Читать книгу Jack Straw: A Farce in Three Acts - W. Somerset Maugham - Страница 7

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Scene: The lounge and winter garden of the Grand Babylon Hotel. There are palms and flowers in profusion, and numbers of little tables, surrounded each by two or three chairs. Several people are seated, drinking coffee and liqueurs. At the back a flight of steps leads to the restaurant, separated from the winter garden by a leaded glass partition and swinging doors. In the restaurant a band is playing.

Two or three waiters in uniform are standing about or serving customers.

Ambrose Holland and Lady Wanley come out from the restaurant. He is a well-dressed, elegant man of five and thirty. She is a handsome widow of uncertain age.

Lady Wanley.

[Pausing at the foot of the steps.] Where shall we sit?

Holland.

Let us choose a retired corner where we can gossip in peace.

Lady Wanley.

Nonsense! I didn’t come to the Grand Babylon in order to blush unseen. I caught sight of a number of people during luncheon, who I’m quite determined shall catch sight of me now.

Holland.

I was sufficiently gallant to have eyes for you only.

Lady Wanley.

[Pointing to a table.] Shall we sit there?

Holland.

D’you mind sitting on the other side? The waiter’s rather a pal of mine.

Lady Wanley.

[Sitting down.] What queer friends you have.

Holland.

Waiter.

A Waiter.

[Coming forward.] Your waiter will be here in one minute, sir.

Holland.

[To Lady Wanley.] You see, I’ve knocked about in so many places that I have friends in every city in the world and every rank in life.

Lady Wanley.

I suppose you saw the Parker-Jennings? They were sitting three tables from us.

Holland.

I did.

Lady Wanley.

Do you know that she cut me dead when I came in?

Holland.

I’ve long told you that Mrs. Parker-Jennings is growing exclusive.

Lady Wanley.

But, my dear Ambrose, that she should have the impudence to cut me....

Holland.

[Smiling.] I respect her for it.

Lady Wanley.

I’m much obliged to you.

Holland.

I don’t think it does much credit to her heart, but it certainly does to her understanding. She has discovered that a title nowadays is not nearly such a good passport to the world of fashion as she thought it was. She knows you’re as poor as a church mouse, and she’s realised that in Society the poor are quite rightly hated and despised by all who know them.

Lady Wanley.

Yes, but remember the circumstances. Five years ago the Parker-Jennings didn’t know a soul in the world. They’d lived in Brixton all their lives.

Holland.

It has been whispered to me that in those days they were known as Mr. and Mrs. Bob Jennings—not nearly so smart, is it?

Lady Wanley.

He used to go to the City every morning with a black bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

Holland.

I wish that confounded waiter would come.

Lady Wanley.

One day an uncle in the North, from whom they vaguely had expectations, died suddenly and left them nearly two millions.

Holland.

Some people are so lucky in the way they choose their uncles.

Lady Wanley.

He was a hardware manufacturer, and no one dreamt that he had a tenth part of that fortune. I came across them in Switzerland and found they were looking for a house.

Holland.

So, with a burst of hospitality, you asked them down to Taverner, and they took it for twenty-one years.

Lady Wanley.

I introduced them to every one in the county. I gave little parties so that they might meet people. And now, if you please, the woman cuts me.

Holland.

[Dryly.] You have left out an essential detail in the account of your relations with these good folk.

Lady Wanley.

Have I?

Holland.

[Smiling.] You have omitted to mention that when they took Taverner they agreed to pay an exorbitant rent.

Lady Wanley.

They could well afford it. Besides, it was a historic place. It was worth whatever I could get for it.

Holland.

Parker-Jennings may be very vulgar, but he’s as shrewd a man as you’d find anywhere between Park Lane and Jerusalem.

Lady Wanley.

I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about.

Holland.

Haven’t you? Well, then, I venture to suggest that if Mr. Parker-Jennings gave you such an enormous rent for Taverner, it was on a certain understanding. He was wise enough to find out that people can live in Cheshire all their lives and never know a soul. I don’t suppose he put it in the agreement between you, but unless I am very much mistaken he took your place only on the condition that you should get every one to call.

Lady Wanley.

[After a brief pause.] I was crippled with mortgages, and I had to send my boys to Eton.

Holland.

Good heavens, I’m not blaming you. I only wish to point out that if you introduced Mrs. Jennings to your friends, it was a matter of business rather than of sentiment.

Lady Wanley.

[With a little laugh.] I suppose you think it’s very natural that she should wish to kick away the ladder by which she climbed.

[A Waiter comes up to Holland.

Waiter (Jack Straw).

Yes, sir.

Holland.

