by Tom Stoppard
Hannah: I mean, yet.
Bernard: Absolutely. What did they do with all the paper? Does Peacock say?
Hannah: Made a bonfire.
Bernard: Ah, well.
Hannah: I've still got Lady Croom's garden books to go through.
Bernard: Account books or journals?
Hannah: A bit of both. They're gappy but they span the period.
Bernard: Really? Have you come across Byron at all? As a matter of interest.
Hannah: A first edition of 'Childe Harold' in the library, and English Bards, I think.
Bernard: Inscribed?
Hannah: No.
Bernard: And he doesn't pop up in the letters at all?
Hannah: Why should he? The Crooms don't pop up in his.
Bernard: (Casually) That's true, of course. But Newstead isn't so far away. Would
you mind terribly if I poked about a bit? Only in the papers you've done with, of
course.
(Hannah twigs something.)
28
Hannah: Are you looking into Byron or Chater?
(Chloe enters in stockinged feet through one of the side doors, laden with an armful
of generally similar leather-covered ledgers. She detours to collect her shoes.)
Chloe: Sorry - just cutting through - there's tea in the pantry if you don't mind mugs
-
Bernard: How kind.
Chloe: Hannah will show you.
Bernard: Let me help you.
Chloe: No, it's all right - (Bernard opens the opposite door for her.) Thank you -
I've been saving Val's game books. Thanks.
(Bernard closes the door.)
Bernard: Sweet girl.
Hannah: Mmm.
Bernard: Oh, really?
Hannah: Oh really what?
(Chloe's door opens again and she puts her head round it.)
Chloe: Meant to say, don't worry if father makes remarks about >your car, Mr
Nightingale, he's got a thing about - (and the Nightingale now being out of the
bag) ooh - ah, how was the surprise? - not yet, eh? Oh, well - sorry - tea, anyway -
so sorry if I - (Embarrassed, she leaves again, closing the door.
Pause.)
Hannah: You absolute shit. (She heads off to leave.)
Bernard: The thing is, there's a Byron connection too.
(Hannah stops and faces him.)
Hannah: I don't care.
Bernard: You should. The Byron gang are going to get their dicks caught in their zip.
Hannah: (Pause) Oh really?
Bernard: If we collaborate.
Hannah: On what?
Bernard: Sit down, I'll tell you.
Hannah: I'll stand for the moment.
Bernard: This copy of The Couch of Eros' belonged to Lord Byron.
29
Hannah: It belonged to Septimus Hodge.
Bernard: Originally, yes. But it was in Byron's library which was sold to pay his
debts when he left England for good in 1816. The sales catalogue is in the British
Library. 'Eros' was lot 74A and was bought by the bookseller and publisher John
Nightingale of Opera Court, Pall Mall. . . whose name survives in the firm of
Nightingale and Matlock, the present Nightingale being my cousin. (He pauses.
Hannah hesitates and then sits down at the table.) I'll just give you the headlines.
1939, stock removed to Nightingale country house in Kent. 1945, stock returned to
bookshop. Meanwhile, overlooked box of early nineteenth-century books languish
in country house cellar until house sold to make way for the Channel Tunnel rail-
link. 'Eros' discovered with sales slip from 1816 attached - photocopy available for
inspection.
(He brings this from his bag and gives it to Hannah who inspects it.)
Hannah: All right. It was in Byron's library.
Bernard: A number of passages have been underlined. (Hannah picks up the book
and leafs through it.) All of them, and only them - no, no, look at me, not at the book - all the underlined passages, word for word, were used as quotations in the
review of 'The Couch of Eros' in the Piccadilly Recreation of April 30th 1809. The reviewer begins by drawing attention to his previous notice in the same periodical
of 'The Maid of Turkey'.
Hannah: The reviewer is obviously Hodge. 'My friend Septimus Hodge who stood
up and gave his best on behalf of the Author.'
Bernard: That's the point. The Piccadilly ridiculed both books.
