairies
and her practical brother from America, and he would settle it in some
obvious way and satisfy some one: send her to America or let her have
her fairies in Ireland. Now the Duke thinks a conjurer would just meet
the case. I suppose he vaguely thinks it would brighten things up, and
somehow satisfy the believers' interest in supernatural things and the
unbelievers' interest in smart things. As a matter of fact the
unbeliever thinks the conjurer's a fraud, and the believer thinks he's a
fraud, too. The conjurer satisfies nobody. That is why he satisfies the
Duke.
[_Enter the_ DUKE, _with_ HASTINGS, _carrying papers. The_ DUKE _is
a healthy, hearty man in tweeds, with a rather wandering eye. In
the present state of the peerage it is necessary to explain that
the_ DUKE, _though an ass, is a gentleman._
DUKE. Good-morning, Mr. Smith. So sorry to have kept you waiting, but
we're rather in a rush to-day. [_Turns to_ HASTINGS, _who has gone over
to a table with the papers._] You know Mr. Carleon is coming this
afternoon?
HASTINGS. Yes, your Grace. His train will be in by now. I have sent the
trap.
DUKE. Thank you. [_Turning to the other two._] My nephew, Dr.
Grimthorpe, Morris, you know, Miss Carleon's brother from America. I
hear he's been doing great things out there. Petrol, or something. Must
move with the times, eh?
DOCTOR. I'm afraid Mr. Smith doesn't always agree with moving with the
times.
DUKE. Oh, come, come! Progress, you know, progress! Of course I know how
busy you are; you mustn't overwork yourself, you know. Hastings was
telling me you laughed over those subscriptions of mine. Well, well, I
believe in looking at both sides of a question, you know. Aspects, as
old Buffle called them. Aspects. [_With an all-embracing gesture of the
arm._] You represent the tendency to drink in moderation, and you do
good in _your_ way. The Doctor represents the tendency not to drink at
all; and he does good in _his_ way. We can't be Ancient Britons, you
know.
[_A prolonged and puzzled silence, such as always follows the more
abrupt of the_ DUKE'S _associations or disassociations of thought._
SMITH. [_At last, faintly._] Ancient Britons....
DOCTOR. [_To_ SMITH _in a low voice._] Don't bother. It's only his
broad-mindedness.
DUKE. [_With unabated cheerfulness._] I saw the place you're putting up
for it, Mr. Smith. Very good work. Very good work, indeed. Art for the
people, eh? I particularly liked that woodwork over the west door--I'm
glad to see you're using the new sort of graining ... why, it all
reminds one of the French Revolution.
[_Another silence. As the_ DUKE _lounges alertly about the room_,
SMITH _speaks to the_ DOCTOR _in an undertone._
SMITH. Does it remind you of the French Revolution?
DOCTOR. As much as of anything else. His Grace never reminds me of
anything.
[_A young and very high American voice is heard calling in the
garden. "Say, could somebody see to one of these trunks?"_
[MR. HASTINGS _goes out into the garden. He returns with_ MORRIS
CARLEON, _a very young man: hardly more than a boy, but with very
grown-up American dress and manners. He is dark, smallish, and
active; and the racial type under his Americanism is Irish._
MORRIS. [_Humorously, as he puts in his head at the window._] See here,
does a Duke live here?
DOCTOR. [_Who is nearest to him, with great gravity._] Yes, only one.
MORRIS. I reckon he's the one I want, anyhow. I'm his nephew.
[_The_ DUKE, _who is ruminating in the foreground, with one eye
rather off, turns at the voice and shakes_ MORRIS _warmly by the
hand._
DUKE. Delighted to see you, my dear boy. I hear you've been doing very
well for yourself.
MORRIS. [_Laughing._] Well, pretty well, Duke; and better still for Paul
T. Vandam, I guess. I manage the old man's mines out in Arizona, you
know.
DUKE. [_Shaking his head sagaciously._] Ah, very go-ahead man! Very
go-ahead methods, I'm told. Well, I dare say he does a great deal of
good with his money. And we can't go back to the Spanish Inquisition.
[_Silence, during which the three men look at each other._
MORRIS. [_Abruptly._] And how's Patricia?
DUKE. [_A little hazily._] Oh, she's very well, I think. She....
[_He hesitates slightly._
MORRIS. [_Smiling._] Well, then, where's Patricia?
[_There is a slightly embarrassed pause, and the_ DOCTOR _speaks._
DOCTOR. Miss Carleon is walking about the grounds, I think.
[MORRIS _goes to the garden doors and looks out._
MORRIS. It's a mighty chilly night to choose. Does my sister commonly
select such evenings to take the air--and the damp?
