Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. Arcadia

by Tom Stoppard

  shaking and close to tears.) valentine: (To chloE) He's not against penicillin, and he knows

  I'm not against poetry. (To Bernard) I've given up on the

  grouse. hannah: You haven't, Valentine! valentine: (Leaving) I can't do it. HANNAH: Why? valentine: Too much noise. There's just too much bloody noisel

  (On which, valentine leaves the room. chloE, upset and in

  tears, jumps up and briefly pummels BERNARD ineffectually with

  her fists.) chloE: You bastard, Bernard!

  (She follows valentine out and is followed at a run by GUS.

  Pause.) HANNAH: Well, I think that's everybody. You can leave now, give

  Lightning a kick on your way out. Bernard: Yes, I'm sorry about that. It's no fun when it's not

  among pros, is it? hannah: No. BERNARD: Oh, well. . . (he begins to put his lecture sheets away in his

  briefcase, and is thus reminded. . .) do you want to know about

  your book jacket? 'Lord Byron and Caroline Lamb at the

  Royal Academy'? Ink study by Henry Fuseli? hannah: What about it? Bernard: It's not them. HANNAH: (She explodes) Who says!?

  (BERNARD brings the Byron Society Journal/rom his briefcase.) BERNARD: This Fuseli expert in the Byron Society Journal. They

  sent me the latest... as a distinguished guest speaker. HANNAH: But of course it's them! Everyone knows -BERNARD: Popular tradition only. (He is finding the place in the

  journal.) Here we are. 'No earlier than 1820'. He's analysed it.

  (Offers it to her.) Read at your leisure. HANNAH: (She sounds like BERNARD jeering) Analysed it? BERNARD: Charming sketch, of course, but Byron was in

  Italy. . .

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  HANNAH: But, Bernard -1 know it's them.

  BERNARD: How?

  hannah: How? It just is. 'Analysed it', my big toe!

  Bernard: Language!

  hannah: He's wrong.

  BERNARD: Oh, gut instinct, you mean?

  hannah: (Flatly) He's wrong.

  (BERNARD snaps shut his briefcase.) Bernard: Well, it's all trivial, isn't it? Why don't you come? hannah: Where? Bernard: With me. hannah: To London? What for? Bernard: What for. hannah: Oh, your lecture. Bernard: No, no, bugger that. Sex. hannah: Oh . . . No. Thanks . . . (then, protesting) Bernardl BERNARD: You should try it. It's very underrated. hannah: Nothing against it. BERNARD: Yes, you have. You should let yourself go a bit. You

  might have written a better book. Or at any rate the right

  book. hannah: Sex and literature. Literature and sex. Your

  conversation, left to itself, doesn't have many places to go.

  Like two marbles rolling around a pudding basin. One of

  them is always sex. Bernard: Ah well, yes. Men all over. hannah: No doubt. Einstein - relativity and sex. Chippendale -

  sex and furniture. Galileo - 'Did the earth move?' What the

  hell is it with you people? Chaps sometimes wanted to marry

  me, and I don't know a worse bargain. Available sex against

  not being allowed to fart in bed. What do you mean the right

  book? BERNARD: It takes a romantic to make a heroine of Caroline

  Lamb. You were cut out for Byron.

  (Pause.) hannah: So, cheerio. Bernard: Oh, I'm coming back for the dance, you know. Chloe

  asked me.

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  hannah: She meant well, but I don't dance.

  Bernard: No, no - I'm going with her.

  hannah: Oh, I see. I don't, actually.

  Bernard: I'm her date. Sub rosa. Don't tell Mother.

  hannah: She doesn't want her mother to know?

  BERNARD: No - / don't want her mother to know. This is my first experience of the landed aristocracy. I tell you, I'm boggle-eyed.

  hannah: Bernard! - you haven't seduced that girl?

  Bernard: Seduced her? Every time I turned round she was up a library ladder. In the end I gave in. That reminds me -1 spotted something between her legs that made me think of you. (He instantly receives a sharp stinging slap on the face but manages to remain completely unperturbed by it. He is already producing from his pocket a small book. His voice has hardly hesitated.)

  The Peaks Traveller and Gazetteer -James Godolphin 1832 -unillustrated, I'm afraid. (He has opened the book to a marked place.) Sidley Park in Derbyshire, property of the Earl of Croom...'

  hannah: (Numbly) The world is going to hell in a handcart.

