by Tom Stoppard
(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
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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?
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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 thegardeny in his customary silent
awkwardness.) chloE: Hello, Gus, what have you got?
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(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.
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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. . .purpureisvelis. ..
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! -musicatibiarumimperabat. . .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.) 1HOMASINa: Regina reclinabat. . .the queen-was reclining-
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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.
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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.
(SEVTIMUS 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, xs against.ys 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.)
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Septimus: (Firmly) Back to Cleopatra.
thomasina: Is it Cleopatra? -1 hate Cleopatra!
Septimus: You hate her? Why?
thomasina: Everything is turned to love with her. New love, absent love, lost love -1 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, Uke travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew? I have no doubt that the improved steam-driven heat-engine which puts Mr Noakes into an ecstasy that he and it and the modern age should all coincide,
38
was described on papyrus. Steam and brass were not invented
in Glasgow. Now, where are we? Let me see if I can attempt a
free translation for you. At Harrow I was better at this than
Lord Byron.
(He takes the piece of paper from her and scrutinizes it, testing one
or two Latin phrases speculatively before committing himself.)
Yes - 'The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne...
burned on the water... the - something - the poop was
beaten gold, purple the sails, and - what's this? - oh yes, - so
perfumed that -thomasina: (Catching on and furious) Cheat! Septimus: (Imperturbably)'- the winds were lovesick with
them. ..' thomasina: Cheat! Septimus: '... the oars were silver which to the tune of flutes kept
stroke...' thomasina: (Jumping to her/eel)Cheat! Cheat! Cheat! SEPTIMUS: (As though it were too easy to make the effort worthwhile)
'... and made the water which they beat to follow faster, as
amorous of their strokes. For her own person, it beggared all
description - she did lie in her pavilion -'
(thomasina, in tears of rage, is hurrying out through the
garden.) thomasina: I hope you die!
(She nearly bumps into brice who is entering. She runs out of
sight, brice enters.) brice: Good God, man, what have you told her? Septimus: Told her? Told her what? brice: Hodge!
(SEPTIMUS looks outside the door, slightly contrite about
thomasina, and sees that chater is skulking out of view.) SEPTIMUS: Chater! My dearfellow! Don't hang back-come in,
sir!
(chater allows himself to be drawn sheepishly into the room,
where BRICE stands on his dignity.) chater: Captain Brice does me the honour-1 mean to say, sir,
whatever you have to say to me, sir, address yourself to
Captain Brice.
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Septimus: How unusual. (To brice) Your wife did not appear
yesterday, sir. I trust she is not sick? brice: My wife? I have no wife. What the devil do you mean, sir?
(SEPTIMUS makes to reply, but hesitates, puzzled. He turns back
to CHATER.)
SEPTIMUS: I do not understand the scheme, Chater. Whom do I address when I want to speak to Captain Brice?
brice: Oh, slippery, Hodge - slippery!
Septimus: (To chater) By the way, Chater - (he interrupts
himself and turns back to BRICE, and continues as before) by the way, Chater, I have amazing news to tell you. Someone has taken to writing wild and whirling letters in your name. I received one not half an hour ago.
brice: (Angrily) Mr Hodge! Look to your honour, sir! If you cannot attend to me without this foolery, nominate your second who might settle the business as between gentlemen. No doubt your friend Byron would do you the service. (Septimus gives up the game.)
Septimus: Oh yes, he would do me the service. (His mood
changes, he turns to chater.) Sir -1 repent your injury. You are an honest fellow with no more malice in you than poetry.
chater: (Happily) Ah well! - that is more like the thing! (Overtaken by doubt.) Is he apologizing?
brice: There is still the injury to his conjugal property, Mrs Chater's-
chater: Tush, sir!
brice: As you will - her tush. Nevertheless -
(But they are interrupted by lady croom, also entering from the garden.)
lady croom: Oh - excellently found! Mr Chater, this will please you very much. Lord Byron begs a copy of your new book. He dies to read it and intends to include your name in the second edition of his English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.
CHATER: English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, your ladyship, is a doggerel aimed at Lord Byron's seniors and betters. If he i
ntends to include me, he intends to insult me.
lady croom: Well, of course he does, Mr Chater. Would you rather be thought not worth insulting? You should be proud
40
to be in the company of Rogers and Moore and Wordsworth -ah! The Couch of Eros!' (For she has spotted Septimus's copy of the book on the table.)
Septimus: That is my copy, madam.
lady croom: So much the better - what are a friend's books for if not to be borrowed?
(Note: 'The Couch of Eros' now contains the three letters, and it must do so without advertising the fact. This is why the volume has been described as a substantial quarto.) Mr Hodge, you must speak to your friend and put him out of his affectation of pretending to quit us. I will not have it. He says he is determined on the Malta packet sailing out of Falmouth! His head is full of Lisbon and Lesbos, and his portmanteau of pistols, and I have told him it is not to be thought of. The whole of Europe is in a Napoleonic fit, all the best ruins will be closed, the roads entirely occupied with the movement of armies, the lodgings turned to billets and the fashion for godless republicanism not yet arrived at its natural reversion. He says his aim is poetry. One does not aim at poetry with pistols. At poets, perhaps. I charge you to take command of his pistols, Mr Hodge! He is not safe with them. His lameness, he confessed to me, is entirely the result of his habit from boyhood of shooting himself in the foot. What is that noise}
(The noise is a badly played piano in the next room. It has been going on for some time since thomasina left.)
Septimus: The new Broadwood pianoforte, madam. Our music lessons are at an early stage.
lady croom: Well, restrict your lessons to the piano side of the instrument and let her loose on the forte when she has learned something. (lady CROOM, holding the book, sails out back into the garden.)
brice: Now! If that was not God speaking through Lady Croom, he never spoke through anyone!
chater: (Awed) Take command of Lord Byron's pistols!
brice: You hear Mr Chater, sir - how will you answer him?
(SEPTIMUS has been watching lady c room's progress up the garden. He turns back.)
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SEPTIMUS: By killing him. I am tired of him.