Part 1

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POLITE SATIRES

POLITE SATIRES

By CLIFFORD BAX

_Containing_ THE UNKNOWN HAND, THE VOLCANIC ISLAND SQUARE PEGS

THE MEDICI SOCIETY LIMITED GRAFTON STREET, LONDON MCMXXII

_All applications for permission to give performances of any of Mr. Clifford Bax's plays should be addressed to The Secretary, Collection Bureau, The Incorporated Society of Authors, 1 Central Buildings, Tothill Street, S.W.1_

_Printed in Great Britain_

_Contents_

THE UNKNOWN HAND, 7

THE VOLCANIC ISLAND, 21

SQUARE PEGS, 35

THE UNKNOWN HAND

_Characters_

JULIET HELEN

THE UNKNOWN HAND

SCENE. _A Room in_ JULIET'S _Flat. Back centre, a fire. To its right, a chair; to its left, an easy chair and a small table. Two envelopes and a new novel lie on the table._ JULIET _is seated in the easy chair, looking into the fire_.

JULIET (_dreamily_). Hans Andersen, when he was old and frail, Said that his life had been a fairy-tale.... (_Looking up._) That's what mine is! Think of it--by a freak Of Fortune to be famous in one week, And with my first book! Would it have made quite Such a commotion had I dared to write Under my name? Who knows? But if you've penned A merciless portrait of your dearest friend, You simply can't avow it. And a book That bears a man's name has a weightier look Somehow. My novel! Why, it seems an age Since last I gloated on the title-page. (_She takes up the novel from the table._) 'The Strong Man's Library. Number Seventeen. "Calypso and Her Loves," by Galahad Green. Second Impression.' Then down there, quite small. The modest publishers--Chapman and Hall.

(_Turning to the envelopes on the table._)

Oh, and they've sent me--Is it from Chapman? Yes-- Another batch of cuttings from the Press. Quite a lot, too! I'll give them just a glance Before I go to supper.

(_Taking the envelope which is on top, she extracts a number of Press cuttings, looks through them hastily and tosses them back on to the table one by one._)

'_True romance._' W. J. Turner--'_Shows a man's desire To write for men.... Much promise._' J. C. Squire.-- '_At times like Gosse...._' Who wrote that? Squire again, But in a different paper--'_Stuff for men.... Gosse-like at moments._' Edward Shanks--'_No learner, A finished craftsman._' W. J. Turner-- '_Impressive._' J. C. Squire.--'_His novel ranks Among the best books of the season...._' Shanks.-- '_Impressive._' Shanks.--'_Almost the true Gosse fire...._' Turner again. '_A man's book._' J. C. Squire.-- My poor head swims! How very queer to find Ten papers, three reviewers and one mind. They're like the Isle of Man. Suppose I beg Prettily? Would they make me their fourth leg? Here's praise enough. Indeed, you'd think I knew them-- Or that they hoped I might in turn review them.

(_Looking again at the table, she picks up the second envelope._)

And here? Oh, horror! Helen's writing--hers, I'm sure, and what wild spluttering characters! Their wildness might be due to haste, but not The Maenad fury of that final blot. She's read the book, and recognized with rage The portrait of herself on every page, In every line. She couldn't miss it. Why Didn't I make Calypso small and shy, Dark and not fair? Whatever made me draw Helen complete, even to her slightest flaw? Everything's there--green eyes, the Chelsea flat, The craze for Morny bath-salts, even that!... I let Calypso live at such a pace Too, that I daren't look Helen in the face, I simply daren't. But stay! She might have seen The book: she can't think I am Galahad Green. There's hope. I'll soon see what she has to say.... (_She opens the letter._) 'My dearest Juliet'--'dearest,' anyway!-- 'I'm furious, but I shan't say what about Until we meet. Promise you won't be out This evening. I shall call at eight o'clock. Helen.' At least her letter saves the shock Of meeting unprepared, and I'll be able To sweep these wretched cuttings from the table What _is_ the time? Exactly eight. Oh dear, At any minute now she may be here Storming my ears off. What a risk I took! And then--she's just the girl to read a book, Find her own portrait there, done all too well, And taxi-ing to the publishers pell-mell Demand to have the author's home-address. Chapman and Hall, however great their stress, Would never give it, would they? When we met Their manager seemed such a perfect pet....

(_A bell rings. Noise outside._)

There she is.