DOCTOR. [_After a pause._] If I may say so, I quite agree with you. I
have often taken the liberty of warning your sister against going out in
all weathers like this.
DUKE. [_Expansively waving his hands about._] The artist temperament!
What I always call the artistic temperament! Wordsworth, you know, and
all that.
[_Silence._
MORRIS. [_Staring._] All what?
DUKE. [_Continuing to lecture with enthusiasm._] Why, everything's
temperament, you know! It's her temperament to see the fairies. It's my
temperament not to see the fairies. Why, I've walked all round the
grounds twenty times and never saw a fairy. Well, it's like that about
this wizard or whatever she calls it. For her there is somebody there.
For us there would not be somebody there. Don't you see?
MORRIS. [_Advancing excitedly._] Somebody there! What do you mean?
DUKE. [_Airily._] Well, you can't quite call it a man.
MORRIS. [_Violently._] A man!
DUKE. Well, as old Buffle used to say, what is a man?
MORRIS. [_With a strong rise of the American accent._] With your
permission, Duke, I eliminate old Buffle. Do you mean that anybody has
had the tarnation coolness to suggest that some man....
DUKE. Oh, not a _man_, you know. A magician, something mythical, you
know.
SMITH. Not a _man_, but a medicine man.
DOCTOR. [_Grimly._] I am a medicine man.
MORRIS. And you don't look mythical, Doc.
[_He bites his finger and begins to pace restlessly up and down the
room._
DUKE. Well, you know, the artistic temperament....
MORRIS. [_Turning suddenly._] See here, Duke! In most commercial ways
we're a pretty forward country. In these moral ways we're content to be
a pretty backward country. And if you ask me whether I like my sister
walking about the woods on a night like this! Well, I don't.
DUKE. I am afraid you Americans aren't so advanced as I'd hoped. Why! as
old Buffle used to say....
[_As he speaks a distant voice is heard singing in the garden; it
comes nearer and nearer, and_ SMITH _turns suddenly to the_ DOCTOR.
SMITH. Whose voice is that?
DOCTOR. It is no business of mine to decide!
MORRIS. [_Walking to the window._] You need not trouble. I know who it
is.
_Enter_ PATRICIA CARLEON
[_Still agitated._] Patricia, where have you been?
PATRICIA. [_Rather wearily._] Oh! in Fairyland.
DOCTOR. [_Genially._] And whereabouts is that?
PATRICIA. It's rather different from other places. It's either nowhere
or it's wherever you are.
MORRIS. [_Sharply._] Has it any inhabitants?
PATRICIA. Generally only two. Oneself and one's shadow. But whether he
is my shadow or I am his shadow is never found out.
MORRIS. He? Who?
PATRICIA. [_Seeming to understand his annoyance for the first time, and
smiling._] Oh, you needn't get conventional about it, Morris. He is not
a mortal.
MORRIS. What's his name?
PATRICIA. We have no names there. You never really know anybody if you
know his name.
MORRIS. What does he look like?
PATRICIA. I have only met him in the twilight. He seems robed in a long
cloak, with a peaked cap or hood like the elves in my nursery stories.
Sometimes when I look out of the window here, I see him passing round
this house like a shadow; and see his pointed hood, dark against the
sunset or the rising of the moon.
SMITH. What does he talk about?
PATRICIA. He tells me the truth. Very many true things. He is a wizard.
MORRIS. How do you know he's a wizard? I suppose he plays some tricks on
you.
PATRICIA. I should know he was a wizard if he played no tricks. But once
he stooped and picked up a stone and cast it into the air, and it flew
up into God's heaven like a bird.
MORRIS. Was that what first made you think he was a wizard?
PATRICIA. Oh, no. When I first saw him he was tracing circles and
pentacles in the grass and talking the language of the elves.
MORRIS. [_Sceptically._] Do you know the language of the elves?
PATRICIA. Not until I heard it.
MORRIS. [_Lowering his voice as if for his sister, but losing patience
so completely that he talks much louder than he imagines._] See here,
Patricia, I reckon this kind of thing is going to be the limit. I'm just
not going to have you let in by some blamed tramp or fortune-teller
because you choose to read minor poetry about the fairies. If this gipsy
or whatever he is troubles you again....
DOCTOR. [_Putting his hand on_ MORRIS'S _shoulder._] Come, you must
allow a little more for poetry. We can't all feed on nothing but petrol.
DUKE. Quite right, quite right. And being Irish, don't you know, Celtic,
as old Buffle used to say, charming songs, you know, about the Irish
girl who has a plaid shawl--and a Banshee. [_Sighs profoundly._] Poor
old Gladstone!