Two coffees and two Benedictines. But you’re not my usual waiter. Where’s Pierre?

Waiter.

[Blandly.] He’s attending the funeral of an elderly female relative, sir.

[Holland looks up quickly, and then stares in a puzzled way.

Holland.

I seem to know your face. Have I seen you anywhere?

Waiter.

[With a smile.] Mr. Ambrose Holland, I think.

Holland.

Jack Straw! What on earth are you doing here?

Jack Straw.

My dear fellow, it is possible to be no less of a philosopher in the uniform of a waiter at the Grand Babylon Hotel than in the gown of a professor at the University of Oxford.

[He goes out.

Lady Wanley.

[Laughing.] It’s really very odd that waiters should address you as my dear fellow.

Holland.

What an extraordinary encounter!

Lady Wanley.

Please tell me who your friend is.

Holland.

I haven’t the ghost of an idea.

Lady Wanley.

My dear Ambrose.

Holland.

I first met him in the States. I was in considerable financial difficulties in those days—it’s three or four years ago now—and I got a small part in a travelling company. Jack Straw was a member of it, and we became great friends.

Lady Wanley.

Is that his name?

Holland.

So he assures me.

Lady Wanley.

It’s very improbable, isn’t it?

Holland.

Very. I believe Jack Straw was a highwayman, or something like that, and he’s given his name to a public-house in Hampstead.

Lady Wanley.

He must be an extraordinary man.

Holland.

He is. I don’t know whether I admire most his self-assurance or his resourcefulness. I spent with him the last two years before my ship came home. We had some pretty rough times together, but he was a pillar of strength. Difficulties seemed to arise only that he might surmount them.

Lady Wanley.

He sounds quite splendid.

Holland.

The worst of living with him was that you had no breathing-time. He’s a man with an uncontrollable love of adventure. Prosperity bores him to death, and time after time, when we’d managed to get out of rough water into smooth, he’d throw up everything for some wild goose chase.

Lady Wanley.

But who are his people?

Holland.

Heaven only knows. I know he isn’t English, though he speaks it wonderfully.

Lady Wanley.

Is he by way of being a gentleman?

Holland.

I can only tell you that he’s thoroughly at home in whatever society he finds himself.

Lady Wanley.

I daresay that’s not a bad definition of a gentleman.

Holland.

He’s sailed before the mast, been a bar-tender in New York, and an engine-driver on the Canadian Pacific. He’s been a miner up in the Klondyke, and he’s worked on a ranch in Texas. And if he’s a waiter now, I daresay he’ll be an organ-grinder next week, and a company-promoter the week after. I’ve seen half a dozen fortunes within his grasp, and he’s let them all slip through his fingers from sheer indifference to money.

Lady Wanley.

Here he is with the coffee.

[Jack Straw comes in with coffee and liqueurs.

Holland.

I should be overwhelmed with confusion at allowing you to wait on me, if I did not feel certain that it appeals enormously to your sense of humour.

Jack Straw.

It has occurred to me that you will feel a natural hesitation about giving me a tip. I may as well tell you at once that I shall feel none about taking it.

Holland.

It’s thoughtful of you to warn me. How much do I owe you?

Jack Straw.

Two shillings the coffee and three shillings the liqueur. The prices seem exorbitant to me, but I suppose people must expect to pay for the privilege of letting their friends see them at the best hotel in Europe.

Holland.

[Putting down a coin.] Don’t bother about the change.

Jack Straw.

Half a sovereign. My dear fellow, when you offer me a tip of five shillings you are presuming unwarrantably on our former acquaintance.

Holland.

[Helplessly.] I’m sure I beg your pardon.

Jack Straw.

I will keep one shilling as an adequate remuneration for my services and return you four.

Holland.

I am overpowered by your condescension.

Jack Straw.

[To Lady Wanley, who has put a cigarette in her mouth.] Light, madam?

Holland.

I should like to ask you to sit down.

Jack Straw.

It would be eminently improper. Besides, I have other tables to attend to. But I shall be delighted to dine with you to-night if you have no other engagement.

Holland.

It’s very kind of you. But will not your duties here detain you?... Mr. Straw—Lady Wanley.

Jack Straw.

[Bowing.] How do you do. I’m only engaged here for the afternoon. Your ladyship is aware that the lower orders make a speciality in the decease of elderly female relatives.

Lady Wanley.

I have often been impressed by the piety with which they bury their maternal grandmothers.

Jack Straw.

It appears that Pierre, an old acquaintance of mine, wished to attend the funeral of a widowed aunt, the relic of an egg importer in Soho, and a highly respectable person.

Lady Wanley.