(HELEN _rushes in--still wearing her furs_.)

HELEN (_dramatically_). Juliet!

JULIET. Well, what's wrong, my dear?

HELEN. Nothing--at least--I _am_ so glad you're here.

(_She takes both of_ JULIET'S _hands_.)

JULIET. I read your letter just in time. The fact Is that it caught me in the very act Of going out to supper.

HELEN. But you'll stay Now? It's important--what I've come to say-- And yet so horrible that I've scarce the heart To speak of it. I don't know how to start.

JULIET. I guess. You've jilted John! I always said You would. Or has he jilted you instead?

HELEN (_breaking_). Oh, don't be flippant, Juliet. Can't you see It's not a laughing matter? Should I be In such a state about a love-affair? I'm not pre-Shaw.

JULIET. Then why----

HELEN. As if I'd care Because John tried to leave me. He'll as soon Do that as find an oil-field in the moon. No--this is something serious.

JULIET. Won't you take Your furs off, and sit down?

HELEN. For goodness' sake Don't vex me with that calm superior tone! Once you were sympathetic, but you've grown More and more selfish every month. Of late I've hardly seen you. _Now_ I come here straight From being insulted, being driven half-mad, By some sly undiscoverable cad, And there you sit, impassive and content, Like Middle-Age upon a monument Smiling at grief.

JULIET. I don't flare up like you, Helen. But wait! I've been insulted, too.

HELEN. Really? But listen! If I keep it back A minute more, it means a nerve-attack. Juliet--I've read a book----

JULIET. A novel?

HELEN. Yes-- A new one. But however did you guess? It's only just out.

JULIET. Surely you can't mean----

HELEN (_holding up a copy_). 'Calypso and Her Loves'!

JULIET (_doing likewise_). By Galahad Green! Now, that's extraordinary--the very same!

HELEN. You've read it? Oh, it makes me blush for shame.

JULIET. Stick by me--even now. I know you will.

HELEN. What? I? Dear Juliet, you can love me still!

JULIET. To see them set down--all one's little tricks....

HELEN. To have one's soul supplied at eight-and-six....

JULIET. Or hired from Mudie's, read by every clerk--

HELEN. And every sniggering waitress after dark.

JULIET. I could have stood a mere divorce. But this!

HELEN. Every one _must_ know who Calypso is.

JULIET. Of course. I simply daren't be seen about.

HELEN. Who _is_ this Galahad Green? I can't find out.

JULIET. A blood-sucker, a literary flea!

HELEN. I'll sue the cad for libel. Just you see!

JULIET. You dear! It ought to be _my_ action, though.

HELEN. Yours? You can't mind as much as I, you know.

JULIET. Can't I! You think I'd stay in England now?

HELEN. What? Leave your home? No, that I can't allow.

JULIET. Won't you come, too? To-morrow I shall start.

HELEN. Of course you're sweet to take it so to heart--

JULIET. Who wouldn't--with her reputation gone?

HELEN. It must be such a bitter pill for John!

JULIET. What would John care because I'm painted black?

HELEN. You?

JULIET. In this book, this dastardly attack-- Yet, you dear noble girl, at least it's shown That to you my misfortunes are your own.

HELEN. Juliet--what _do_ you mean? Sometimes your gibes Are most ill-timed. You know the book describes Me.

JULIET. You're not serious?

HELEN. I? Of course I am.... And now that I've discovered what a sham You were with all your sympathy, I could hurl The foul book at your head. You heartless girl! Is this a time to mock me, to pretend You care so much about your slandered friend That you won't stay in England? If that's your Notion of fun, it isn't mine, be sure.

JULIET. I wasn't being funny--not a bit, Really. It's simply that the cap does fit-- I _am_ Calypso!

HELEN. Well, I never heard Such nonsense in my life. It's too absurd. Oh, if I could but think that one or two Readers might fancy it was meant for you, I'd take some pleasure in my life again, Dance, have a feast of oysters and champagne, Buy a new winter frock and hat, instead Of wishing, as I do, that I were dead. For you deserve it--you that make a joke Out of my misery.

JULIET. Helen--when I spoke Of being Calypso, didn't I, to my shame, Own the wild sins that cluster round her name? Alas, I meant it.

HELEN. Nobody could be So blind as not to know it's me--I--me: And since you're now my enemy, I shall go At once. But after this, I'd have you know, Our friendship's dead--for always! Please forget You ever knew me.