[_Silence as usual._
SMITH. [_Speaking to_ DOCTOR.] I thought you yourself considered the
family superstition bad for the health?
DOCTOR. I consider a family superstition is better for the health than a
family quarrel. [_He walks casually across to_ PATRICIA.] Well, it must
be nice to be young and still see all those stars and sunsets. We old
buffers won't be too strict with you if your view of things sometimes
gets a bit--mixed up, shall we say? If the stars get loose about the
grass by mistake; or if, once or twice, the sunset gets into the east.
We should only say, "Dream as much as you like. Dream for all mankind.
Dream for us who can dream no longer. But do not quite forget the
difference."
PATRICIA. What difference?
DOCTOR. The difference between the things that are beautiful and the
things that are there. That red lamp over my door isn't beautiful; but
it's there. You might even come to be glad it is there, when the stars
of gold and silver have faded. I am an old man now, but some men are
still glad to find my red star. I do not say they are the wise men.
PATRICIA. [_Somewhat affected._] Yes, I know you are good to everybody.
But don't you think there may be floating and spiritual stars which will
last longer than the red lamps?
SMITH. [_With decision._] Yes. But they are fixed stars.
DOCTOR. The red lamp will last my time.
DUKE. Capital! Capital! Why, it's like Tennyson. [_Silence._] I remember
when I was an undergrad....
[_The red light disappears; no one sees it at first except_
PATRICIA, _who points excitedly._
MORRIS. What's the matter?
PATRICIA. The red star is gone.
MORRIS. Nonsense! [_Rushes to the garden doors._] It's only somebody
standing in front of it. Say, Duke, there's somebody standing in the
garden.
PATRICIA. [_Calmly._] I told you he walked about the garden.
MORRIS. If it's that fortune-teller of yours....
[_Disappears into the garden, followed by the_ DOCTOR.
DUKE. [_Staring._] Somebody in the garden! Really, this Land
Campaign....
[_Silence._
[MORRIS _reappears rather breathless._
MORRIS. A spry fellow, your friend. He slipped through my hands like a
shadow.
PATRICIA. I told you he was a shadow.
MORRIS. Well, I guess there's going to be a shadow hunt. Got a lantern,
Duke?
PATRICIA. Oh, you need not trouble. He will come if I call him.
[_She goes out into the garden and calls out some half-chanted and
unintelligible words, somewhat like the song preceding her
entrance. The red light reappears; and there is a slight sound as
of fallen leaves shuffled by approaching feet. The cloaked_
STRANGER _with the pointed hood is seen standing outside the garden
doors._
PATRICIA. You may enter all doors.
[_The figure comes into the room_
MORRIS. [_Shutting the garden doors behind him._] Now, see here, wizard,
we've got you. And we know you're a fraud.
SMITH. [_Quietly._] Pardon me, I do not fancy that we know that. For
myself I must confess to something of the Doctor's agnosticism.
MORRIS. [_Excited, and turning almost with a snarl._] I didn't know you
parsons stuck up for any fables but your own.
SMITH. I stick up for the thing every man has a right to. Perhaps the
only thing that every man has a right to.
MORRIS. And what is that?
SMITH. The benefit of the doubt. Even your master, the petroleum
millionaire, has a right to that. And I think he needs it more.
MORRIS. I don't think there's much doubt about the question, Minister.
I've met this sort of fellow often enough--the sort of fellow who
wheedles money out of girls by telling them he can make stones
disappear.
DOCTOR. [_To the_ STRANGER.] Do you say you can make stones disappear?
STRANGER. Yes. I can make stones disappear.
MORRIS. [_Roughly._] I reckon you're the kind of tough who knows how to
make a watch and chain disappear.
STRANGER. Yes; I know how to make a watch and chain disappear.
MORRIS. And I should think you were pretty good at disappearing
yourself.
STRANGER. I have done such a thing.
MORRIS. [_With a sneer._] Will you disappear now?
STRANGER. [_After reflection._] No, I think I'll appear instead. [_He
throws back his hood, showing the head of an intellectual-looking man,
young but rather worn. Then he unfastens his cloak and throws it off,
emerging in complete modern evening dress. He advances down the room
towards the_ DUKE, _taking out his watch as he does so._] Good-evening,
your Grace. I'm afraid I'm rather too early for the performance. But
this gentleman [_with a gesture towards_ MORRIS] seemed rather impatient
for it to begin.
DUKE. [_Rather at a loss._] Oh, good-evening. Why, really--are you
the...?
STRANGER. [_Bowing._] Yes. I am the Conjurer.
