LORD SUMMERHAYS. Horrible expression. Dont.
HYPATIA. Oh, I daresay it's vulgar; but theres no other word for it.
I'm fed up with nice things: with respectability, with propriety!
When a woman has nothing to do, money and respectability mean that
nothing is ever allowed to happen to her. I dont want to be good; and
I dont want to be bad: I just dont want to be bothered about either
good or bad: I want to be an active verb.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. An active verb? Oh, I see. An active verb
signifies to be, to do, or to suffer.
HYPATIA. Just so: how clever of you! I want to be; I want to do;
and I'm game to suffer if it costs that. But stick here doing nothing
but being good and nice and ladylike I simply wont. Stay down here
with us for a week; and I'll shew you what it means: shew it to you
going on day after day, year after year, lifetime after lifetime.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Shew me what?
HYPATIA. Girls withering into ladies. Ladies withering into old
maids. Nursing old women. Running errands for old men. Good for
nothing else at last. Oh, you cant imagine the fiendish selfishness
of the old people and the maudlin sacrifice of the young.
It's more unbearable than any poverty: more horrible than any
regular-right-down wickedness. Oh, home! home! parents! family! duty!
how I loathe them! How I'd like to see them all blown to bits! The
poor escape. The wicked escape. Well, I cant be poor: we're rolling
in money: it's no use pretending we're not. But I can be wicked; and
I'm quite prepared to be.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. You think that easy?
HYPATIA. Well, isnt it? Being a man, you ought to know.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. It requires some natural talent, which can no doubt
be cultivated. It's not really easy to be anything out of the common.
HYPATIA. Anyhow, I mean to make a fight for living.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Living your own life, I believe the Suffragist
phrase is.
HYPATIA. Living any life. Living, instead of withering without even
a gardener to snip you off when youre rotten.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Ive lived an active life; but Ive withered all the
same.
HYPATIA. No: youve worn out: thats quite different. And youve some
life in you yet or you wouldnt have fallen in love with me. You can
never imagine how delighted I was to find that instead of being the
correct sort of big panjandrum you were supposed to be, you were
really an old rip like papa.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. No, no: not about your father: I really cant bear
it. And if you must say these terrible things: these heart-wounding
shameful things, at least find something prettier to call me than an
old rip.
HYPATIA. Well, what would you call a man proposing to a girl who
might be--
LORD SUMMERHAYS. His daughter: yes, I know.
HYPATIA. I was going to say his granddaughter.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. You always have one more blow to get in.
HYPATIA. Youre too sensitive. Did you ever make mud pies when you
were a kid--beg pardon: a child.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. I hope not.
HYPATIA. It's a dirty job; but Johnny and I were vulgar enough to
like it. I like young people because theyre not too afraid of dirt to
live. Ive grown out of the mud pies; but I like slang; and I like
bustling you up by saying things that shock you; and I'd rather put up
with swearing and smoking than with dull respectability; and there are
lots of things that would just shrivel you up that I think rather
jolly. Now!
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Ive not the slightest doubt of it. Dont insist.
HYPATIA. It's not your ideal, is it?
LORD SUMMERHAYS. No.
HYPATIA. Shall I tell you why? Your ideal is an old woman. I
daresay shes got a young face; but shes an old woman. Old, old, old.
Squeamish. Cant stand up to things. Cant enjoy things: not real
things. Always on the shrink.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. On the shrink! Detestable expression.
HYPATIA. Bah! you cant stand even a little thing like that. What
good are you? Oh, what good are you?
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Dont ask me. I dont know. I dont know.
_Tarleton returns from the vestibule. Hypatia sits down demurely._
HYPATIA. Well, papa: have you meditated on your destiny?
TARLETON. _[puzzled]_ What? Oh! my destiny. Gad, I forgot all
about it: Jock started a rabbit and put it clean out of my head.
Besides, why should I give way to morbid introspection? It's a sign
of madness. Read Lombroso. _[To Lord Summerhays]_ Well, Summerhays,
has my little girl been entertaining you?
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Yes. She is a wonderful entertainer.
