LYRE AND LANCET
_A STORY IN SCENES_
BY
F. ANSTEY
AUTHOR OF
"VICE VERSÂ," "THE GIANT'S ROBE," "VOCES POPULI," ETC.
LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE.
1895.
(_All rights reserved._)
_Reprinted from "Punch" by permission of the Proprietors._
CONTENTS
PART PAGE
I. SHADOWS CAST BEFORE 1
II. SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING POET 11
III. THE TWO ANDROMEDAS 21
IV. RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS 31
V. CROSS PURPOSES 42
VI. ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES 53
VII. IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO 64
VIII. SURPRISES--AGREEABLE AND OTHERWISE 76
IX. THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE 87
X. BORROWED PLUMES 98
XI. TIME AND THE HOUR 109
XII. DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES 119
XIII. WHAT'S IN A NAME? 130
XIV. LE VÉTÉRINAIRE MALGRÉ LUI 141
XV. TRAPPED! 152
XVI. AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE 163
XVII. A BOMB SHELL 174
XVIII. THE LAST STRAW 184
XIX. UNEARNED INCREMENT 194
XX. DIFFERENT PERSONS HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS 204
XXI. THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER 213
XXII. A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS 224
XXIII. SHRINKAGE 234
XXIV. THE HAPPY DISPATCH 244
CHARACTERS
GALFRID UNDERSHELL (_a minor poet_).
JAMES SPURRELL, M.R.C.V.S.
THE COUNTESS OF CANTIRE.
LADY MAISIE MULL (_her daughter_).
SIR RUPERT CULVERIN.
LADY CULVERIN.
LADY RHODA COKAYNE.
MRS. BROOKE-CHATTERIS.
MISS SPELWANE.
THE BISHOP OF BIRCHESTER.
LORD LULLINGTON.
LADY LULLINGTON.
MRS. EARWAKER.
THE HONOURABLE BERTIE PILLINER.
CAPTAIN THICKNESSE.
ARCHIE BEARPARK.
MR. SHORTHORN.
DRYSDALE (_a journalist_).
TANRAKE (_a job-master_).
EMMA PHILLIPSON (_maid to_ LADY CANTIRE).
MRS. POMFRET (_housekeeper at Wyvern Court_).
MISS STICKLER (_maid to_ LADY CULVERIN).
MISS DOLMAN (_maid to_ LADY RHODA COKAYNE).
MLLE. CHIFFON (_maid to_ MISS SPELWANE).
M. RIDEVOS (_chef at Wyvern_).
TREDWELL (_butler at Wyvern_).
STEPTOE (_valet to_ SIR RUPERT CULVERIN).
THOMAS (_a footman_).
ADAMS (_stud-groom_).
CHECKLEY (_head coachman_).
Steward's Room Boy, etc.
LYRE AND LANCET
A STORY IN SCENES
PART I
SHADOWS CAST BEFORE
_In_ Sir RUPERT CULVERIN'S _Study at Wyvern Court. It is a
rainy Saturday morning in February._ Sir RUPERT _is at his
writing-table, as_ Lady CULVERIN _enters with a deprecatory
air_.
_Lady Culverin._ So _here_ you are, Rupert! Not _very_ busy, are you?
I won't keep you a moment. (_She goes to a window._) Such a nuisance
it's turning out wet, with all these people in the house, isn't it?
_Sir Rupert._ Well, I was thinking that, as there's nothing doing out
of doors, I might get a chance to knock off some of these confounded
accounts, but--(_resignedly_)--if you think I ought to go and look
after----
_Lady Culverin._ No, no; the men are playing billiards, and the women
are in the morning-room--_they_'re all right. I only wanted to ask you
about to-night. You know the Lullingtons, and the dear Bishop and Mrs.
Rodney, and one or two other people are coming to dinner? Well, who
ought to take in Rohesia?
_Sir Rupert_ (_in dismay_). Rohesia! No idea she was coming down this
week!
_Lady Culverin._ Yes, by the 4.45. With dear Maisie. Surely you knew
that?