JULIET. Helen, don't go yet....

HELEN. I must. And let me say that if you call To-morrow you'll have wasted time, that's all. I shan't go home to-night.

JULIET. Where will you sleep?

HELEN. Battersea Bridge is high, and the Thames deep.

JULIET. You wicked child! You mustn't talk like that.

HELEN. A plunge and then----

JULIET. With such a pretty hat?

HELEN (_returning_). You never said you liked it.

JULIET. No. I've been So worried all day by this Galahad Green. For really, Helen, once and for all be certain It's not from _your_ life that he's wrenched the curtain. You can still face the world. You've not the least Cause to abominate the loathsome beast-- Except as I'm your friend: and since I know, Now, that your strange mistake has hurt you so, Believe me, I rejoice--yes, even rejoice-- That I, not you, suffer by Galahad's choice. I bear it willingly. Must I prove my case? Give me one moment, while I find the place....

(_She opens the book and searches through it feverishly._)

HELEN (_opening copy_). Oh, if it comes to evidence...! But indeed I simply can't go through it!

JULIET. Let me read Page twenty-four: 'Between him and his wife A deep gulf lay. She wanted to see life Through her own eyes, but he preferred, she knew, The monocle of _The Saturday Review_'-- There! Don't you see? That paper's just the one I always said would patronize the sun.

HELEN. That? Why, look here--page forty-two--'Her eyes Were green, her honey-coloured----'

JULIET. Mere disguise! He _had_ to change a little here and there. Listen: 'She glowered----'

HELEN. 'Her honey-coloured hair Lay in profusion on her shoulders----'

JULIET. 'Then She thought "It's time----"

HELEN. 'To win the love of men-- "What's that?" she cried. "I ever hated sin----"

JULIET. "But now I'll change. To-morrow I'll begin.... My sins are many. Can they be washed away?"'

HELEN. 'So she used Morny bath-salts every day. Often she'd sponge herself for hours, and dream Of love, veiled only by the bashful steam. Sometimes, perhaps, an over-amorous drop Would trickle down----'

JULIET (_shocked_). Helen, my dear--do stop! Really!

HELEN. But that's conclusive!

JULIET. I admit That she had beauty, savoir-faire, and wit, But she was wicked, too, reckless and haughty----

HELEN. I can't pretend that I was never naughty.

JULIET. Naughty, perhaps; but you could never trip so Continually as Mr. Green's Calypso.

HELEN. I do believe you think I wouldn't dare Calypso's deeds. I've done them all--so there!

JULIET. Well, you shall have the truth. I'll make a clean Breast of it. Who, you ask, is Galahad Green? I know him!

HELEN. Juliet! And he dares affirm That I was not.... The lily-livered worm!

JULIET. But if he writes a letter to the Press Declaring that he never saw you----

HELEN. Yes, And makes me look a fool. What can I do When every one I meet says 'Is it you.... That wicked gorgeous creature, that wild thing Ecstatic and unmoral as the Spring...?' Of course I owned it.

JULIET. Helen--I can still Save you. I'll make him write----

HELEN. No, no!

JULIET. I will-- And now, at once. The telephone!

HELEN (_stopping_ JULIET). But I say You're not to!

JULIET (_struggling_). Let me go! We can't delay.

HELEN. Juliet, for goodness' sake don't be so dense!

JULIET. What _do_ you mean?

HELEN. Where's your intelligence, Your tact, your feminine intuition? Where Your sympathy? Must I lay my soul quite bare?

JULIET (_returning and collapsing into her chair_). So far as I'm concerned you're talking Greek.

HELEN. They've sold nine thousand copies in one week.

JULIET. Why, one would think, in spite of all that's passed, You liked the book.

HELEN. So you've got there at last! You _are_ an also-ran.

JULIET. Good heavens!

HELEN. I had To _say_ that I was furious, and not glad; But what girl wouldn't feel some little stir Of pride when all the town's in love with her? You don't know half that's happened. This new novel Has simply made all other writers grovel. Bennett's gone mad with envy. J. C. Snaith Is in decline. Galsworthy's a mere wraith. Chesterton, having burnt his cap and bells, Drowned himself in a butt of Malmesey. Wells Vowed to the Press he'd never write again. May Sinclair, Violet Hunt, and Clemence Dane Have gone--forevermore to breathe the air Of Iceland. Poor Hugh Walpole's in despair. Now do you see my point? Didn't you lie When you said that Calypso wasn't I?

