by Tom Stoppard
NADYA: Once in 1919 we went to a concert in the Kremlin and an actress started declaiming something by Mayakovsky.
Mayakovsky was celebrated even before the revolution, when he used to shout his fractured lines in a yellow blazer with blue roses painted on his cheeks. Ilyich was in the front row, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
LENIN: Memo to A. V. Lunacharsky, Commissar for Education – ‘Aren’t you ashamed for printing 5,000 copies of Mayakovsky’s new book? It is nonsense, stupidity, double-dyed stupidity and affectation.’
CARR (Simultaneously): … ‘Nonsense, stupidity, double-dyed stupidity and affectation.’
LENIN: ‘Mayakovsky should be whipped for his Futurism.’
CARR: Mayakovsky shot himself in 1930. Tzara got fat and died in Paris in 1963. With modern art, you see, you have to pick your time and place.
NADYA: I remember when we were in London in 1903 how Ilyich longed to go to the Moscow Art Theatre to see The Lower Depths. We did so after the revolution. Well, the over-acting irritated him. After seeing The Lower Depths he avoided the theatre for a long time. But once we went to see Uncle Vanya which he liked very much. And finally the last time we went to the theatre, in 1922, we saw a stage version of Charles Dickens’s Cricket on the Hearth. After the first act Ilyich found it dull. The saccharine sentimentality got on his nerves, and during the conversation between the old toy-maker and his blind daughter he could stand it no longer and we left.
(The Appassionata Sonata of Beethoven is quietly introduced. CARR closes his book and sighs.)
CARR: Yes, I would have enjoyed a crack with Old Vladimir Ilyich – talking about art and literature in the cafés, strolling along the Bahnhofstrasse discussing Tolstoy and Dosty – the other one. It wasn’t the same with Tzara and Joyce – never hit it off with them, never saw eye to eye. But Lenin and I… if only I’d known! But he had a train to catch and then it was too late.
Pity. (Hegoes upstage.)
NADYA: But I remember him one evening, at a friend’s house in Moscow, listening to a Beethoven Sonata …
LENIN: I don’t know of anything greater than the Appassionata. Amazing, superhuman music. It always makes me feel, perhaps naively, it makes me feel proud of the miracles that human beings can perform. But I can’t listen to music often. It affects my nerves, makes me want to say nice stupid things and pat the heads of those people who while living in this vile hell can create such beauty. Nowadays we can’t pat heads or we’ll get our hands bitten off. We’ve got to hit heads, hit them without mercy, though ideally we’re against doing violence to people… Hm, one’s duty is infernally hard … (CARR leaves the Room. LENIN leaves the Library. The music continues.)
NADYA: Once when Vladimir was in prison – in St Petersburg – he wrote to me and asked that at certain times of day I should go and stand on a particular square of pavement on the Shpalernaya. When the prisoners were taken out for exercise it was possible through one of the windows in the corridor to catch a momentary glimpse of this spot. I went for several days and stood a long while on the pavement there. But he never saw me. Something went wrong. I forget what.
(The Appassionata swells in the dark.)
(The Room: GWEN is seated. There are tea things on the table.
The Appassionata degenerates absurdly into ‘Mr Gallagher and Mr Shean’. BENNETT enters, followed by CECILY. The rhyme-scheme of the song is fairly evident. The verses are of ten lines each, the first line being a non-rhyming primer.)
BENNETT: Miss Carruthers …
CECILY: Cecily Carruthers …
GWEN: Cecily Carruthers! What a pretty name!
According to the Consul
’Round the fashionable fonts you’ll
often hear the Cecily’s declaimed.
CECILY: Oh dear Miss Carr, oh dear Miss Carr,
pleasure remain exactly where you are –
I beg you don’t get up –
GWEN: (TO BENNETT) I think we’ll need another cup –
Pray sit down, Miss Carruthers,
CECILY: So kind of you, Miss Carr.
(Exit BENNETT.)
GWEN: Miss Carruthers, oh Miss Carruthers …
I hope that you will call me Gwendolen.
I feel I’ve known you long
And I’m never ever wrong –
Something tells me that we’re going to be great friends.
CECILY: (Upper class) Oh Gwendolen! Oh, Gwendolen!