  Bernard: 'Five hundred acres including forty of lake - the Park by Brown and Noakes has pleasing features in the horrid style - viaduct, grotto, etc - a hermitage occupied by a lunatic since twenty years without discourse or companion save for a pet tortoise, Plautus by name, which he suffers children to touch on request.' (He holds out the book for her.) A tortoise. They must be a feature. (After a moment hannah takes the book.)

  hannah: Thank you.

  (valentine comes to the door.)

  valentine: The station taxi is at the front.. .

  Bernard: Yes . . . thanks . . . Oh - did Peacock come up trumps?

  hannah: For some.

  Bernard: Hermit's name and cv?

  (He picks up and glances at the Peacock letter.) 'My dear Thackeray . . .' God, I'm good.

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  {He puts the letter down.)

  Well, wish me luck - {Vaguely to valentine) Sorry about

  . . . you know . . . {and to hannah) and about your . . .

  valentine: Piss off, Bernard.

  Bernard: Right.

  (BERNARD goes.)

  hannah: Don't let Bernard get to you. It's only performance art, you know. Rhetoric, they used to teach it in ancient times, like PT. It's not about being right, they had philosophy for that. Rhetoric was their chat show. Bernard's indignation is a sort of aerobics for when he gets on television.

  valentine: I don't care to be rubbished by the dustbin man. {He has been looking at the letter.) The what of the lunatic? (hannah reclaims the letter and reads it for him.)

  hannah: The testament of the lunatic serves as a caution against French fashion ... for it was Frenchified mathematick that brought him to the melancholy certitude of a world without light or life ... as a wooden stove that must consume itself until ash and stove are as one, and heat is gone from the earth.'

  valentine: {Amused, surprised) Huh!

  hannah: 'He died aged two score years and seven, hoary as Job and meagre as a cabbage-stalk, the proof of his prediction even yet unyielding to his labours for the restitution of hope through good English algebra.'

  valentine: That's it?

  hannah: {Nods) Is there anything in it?

  valentine: In what? We are all doomed? {Casually.) Oh yes, sure - it's called the second law of thermodynamics.

  hannah: Was it known about?

  valentine: By poets and lunatics from time immemorial.

  hannah: Seriously.

  valentine: No.

  hannah: Is it anything to do with ... you know, Thomasina's discovery?

  valentine: She didn't discover anything.

  hannah: Her lesson book.

  valentine: No.

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  hannah: A coincidence, then?

  valentine: What is?

  hannah: (Reading) 'He died aged two score years and seven.' That was in 1834. So he was born in 1787. So was the tutor. He says so in his letter to Lord Croom when he recommended himself for the job: 'Date of birth - 1787.' The hermit was born in the same year as Septimus Hodge.

  valentine: (Pause) Did Bernard bite you in the leg?

  hannah: Don't you see? I thought my hermit was a perfect symbol. An idiot in the landscape. But this is better. The Age of Enlightenment banished into the Romantic wilderness! The genius of Sidley Park living on in a hermit's hut!

  valentine: You don't know that.

  hannah: Oh, but I do. I do. Somewhere there will be something . .. if only I can find it.

  66

  SCENE SIX

  The room is empty.
/>   A reprise: early morning - a distant pistol shot - the sound of the crows.

  JELLABY enters the dawn-dark room with a lamp. He goes to the windows and looks out. He sees something. He returns to put the lamp on the table, and then opens one ofthefrench windows and steps outside. jellaby: (Outside) Mr Hodge!

  (Septimus comes in, followed by jellaby, who closes the

  garden door. Septimus is wearing a greatcoat.) Septimus: Thank you, Jellaby. I was expecting to be locked out.

  What time is it? jellaby: Half past five. Septimus: That is what I have. Well! - what a bracing

  experience!

  (He produces two pistols from inside his coat and places them on

  the table.)

  The dawn, you know. Unexpectedly lively. Fishes, birds,

  frogs ... rabbits . . . (he produces a dead rabbit from inside his

  coat) and very beautiful. If only it did not occur so early in

  the day. I have brought Lady Thomasina a rabbit. Will you

  take it? jellaby: It's dead. Septimus: Yes. Lady Thomasina loves a rabbit pie.