TARLETON. I think my idea of bringing up a young girl has been rather
a success. Dont you listen to this, Patsy: it might make you
conceited. Shes never been treated like a child. I always said the
same thing to her mother. Let her read what she likes. Let her do
what she likes. Let her go where she likes. Eh, Patsy?
HYPATIA. Oh yes, if there had only been anything for me to do, any
place for me to go, anything I wanted to read.
TARLETON. There, you see! Shes not satisfied. Restless. Wants
things to happen. Wants adventures to drop out of the sky.
HYPATIA. _[gathering up her work]_ If youre going to talk about me
and my education, I'm off.
TARLETON. Well, well, off with you. _[To Lord Summerhays]_ Shes
active, like me. She actually wanted me to put her into the shop.
HYPATIA. Well, they tell me that the girls there have adventures
sometimes. _[She goes out through the inner door]_
TARLETON. She had me there, though she doesnt know it, poor innocent
lamb! Public scandal exaggerates enormously, of course; but moralize
as you will, superabundant vitality is a physical fact that cant be
talked away. _[He sits down between the writing table and the
sideboard]._ Difficult question this, of bringing up children.
Between ourselves, it has beaten me. I never was so surprised in my
life as when I came to know Johnny as a man of business and found out
what he was really like. How did you manage with your sons?
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Well, I really hadnt time to be a father: thats the
plain truth of the matter. Their poor dear mother did the usual thing
while they were with us. Then of course, Harrow, Cambridge, the usual
routine of their class. I saw very little of them, and thought very
little about them: how could I? with a whole province on my hands.
They and I are--acquaintances. Not perhaps, quite ordinary
acquaintances: theres a sort of--er--I should almost call it a sort
of remorse about the way we shake hands (when we do shake hands) which
means, I suppose, that we're sorry we dont care more for one another;
and I'm afraid we dont meet oftener than we can help. We put each
other too much out of countenance. It's really a very difficult
relation. To my mind not altogether a natural one.
TARLETON. _[impressed, as usual]_ Thats an idea, certainly. I dont
think anybody has ever written about that.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Bentley is the only one who was really my son in any
serious sense. He was completely spoilt. When he was sent to a
preparatory school he simply yelled until he was sent home. Harrow
was out of the question; but we managed to tutor him into Cambridge.
No use: he was sent down. By that time my work was over; and I saw a
good deal of him. But I could do nothing with him--except look on. I
should have thought your case was quite different. You keep up the
middle-class tradition: the day school and the business training
instead of the university. I believe in the day school part of it.
At all events, you know your own children.
TARLETON. Do you? I'm not so sure of it. Fact is, my dear
Summerhays, once childhood is over, once the little animal has got
past the stage at which it acquires what you might call a sense of
decency, it's all up with the relation between parent and child. You
cant get over the fearful shyness of it.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Shyness?
TARLETON. Yes, shyness. Read Dickens.
LORD SUMMERHAYS _[surprised]_ Dickens!! Of all authors, Charles
Dickens! Are you serious?
TARLETON. I dont mean his books. Read his letters to his family.
Read any man's letters to his children. Theyre not human. Theyre not
about himself or themselves. Theyre about hotels, scenery, about the
weather, about getting wet and losing the train and what he saw on the
road and all that. Not a word about himself. Forced. Shy. Duty
letters. All fit to be published: that says everything. I tell you
theres a wall ten feet thick and ten miles high between parent and
child. I know what I'm talking about. Ive girls in my employment:
girls and young men. I had ideas on the subject. I used to go to the
parents and tell them not to let their children go out into the world
without instruction in the dangers and temptations they were going to
be thrown into. What did every one of the mothers say to me? "Oh,
sir, how could I speak of such things to my own daughter?" The men
said I was quite right; but they didnt do it, any more than I'd been
able to do it myself to Johnny. I had to leave books in his way; and
I felt just awful when I did it. Believe me, Summerhays, the relation
between the young and the old should be an innocent relation. It
should be something they could talk about. Well, the relation between
parent and child may be an affectionate relation. It may be a useful
relation. It may be a necessary relation. But it can never be an
innocent relation. Youd die rather than allude to it. Depend on it,
in a thousand years itll be considered bad form to know who your
father and mother are. Embarrassing. Better hand Bentley over to me.