It sounds ez pretty ez a mendolen!
I hope that you’ll feel free
to call me Cecily …
GWEN: Absolutely, Cecily.
CECILY: Then that’s settled Gwendolen.
CECILY: Oh Gwendolen, Oh, Gwendolen …
I fear you don’t remember where we met.
I’m not so picturesque
when seen behind a desk –
GWEN: Of course, my dear – how could I forget?
Oh, Cecily, Oh, Cecily,
Accept my sincere apology!
Now be absolutely frank,
is there trouble at the bank?
CECILY: At the Libr’ry, Gwendolen.
GWEN: At the Libr’ry, Cecily!
CECILY: Oh Gwendolen, Oh Gwendolen …
I dread to state the reason for my call.
The fact is there’s a fee
due on Homer’s Odyssey
and the Irish Times for June 1904.
GWEN: Oh Cecily, Oh Cecily,
A friend of mine is writing Ulysses!
I’m sure he never knew
that the books were overdue –
CECILY: Since October, Gwendolen.
GWEN: On my ticket, Cecily!
(Enter BENNETT with cup. There is a certain amount of tea-pouring and tea-sipping to come, not to mention the cup suddenly clinked down on the saucer, and all that; but directions to this effect are omitted.)
GWEN: Oh Cecily, Oh Cecily…
Aren’t you the girl who has that Russian friend?
I pass him every day
by Economics A to K –
CECILY: (Sadly) It’s never going to be the same again.
Oh Gwendolen, Oh Gwendolen!
He left this afternoon on the three-ten.
I’ve just come from the train.
But we’ll hear of him again…
GWEN: (Insincerely) Absolutely, Cecily…
CECILY: Positively, Gwendolen!
(Exit BENNETT.)
CECILY: Oh Gwendolen, Oh Gwendolen …
The Library is going to seem so sad.
Apart from Mr Tzara
all the Bolsheviki are a–
board that special choo-choo bound for Petrograd.
GWEN: Excuse me, Cecily, dear Cecily…
This Mr Tzara, does he spell it with a T?
T-Z-A-R-A?
A Bolshevik, you say?
CECILY: Absolutely, Gwendolen.
GWEN: You surprise me, Cecily
GWEN: Oh Cecily, oh Cecily…
I must admit you’ve taken me aback.
I shall certainly insist on
a tête-à-tête with Tristan –
CECILY: With Tristan? – No, I mean his brother Jack.
Oh Gwendolen, Oh Gwendolen!
Tristan’s quite another thing again.
GWEN: Brother Jack is news to me –
CECILY: They kept it in the family –
GWEN: Relatively, Cecily.
CECILY: Imminently, Gwendolen.
CECILY: Oh Gwendolen, Oh Gwendolen
I’d like you to be the first to know…
Tristan’s hanging up his hat
for the proletariat.
We have an understanding –
GWEN: (Rising) Just a mo–
(Sitting) ment, Cecily, dear Cecily,
Tristan’s understanding is with me.
What he writes (or draws)
is no concern of yours.
CECILY: Relatively, Gwendolen –
GWEN: Absolutely, Cecily!
you have made an unfortunate mistake.
Forgive me if I say
(Producing her diary)
Tristan mentioned yesterday
he delectetes his art for its own sake.
CECILY: Oh Gwendolen, Oh Gwendolen
Clearly he has changed his mind since then.
(Producing her diary)
Today he said, ‘My heart’s
no longer in the arts
excepting, Cecily, as a means towards an end.’
GWEN: (Frigid) Oh Cecily, Oh Cecily…
To say this gives me physical distress
but one of Joyce’s chapters
sent Tristan into raptures
on the subject of the stream of consciousness.
CECILY: Oh Gwendolen, Oh Gwendolen,
it harrows me to contradict a friend,
but his consciousness of class
is the one that’s going to last –
GWEN: Lower middle, Cecily?
CECILY: Are you really, Gwendolen?
GWEN: (Rising) Miss Carruthers,
CECILY: (Ditto) Yes, Miss Carr.
GWEN: I do not wish to trespass on your time.
CECILY: I hope that I will see
you at the Library
should you ever get around to pay your fine.