I can well imagine that nothing could be more respectable than to import eggs to Soho.

Jack Straw.

The head-waiter, who is an excellent fellow, with female relatives of his own, promised to overlook his absence if he could find a substitute. Pierre, like myself, is a person of somewhat striking physique and could find no one able to wear his clothes. He confided his distress to me, and I, knowing that his uniform would fit me like a glove offered, at once to step into the—breach.

Holland.

I am relieved to hear that your appearance in this capacity is not due to embarrassed circumstances.

Jack Straw.

I deplore the hastiness of your reasoning. My circumstances are excessively embarrassed. Excuse me, I see some people who are proposing to sit at one of my tables.

[Meanwhile people have been coming down from the restaurant and sitting at the various tables. Waiters have been handing them coffee. Horton Withers and Mrs. Withers come down, accompanied by the Rev. Lewis Abbott and Mrs. Abbott (Rosie). Jack Straw leaves Holland and Lady Wanley to attend to some people.

Lady Wanley.

There are the Withers. Why, they’ve got Rosie with them and her husband.

[She gets up and goes towards the Withers, who are honest, simple people, not distinguished, but good-natured and kindly. Lewis Abbott is a nice-looking, frank young parson. Rosie is very pretty and fragile. She is simply dressed.

Lady Wanley.

[Smiling to Rosie.] My dear, what are you doing in this sink of iniquity? I am surprised to see you. And Lewis!

[She shakes hands, evidently delighted to see them.

Withers.

We’ve brought them up to London for a little jaunt.

Holland.

Won’t you all sit at our table? There’s plenty of room.

Withers.

That’s very kind of you. [To his wife.] Fanny, you know Mr. Holland.

Mrs. Withers.

Yes, of course I do. How do you do, Lady Wanley.

Lady Wanley.

How do you do? Now you two young things must sit one on each side of me, and you must tell me all about Taverner.

Rosie.

Oh, we’re so happy there, and everything’s beautiful, and we just love the house.

Lady Wanley.

I don’t believe you know Mr. Holland. Ambrose, this is Rosie, Jasper Neville’s daughter. You knew him well, didn’t you?

Holland.

Of course I did.

Lady Wanley.

And this is Rosie’s husband and my new Vicar at Taverner.

Abbott.

It makes me feel awfully grand.

Lady Wanley.

I adore them both, so you must like them. These dear things were waiting to be married. Lewis was a curate in some dreadfully shabby suburb, and he’s a saint.

Abbott.

I wish you wouldn’t say such absurd things about me.

Lady Wanley.

Nonsense. He’s a saint, but quite a modern nice sort of saint, who plays cricket and doesn’t wear a hair shirt. And of course he couldn’t marry Rosie, who hadn’t a penny to bless herself with, but Providence came to the rescue and carried off our old Vicar with influenza.

Rosie.

What dreadful things you say, Lady Wanley!

Lady Wanley.

And the living’s in my gift, so I gave it to them, and there they are.

Rosie.

You have been nice to us.

Lady Wanley.

My dears, you’re the only really good people I’ve ever known in my life. I used to think my boys were till they went to Eton, and now I know they’re devils.

Withers.

We’re all under a debt of gratitude to you, Lady Wanley. Every one worships them in the parish.

Abbott.

Every one’s been very jolly, and they all try to make things easy for us.

Mrs. Withers.

You know, they will work so hard, we could hardly persuade them to come up to London for two or three days.

Withers.

I daresay you’ve heard that we’ve taken a little place near Taverner.

Holland.

Lady Wanley was telling me at luncheon.

Lady Wanley.

[To Rosie.] And are you enjoying yourself in London, darling?

Rosie.

[Enthusiastically.] Oh, it’s simply splendid. You don’t know what a treat it is to us to come to the Grand Babylon. It makes us feel so smart. And to-night we’re going to the Gaiety.

Lady Wanley.

[To Withers.] It’s very nice of you to be so good to these young people.

Mrs. Withers.

It’s a pleasure to us to see how they enjoy everything.

Rosie.

D’you know the Parker-Jennings are here? Isn’t it nice? They will be surprised when they see us, won’t they, Lewis?

Mrs. Withers.

[With a little sniff.] I see Maria Jennings has got a lord with her.

Holland.

Serlo, isn’t it? I thought I saw him.

Withers.

I suppose you know they’re trying to hook him for Ethel?

Lady Wanley.

Good heavens!

Mrs. Withers.

[With a shrug of the shoulders.] As long as he’s a Marquess, and he’s that all right, Maria Jennings don’t mind the rest.

Lady Wanley.

I hope Ethel will refuse to have anything to do with him.

Rosie.