I can look him in the face and talk to him as man to man. You can
have Johnny.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Thank you. Ive lived so long in a country where a
man may have fifty sons, who are no more to him than a regiment of
soldiers, that I'm afraid Ive lost the English feeling about it.
TARLETON. _[restless again]_ You mean Jinghiskahn. Ah yes. Good
thing the empire. Educates us. Opens our minds. Knocks the Bible
out of us. And civilizes the other chaps.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Yes: it civilizes them. And it uncivilizes us.
Their gain. Our loss, Tarleton, believe me, our loss.
TARLETON. Well, why not? Averages out the human race. Makes the
nigger half an Englishman. Makes the Englishman half a nigger.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Speaking as the unfortunate Englishman in question,
I dont like the process. If I had my life to live over again, I'd
stay at home and supercivilize myself.
TARLETON. Nonsense! dont be selfish. Think how youve improved the
other chaps. Look at the Spanish empire! Bad job for Spain, but
splendid for South America. Look at what the Romans did for Britain!
They burst up and had to clear out; but think of all they taught us!
They were the making of us: I believe there was a Roman camp on
Hindhead: I'll shew it to you tomorrow. Thats the good side of
Imperialism: it's unselfish. I despise the Little Englanders:
theyre always thinking about England. Smallminded. I'm for the
Parliament of man, the federation of the world. Read Tennyson. _[He
settles down again]._ Then theres the great food question.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. _[apprehensively]_ Need we go into that this
afternoon?
TARLETON. No; but I wish youd tell the Chickabiddy that the
Jinghiskahns eat no end of toasted cheese, and that it's the secret of
their amazing health and long life!
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Unfortunately they are neither healthy nor long
lived. And they dont eat toasted cheese.
TARLETON. There you are! They would be if they ate it. Anyhow,
say what you like, provided the moral is a Welsh rabbit for my supper.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. British morality in a nutshell!
TARLETON. _[hugely amused]_ Yes. Ha ha! Awful hypocrites, aint we?
_They are interrupted by excited cries from the grounds._
HYPATIA. | Papa! Mamma! Come out as fast as you can.
| Quick. Quick.
|
BENTLEY. | Hello, governor! Come out. An aeroplane.
| Look, look.
TARLETON. _[starting up]_ Aeroplane! Did he say an aeroplane?
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Aeroplane! _[A shadow falls on the pavilion; and
some of the glass at the top is shattered and falls on the floor]._
_Tarleton and Lord Summerhays rush out through the pavilion into the
garden._
HYPATIA. | Take care. Take care of the chimney.
|
BENTLEY. | Come this side: it's coming right
| where youre standing.
|
TARLETON. | Hallo! where the devil are you
| coming? youll have my roof off.
|
LORD SUMMERHAYS| He's lost control.
MRS TARLETON. Look, look, Hypatia. There are two people in it.
BENTLEY. Theyve cleared it. Well steered!
TARLETON. | Yes; but theyre coming slam into the greenhouse.
|
LORD SUMMERHAYS| Look out for the glass.
|
MRS TARLETON. | Theyll break all the glass. Theyll
| spoil all the grapes.
|
BENTLEY. | Mind where youre coming. He'll
| save it. No: theyre down.
_An appalling crash of breaking glass is heard. Everybody shrieks._
MRS TARLETON. | Oh, are they killed? John: are they killed?
|
LORD SUMMERHAYS| Are you hurt? Is anything broken? Can you stand?
|
HYPATIA. | Oh, you must be hurt. Are you sure? Shall I get
| you some water? Or some wine?
|
TARLETON. | Are you all right? Sure you wont have some
| brandy just to take off the shock.
THE AVIATOR. No, thank you. Quite right. Not a scratch. I assure
you I'm all right.