[_There is general laughter, except from_ PATRICIA. _As the others
mingle in talk, the_ STRANGER _goes up to her._
STRANGER. [_Very sadly._] I am very sorry I am not a wizard.
PATRICIA. I wish you were a thief instead.
STRANGER. Have I committed a worse crime than thieving?
PATRICIA. You have committed the cruellest crime, I think, that there
is.
STRANGER. And what is the cruellest crime?
PATRICIA. Stealing a child's toy.
STRANGER. And what have I stolen?
PATRICIA. A fairy tale.
CURTAIN
ACT II
_The same room lighted more brilliantly an hour later in the
evening. On one side a table covered with packs of cards, pyramids,
etc., at which the_ CONJURER _in evening dress is standing quietly
setting out his tricks. A little more in the foreground the_ DUKE;
_and_ HASTINGS _with a number of papers._
HASTINGS. There are only a few small matters. Here are the programmes of
the entertainment your Grace wanted. Mr. Carleon wishes to see them very
much.
DUKE. Thanks, thanks. [_Takes the programmes._]
HASTINGS. Shall I carry them for your Grace?
DUKE. No, no; I shan't forget, I shan't forget. Why, you've no idea how
businesslike I am. We have to be, you know. [_Vaguely._] I know you're a
bit of a Socialist; but I assure you there's a good deal to do--stake
in the country, and all that. Look at remembering faces now! The King
never forgets faces. [_Waves the programmes about._] I never forget
faces. [_Catches sight of the_ CONJURER _and genially draws him into the
discussion._] Why, the Professor here who performs before the King
[_puts down the programmes_]--you see it on the caravans, you
know--performs before the King almost every night, I suppose....
CONJURER. [_Smiling._] I sometimes let his Majesty have an evening off.
And turn my attention, of course, to the very highest nobility. But
naturally I have performed before every sovereign potentate, white and
black. There never was a conjurer who hadn't.
DUKE. That's right, that's right! And you'll say with me that the great
business for a King is remembering people?
CONJURER. I should say it was remembering which people to remember.
DUKE. Well, well, now.... [_Looks round rather wildly for something._]
Being really businesslike....
HASTINGS. Shall I take the programmes for your Grace?
DUKE. [_Picking them up._] No, no, I shan't forget. Is there anything
else?
HASTINGS. I have to go down the village about the wire to Stratford. The
only other thing at all urgent is the Militant Vegetarians.
DUKE. Ah! The Militant Vegetarians! You've heard of them, I'm sure.
Won't obey the law [_to the_ CONJURER] so long as the Government serves
out meat.
CONJURER. Let them be comforted. There are a good many people who don't
get much meat.
DUKE. Well, well, I'm bound to say they're very enthusiastic. Advanced,
too--oh, certainly advanced. Like Joan of Arc.
[_Short silence, in which the_ CONJURER _stares at him._]
CONJURER. _Was_ Joan of Arc a Vegetarian?
DUKE. Oh, well, it's a very high ideal, after all. The Sacredness of
Life, you know--the Sacredness of Life. [_Shakes his head._] But they
carry it too far. They killed a policeman down in Kent.
CONJURER. Killed a policeman? How Vegetarian! Well, I suppose it was, so
long as they didn't eat him.
HASTINGS. They are asking only for small subscriptions. Indeed, they
prefer to collect a large number of half-crowns, to prove the popularity
of their movement. But I should advise....
DUKE. Oh, give them three shillings, then.
HASTINGS. If I might suggest....
DUKE. Hang it all! We gave the Anti-Vegetarians three shillings. It
seems only fair.
HASTINGS. If I might suggest anything, I think your Grace will be wise
not to subscribe in this case. The Anti-Vegetarians have already used
their funds to form gangs ostensibly to protect their own meetings. And
if the Vegetarians use theirs to break up the meetings--well, it will
look rather funny that we have paid roughs on both sides. It will be
rather difficult to explain when it comes before the magistrate.
DUKE. But I shall be the magistrate. [CONJURER _stares at him again._]
That's the system, my dear Hastings, that's the advantage of the system.
Not a logical system--no Rousseau in it--but see how well it works! I
shall be the very best magistrate that could be on the Bench. The others
would be biassed, you know. Old Sir Lawrence is a Vegetarian himself;
and might be hard on the Anti-Vegetarian roughs. Colonel Crashaw would
be sure to be hard on the Vegetarian roughs. But if I've paid both of
'em, of course I shan't be hard on either of 'em--and there you have it.
Just perfect impartiality.
HASTINGS. [_Restrainedly._] Shall I take the programmes, your Grace?