  (JELLABY takes the rabbit without enthusiasm. There is a little

  blood on it.) jellaby: You were missed, Mr Hodge. Septimus: I decided to sleep last night in the boat-house. Did I

  see a carriage leaving the Park? jellaby: Captain Brice's carriage, with Mr and Mrs Chater also. Septimus: Gone?! jellaby: Yes, sir. And Lord Byron's horse was brought round at

  four o'clock. Septimus: Lord Byron too!

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  jellaby: Yes, sir. The house has been up and hopping. Septimus: But I have his rabbit pistols! What am I to do with his

  rabbit pistols? jellaby: You were looked for in your room. Septimus: By whom? jellaby: By her ladyship. Septimus: In my room? jellaby: I will tell her ladyship you are returned.

  (He starts to leave.) Septimus: Jellaby! Did Lord Byron leave a book for me? jellaby: A book?

  Septimus: He had the loan of a book from me. jellaby: His lordship left nothing in his room, sir, not a coin. Septimus: Oh. Well, I'm sure he would have left a coin if he'd

  had one. Jellaby - here is a half-guinea for you. jellaby: Thank you very much, sir. Septimus: What has occurred? jellaby: The servants are told nothing, sir. Septimus: Come, come, does a half-guinea buy nothing any

  more? jellaby: (Sighs) Her ladyship encountered Mrs Chater during

  the night. Septimus: Where?

  jellaby: On the threshold of Lord Byron's room. Septimus: Ah. Which one was leaving and which entering? jellaby: Mrs Chater was leaving Lord Byron's room. Septimus: And where was Mr Chater? jellaby: Mr Chater and Captain Brice were drinking cherry

  brandy. They had the footman to keep the fire up until three

  o'clock. There was a loud altercation upstairs, and -

  (lady croom enters the room.) lady croom: Well, Mr Hodge. Septimus: My lady. lady croom: All this to shoot a hare? SEPTIMUS: A rabbit. (She gives him one of her looks.) No, indeed, a

  hare, though very rabbit-like -

  (jellaby is about to leave.) LADY croom: My infusion.

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  jellaby: Yes, my lady.

  {He leaves, lady croom is carrying two letters. We have not seen them before. Each has an envelope which has been opened. She flings them on the table.)

  lady croom: How dare you!

  Septimus: I cannot be called to account for what was written in private and read without regard to propriety.

  lady croom: Addressed to me!

  Septimus: Left in my room, in the event of my death -

  lady croom: Pah! - what earthly use is a love letter from beyond the grave?

  SEPTIMUS: As much, surely, as from this side of it. The second letter, however, was not addressed to your ladyship.

  lady croom: I have a mother's right to open a letter addressed by you to my daughter, whether in the event of your life, your death, or your imbecility. What do you mean by writing to her of rice pudding when she has just suffered the shock of violent death in our midst?

  Septimus: Whose death?

  lady croom: Yours, you wretch!

  Septimus: Yes, I see.

  lady croom: I do not know which is the madder of your

  ravings. One envelope full of rice pudding, the other of the most insolent familiarities regarding several parts of my body, but have no doubt which is the more intolerable to me.

  Septimus: Which?

  lady croom: Oh, aren't we saucy when our bags are packed! Your friend has gone before you, and I have despatched the harlot Chater and her husband - and also my brother for bringing them here. Such is the sentence, you see, for choosing unwisely in your acquaintance. Banishment. Lord Byron is* a rake and a hypocrite, and the sooner he sails for the Levant the sooner he will find society congenial to his character.

  Septimus: It has been a night of reckoning.

  lady croom: Indeed I wish it had passed uneventfully with you and Mr Chater shooting each other with the decorum due to a civilized house. You have no secrets left, Mr Hodge. They

  69

  spilled out between shrieks and oaths and tears. It is fortunate that a lifetime's devotion to the sporting gun has halved my husband's hearing to the ear he sleeps on.

  Septimus: I'm afraid I have no knowledge of what has occurred.

  lady croom: Your trollop was discovered in Lord Byron's room.

  Septimus: Ah. Discovered by Mr Chater?

  lady croom: Who else?

  Septimus: I am very sorry, madam, for having used your

  kindness to bring my unworthy friend to your notice. He will have to give an account of himself to me, you may be sure, {Before LADY CROOM can respond to this threat, jellaby enters the room with her 'infusion'. This is quite an elaborate affair: a pewter tray on small feet on which there is a kettle suspended over a spirit lamp. There is a cup and saucer and the silver 'basket containing the dry leaves for the tea. JELLABY places the tray on the table and is about to offer further assistance with it.)

  lady croom: I will do it.

  jellaby: Yes, my lady. (To Septimus) Lord Byron left a letter for you with the valet, sir.