BENTLEY. What luck! And what a smash! You are a lucky chap, I can
tell you.
_The Aviator and Tarleton come in through the pavilion, followed by
Lord Summerhays and Bentley, the Aviator on Tarleton's right. Bentley
passes the Aviator and turns to have an admiring look at him. Lord
Summerhays overtakes Tarleton less pointedly on the opposite side with
the same object._
THE AVIATOR. I'm really very sorry. I'm afraid Ive knocked your
vinery into a cocked hat. (_Effusively_) You dont mind, do you?
TARLETON. Not a bit. Come in and have some tea. Stay to dinner.
Stay over the week-end. All my life Ive wanted to fly.
THE AVIATOR. _[taking off his goggles]_ Youre really more than kind.
BENTLEY. Why, its Joey Percival.
PERCIVAL. Hallo, Ben! That you?
TARLETON. What! The man with three fathers!
PERCIVAL. Oh! has Ben been talking about me?
TARLETON. Consider yourself as one of the family--if you will do me
the honor. And your friend too. Wheres your friend?
PERCIVAL. Oh, by the way! before he comes in: let me explain. I
dont know him.
TARLETON. Eh?
PERCIVAL. Havnt even looked at him. I'm trying to make a club record
with a passenger. The club supplied the passenger. He just got in;
and Ive been too busy handling the aeroplane to look at him. I havnt
said a word to him; and I cant answer for him socially; but hes an
ideal passenger for a flyer. He saved me from a smash.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. I saw it. It was extraordinary. When you were
thrown out he held on to the top bar with one hand. You came past him
in the air, going straight for the glass. He caught you and turned
you off into the flower bed, and then lighted beside you like a bird.
PERCIVAL. How he kept his head I cant imagine. Frankly, _I_ didnt.
_The Passenger, also begoggled, comes in through the pavilion with
Johnny and the two ladies. The Passenger comes between Percival and
Tarleton, Mrs Tarleton between Lord Summerhays and her husband,
Hypatia between Percival and Bentley, and Johnny to Bentley's right._
TARLETON. Just discussing your prowess, my dear sir. Magnificent.
Youll stay to dinner. Youll stay the night. Stay over the week. The
Chickabiddy will be delighted.
MRS TARLETON. Wont you take off your goggles and have some tea?
_The Passenger begins to remove the goggles._
TARLETON. Do. Have a wash. Johnny: take the gentleman to your
room: I'll look after Mr Percival. They must--
_By this time the passenger has got the goggles off, and stands
revealed as a remarkably good-looking woman._
MRS TARLETON. | Well I never!!! |
| |
BENTLEY. | [_in a whisper_] Oh, I say! |
| |
JOHNNY. | By George! |
| | _All
LORD SUMMERHAYS| A lady! | to-
| | gether._
HYPATIA. | A woman! |
| |
TARLETON. | [_to Percival_] You never told me-- |
| |
PERCIVAL. | I hadnt the least idea-- |
_An embarrassed pause._
PERCIVAL. I assure you if I'd had the faintest notion that my
passenger was a lady I shouldnt have left you to shift for yourself in
that selfish way.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. The lady seems to have shifted for both very
effectually, sir.
PERCIVAL. Saved my life. I admit it most gratefully.
TARLETON. I must apologize, madam, for having offered you the
civilities appropriate to the opposite sex. And yet, why opposite?
We are all human: males and females of the same species. When the
dress is the same the distinction vanishes. I'm proud to receive in
my house a lady of evident refinement and distinction. Allow me to
introduce myself: Tarleton: John Tarleton (_seeing conjecture in the
passenger's eye_)--yes, yes: Tarleton's Underwear. My wife, Mrs
Tarleton: youll excuse me for having in what I had taken to be a
confidence between man and man alluded to her as the Chickabiddy. My
daughter Hypatia, who has always wanted some adventure to drop out of
the sky, and is now, I hope, satisfied at last. Lord Summerhays: a
man known wherever the British flag waves. His son Bentley, engaged
to Hypatia. Mr Joseph Percival, the promising son of three highly
intellectual fathers.