Miss Carr. (Bows.)
(To the door.)
GWEN: Miss Carruthers,
Is it done to wish you luck with all the others?
I’m not awfully au fait
with manners down your way –
CECILY: And up yours, Miss Carr – Tristan!
(CARR has entered. Pause.)
GWEN: (Censoriously) That’s my brother.
CECILY: Your brother?
GWEN: Yes. My brother, Henry Carr.
CECILY: Do you mean that he is not Tristan Tzara the artist?
GWEN: Quite the contrary. He is the British Consul.
(CARR has frozen like a hunting dog. He is holding the folder given to him by CECILY in the Library. BENNETT opens the door.)
BENNETT: Mr Tzara…
(TRISTAN enters. BENNETT retires. TZARA carries his folder.)
GWEN: Tristan! My Tristan!
CECILY: Comrade Jack!
GWEN: Comrade Jack?
CECILY: Yes. The gentleman who has his arm round your waist is a luminary of the Zimmerwald Left.
GWEN: Are they Bolsheviks?
CECILY: Well, they dine with us.
GWEN: A gross deception has been practised upon us. My poor wounded Cecily!
CECILY: My sweet wronged Gwendolen!
(They are making for the door.)
CECILY (Halting): There is just one question I should like to ask Mr Carr.
GWEN: An admirable idea. Mr Tzara, there is a question I should like to put to you.
CECILY: What in truth was your opinion of the essay I gave you to read?
GWEN: What indeed did you think of the chapter I showed you?
CARR (Timidly): Very… well written… Interesting style…
TZARA (Timidly): Very … well read… Rich material.
CECILY: But as a social critique –?
GWEN: But as art for art’s sake –?
CARR (Giving up): Rubbish! He’s a madman!
TZARA: Bilge! It’s unreadable!
GWEN & CECILY: Oh! Hypocrites!
CARR: I’m sorry! ’Twas for love!
GWEN & CECILY: For love?
GWEN: That is true…
CECILY: Yes, it is.
(In unison they move towards the men, then in unison change their minds.)
GWEN & CECILY: But our intellectual differences are an insuperable barrier!
(The door closes behind them.)
(CARR and TZARA sink into the two main chairs.)
CARR: By the way, I hear that Bennett has been showing you my private correspondence.
(BENNETT enters with champagne for two on a tray. He begins to dispense it.)
TZARA: He has radical sympathies.
CARR: There is no one so radical as a manservant whose freedom of the champagne bin has been interfered with.
TZARA: So I believe.
CARR: Well, I’ve put a stop to it.
TZARA: Given him notice?
CARR: Given him more champagne.
TZARA: We Romanians have much to learn from the English.
CARR: I expect you’ll be missing Sofia.
TZARA: You mean Gwendolen.
CARR (Frowns; clears): Bucharest.
TZARA: Oh, yes. Yes. The Paris of the Balkans …
CARR: Silly place to put it, really… (Sips) Is this the Perrier-Jouet, Brut, ‘89????!!!
BENNETT: No, sir.
CARR (He has read the writing on the wall): All gone …?
BENNETT (Implacably): I’m afraid so, sir.
CARR: Very well, Bennett.
BENNETT: I have put the newspapers and telegrams on the sideboard, sir.
CARR: Anything of interest?
BENNETT: The Neue Zuricher Zeitung and the Zuricher Post announce respectively the cultural high and low point of the theatrical season at the Theater zur Kaufleuten yesterday evening. The Zeitung singles you out for a personal triumph in a demanding role. The Minister telegraphs his congratulations, and also thanks you for your telegram to him. He urges you to prevent Mr Ulyanov leaving Swizterland at all costs.
(BENNETT leaves. PAUSE.)
CARR: Irish Lout…
TZARA: Russian…
CARR: No – whatsisname – Deidre.
TZARA: Bridget… (pause)
CARR: Joyce!
TZARA: Joyce!
CARR: Lout. Quadri-oculate Irish git… Came round to the dressing room and handed me ten francs like a tip – bloody nerve – Sponger –
(BENNETT enters.)
BENNETT: Mr Joyce.
(JOYCE enters in an agitated state.)
JOYCE: Where is your sister?