DUKE. [_Heartily._] No, no; I won't forget 'em. [_Exit_ HASTINGS.] Well,
Professor, what's the news in the conjuring world?
CONJURER. I fear there is never any news in the conjuring world.
DUKE. Don't you have a newspaper or something? Everybody has a newspaper
now, you know. The--er--Daily Sword-Swallower or that sort of thing?
CONJURER. No, I have been a journalist myself; but I think journalism
and conjuring will always be incompatible.
DUKE. Incompatible--Oh, but that's where I differ--that's where I take
larger views! Larger laws, as old Buffle said. Nothing's _incompatible_,
you know--except husband and wife and so on; you must talk to Morris
about that. It's wonderful the way incompatibility has gone forward in
the States.
CONJURER. I only mean that the two trades rest on opposite principles.
The whole point of being a conjurer is that you won't explain a thing
that has happened.
DUKE. Well, and the journalist?
CONJURER. Well, the whole point of being a journalist is that you do
explain a thing that hasn't happened.
DUKE. But you'll want somewhere to discuss the new tricks.
CONJURER. There are no new tricks. And if there were we shouldn't want
'em discussed.
DUKE. I'm afraid you're not _really_ advanced. Are you interested in
modern progress?
CONJURER. Yes. We are interested in all tricks done by illusion.
DUKE. Well, well, I must go and see how Morris is. Pleasure of seeing
you later.
[_Exit_ DUKE, _leaving the programmes._
CONJURER. Why are nice men such asses? [_Turns to arrange the table._]
That seems all right. The pack of cards that is a pack of cards. And the
pack of cards that isn't a pack of cards. The hat that looks like a
gentleman's hat. But which, in reality, is no gentleman's hat. Only my
hat; and I am not a gentleman. I am only a conjurer, and this is only a
conjurer's hat. I could not take off this hat to a lady. I can take
rabbits out of it, goldfish out of it, snakes out of it. Only I mustn't
take my own head out of it. I suppose I'm a lower animal than a rabbit
or a snake. Anyhow they can get out of the conjurer's hat; and I can't.
I am a conjurer and nothing else but a conjurer. Unless I could show I
was something else, and that would be worse.
[_He begins to dash the cards rather irregularly about the table.
Enter_ PATRICIA.
PATRICIA. [_Coldly_] I beg your pardon. I came to get some programmes.
My uncle wants them.
[_She walks swiftly across and takes up the programmes._
CONJURER. [_Still dashing cards about the table._] Miss Carleon, might I
speak to you a moment? [_He puts his hands in his pockets, stares at the
table; and his face assumes a sardonic expression._] The question is
purely practical.
PATRICIA. [_Pausing at the door._] I can hardly imagine what the
question can be.
CONJURER. I am the question.
PATRICIA. And what have I to do with that?
CONJURER. You have everything to do with it. I am the question: you....
PATRICIA. [_Angrily._] Well, what am I?
CONJURER. You are the answer.
PATRICIA. The answer to what?
CONJURER. [_Coming round to the front of the table and sitting against
it._] The answer to me. You think I'm a liar because I walked about the
fields with you and said I could make stones disappear. Well, so I can.
I'm a conjurer. In mere point of fact, it wasn't a lie. But if it had
been a lie I should have told it just the same. I would have told twenty
such lies. You may or may not know why.
PATRICIA. I know nothing about such lies.
[_She puts her hand on the handle of the door, but the_ CONJURER,
_who is sitting on the table and staring at his boots, does not
notice the action, and goes on as in a sincere soliloquy._
CONJURER. I don't know whether you have any notion of what it means to a
man like me to talk to a lady like you, even on false pretences. I am an
adventurer. I am a blackguard, if one can earn the title by being in all
the blackguard societies of the world. I have thought everything out by
myself, when I was a guttersnipe in Fleet Street, or, lower still, a
journalist in Fleet Street. Before I met you I never guessed that rich
people ever thought at all. Well, that is all I have to say. We had some
good conversations, didn't we? I am a liar. But I told you a great deal
of the truth.
[_He turns and resumes the arrangement of the table._
PATRICIA. [_Thinking._] Yes, you did tell me a great deal of the truth.
You told me hundreds and thousands of truths. But you never told me the
truth that one wants to know.
CONJURER. And what is that?
PATRICIA. [_Turning back into the room._] You never told me the truth
about yourself. You never told me you were only the Conjurer.
CONJURER. I did not tell you that because I do not even know it. I do
not know whether I am only the Conjurer....
PATRICIA. What do you mean?
CONJURER. Sometimes I am afraid I am something worse than the Conjurer.
PATRICIA. [_Seriously._] I cannot think of anything worse than a
conjurer who does not call himself a conjurer.
