Читать книгу Plays for Earth and Air - Edward 18th Baron of Dunsany Plunkett - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Scene: The Vicarage at Amber-in-the-Downs. The Vicar’s study.

The Vicar enters wearing his surplice (or a coat or waterproof). He takes it off and hangs it on a peg, then sits at his writing-table with paper before him, and one or two books of reference. But in spite of intense concentration the writing is going badly. And either considerable noise is coming in from the kitchen, or the Vicar thinks it is. He rises and opens the door in the left-hand wall (audience’s left) and calls:

Vicar: Mrs. Upshott. Mrs. Upshott.

Mrs. Upshott: Yes, sir.

Vicar: Would you mind coming here for a minute.

Mrs. Upshott: Not at all, sir.

Enter Mrs. Upshott.

Vicar: I want to ask you as a favour, as a very special favour, to make as little noise as you possibly can.

Mrs. Upshott: Noise, sir?

Vicar: Yes, as little as possible.

Mrs. Upshott: Well, sir....

Vicar: You see, I have a sermon to prepare for to-morrow, that calls for the very greatest effort, and I find it very hard to concentrate when I am continually interrupted. I feel it to be of the very greatest importance that the sermon I preach to-morrow should be the best of which I am capable.

Mrs. Upshott: You forget that the bishop is coming, sir.

Vicar: No, Mrs. Upshott, indeed I don’t forget it. It has been on my mind all the week. And my sermon is less than half finished.

Mrs. Upshott: You must have forgotten it, sir, if you want me to stop my work. And I don’t think you know how many will be coming in here besides his lordship, at 5.30.

Vicar: Yes I think I do, Mrs. Upshott. But we can see about that when the time comes.

Mrs. Upshott: Can we indeed, sir? Just make the tea and let them have it without any sugary cakes or any extra milk! They’d be like a cage-full of roaring lions.

Vicar: Really, Mrs. Upshott.

Mrs. Upshott: They would, sir. They would indeed. The bishop and all.

Vicar: I can hardly picture the bishop giving expression to annoyance in any form over trifles.

Mrs. Upshott: That’s because you don’t have to get the tea-things ready, sir. But I know what gentlemen like, and I know what they’re like when they don’t get it. And the bigger they are the angrier they get.

Vicar: Well, Mrs. Upshott, my sermon has to come first; so, if you’d be as quiet as you can for an hour.

Mrs. Upshott: The bishop won’t mind about the sermon, sir, so long as he gets his tea. But just to please you I’ll be as quiet as I can.

Vicar: Thank you, Mrs. Upshott, and I’m going to lock the door so that I can’t be disturbed by anyone. And would you lock that one (points R.) so that no-one can come in anywhere.

Mrs. Upshott: Oh, no-one comes that way, sir.

Vicar: Never mind; we’ll have it locked.

She locks it. Exit L. Vicar then locks that one also. He returns to his table, but inspiration does not come. After a while the Dark Stranger slips from behind the surplice that hangs on the wall and walks slowly towards the Vicar from behind. As he wears no boots or shoes his black socks make no sound. There is no light in the room but two candles beside the Vicar’s ink-pot. He reaches the Vicar’s elbow.

Vicar: Hullo! What do you want?

Dark Stranger: I want to help you.

Vicar: But how did you get in?

Dark Stranger: Excuse me, but shall we not discuss relevant things instead of trivial? You need help, do you not?

Vicar: Perhaps. But how did you get in?

Dark Stranger: As you wish. But is not help of more importance than the direction from which it comes?

Vicar: How do you know I want help?

Dark Stranger: Is it not more important whether I am wrong or right, than how I come to be right?

Vicar: I never said I did want help. And I don’t know how you got in.

Dark Stranger: I beg your pardon. If you don’t want help I was mistaken, and I was wrong to come in from any direction. I beg your pardon and I will go at once; though I might have helped you.

Vicar: How could you have helped me?

Dark Stranger: Ah. That is a most relevant question, most strictly to the point. I have the power to help you.

Vicar: But how do you know what I want?

Dark Stranger: I have the power to know.

Vicar: A very curious statement. I don’t see how you can know, and I don’t see how you can help me. I have a sermon to write, and I only know of one way in which you can help me.

