Arthur.
Don’t be unjust to him, Violet. I think he fell in love with you without knowing what was happening to him. And when he knew I think he struggled against it as honourably as you did. You know that very little escapes me. I’ve seen a sort of shyness in him when he was with me, as though he were a little ashamed in my presence. I even felt sorry for him because he felt he was behaving badly to me and he couldn’t help himself. He’s suffered just as much as you have. It’s not very strange that when this girl fell in love with him it should seem to offer a new hope. He was unhappy and she comforted him. Anne says she’s rather like you. If ever he loves her perhaps it will be you that he loves in her.
Violet.
Why do you say all this to me?
Arthur.
You’ve been so wretched. I don’t want bitterness to come to you now. I can’t bear that you should think your first love has been for someone not worthy of it. I think time will heal the wounds which now you think are incurable, but when it does I hope that you will look back on your love as a thing only of beauty.
Violet.
I am a beast, Arthur. I don’t deserve anyone to be so good to me as you are.
Arthur.
And there’s something else I must tell you.... It appears that various enterprising people have been laying plans to put me out of the way.
Violet.
[Startled.] Arthur!
Arthur.
I find that there was a plot to kill me this morning on my way to the review.
Violet.
How awful!
Arthur.
Oh, it’s nothing to be alarmed about. We’ve settled everything without any fuss. Our old friend Osman Pasha is going to spend some time on his country estates for the good of his health, and half a dozen foolish young men are under lock and key. But it might have come off except for Ronny. It was Ronny who saved me.
Violet.
Ronny? Oh, I’m so glad. It makes up a little for the rest.
Arthur.
He did a fine thing. He showed determination and presence of mind.
Violet.
Oh, my husband! My dear, dear Arthur!
Arthur.
You’re not sorry?
Violet.
I’m glad I’ve done what I have, Arthur. I’ve sometimes felt I gave you so little in return for all you’ve given me. But at least now I’ve given you all I had to give.
Arthur.
Don’t think it will be profitless. To do one’s duty sounds a rather cold and cheerless business, but somehow in the end it does give one a queer sort of satisfaction.
Violet.
What should I do if I lost you? It makes me sick with fear.
Arthur.
[With a tender smile.] I had an idea you’d be glad I escaped.
Violet.
All I’ve suffered has been worth while. I’ve done something for you, haven’t I? And even something for England ... I’m so tired.
Arthur.
Why don’t you go to bed, darling?
Violet.
No, I don’t want to go yet. I’m too tired. Let me stay here a little longer.
Arthur.
Put your feet up.
Violet.
Come and sit close to me, Arthur. I want to be comforted. You’re so good and kind to me, Arthur. I’m so glad I have you. You will never fail me.
Arthur.
Never. [She gives a little shudder.] What’s the matter?
Violet.
I hope he’ll marry her quickly. I want to be a good wife to you. I want your love. I want your love so badly.
Arthur.
My dear one.
Violet.
Put your arms round me. I’m so tired.
Arthur.
You’re half asleep.... Are you asleep?
[Her eyes are closed. He kisses her gently. In the distance there is heard again the melancholy wail of a Bedouin love-song.]