CONJURER. [_Gloomily._] There is something worse. [_Rallying himself._]
But that is not what I want to say. Do you really find that very
unpardonable? Come, let me put you a case. Never mind about whether it
is our case. A man spends his time incessantly in going about in
third-class carriages to fifth-rate lodgings. He has to make up new
tricks, new patter, new nonsense, sometimes every night of his life.
Mostly he has to do it in the beastly black cities of the Midlands and
the North, where he can't get out into the country. Now and again he
does it at some gentleman's country-house, where he can get out into the
country. Well, you know that actors and orators and all sorts of people
like to rehearse their effects in the open air if they can. [_Smiles._]
You know that story of the great statesman who was heard by his own
gardener saying, as he paced the garden, "Had I, Mr. Speaker, received
the smallest intimation that I could be called upon to speak this
evening...." [PATRICIA _controls a smile, and he goes on with
overwhelming enthusiasm._] Well, conjurers are just the same. It takes
some time to prepare an impromptu. A man like that walks about the
woods and fields doing all his tricks beforehand, and talking all sorts
of gibberish because he thinks he is alone. One evening this man found
he was not alone. He found a very beautiful child was watching him.
PATRICIA. A child?
CONJURER. Yes. That was his first impression. He is an intimate friend
of mine. I have known him all my life. He tells me he has since
discovered she is not a child. She does not fulfil the definition.
PATRICIA. What is the definition of a child?
CONJURER. Somebody you can play with.
PATRICIA. [_Abruptly._] Why did you wear that cloak with the hood up?
CONJURER. [_Smiling._] I think it escaped your notice that it was
raining.
PATRICIA. [_Smiling faintly._] And what did this friend of yours do?
CONJURER. You have already told me what he did. He destroyed a fairy
tale, for he created a fairy tale that he was bound to destroy.
[_Swinging round suddenly on the table._] But do you blame a man very
much, Miss Carleon, if he enjoyed the only fairy tale he had had in his
life? Suppose he said the silly circles he was drawing for practice
were really magic circles? Suppose he said the bosh he was talking was
the language of the elves? Remember, he has read fairy tales as much as
you have. Fairy tales are the only democratic institutions. All the
classes have heard all the fairy tales. Do you blame him very much if
he, too, tried to have a holiday in fairyland?
PATRICIA. [_Simply._] I blame him less than I did. But I still say there
can be nothing worse than false magic. And, after all, it was he who
brought the false magic.
CONJURER. [_Rising from his seat._] Yes. It was she who brought the real
magic.
[_Enter_ MORRIS, _in evening-dress. He walks straight up to the
conjuring-table; and picks up one article after another, putting
each down with a comment._
MORRIS. I know that one. I know that. I know that. Let's see, that's the
false bottom, I think. That works with a wire. I know that; it goes up
the sleeve. That's the false bottom again. That's the substituted pack
of cards--that....
PATRICIA. Really, Morris, you mustn't talk as if you knew everything.
CONJURER. Oh, I don't mind anyone knowing everything, Miss Carleon.
There is something that is much more important than knowing how a thing
is done.
MORRIS. And what's that?
CONJURER. Knowing how to do it.
MORRIS. [_Becoming nasal again in anger._] That's so, eh? Being the
high-toned conjurer because you can't any longer take all the sidewalk
as a fairy.
PATRICIA. [_Crossing the room and speaking seriously to her brother._]
Really, Morris, you are very rude. And it's quite ridiculous to be rude.
This gentleman was only practising some tricks by himself in the garden.
[_With a certain dignity._] If there was any mistake, it was mine. Come,
shake hands, or whatever men do when they apologize. Don't be silly. He
won't turn you into a bowl of goldfish.
MORRIS. [_Reluctantly._] Well, I guess that's so. [_Offering his hand._]
Shake. [_They shake hands._] And you won't turn me into a bowl of
goldfish anyhow, Professor. I understand that when you do produce a
bowl of goldfish, they are generally slips of carrot. That is so,
Professor?
CONJURER. [_Sharply._] Yes. [_Produces a bowl of goldfish from his tail
pockets and holds it under the other's nose._] Judge for yourself.
MORRIS. [_In monstrous excitement._] Very good! Very good! But I know
how that's done--I know how that's done. You have an india-rubber cap,
you know, or cover....
CONJURER. Yes.
[_Goes back gloomily to his table and sits on it, picking up a pack
of cards and balancing it in his hand._
MORRIS. Ah, most mysteries are tolerably plain if you know the
apparatus. [_Enter_ DOCTOR _and_ SMITH, _talking with grave faces, but
growing silent as they reach the group._] I guess I wish we had all the
old apparatus of all the old Priests and Prophets since the beginning of
the world. I guess most of the old miracles and that were a matter of
just panel and wires.