Dark Stranger: By going away?

Vicar nods.

And yet you weren’t doing so well before I came. Your sermon, if you will, may move all who hear it to tears.

Vicar: Even ... ?

Dark Stranger: Even the bishop.

Vicar: But you can’t do that.

Dark Stranger: I have the power to do it.

Vicar: You? You have the power?

Dark Stranger: Yes.

Vicar: And the power to know what I am thinking?

Dark Stranger: Yes.

Vicar (growing more uneasy): And the power to enter through locked doors?

Dark Stranger: Yes.

Vicar: Then, if that is true, if that is true, then I know what you demand in exchange. I know, and you’ll never get it. Never! Never! Never!

Dark Stranger: And what do I ask in exchange?

Vicar: My salvation.

Dark Stranger: Ha. Ha. Ha. My dear sir, really. Do you think I have only one price for everything? Like Woolworth’s? Shall I tell you all I ask in exchange?

Vicar (grimly prepared for the worst): Well?

Dark Stranger: Merely that within an hour your sermon shall be derided by all who heard it.

Vicar: But you said it would move them to tears.

Dark Stranger: Yes, every one.

Vicar: But they can’t deride it after that.

Dark Stranger: They will.

Vicar: Well, let them; if once I have touched them to tears. If once I have moved their hearts like that.

Dark Stranger: You shall.

Vicar: And the bishop?

Dark Stranger: He with all the rest.

Vicar: To tears, mind you.

Dark Stranger: They shall weep every one.

Vicar: They can’t deride it after that.

The Dark Stranger shrugs his shoulders, turning out his hands, and smiles.

But whatever they do, I shall have had my hour.

Dark Stranger: You will have had your hour.

Vicar: Then I accept your bargain.

Twice the Dark Stranger waves his arm.

Dark Stranger: It shall be as I said.

He vanishes as best he can.

Vicar (sits a long while, with the paper before him): I wonder if I have done right. (Suddenly he writes rapidly.)

Darkness falls, and when it is light again there are tea and sugary buns on the table, and many more chairs, and it is 5.30 p.m. next day.

Mrs. Upshott is busy with the tea-table, and attending with the greatest interest to every detail of the approaching entertainment, though she is weeping copiously.

Enter the Bishop and Mrs. Beltham, with Mrs. Muncheon, Sir Edwin Martrap, Mr. and Mrs. Pursnip and Mr. Meedle, the Bishop’s chaplain.

Mrs. Upshott: Oh, my lord, I’m afraid Mr. Sliggen will be a little late. There’s so many people congratulating him. They won’t let him come.

Bishop: Never mind. Never mind.

Mrs. Upshott: Coming away from the vestry they hemmed him in.

Bishop: Never mind.

Mrs. Upshott: So I just ran on and came here, and I hope you’ll begin. I’m not ashamed to cry, you see; I’m not ashamed to.

Bishop: No. Never mind.

The Bishop, tho’ much more restrainedly, is crying too, as are the whole party. He sits down mopping his eyes and nose and gives a last snuffle.

Well, we must pull ourselves together.

The Bishop’s Chaplain first, and the rest more gradually, get control of their tears, but the cakes are handed round in a rather lugubrious silence. The Dark Stranger appears at the window, peering in expectantly, almost anxiously, till the Bishop speaks. None of them can see him.

An impressive sermon.

The Dark Stranger seems satisfied, and disappears.

Mrs. Muncheon: Oh, very.

Squire (to Mrs. Beltham): It was a very good sermon. Wasn’t it?

Mrs. Beltham: Yes, very good.

Mrs. Pursnip: I thought so too.

Mrs. Beltham: Oh yes, it was quite.

Mrs. Pursnip: Yes, that’s what I thought. (To Chaplain.) Don’t you agree, Mr. Meedle?

Chaplain: Yes, entirely.

There have been far more buns and tea than conversation.

Mr. Pursnip (to Chaplain): I thought it was quite good.

Chaplain: Yes, wasn’t it.

Squire: He used some good phrases.

Mrs. Beltham: Yes, didn’t he?

Mrs. Pursnip: Yes, I noticed that.

Mrs. Beltham: Yes, several times.

Mrs. Pursnip (to Chaplain): I like a good phrase.