  Septimus: Thank you.

  (Septimus takes the letter off the tray, jellaby prepares to leave, lady croom eyes the letter.)

  lady croom: When did he do so?

  jellaby: As he was leaving, your ladyship.

  (jellaby leaves. septimus/>«# the letter into his pocket.)

  Septimus: Allow me.

  (Since she does not object, he pours a cup of tea for her. She accepts it.)

  lady croom: I do not know if it is proper for you to receive a letter written in my house from someone not welcome in it.

  Septimus: Very improper, I agree. Lord Byron's want of delicacy is a grief to his friends, among whom I no longer count myself. I will not read his letter until I have followed him through the gates. (She considers that for a moment.)

  LADY croom: That may excuse the reading but not the writing.

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  SEPTIMUS: Your ladyship should have lived in the Athens of

  Pericles! The philosophers would have fought the sculptors

  for your idle hour! lady croom: (Protesting) Oh, really! . . . (Protesting less.) Oh

  really. . .

  (SEPTIMUS has taken Byron's letter from his pocket and is now

  setting fire to a corner of it using the little flame from the spirit

  lamp.)

  Oh . . . really . . .

  (The paper blazes in Septimus's hand and he drops it and lets it

  burn out on the metal tray.) Septimus: Now there's a thing - a letter from Lord Byron never

  to be read by a living soul. I will take my leave, madam, at

  the time of your desiring it. lady croom: To the Indies? Septimus: The Indies! Why? lady croom: To follow the Chater, of course. She did not tell

  you? Septimus: She did not exchange half-a-dozen words with me. lady croom: I expect she did not like to waste the time. The

  Ch
ater sails with Captain Brice. Septimus: Ah. As a member of the crew? lady croom: No, as wife to Mr Chater, plant-gatherer to my

  brother's expedition. Septimus: I knew he was no poet. I did not know it was botany

  under the false colours. LADY croom: He is no more a botanist. My brother paid fifty

  pounds to have him published, and he will pay a hundred

  and fifty to have Mr Chater picking flowers in the Indies for a

  year while the wife plays mistress of the Captain's quarters.

  Captain Brice has fixed his passion on Mrs Chater, and to

  take her on voyage he has not scrupled to deceive the

  Admiralty, the Linnean Society and Sir Joseph Banks,

  botanist to His Majesty at Kew. Septimus: Her passion is not as fixed as his. lady croom: It is a defect of God's humour that he directs our

  hearts everywhere but to those who have a right to them. Septimus: Indeed, madam. (Pause.) But is Mr Chater deceived?

  7i

  lady croom: He insists on it, and finds the proof of his wife's virtue in his eagerness to defend it. Captain Brice is not deceived but cannot help himself. He would die for her.

  Septimus: I think, my lady, he would have Mr Chater die for her.

  lady croom: Indeed, I never knew a woman worth the duel, or the other way about. Your letter to me goes very ill with your conduct to Mrs Chater, Mr Hodge. I have had experience of being betrayed before the ink is dry, but to be betrayed before the pen is even dipped, and with the village noticeboard, what am I to think of such a performance?

  Septimus: My lady, I was alone with my thoughts in the gazebo, when Mrs Chater ran me to ground, and I being in such a passion, in an agony of unrelieved desire -

  lady croom: Oh ...!

  Septimus: -1 thought in my madness that the Chater with her skirts over her head would give me the momentary illusion of the happiness to which I dared not put a face. {Pause.)

  lady croom: I do not know when I have received a more unusual compliment, Mr Hodge. I hope I am more than a match for Mrs Chater with her head in a bucket. Does she wear drawers?

  Septimus: She does.

  lady croom: Yes, I have heard that drawers are being worn now. It is unnatural for women to be got up like jockeys. I cannot approve.

  (She turns with a whirl of skirts and moves to leave.) I know nothing of Pericles or the Athenian philosophers. I can spare them an hour, in my sitting room when I have bathed. Seven o'clock. Bring a book. (She goes out. Septimus picks up the two letters, the ones he wrote, and starts to burn them in the flame of the spirit lamp.)