JULIET. Yes.

HELEN. And the author learnt it all from you. I think you owe me something.

JULIET. Very true.... What do you want?

HELEN. Oh, Juliet--since I've been His model, do you think that Mr. Green Would possibly--just some day--take me out To supper?

JULIET. When? To-night?

HELEN. Could he?

JULIET. No doubt.

HELEN. Let's ring him up.

JULIET (_stopping her_). Who said that _I_ was dense?

HELEN. But if he's free----?

JULIET. Use your intelligence, Your feminine intuition.

HELEN. Yes, but how?

JULIET. Galahad does invite you here and now. All is not masculine that's Green.

HELEN (_collapsing_). Your book!

JULIET. Here are my notices, if you care to look.

HELEN. My dear!... And all those famous novelists, too-- Just shrivelling up with jealousy of _you_!

JULIET. Ah, but the poets! They are delighted--they Whose rustic hearts envy could never sway. Read what they've said.

HELEN. I'm sure it's very sweet. But somehow I can never keep my seat On Pegasus.

JULIET. Pegasus! No one rides _him_ now: But ah, how steadily up Parnassus' brow, With farmyard straw, not vine-leaves, in his hair, Squire Turner Pounds on Shanks's de la Mare!

1922.

THE VOLCANIC ISLAND

_Characters_

DOROTHEA WYLDE DOROTHY WILD

TO OLGA KATZIN

THE VOLCANIC ISLAND

SCENE. _The sitting-room of a flat in Knightsbridge. Back: centre, a fireplace with fire burning; right, a cupboard containing tea things; left, a tall lacquered screen. Front: a table on which are illustrated papers and a parcel of books tied with string; a chair to each side of the table._

_The outside door is heard closing._

DOROTHEA (_without_). Kate!

(_She enters, right, in a fashionable Spring walking costume._)

So I've caught her! Gone at half-past three-- Gone to 'the pictures' with her young man Bill. I hope she'll not be foolish.... Now for tea.

(_She puts a kettle on the fire and brings a plate of cakes to the table._)

Ah! So the Mudie books have come--but still Nothing from James. He really is _too_ shy-- And Mother always whispers when we meet, 'Well, dear, no startling news?' I wish he'd try! What have they sent me from New Oxford Street? 'Poems,' by Marshlight.... Quite a charming face.... _Four_ portraits!... And how good it is to find A note that tells the very hour and place When each mouse-lyric shook that mountain mind!... And here? Oh Mudie! Sending _this_ to _me_! 'A Bed of Roses. George....' I'll try again.... 'Peeled Onions'! Now, whatever might _they_ be? Of course! New tales by Ethel Colburn Mayne. How hypodermic! What she does without! What whittling of mere obvious fact! Indeed I sometimes tremble when her books come out For fear there won't be any words to read.... The last two? These--hobnobbing all this time, Not rent to rags, not mutually destroyed? For here's that famous work, 'Soul from the Slime,' By Jung, and here 'Slime from the Soul,' by Freud. They may be _risqué_ but how up to date-- And James need never know I've read them.... Stop! Surely? It is! A telegram! Oh, Kate, You little fool, to dump the books on top! Reply paid, too.... (_Reading_) 'Wylde, 15 Claridge Hill. Would you accept me for your husband? James....' At last!... What answer? If I say I will, The _Morning Post_ will paragraph our names With me as 'Dorothea, second child'-- Et cetera--and _The Tatler_, I expect, Will have a picture, 'Cupid's Bag. Miss Wylde, Sir James Adolphus Porter's bride-elect, A well-known figure both where Fashion reigns And where our young intelligenzia meet....' But shall I? If he read more, had more brains, More fire, and just a little less conceit!

A VOICE (_behind the screen_). Marry him at your peril!

DOROTHEA (_not hearing_). He's a man Of wealth and rank--an O.B.E.--and yet To marry without love.... Some people can.

THE VOICE. I gave you honest warning. Don't forget!

DOROTHEA (_as before_). Most girls would jump at such an offer. Why Should I resent so much his pompous air, His embonpoint?

THE VOICE. It isn't you, but I!