Chaplain: Oh yes. They have their uses.

Mr. Pursnip: I rather like the way he wound up.

Chaplain: Oh yes, he wasn’t a bit too long.

Mr. Pursnip: No, not a word.

Chaplain: But very often they are, you know.

Mr. Pursnip: Yes, I suppose you often hear too much of a sermon.

Chaplain: Oh, yes, a sermon should never be too long.

Bishop: I should say, I should say, that this young man would do well.

Mrs. Muncheon: Oh I am so glad to hear you say that.

Bishop: Yes, I think so.

Mrs. Muncheon: I am so glad, because I’ve quite got to like him.

Bishop: A clever sermon is often of great help to a young man, because it gives him confidence.

Mrs. Muncheon: And it was a clever sermon?

Bishop: Oh, I am sure of it.

Mrs. Muncheon: And it was a good sermon, do you think? I mean, in the true sense.

Bishop: Oh, I hope so. I hope so, indeed.

Squire: I hope we’ve got a good preacher in young Mr. Sliggen. What do you think Mrs. Beltham?

Mrs. Beltham: Oh, I should say so.

Squire: Well I’m glad of that, because the last one we had ... oh, thank you. (Takes a sugary cake from Mrs. Upshott.)

Mrs. Beltham: Oh, I expect he’ll be all right.

Mrs. Pursnip: We are the people that suffer when they aren’t.

Mrs. Beltham: Oh, I expect he’ll be all right.

Mrs. Pursnip: I do hope so.

Chaplain: I think I can promise you that he’ll do quite well.

Mrs. Pursnip: Well, I’m glad of that, because you can’t think what it is when you have to hear a dull sermon every Sunday.

Chaplain: No. I hope you won’t have to.

Bishop: It’s always an anxiety with young clergymen to know how they’ll do.

Mrs. Muncheon: I do hope Mr. Sliggen will turn out a good preacher.

Bishop: I think so. I think so.

Mrs. Muncheon: It must always be an anxiety to you till you’re sure.

Bishop: It is. It is. Thank you. (He takes a sugary bun from Mrs. Upshott.)

Squire (to Mrs. Beltham): I don’t know what we’ll do if he turns out to be no better at sermons than the last vicar we had.

Mrs. Beltham: Oh I think he is a better preacher than Mr. Steggles was.

Squire: I’m very glad to hear you say so.

Mrs. Beltham: Though I shouldn’t like to say for certain. After all, Mr. Steggles was a man of experience.

Squire: Yes, yes. And Mr. Sliggen’s quite young.

Mrs. Beltham: I’m afraid so.

Squire: Well, we’ll do what we can to help him on a bit.

Mrs. Beltham: I’m sure you will.

Squire: And he must do what he can to fit himself for his work.

Mrs. Beltham: I’m sure he will, as far as his capacity goes.

Squire: Yes, that of course is the trouble.

Mrs. Beltham: He can’t do more can he?

Squire: Oh no. I’m not unreasonable.

Mrs. Beltham: No, I know you will make every allowance for him.

The Squire nods comfortingly. Mrs. Upshott whose sobs have continued longest has now ceased, and she catches with a quick ear the trend against Sliggen. At this point, where the last of the praise has utterly died away, the Dark Stranger appears at the window smiling, unseen by any. By another wave of his hand he seems to encourage further progress towards the end of his bargain, and disappears again.

Mr. Pursnip (to Chaplain): Was he right, do you think, to use that pause that he made, in order to get his effect?

Chaplain: I’ll ask. I’ll ask the Bishop. (He rises and walks over to the Bishop.) Mr. Pursnip wanted to know, my lord, whether Mr. Sliggen was justified in making use of that rather unexpected pause.

Bishop: I shouldn’t do it myself. I can only say that I shouldn’t do it myself.

Chaplain: I am sure that your lordship would not.

Bishop: I never have.

Chaplain: No, indeed not. (He returns to Mr. Pursnip.) You heard what his lordship said. I am entirely of his opinion, though I cannot cloak my opinions with the charity that is always over all his lordship’s.

Mr. Pursnip: A clergyman that plays tricks on his congregation is perhaps hardly worthy of charity.

Chaplain: His lordship is charitable, really to everyone.