CONJURER. I don't quite understand you. What old apparatus do you want
so much?
MORRIS. [_Breaking out with all the frenzy of the young free-thinker._]
Well, sir, I just want that old apparatus that turned rods into snakes.
I want those smart appliances, sir, that brought water out of a rock
when old man Moses chose to hit it. I guess it's a pity we've lost the
machinery. I would like to have those old conjurers here that called
themselves Patriarchs and Prophets in your precious Bible....
PATRICIA. Morris, you mustn't talk like that.
MORRIS. Well, I don't believe in religion....
DOCTOR. [_Aside._] Hush, hush. Nobody but women believe in religion.
PATRICIA. [_Humorously._] I think this is a fitting opportunity to show
you another ancient conjuring trick.
DOCTOR. Which one is that?
PATRICIA. The Vanishing Lady!
[_Exit_ PATRICIA.
SMITH. There is one part of their old apparatus I regret especially
being lost.
MORRIS. [_Still excited._] Yes!
SMITH. The apparatus for writing the Book of Job.
MORRIS. Well, well, they didn't know everything in those old times.
SMITH. No, and in those old times they knew they didn't. [_Dreamily._]
Where shall wisdom be found, and what is the place of understanding?
CONJURER. Somewhere in America, I believe.
SMITH. [_Still dreamily._] Man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is
it found in the land of the living. The deep sayeth it is not in me, the
sea sayeth it is not with me. Death and destruction say we have heard
tell of it. God understandeth the way thereof and He knoweth the place
thereof. For He looketh to the ends of the earth and seeth under the
whole Heaven. But to man He hath said: Behold the fear of the Lord that
is wisdom, and to depart from evil is understanding. [_Turns suddenly to
the_ DOCTOR.] How's that for Agnosticism, Dr. Grimthorpe? What a pity
that apparatus is lost.
MORRIS. Well, you may just smile how you choose, I reckon. But I say the
Conjurer here could be the biggest man in the big blessed centuries if
he could just show us how the Holy old tricks were done. We must say
this for old man Moses, that he was in advance of his time. When he did
the old tricks they were new tricks. He got the pull on the public. He
could do his tricks before grown men, great bearded fighting men who
could win battles and sing Psalms. But this modern conjuring is all
behind the times. That's why they only do it with schoolboys. There
isn't a trick on that table I don't know. The whole trade's as dead as
mutton; and not half so satisfying. Why he [_pointing to the_ CONJURER]
brought out a bowl of goldfish just now--an old trick that anybody could
do.
CONJURER. Oh, I quite agree. The apparatus is perfectly simple. By the
way, let me have a look at those goldfish of yours, will you?
MORRIS. [_Angrily._] I'm not a paid play-actor come here to conjure. I'm
not here to do stale tricks; I'm here to see through 'em. I say it's an
old trick and....
CONJURER. True. But as you said, we never show it except to schoolboys.
MORRIS. And may I ask you, Professor Hocus Pocus, or whatever your name
is, whom you are calling a schoolboy?
CONJURER. I beg your pardon. Your sister will tell you I am sometimes
mistaken about children.
MORRIS. I forbid you to appeal to my sister.
CONJURER. That is exactly what a schoolboy would do.
MORRIS. [_With abrupt and dangerous calm._] I am not a schoolboy,
Professor. I am a quiet business man. But I tell you in the country I
come from, the hand of a quiet business man goes to his hip pocket at an
insult like that.
CONJURER. [_Fiercely._] Let it go to his pocket! I thought the hand of a
quiet business man more often went to someone else's pocket.
MORRIS. You....
[_Puts his hand to his hip. The_ DOCTOR _puts his hand on his
shoulder._
DOCTOR. Gentlemen, I think you are both forgetting yourselves.
CONJURER. Perhaps. [_His tone sinks suddenly to weariness._] I ask
pardon for what I said. It was certainly in excess of the young
gentleman's deserts. [_Sighs._] I sometimes rather wish I could forget
myself.
MORRIS. [_Sullenly, after a pause._] Well, the entertainment's coming
on; and you English don't like a scene. I reckon I'll have to bury the
blamed old hatchet too.
DOCTOR. [_With a certain dignity, his social type shining through his
profession._] Mr. Carleon, you will forgive an old man, who knew your
father well, if he doubts whether you are doing yourself justice in
treating yourself as an American Indian, merely because you have lived
in America. In my old friend Huxley's time we of the middle classes
disbelieved in reason and all sorts of things. But we did believe in
good manners. It is a pity if the aristocracy can't. I don't like to
hear you say you are a savage and have buried a tomahawk. I would rather
hear you say, as your Irish ancestors would have said, that you have
sheathed your sword with the dignity proper to a gentleman.
MORRIS. Very well. I've sheathed my sword with the dignity proper to a
gentleman.
CONJURER. And I have sheathed my sword with the dignity proper to a
conjurer.
MORRIS. How does the Conjurer sheath a sword?
CONJURER. Swallows it.
DOCTOR. Then we all agree there shall be no quarrel.
SMITH. May I say a word? I have a great dislike of a quarrel, for a
reason quite beyond my duty to my cloth.
MORRIS. And what is that?
SMITH. I object to a quarrel because it always interrupts an argument.
May I bring you back for a moment to the argument? You were saying that
these modern conjuring tricks are simply the old miracles when they have
once been found out. But surely another view is possible. When we speak
of things being sham, we generally mean that they are imitations of
things that are genuine. Take that Reynolds over there of the Duke's
great-grandfather. [_Points to a picture on the wall._] If I were to say
it was a copy....
MORRIS. Wal, the Duke's real amiable; but I reckon you'd find what you
call the interruption of an argument.
SMITH. Well, suppose I did say so, you wouldn't take it as meaning that
Sir Joshua Reynolds never lived. Why should sham miracles prove to us
that real Saints and Prophets never lived. There may be sham magic and
real magic also.
[_The_ CONJURER _raises his head and listens with a strange air of
intentness._
SMITH. There may be turnip ghosts precisely because there are real
ghosts. There may be theatrical fairies precisely because there are real
fairies. You do not abolish the Bank of England by pointing to a forged
bank-note.
MORRIS. I hope the Professor enjoys being called a forged bank-note.
CONJURER. Almost as much as being called the Prospectus of some American
Companies.
DOCTOR. Gentlemen! Gentlemen!
CONJURER. I am sorry.
MORRIS. Wal, let's have the argument first, then I guess we can have the
quarrel afterwards. I'll clean this house of some encumbrances. See
here, Mr. Smith, I'm not putting anything on your real miracle notion. I
say, and Science says, that there's a cause for everything. Science will
find out that cause, and sooner or later your old miracle will look
mighty mean. Sooner or later Science will botanise a bit on your turnip
ghosts; and make you look turnips yourselves for having taken any. I
say....
DOCTOR. [_In a low voice to_ SMITH.] I don't like this peaceful argument
of yours. The boy is getting much too excited.
MORRIS. You say old man Reynolds lived; and Science don't say no. [_He
turns excitedly to the picture._] But I guess he's dead now; and you'll
no more raise your Saints and Prophets from the dead than you'll raise
the Duke's great-grandfather to dance on that wall.
[_The picture begins to sway slightly to and fro on the wall._
DOCTOR. Why, the picture is moving!
MORRIS. [_Turning furiously on the_ CONJURER.] You were in the room
before us. Do you reckon that will take us in? You can do all that with
wires.
CONJURER. [_Motionless and without looking up from the table._] Yes, I
could do all that with wires.
MORRIS. And you reckoned I shouldn't know. [_Laughs with a high crowing
laugh._] That's how the derned dirty Spiritualists do all their tricks.
They say they can make the furniture move of itself. If it does move
they move it; and we mean to know how.
[_A chair falls over with a slight crash._
[MORRIS _almost staggers and momentarily fights for breath and
words._
MORRIS. You ... why ... that ... every one knows that ... a sliding
plank. It can be done with a sliding plank.
CONJURER. [_Without looking up._] Yes. It can be done with a sliding
plank.
[_The_ DOCTOR _draws nearer to_ MORRIS, _who faces about,
addressing him passionately._
MORRIS. You were right on the spot, Doc, when you talked about that red
lamp of yours. That red lamp is the light of science that will put out
all the lanterns of your turnip ghosts. It's a consuming fire, Doctor,
but it is the red light of the morning. [_Points at it in exalted
enthusiasm._] Your priests can no more stop that light from shining or
change its colour and its radiance than Joshua could stop the sun and
moon. [_Laughs savagely._] Why, a real fairy in an elfin cloak strayed
too near the lamp an hour or two ago; and it turned him into a common
society clown with a white tie.
[_The lamp at the end of the garden turns blue. They all look at it
in silence._
MORRIS. [_Splitting the silence on a high unnatural note._] Wait a bit!
Wait a bit! I've got you! I'll have you!... [_He strides wildly up and
down the room, biting his finger._] You put a wire ... no, that can't be
it....