DOROTHEA (_as before_). Or possibly, as Freud and Jung declare, Far under what we know ourselves to be Another self lies hidden. Am I, then----

THE VOICE. Like a volcanic island in the sea----

DOROTHEA (_half hypnotized_). Of which no more is visible to men Than the mere summit--fair with azure light And flowers and birds and grain to sow and reap----

THE VOICE. While the huge base goes shelving out of sight To coral-caves and monsters of the deep.

DOROTHEA. How queer to think that while one part of me Is almost fond of James, another part Is--doubtful----

THE VOICE. Doubtful? Just you wait and see!

DOROTHEA. Oh, for some ceremony, some magic art, To call up the subconscious mind!

THE VOICE. Then hold Jung with your right hand, with your left hand Freud, And clap them thrice.

DOROTHEA (_following these directions_). Of course, I'm far too old.... I ought to be more rationally employed.... But still----

(DOROTHY WILD _darts out from behind the screen. She is a barbaric figure clad in furs and wearing a tiara of feathers._)

DOROTHY. O-hai! And so at last I'm free!

DOROTHEA (_recoiling_). Good gracious!

DOROTHY. Don't you know me?

DOROTHEA. What's your name?

DOROTHY. Dorothy Wild. You end yours with an 'e' And spell it with a 'y'--as though for shame Of owning sisterhood with trees and birds And dragonflies; as though you'd never run Beside the foam, shouting ecstatic words In the wind's ear, nor let the immortal sun Have your whole body till Something, not of time, Like an elixir flowed through every vein. You? You lack pith. You'd never love through crime; But when _I_ love, I dare--and brook no chain!

DOROTHEA. You're rather frightening. Still, do take a seat!

DOROTHY (_sitting on the table_). Chocolates! One for me?

DOROTHEA (_politely_). Oh, not at all----

DOROTHY. Wild roses, love and chocolate--aren't they sweet?

DOROTHEA. Yes--well ... I do hope nobody will call. We've not been introduced, but is it true That you're my own Subconscious?

DOROTHY. There, you see The insolence of the Conscious! Part of you! Really! And why not you a part of me? How much of Time have _you_ known? Twenty years; But I, whom not ten thousand can make old, Have worshipped trees, loved naiads, boxed the ears Of mountain satyrs, touched the Fleece of Gold, And ridden great centaurs. When I catch the strain Of Homer's verse I hear his very lyre Trembling: for me Hector is newly slain, And it was yesterday Troy fell in fire. They who at last have found me little guess Whither I lead. They fancy that one blow Has brought down Heaven in fragments. Nonetheless, I shall build what they think I overthrow! And you? You're just a weir that tames my power. I am the rushing car and you the brake That checks me: I the root and you the flower; I the true girl----

DOROTHEA. Please try another cake. No doubt you're right, but Freud says----

DOROTHY. Not a word Against my good Columbus!

DOROTHEA. Hardly! Still, I always thought from what I read and heard That you were quite a monster.

DOROTHY. As you will, I have my faults.

DOROTHEA. You do seem--shall I say A trifle--crude?

DOROTHY. I'm what you'd like to be.

DOROTHEA. Oh, really! I'm not prim--I'm rather gay-- But that's no frock for going out to tea. I _should_ blush!

DOROTHY. Little hypocrite! Why, look-- What's that--oh you that have no eyes for men?

DOROTHEA. The 'Life of Gosse'--a very proper book.

DOROTHY. And underneath? La Vie Parisienne!

(_Turning to the bookshelves._)

Then, here's Boccaccio, Havelock Ellis, too, James Joyce rebound to look like Samuel Smiles, Montaigne, Pierre Louys----

DOROTHEA. Any one but you Would know I read them only for their styles. I've stood enough. Please go!

DOROTHY. But where to go? We two make up one girl.

DOROTHEA. Behind the screen.

DOROTHY. Not yet!

DOROTHEA. But I've important things----

DOROTHY. I know-- That's why I came. This telegram, you mean----

DOROTHEA. Mind your own business!

DOROTHY. But it _is_ mine, quite As much as yours. You'll take him? You insist? _I_ won't!

DOROTHEA. How terrible! In this modern light Poor James looks almost like a bigamist....

DOROTHY. Marry that hippopotamus if you dare!

DOROTHEA. Chairmen of Boards must be a little fat.

DOROTHY. James never rises but he 'takes' the chair.

DOROTHEA. He owns five cars, four houses, and a flat.

DOROTHY. Those and the seven deadly virtues, too.

DOROTHEA. He's forty-nine and never loved before.