_Sir Rupert._ In a sort of way; didn't realize it was so near, that's
all.
_Lady Culverin._ It's some time since we had her last. And she wanted
to come. I didn't think you would like me to write and put her off.
_Sir Rupert._ Put her off? Of course I shouldn't, Albinia. If my only
sister isn't welcome at Wyvern at any time--I say at _any_ time--where
the deuce is she welcome?
_Lady Culverin._ I don't know, dear Rupert. But--but about the table?
_Sir Rupert._ So long as you don't put her near me--that's all _I_
care about.
_Lady Culverin._ I mean--ought I to send her in with Lord Lullington,
or the Bishop?
_Sir Rupert._ Why not let 'em toss up? Loser gets her, of course.
_Lady Culverin._ _Rupert!_ As if I could suggest such a thing to the
Bishop! I suppose she'd better go in with Lord Lullington--he's Lord
Lieutenant--and then it won't matter if she _does_ advocate
Disestablishment. Oh, but I forgot; she thinks the House of Lords
ought to be abolished _too_!
_Sir Rupert._ Whoever takes Rohesia in is likely to have a time of it.
Talked poor Cantire into his tomb a good ten years before he was due
there. Always lecturing, and domineering, and laying down the law, as
long as _I_ can remember her. Can't stand Rohesia--never could!
_Lady Culverin._ I don't think you ought to say so, really, Rupert.
And I'm sure _I_ get on very well with her--generally.
_Sir Rupert._ Because you knock under to her.
_Lady Culverin._ I'm sure I don't, Rupert--at least, no more than
everybody else. Dear Rohesia is so strong-minded and advanced and all
that, she takes such an interest in all the new movements and things,
that she can't understand contradiction; she is so democratic in her
ideas, don't you know.
_Sir Rupert._ Didn't prevent her marrying Cantire. And a democratic
Countess--it's downright unnatural!
_Lady Culverin._ She believes it's her duty to set an example and meet
the People half-way. That reminds me--did I tell you Mr. Clarion Blair
is coming down this evening, too?--only till Monday, Rupert.
_Sir Rupert._ Clarion Blair! never heard of him.
_Lady Culverin._ I suppose I forgot. Clarion Blair isn't his _real_
name, though; it's only a--an alias.
_Sir Rupert._ Don't see what any fellow wants with an alias. What _is_
his real name?
_Lady Culverin._ Well, I know it was _something_ ending in "ell," but
I mislaid his letter. Still, Clarion Blair is the name he writes
under; he's a poet, Rupert, and quite celebrated, so I'm told.
_Sir Rupert_ (_uneasily_). A poet! What on earth possessed you to ask
a literary fellow down _here_? Poetry isn't much in our way; and a
poet _will_ be, confoundedly!
[Illustration: "WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED YOU TO ASK A LITERARY
FELLOW DOWN HERE?"]
_Lady Culverin._ I really couldn't help it, Rupert. Rohesia insisted
on my having him to meet her. She likes meeting clever and interesting
people. And this Mr. Blair, it seems, has just written a volume of
verses which are finer than anything that's been done since--well, for
_ages_!
_Sir Rupert._ What sort of verses?
_Lady Culverin._ Well, they're charmingly bound. I've got the book in
the house, somewhere. Rohesia told me to send for it; but I haven't
had time to read it yet.
_Sir Rupert._ Shouldn't be surprised if Rohesia hadn't, either.
_Lady Culverin._ At all events, she's heard it talked about. The young
man's verses have made quite a sensation; they're so dreadfully clever
and revolutionary, and morbid and pessimistic, and all that, so she
made me promise to ask him down here to meet her!
_Sir Rupert._ Devilish thoughtful of her.
_Lady Culverin._ Wasn't it? She thought it might be a valuable
experience for him; he's sprung, I believe, from _quite_ the
middle-class.
_Sir Rupert._ Don't see myself why he should be sprung on _us_. Why
can't Rohesia ask him to one of her own places?
_Lady Culverin._ I dare say she will, if he turns out to be quite
presentable. And, of course, he _may_, Rupert, for anything we can
tell.