Hannah: (Pause.) Do the reviews read like Byron?
Bernard: (Producing two photocopies from his case) They read a damn sight more
like Byron than Byron's review of Wordsworth the previous year. (Hannah glances
over the photocopies.)
Hannah: I see. Well, congratulations. Possibly. Two previously
30
unknown book reviews by the young Byron. Is that it?
Bernard: No. Because of the tapes, three documents survived undisturbed in the
book. (He has been carefully opening a package produced from his bag. He has the
originals. He holds them carefully one by one.) 'Sir - we have a matter to settle. I wait on you in the gun room. E. Chater, Esq.' 'My husband has sent to town for
pistols. Deny what cannot be proven - for Charity's sake -I keep my room this day.'
Unsigned. 'Sidley Park, April nth 1809. Sir,I call you a liar, a lecher, a slanderer in
the press and a thief of my honour. I wait upon your arrangements for giving me
satisfaction as a man and a poet. E. Chater, Esq.'
(Pause.)
Hannah: Superb. But inconclusive. The book had seven years to find its way into
Byron's possession. It doesn't connect Byron with Chater, or with Sidley Park. Or
with Hodge for that matter. Furthermore, there isn't a hint in Byron's letters and this
kind of scrape is the last thing he would have kept quiet about.
Bernard: Scrape?
Hannah: He would have made a comic turn out of it.
Bernard: Comic turn, fiddlesticks! (He pauses for effect.) He killed Chater!
Hannah: (A raspberry) Oh, really!
Bernard: Chater was thirty-one years old. The author of two books. Nothing more
is heard from him after 'Eros'. He disappears completely after April 1809. And
Byron - Byron had just published his satire, English Bards and Scotch
Reviewers, in March. He was just getting a name. Yet he sailed for Lisbon as soon as he could find a ship, and stayed abroad for two years. Hannah, this is
fame. Somewhere in the Croom papers there will be something -
Hannah: There isn't, I've looked.
Bernard: But you were looking for something else! It's not
31
going to jump out at you like 'Lord Byron remarked wittily at breakfast!'
Hannah: Nevertheless his presence would be unlikely to have gone unremarked.
But there is nothing to suggest that Byron was here, and I don't believe he ever was.
Bernard: All right, but let me have a look.
Hannah: You'll queer my pitch.
Bernard: Dear girl, I know how to handle myself-
Hannah: And don't call me dear girl. If I find anything on Byron, or Chater, or
Hodge, I'll pass it on. Nightingale, Sussex.
(Pause. She stands up.)
Bernard: Thank you. I'm sorry about that business with my name.
Hannah: Don't mention it...
Bernard: What was Hodge's college, by the way?
Hannah: Trinity.
Bernard: Trinity?
Hannah: Yes. (She hesitates.) Yes. Byron's old college.
Bernard: How old was Hodge?
Hannah: I'd have to look it up but a year or two older than Byron. Twenty-two .
. .
Bernard: Contemporaries at Trinity?
Hannah: (Wearily) Yes, Bernard, and no doubt they were both in the cricket eleven
when Harrow played Eton at Lords!
(Bernard approaches her and stands close to her.)
Bernard: (Evenly) Do you mean that Septimus Hodge was at school with Byron?
Hannah: (Falters slightly) Yes ... he must have been ... as a matter of fact.
Bernard: Well, you silly cow.
(With a large gesture of pure happiness, Bernard throws his arms around Hannah and gives her a great smacking kiss on the cheek. Chloe enters to witness the end of
this.)
Chloe: Oh - erm ... I thought I'd bring it to you.
(She is carrying a small tray with two mugs on it.)
Bernard: I have to go and see about my car.
Hannah: Going to hide it?
32
Bernard: Hide it? I'm going to sell it! Is there a pub I can put up at in the
village? (He turns back to them as he is about to leave through the garden.) Aren't
you glad I'm here?
(He leaves.)
Chloe: He said he knew you.
Hannah: He couldn't have.