THE END
EAST OF SUEZ
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
SCENE I
SCENE II
SCENE III
SCENE IV
SCENE V
SCENE VI
SCENE VII
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
Daisy
George Conway
Henry Anderson
Harold Knox
Lee Tai Cheng
Sylvia Knox
Amah
Wu
The action of the play takes place in Peking
SCENES
SCENE
PAGE
I
A STREET IN PEKING
11
II
A SMALL VERANDAH ON AN UPPER STOREY OF THE BRITISH AMERICAN TOBACCO COMPANY’S PREMISES
17
III
THE TEMPLE OF FIDELITY AND VIRTUOUS INCLINATION
37
IV
THE SITTING-ROOM IN THE ANDERSONS’ APARTMENTS
59
V
THE COURTYARD IN THE ANDERSONS’ PART OF THE TEMPLE
81
VI
A SMALL ROOM IN A CHINESE HOUSE IN PEKING
101
VII
THE SITTING-ROOM IN THE ANDERSONS’ APARTMENTS
121
SCENE I
Scene: A street in Peking
Several shops are shown. Their fronts are richly decorated with carved wood painted red and profusely gilt. The counters are elaborately carved. Outside are huge sign-boards. The shops are open to the street and you can see the various wares they sell. One is a coffin shop, where the coolies are at work on a coffin: other coffins, ready for sale, are displayed; some of them are of plain deal, others are rich, with black and gold. The next shop is a money changer’s. Then there is a lantern shop in which all manner of coloured lanterns are hanging. After this comes a druggist where there are queer things in bottles and dried herbs. A small stuffed crocodile is a prominent object. Next to this is a shop where crockery is sold, large coloured jars, plates, and all manner of strange animals. In all the shops two or three Chinamen are seated. Some read newspapers through great horn spectacles; some smoke water pipes.
The street is crowded. Here is an itinerant cook with his two chests, in one of which is burning charcoal: he serves out bowls of rice and condiments to the passers-by who want food. There is a barber with the utensils of his trade. A coolie, seated on a stool, is having his head shaved. Chinese walk to and fro.
Some are coolies and wear blue cotton in various stages of raggedness; some in black gowns and caps and black shoes are merchants and clerks. There is a beggar, gaunt and thin, with an untidy mop of bristly hair, in tatters of indescribable filthiness. He stops at one of the shops and begins a long wail. For a time no one takes any notice of him, but presently on a word from the fat shopkeeper an assistant gives him a few cash and he wanders on. Coolies, half naked, hurry by, bearing great bales on their yokes. They utter little sharp cries for people to get out of their way. Peking carts with their blue hoods rumble noisily along. Rickshaws pass rapidly in both directions, and the rickshaw boys shout for the crowd to make way. In the rickshaws are grave Chinese. Some are dressed in white ducks after the European fashion; in other rickshaws are Chinese women in long smocks and wide trousers or Manchu ladies, with their faces painted like masks, in embroidered silks. Women of various sorts stroll about the street or enter the shops. You see them chaffering for various articles.
A water-carrier passes along with a creaking barrow, slopping the water as he goes; an old blind woman, a masseuse, advances slowly, striking wooden clappers to proclaim her calling. A musician stands on the curb and plays a tuneless melody on a one-stringed fiddle. From the distance comes the muffled sound of gongs. There is a babel of sound caused by the talking of all these people, by the cries of coolies, the gong, the clappers, and the fiddle. From burning joss-sticks in the shops in front of the household god comes a savour of incens
e.
A couple of Mongols ride across on shaggy ponies; they wear high boots and Astrakhan caps. Then a string of camels sways slowly down the street. They carry great burdens of skins from the deserts of Mongolia. They are accompanied by wild looking fellows. Two stout Chinese gentlemen are giving their pet birds an airing; the birds are attached by the leg with a string and sit on little wooden perches. The two Chinese gentlemen discuss their merits. Round about them small boys play. They run hither and thither pursuing one another amid the crowd.
END OF SCENE I
SCENE II
A small verandah on an upper storey of the British American Tobacco Company’s premises, the upper part of which the staff lives in. At the back are heavy arches of whitewashed masonry and a low wall which serves as a parapet. Green blinds are drawn. There is a bamboo table on which are copies of illustrated papers. A couple of long bamboo chairs and two or three smaller arm chairs. The floor is tiled.
On one of the long chairs Harold Knox is lying asleep. He is a young man of pleasing appearance. He wears white ducks, but he has taken off his coat, which lies on a chair, and his collar and tie and pin. They are on the table by his side. He is troubled by a fly and, half waking but with his eyes still closed, tries to drive it away.
Knox. Curse it. [He opens his eyes and yawns.] Boy!