She’s a dear, isn’t she? I’m so fond of her, and she’s simply devoted to Lewis.

Lady Wanley.

My dear, do you never say anything against any one?

Rosie.

[With a laugh.] Seldom. Everybody’s so nice.

Lady Wanley.

It must make conversation very difficult. But Ethel is a charming girl, and I shouldn’t like her to fall into the hands of that disgraceful young rip.

Mrs. Withers.

She’s the only one of the family who hasn’t had her head turned by all the money.

Lady Wanley.

Of course you knew Mrs. Jennings before she was the exalted person she is now.

Mrs. Withers.

Bless you, I’ve known her all my life. We went to the Brixton High School together, and I was a bridesmaid at her wedding. Why, we used to be popping in and out of one another’s houses all day long.

Withers.

And now, if you please, she’ll hardly look at us.

Abbott.

I’m afraid people don’t much like her at Taverner, but she’s done everything she could for us, and they’re awfully generous.

Rosie.

I don’t care what anybody says about her, she’s been perfectly sweet to me. She told me that I might come to the Hall whenever I wanted to, and I’m always dropping in to lunch there.

Lady Wanley.

Oh well, if they’re nice to you, I forgive them. Mrs. Jennings can cut me till she’s blue in the face.

Rosie.

Oh look, there’s the Count.

[A distinguished-looking old man comes out of the restaurant and walks slowly down the steps.

Lady Wanley.

It’s Adrian von Bremer. How on earth d’you know him?

Rosie.

I don’t, but he’s rented a place in Cheshire, and he came to church once.

Lady Wanley.

It’s the Pomeranian Ambassador, you know.

Mrs. Withers.

I know him well by sight.

Lady Wanley.

I wish he’d come and talk to us. I should like to introduce Lewis to him.

Holland.

He’s as blind as a bat. I don’t suppose he’ll see us.

[Meanwhile Von Bremer has reflectively put an eyeglass in his eye, and looks round as he walks out. He catches sight of Lady Wanley, and smiling, comes up to her.

Von Bremer.

How do you do.

Holland.

You look as if you were just going.

Von Bremer.

I am. I had my coffee in the restaurant.

Lady Wanley.

What is the news in Pomerania?

Von Bremer.

None except that our Emperor is growing old. All these domestic troubles of his are breaking him down.

Lady Wanley.

Poor old thing.

Holland.

I suppose nothing has been heard of the Archduke Sebastian?

Von Bremer.

Nothing. We’ve given up the search.

Holland.

[To Lady Wanley.] You remember that affair, don’t you? There was some quarrel in the domestic circle, and the Archduke Sebastian suddenly disappeared—four years ago, now, isn’t it?—and hasn’t been heard of since. He simply vanished into thin air.

Lady Wanley.

But how do you know he’s alive?

Von Bremer.

Every Christmas the Emperor receives a letter from him, sent from different parts of the world, saying he’s well and happy.

Lady Wanley.

It’s really very romantic. I wonder what on earth he’s doing.

Von Bremer.

Heaven only knows.

Lady Wanley.

Tell me, how is that nice young attaché of yours that I met at luncheon the other day.

Von Bremer.

The nice young attaché has come to a bad end. I’ve had to send him back to Pomerania.

Lady Wanley.

Really?

Von Bremer.

The story is rather entertaining. There’s an American woman here who has a passion for titles, and it occurred to my attaché one day to introduce his valet to her as Count So-and-So. Of course she was full of attentions and immediately asked the valet to dinner. Presently the story came to my ears. I really couldn’t have my attachés playing practical jokes of that sort, and so I sent him home.

Lady Wanley.

Poor boy, he was so nice.

Von Bremer.

Good-bye.

Lady Wanley.

Oh, may I introduce Mr. Abbott to you. He’s your new Vicar at Taverner. And this is Mrs. Abbott. You must be very nice to her.

Von Bremer.

I’m delighted to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful stories of your good works in the parish.

Abbott.

It’s very kind of you to say so.

Von Bremer.

[To Rosie.] If you will allow me I should like to call on you when I come down to Cheshire.

Rosie.

I shall be so pleased to see you.

Von Bremer.

Good-bye.

[He bows and goes out.

Rosie.

Wasn’t it nice of him to say he’d call? You know, he never goes anywhere.

Withers.

I can see Mrs. Jennings’ face when she hears that the Count has been to see you, my dear.

Holland.

Why do you say that?

Mrs. Withers.

The Count lives next door to them in the country, and they’ve moved heaven and earth to know him, but he simply won’t look at them. Maria would give her eyes if he’d call on her.

Rosie.

How can you say such horrid things about her!