Chloe: No, perhaps not. He said he wanted to be a surprise, but I suppose that's
different. I thought there was a lot of sexual energy there, didn't you?
Hannah: What?
Chloe: Bouncy on his feet, you see, a sure sign. Should I invite him for you?
Hannah: To what? No.
Chloe: You can invite him - that's better. He can come as your partner.
Hannah: Stop it. Thank you for the tea.
Chloe: If you don't want him, I'll have him. Is he married?
Hannah: I haven't the slightest idea. Aren't you supposed to have a pony?
Chloe: I'm just trying to fix you up, Hannah.
Hannah: Believe me, it gets less important.
Chloe: I mean for the dancing. He can come as Beau Brummel.
Hannah: I don't want to dress up and I don't want a dancing partner, least of all Mr Nightingale. I don't dance.
Chloe: Don't be such a prune. You were kissing him, anyway.
Hannah: He was kissing me, and only out of general enthusiasm.
Chloe: Well, don't say I didn't give you first chance. My genius brother will be
much relieved. He's in love with you, I suppose you know.
Hannah: (Angry) That's a joke!
Chloe: It's not a joke to him.
Hannah: Of course it is - not even a joke - how can you be so ridiculous?
(Gus enters from thegarden in his customary silent awkwardness.)
Chloe: Hello, Gus, what have you got?
33
(Gus has an apple, just picked, with a leaf or two still attached. He offers the apple
to Hannah.)
Hannah: (Surprised) Oh! . . . Thank you!
Chloe: (Leaving) Told you.
(Chloe closes the door on herself)
Hannah: Thank you. Oh dear.
34
SCENE THREE
The schoolroom. The next morning. Present are: Thomasina, Septimus, Jellaby. We
have seen this composition before: Thomasina at her place at the table; Septimus
reading a letter which has just arrived; Jellaby waiting, having just delivered the
letter. 'The Couch of Eros' is in front of Septimus, open, together with sheets of
paper on which he has been writing. His portfolio is on the table. Plautus (the
tortoise) is the paperweight. There is also an apple on the table now, the same
apple from all appearances.
Septimus: (With his eyes on the letter) Why have you stopped?
(Thomasina is studying a sheet of paper, a 'Latin unseen' lesson. She is having some difficulty.)
Thomasina: Solio insessa. . .in igne. . . seated on a throne... in the fire. . . and also on a ship... sedebat regina... sat the queen.. .
Septimus: There is no reply, Jellaby. Thank you. (He folds the letter up and places
it between the leaves of 'The Couch of Eros'.)
Jellaby: I will say so, sir.
Thomasina:. .. the wind smelling sweetly. . .purpureis velis. .. >by, with or from purple sails -
Septimus: (To Jellaby) I will have something for the post, if you would be so kind.
Jellaby: (Leaving) Yes, sir.
Thomasina:. . . was like as to- something -by, with or from lovers -oh, Septimus! -
musica tibiarum imperabat. . .music of pipes commanded ...
Septimus: 'Ruled' is better.
Thomasina: . . . the silver oars - exciting the ocean - as if - as if - amorous -
Septimus: That is very good.
(He picks up the apple. He picks off the twig and leaves, placing these on the table.
With a pocket knife he cuts a slice of apple, and while he eats it, cuts another slice
which he offers to Plautus.)
Thomasina: Regina reclinabat. . .the queen-was reclining-
35
praeter descriptionem - indescribably - in a golden tent. .. like Venus and yet more
-
Septimus: Try to put some poetry into it.
Thomasina: How can I if there is none in the Latin?
Septimus: Oh, a critic!
Thomasina: Is it Queen Dido?
Septimus: No.
Thomasina: Who is the poet?
Septimus: Known to you.
Thomasina: Known to me?
Septimus: Not a Roman.
Thomasina: Mr Chater?
Septimus: Your translation is quite like Chater.
(Septimus picks up his pen and continues with his own writing.)
Thomasina: I know who it is, it is your friend Byron.