Wu. [Outside.] Ye.
Knox. What’s the time?
[Wu comes in; he is a Chinese servant in a long white gown with a black cap on his head. He bears a tray on which is a bottle of whisky, a glass and a syphon.]
Wu. My no sabe.
Knox. Anyhow it’s time for a whisky and soda. [Wu puts the tray down on the table. Knox smiles.] Intelligent anticipation. Model servant and all that sort of thing. [Wu pours out the whisky.] You don’t care if I drink myself to death, Wu — do you? [Wu smiles, showing all his teeth.] Fault of the climate. Give me the glass. [Wu does so.] You’re like a mother to me, Wu. [He drinks and puts down the glass.] By George, I feel another man. The bull-dog breed, Wu. Never say die. Rule Britannia. Pull up the blinds, you lazy blighter. The sun’s off and the place is like a oven.
[Wu goes over and pulls up one blind after the other. An expanse of blue sky is seen. Henry Anderson comes in. He is a man of thirty, fair, good-looking, with a pleasant, honest face. His obvious straightforwardness and sincerity make him attractive.]
Harry. [Breezily.] Hulloa, Harold, you seem to be taking it easy.
Knox. There was nothing to do in the office and I thought I’d get in my beauty sleep while I had the chance.
Harry. I thought you had your beauty sleep before midnight.
Knox. I’m taking time by the forelock so as to be on the safe side.
Harry. Are you going on the loose again to-night?
Knox. Again, Henry?
Harry. You were blind last night.
Knox. [With great satisfaction.] Paralytic.... Hulloa, who’s this? [He catches sight of the Amah who has just entered. She is a little, thin, wrinkled, elderly Chinawoman in a long smock and trousers. She has gold pins in her sleek black hair. When she sees she has been noticed she smiles obsequiously.] Well, fair charmer, what can we do for you?
Harry. What does she want, Wu?
Knox. Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?
Amah. My Missy have pay my letter.
Harry. [With sudden eager interest.] Are you Mrs. Rathbone’s amah? Have you got a letter for me?
Amah. My belong Missy Rathbone amah.
Harry. Well, hurry up, don’t be all night about it. Lend me a dollar, Harold. I want to give it to the old girl.
[The Amah takes a note out of her sleeve and gives it to Harry. He opens it and reads.
Knox. I haven’t got a dollar. Give her a chit or ask Wu. He’s the only man I know who’s got any money.
Harry. Let me have a dollar, Wu. Chop-chop.
Wu. My go catchee.
[He goes out. The Amah is standing near the table. While Knox and Harry go on talking she notices Knox’s pin. She smiles and smiles and makes little bows to the two men, but at the same time her hand cautiously reaches out for the pin and closes on it. Then she secretes it in her sleeve.
Harry. I thought you were going to play tennis this afternoon.
Knox. So I am later on.
Harry. [Smiling.] Do it now, dear boy. That is a precept a business man should never forget.
Knox. I should hate to think you wanted to be rid of me.
Harry. I dote on your company, but I feel that I mustn’t be selfish.
Knox. [Pulling his leg.] To tell you the truth I don’t feel very fit to-day.
Harry. A little bilious, I dare say. Half a dozen hard sets are just what you want. [He hands Knox his coat.]
Knox. What is this?
Harry. Your coat.
Knox. You’re making yourself almost more distressingly plain than nature has already made you.
[Wu comes back and hands Harry a dollar, and then goes out. Harry gives the dollar to the Amah.
Harry. Here’s a dollar for you, amah. You go back to missy and tell her it’s all right and will she come chop-chop. Sabe?
Amah. My sabe. Goo’-bye.
Knox. God bless you, dearie. It’s done me good to see your winsome little face.
Harry. [With a smile.] Shut up, Harold.
[The Amah with nods, smiles and bows, goes out.
Knox. Harry, my poor friend, is it possible that you have an assignation?
Harry. What is possible is that if you don’t get out quick I’ll throw you out.
Knox. Why didn’t you say you were expecting a girl?
Harry. I’m not; I’m expecting a lady.
Knox. Are you sure you know how to behave? If you’d like me to stay and see you don’t do the wrong thing I’ll chuck my tennis. I’m always ready to sacrifice myself for a friend.
Harry. Has it struck you that the distance from the verandah to the street is very considerable?
Knox. And the pavement is hard. I flatter myself I can take a hint. I wonder where the devil my pin is. I left it on the table.
Harry. I expect Wu put it away.
Knox. It’s much more likely that old woman pinched it.
Harry. Oh, nonsense. She wouldn’t dream of such a thing. I believe Mrs. Rathbone’s had her for ages.
Knox. Who is Mrs. Rathbone?
Harry. [Not wishing to be questioned.] A friend of mine.
[George Conway comes in. He is a tall, dark man in the early thirties. He is a handsome, well-built fellow, of a somewhat rugged appearance, but urbane and self-assured.
George. May I come in?
Harry. [Eagerly, shaking him warmly by the hand.] At last. By Jove, it’s good to see you again. You know Knox, don’t you?
George. I think so.
Knox. I wash bottles in the B. A. T. I don’t expect the legation bloods to be aware of my existence.
George. [With a twinkle in his eye.] I don’t know that an Assistant Chinese Secretary is such a blood as all that.
Knox. You’ve just been down to Fuchow, haven’t you?
George. Yes, I only got back this morning.
Knox. Did you see Freddy Baker by any chance?
George. Yes, poor chap.
Knox. Oh, I’ve got no pity for him. He’s just a damned fool.
Harry. Why?
Knox. Haven’t you heard? He’s married a half-caste.
Harry. What of it? I believe she’s a very pretty girl.
Knox. I daresay she is. But hang it all, he needn’t have married her.
George. I don’t think it was a very wise thing to do.
Harry. I should have thought all those prejudices were out of date. Why shouldn’t a man marry a half-caste if he wants to?
Knox. It can’t be very nice to have a wife whom even the missionary ladies turn up their noses at.
Harry. [With a shrug of the shoulders.] You wait till Freddy’s number one in Hankow and can entertain. I bet the white ladies will be
glad enough to know his missus then.
George. Yes, but that’s just it. He’ll never get a good job with a Eurasian wife.
Harry. He’s in Jardine’s, isn’t he? Do you mean to say it’s going to handicap a man in a shipping firm because he’s married a woman who’s partly Chinese?
George. Of course it is. Jardine’s are about the most important firm in China and the manager of one of their principal branches has definite social obligations. Freddy Baker will be sent to twopenny halfpenny outports where his wife doesn’t matter.
Knox. I think he’s damned lucky if he’s not asked to resign.
Harry. It’s cruel. His wife may be a charming and cultivated woman.
Knox. Have you ever known a half-caste that was?
Harry. I have.
Knox. Well, I’ve been in this country for seven years and I’ve never met one, male or female, that didn’t give me the shivers.
Harry. I’ve no patience with you. You’re a perfect damned fool.
Knox. [A little surprised, but quite good-humoured.] You’re getting rather excited, aren’t you?
Harry. [Hotly.] I hate injustice.
George. Do you think it really is injustice? The English are not an unkindly race. If they’ve got a down on half-castes there are probably very good grounds for it.
Harry. What are they?
Knox. We don’t much like their morals, but we can’t stick their manners.
George. Somehow or other they seem to inherit all the bad qualities of the two races from which they spring and none of the good ones. I’m sure there are exceptions, but on the whole the Eurasian is vulgar and noisy. He can’t tell the truth if he tries.
Knox. To do him justice, he seldom tries.
George. He’s as vain as a peacock. He’ll cringe when he’s afraid of you and he’ll bully when he’s not. You can never rely on him. He’s crooked from the crown of his German hat to the toes of his American boots.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 417