_Sir Rupert._ Then you've never seen him yourself! How did you manage
to ask him here, then?
_Lady Culverin._ Oh, I wrote to him through his publishers. Rohesia
says that's the usual way with literary persons one doesn't happen to
have met. And he wrote to say he would come.
_Sir Rupert._ So we're to have a morbid revolutionary poet staying in
the house, are we? He'll come down to dinner in a flannel shirt and no
tie--or else a _red_ one--if he don't bring down a beastly bomb and
try to blow us all up! You'll find you've made a mistake, Albinia,
depend upon it.
_Lady Culverin._ Dear Rupert, aren't you just a little bit _narrow_?
You forget that nowadays the very best houses are proud to entertain
Genius--no matter _what_ their opinions and appearance may be. And
besides, we don't know what changes may be coming. Surely it is wise
and prudent to conciliate the clever young men who might inflame the
masses against us. Rohesia thinks so; she says it may be our only
chance of stemming the rising tide of Revolution, Rupert!
_Sir Rupert._ Oh, if Rohesia thinks a revolution can be stemmed by
asking a few poets down from Saturday to Monday, she might do _her_
share of the stemming at all events.
_Lady Culverin._ But you will be _nice_ to him, Rupert, won't you?
_Sir Rupert._ I don't know that I'm in the habit of being uncivil to
any guest of yours in this house, my dear, but I'll be hanged if I
_grovel_ to him, you know; the tide ain't as high as all that. But
it's an infernal nuisance, 'pon my word it is; you must look after him
yourself. _I_ can't. I don't know what to talk to geniuses about; I've
forgotten all the poetry I ever learnt. And if he comes out with any
of his Red Republican theories in _my_ hearing, why----
_Lady Culverin._ Oh, but he _won't_, dear. I'm certain he'll be quite
mild and inoffensive. Look at Shakespeare--the bust, I mean--and _he_
began as a poacher!
_Sir Rupert._ Ah, and this chap would put down the Game Laws if he
could, I dare say; do away with everything that makes the country
worth living in. Why, if he had his way, Albinia, there wouldn't
be----
_Lady Culverin._ I know, dear, I know. And you must make him see all
that from _your_ point. Look, the weather really seems to be clearing
a little. We might all of us get out for a drive or something after
lunch. I would ride, if Deerfoot's all right again; he's the only
horse I ever feel _really_ safe upon, now.
_Sir Rupert._ Sorry, my dear, but you'll have to drive then. Adams
tells me the horse is as lame as ever this morning, and he don't know
what to make of it. He suggested having Horsfall over, but I've no
faith in the local vets myself, so I wired to town for old Spavin.
He's seen Deerfoot before, and we could put him up for a night or two.
(_To_ TREDWELL, _the butler, who enters with a telegram_.) Eh, for me?
just wait, will you, in case there's an answer. (_As he opens it._)
Ah, this _is_ from Spavin--h'm, nuisance! "Regret unable to leave at
present, bronchitis, junior partner could attend immediately if
required.--Spavin." Never knew he _had_ a partner.
_Tredwell._ I did hear, Sir Rupert, as Mr. Spavin was looking out for
one quite recent, being hasthmatical, m'lady, and so I suppose this is
him as the telegram alludes to.
_Sir Rupert._ Very likely. Well, he's sure to be a competent man. We'd
better have him, eh, Albinia?
_Lady Culverin._ Oh yes, and he must stay till Deerfoot's better. I'll
speak to Pomfret about having a room ready in the East Wing for him.
Tell him to come by the 4.45, Rupert. We shall be sending the omnibus
in to meet that.
_Sir Rupert._ All right, I've told him. (_Giving the form to_
TREDWELL.) See that that's sent off at once, please. (_After_ TREDWELL
_has left_.) By the way, Albinia, Rohesia may kick up a row if she
has to come up in the omnibus with a vet, eh?
_Lady Culverin._ Goodness, so she might! but he needn't go _inside_.
Still, if it goes on raining like this--I'll tell Thomas to order a
fly for him at the station, and then there _can't_ be any bother about
it.