Septimus: Lord Byron, if you please.
Thomasina: Mama is in love with Lord Byron.
Septimus: (Absorbed) Yes. Nonsense.
Thomasina: It is not nonsense. I saw them together in the gazebo. (Septimus's pen
stops moving, he raises his eyes to her at last.) Lord Byron was reading to her from his satire, and mama was laughing, with her head in her best position.
Septimus: She did not understand the satire, and was showing politeness to a guest.
Thomasina: She is vexed with papa for his determination to alter the park, but that
alone cannot account for her politeness to a guest. She came downstairs hours
before her custom. Lord Byron was amusing at breakfast. He paid you a tribute,
Septimus.
Septimus: Did he?
Thomasina: He said you were a witty fellow, and he had almost by heart an article
you wrote about - well, I forget what, but it concerned a book called The Maid of
Turkey' and how you would not give it to your dog for dinner.
Septimus: Ah. Mr Chater was at breakfast, of course.
Thomasina: He was, not like certain lazybones.
36
Septimus: He does not have Latin to set and mathematics to correct.
(He takes Thomasina's lesson book from underneath Plautus and tosses it down the
table to her.)
Thomasina: Correct? What was incorrect in it? (She looks into the book.) Alpha
minus? Pooh! What is the minus for?
Septimus: For doing more than was asked.
Thomasina: You did not like my discovery?
Septimus: A fancy is not a discovery.
Thomasina: A gibe is not a rebuttal. (Septimus finishes what he is writing. He folds
the pages into a letter. He has sealing wax and the means to melt it. He seals the
letter and writes on the cover. Meanwhile - ) You are churlish with me because
mama is paying attention to your friend. Well, let them elope, they cannot turn back
the advancement of knowledge. I think it is an excellent discovery. Each week I
plot your equations dot for dot, x's
against y's in all manner of algebraical relation,
and every week they draw themselves as commonplace geometry, as if the world of
forms were nothing but arcs and angles. God's truth, Septimus, if there is an
equation for a curve like a bell, there must be an equation for one like a bluebell,
and if a bluebell, why not a rose? Do we believe nature is written in numbers?
Septimus: We do.
Thomasina: Then why do your equations only describe the shapes of manufacture?
Septimus: I do not know.
Thomasina: Armed thus, God could only make a cabinet.
Septimus: He has mastery of equations which lead into infinities where we cannot
follow.
Thomasina: What a faint-heart! We must work outward from the middle of the
maze. We will start with something simple. (She picks up the apple leaf.) I will plot this leaf and deduce its equation. You will be famous for being my tutor when Lord
Byron is dead and forgotten.
(Septimus completes the business with his letter. He puts the letter in his pocket.)
37
Septimus: (Firmly) Back to Cleopatra.
Thomasina: Is it Cleopatra? -I hate Cleopatra!
Septimus: You hate her? Why?
Thomasina: Everything is turned to love with her. New love, absent love, lost love -
I never knew a heroine that makes such noodles of our sex. It only needs a Roman
general to drop anchor outside the window and away goes the empire like a
christening mug into a pawn shop. If Queen Elizabeth had been a Ptolemy history
would have been quite different -we would be admiring the pyramids of Rome and
the great Sphinx of Verona.
Septimus: God save us.
Thomasina: But instead, the Egyptian noodle made carnal embrace with the enemy
who burned the great library of Alexandria without so much as a fine for all that is
overdue. Oh, Septimus! - can you bear it? All the lost plays of the Athenians! Two
hundred at least by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides - thousands of poems -
Aristotle's own library brought to Egypt by the noodle's ancestors! How can we
sleep for grief?
Septimus: By counting our stock. Seven plays from Aeschylus, seven from
Sopocles, nineteen from Euripides, my lady! You should no more grieve for the
rest than for a buckle lost from your first shoe, or for your lesson book which will
be lost when you are old. We shed as we pick up, Like travellers who must carry
everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind.