(_WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE IMPORTANCE OF TALKING AN INFINITE DEAL OF
NOTHING_.)
SCENE--_A Room_, PERSONS--GILNEST _and_ ERBERT.
[For further details, See Mr. OSCAR WILDE'S Article in _The
Nineteenth Century_ for July.]
_Erbert_ (_at the banjo_). My dear GILLIE, what are you doing?
_Gilnest_ (_yawning_). I was wondering when you were going to begin.
We have been sitting here for an hour, and nothing has been said upon
the important subject we proposed to discuss.
_E._ (_tapping him lightly on the cheek_). Tut, tut, my dear boy, you
must not be petulant. And yet, when I come to study you more closely,
your face looks charming when you make a _moue_. Let me see you do it
again. Ah, yes. You look into my eyes with the divine sullenness that
broods tragically upon the pale brow of the Antinous. And through
your mind, though you know it not (how indeed should you?), march many
mystical phantoms that are not of this base world. Pale HELEN steps
out upon the battlements and turns to FLAUBERT her appealing glance,
and CELLINI paces with Madame DE SEVIGNÉ through the eternal shadows
of unrevealed realism. And BROWNING, and HOMER, and MEREDITH, and
OSCAR WILDE are with them, the fleet-footed giants of perennial
youth, like unto the white-limbed Hermes, whom Polyxena once saw, and
straight she hied her away to the vine-clad banks of Ilyssus, where
Mr. PATER stands contemplative, like some mad scarlet thing by DVORÁK,
and together they march with the perfect significance of silence
through realms that are cloud-capped with the bright darkness that
shines from the poet's throne amid the stars.
[Stops, and lights a cigarette.
_G._ Oh, beautiful, beautiful! Now indeed I recognise my ERBERT's
voice; and that is--yes, it must be--the scent of the cigarettes you
lately imported. Grant me one, only one. (_Takes one and lights it._)
But what were you talking about?
_E._ (_pinches his cheek_). There you are horrid again. But you smile.
_Je te connais, mon brave._ [Greek: Gignosko se pai] (never mind the
accents). _Ich kenne dich, mein alter._ _Cognosco te, amice._ I know
you, old fellow. You are only chaffing. As if you had not discovered
that which all truly great indolence has taught ever since the first
star looked out and beheld chaotic vastness on every hand. For to say
something is what every puny whipster can do. To talk much, and in
many languages, and yet to have said nothing, that, my dear GILLIE, is
what all have striven for, but only one, gifted above his fellows
with magic power of weaving the gossamer thread of words, has truly
attained. For it is in that reconcilement of apparent opposites,
and in the cadenced measures of a musical voice, that the dignified
traditions of an æsthetic purity, repellent to the thin, colourless
lips of impotence, reside and make their home. But-- [Breaks off,
and lights a cigarette.
_G._ (_lighting a cigarette_). Is that really so?
_E._ Yea, even as LUCIAN-- [Short notes, to be afterwards filled
out:--Throw in Hector, the Myrmidons, COLERIDGE, RUSKIN, OHNET, LEWIS
MORRIS, ARISTOTLE, LIONARDO, St. Anne, Juno, Mr. HOWELLS, LONGINUS,
FRONTO, LESSING, Narcissus. Stir up with SHAKSPEARE and MILTON. Add
CICERO and BALZAC]
_G._ ERBERT, ERBERT, how learned you are, and how lovely! But I am
weary, and must away.
[He moves off. ERBERT attempts to detain him. In the end they
quarrel. ERBEBT breaks the banjo over GILNEST'S head.
_E._ You are a horrid pig, and I don't like you at all!
(Not to be continued.)
* * * * *
JAMES'S HAIR APPARENT.--Everyone recognises ex-President JAMES, author
of the Whistlerian book on _The Gentle Art of Making Enemies_, by his
distinguished white lock just over his forehead. No one dare call this
"a white feather," as he has never shown it. Some people looked upon
it as caused by JAMES'S powder. This is not so. It may be correctly
described as an illustration of "Locke on the Understanding."
* * * * *