CARR: Her money is in trust.
JOYCE: I have only one request to make of you –
CARR: And I have only one request to make of you – why for God’s sake cannot you contrive just once to wear the jacket that is suggested by your trousers??
(It is indeed the case that JOYCE is now wearing the other halves of the outfit he wore in Act One.)
JOYCE (With dignity): If I could do it once, I could do it every time. My wardrobe got out of step in Trieste, and its reciprocal members pass each other endlessly in the night. Now – could you let me have the twenty-five francs.
CARR: What twenty-five francs?
JOYCE: You were given eight tickets to sell at five francs per ticket. My books indicate that only fifteen francs has been received from you.
CARR: I have spent three hundred and fifty francs of my own money so that your off-the-peg production should boast one character who looked as if he was acquainted with a tailor. If you hope to get a further twenty-five francs out of me you will have to drag me through the courts. (Deliberately) You are a swindler and a cad!
TZARA (Handing JOYCE his folder): Furthermore, your book has much in common with your dress. As an arrangement of words it is graceless without being random; as a narrative it lacks charm or even vulgarity; as an experience it is like sharing a cell with a fanatic in search of a mania.
(GWEN and CECILY enter. JOYCE is scanning the manuscript.)
JOYCE: Who gave you this manuscript to read?
GWEN: I did!
JOYCE: Miss Carr, did I or did I not give you to type a chapter in which Mr Bloom’s adventures correspond to the Homeric episode of the Oxen of the Sun?
GWEN: Yes, you did! And it was wonderful!
JOYCE: Then why do you return to me an ill-tempered thesis purporting to prove, amongst other things, that Ramsay MacDonald is a bourgeois lickspittle gentleman’s gentleman?
GWEN: (Aaaah)
TZARA: (Ohhhh)
CECILY: (Oops!)
CARR: (Aaah!)
JOYCE (Thunders): Miss Carr, where is the missing chapter???
CARR: Excuse me – did you say Bloom?
JOYCE: I did.
CARR: And is it a chapter, inordinate in length and erratic in style, remotely connected with midwifery?
JOYCE: It is a chapter which by a miracle of compression, uses the gamut of English literature from Chaucer to Carlyle to describe events taking place in a lying-in hospital in Dublin.
CARR (Holding out his folder): It is obviously the same work.
(GWEN and CECILY swap folders with cries of recognition. CARR and TZARA close in. A rapid but formal climax, with appropriate cries of ‘Cecily! Gwendolen! Henry! Tristan!’ and appropriate embraces.)
(Music, appropriate to the period. Light change. A formal, short dance sequence. TZARA dances with GWEN, CARR with CECILY. JOYCE and BENNETT dance independently. The effect is of course a complete dislocation of the play. CARR and CECILY dance out of view. The others continue, and then they, too, dance offstage just as OLD CARR dances back on stage with OLD CECILY.
(OLD CECILY is about 80 of course, like Old Carr. They dance a few decrepit steps.)
OLD CECILY: No, no, no, no it’s pathetic though there was a court case I admit, and your trousers came into it, I don’t deny, but you never got close to Vladimir Ilyich, and I don’t remember the other one. I do remember Joyce, yes you are quite right and he was Irish with glasses but that was the year after – 1918 – and the train had long gone from the station! I waved a red hanky and cried long live the revolution as the carriage took him away in his bowler hat and yes, I said yes when you asked me, but he was the leader of millions by the time you did your Algernon …
CARR: Algernon – that was him.
OLD CECILY: I said that was the year after –
CARR: After What?
OLD CECILY: You never even saw Lenin.
CARR: Yes I did. Saw him in the cafés. I knew them all. Part of the job.
OLD CECILY: And you were never the Consul.
CARR: Never said I was.
OLD CECILY: Yes you did.
CARR: Should we have a cup of tea?
OLD CECILY: The Consul was Percy somebody.
CARR: (Bennett.)
OLD CECILY: What?
CARR (Testily): I said the Consul’s name was Bennett!
OLD CECILY: Oh yes… Bennett… That’s another thing–
CARR: Are we going to have a cup of tea or not?
OLD CECILY: And I never helped him write Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism. That was the year before, too. 1916.