Mr. Pursnip: I admire his charity. I admire it myself. Only I cannot imitate it when I am annoyed. To me it is annoying to have been tricked as we have been.

Chaplain: I can quite sympathize with your feelings.

Mr. Pursnip: Do you not share them?

Chaplain: I try to be tolerant. I always try to be as tolerant as I can.

Mr. Pursnip: That’s all very christian of course. But I don’t like being made a fool of.

Chaplain: No, naturally. (To Mrs. Pursnip.) I am sure that the bishop much regrets any theatricalism that Mr. Sliggen may have made use of.

Mrs. Pursnip: Theatricalism wasn’t the word for it!

Chaplain: No, he certainly went a bit too far.

Mrs. Pursnip: A bit too far.

Chaplain: I very much regret it.

Mrs. Pursnip (to Mrs. Beltham): Mr. Meedle says that Mr. Sliggen went a bit too far.

Mrs. Beltham: Mr. Meedle is very charitable. The dear bishop himself is not more so.

Mrs. Pursnip: I suppose if I were more charitable I should feel less of a fool.

Mrs. Beltham: Oh, Mrs. Pursnip, how can you say such a thing?

Mrs. Pursnip: We’ve been made fools of, Mrs. Beltham.

Mrs. Beltham: By no means, Mrs. Pursnip, by no means. You were all most long-suffering while Mr. Sliggen exposed your feelings to those rather regrettable devices. I assure you he will not do it again. But you have been most tolerant and most restrained through the whole, I don’t know what to call it, the whole exhibition.

Mrs. Pursnip: It’s very kind of you to say so.

Mrs. Beltham: Oh, but I mean it. (To Squire.) I do hope, Sir Edwin, that you don’t feel that the Bishop had any part whatever in, in what happened this evening.

Squire: I? Oh, no. You mean the sermon. He did rather catch us out sometimes, didn’t he?

Mrs. Beltham: Oh, it was dreadful.

Squire: Well, do you know, Mrs. Beltham, if anyone makes a fool of me, I laugh. The other man is sure to do it if I don’t. So I do it myself, and enjoy any humour that there may happen to be in it. Ha. Ha.

Mrs. Beltham: It’s a very generous way to take it.

Squire: Not a bit. It does us good to be made fools of now and again. It makes us sharper. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Mrs. Muncheon looks to see what he is laughing at.

I’m laughing at those tricks that Sliggen played on us. If I’m made a fool of, someone is bound to laugh. It may as well be me.

Mrs. Muncheon: That’s a very good way to take it. I’ve just been feeling that I could never go into that church again after the way I’d been taken in by all his tricks.

Squire: No, no. Just laugh.

Mrs. Muncheon: Well he was really very silly.

Squire: Very silly indeed.

Mrs. Muncheon laughs.

Mr. Pursnip: He fooled the lot of us.

He laughs too. Of those that are not now laughing with the Squire, Mrs. Beltham and the Chaplain are smiling as broadly as they think is permissible; indeed the Chaplain is laughing softly. Even the Bishop is smiling a little. Mrs. Pursnip alone is looking sore and angry. She looks from face to face, then suddenly breaks into laughter, even the louder for her delay.

Bishop: Yes, I am afraid he tricked us.

Mrs. Upshott is happy to see the party so merry and adds her own quiet titters. The door opens and the uproar is hastily stifled, but the recent laughter is as unmistakable as would be a fire on the carpet that they had just put out.

Enter Vicar. He was coming in humble before the great congratulations that he thought he was about to receive. He stares from face to face, while no one speaks, being busy with the suppression of their laughter. Then in the silence is heard a long laugh off.

Vicar: Who’s that laughing?

But no one else has heard it.

Bishop: No. No, I heard nothing.

Chaplain: No. I can’t hear it.

Vicar: Listen. (Another peal.) There.

Chaplain: I hear nothing. Do you?

Mr. Pursnip (almost laughing): No.

They honestly don’t hear it. The Vicar stands long in thoughtful silence; then sits down.

Vicar: Then, let’s all laugh!

He laughs rather bitterly, and they as though rather enjoying the joke that has been played on them. The Chaplain with hearty laughs goes up and slaps him on the back.

Curtain