Plays 5 Read online

  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.

  Hannah Are you looking into Byron or Chater?

  Chloë 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.

  Chloë Sorry – just cutting through – there’s tea in the pantry if you don’t mind mugs –

  Bernard How kind.

  Chloë Hannah will show you.

  Bernard Let me help you.

  Chloë 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?

  Chloë’s door opens again and she puts her head round it.

  Chloë 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.

  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 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 11th 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 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. Chloë enters to witness the end of this.

  Chloë 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?

  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.)

  Chloë He said he knew you.

  Hannah He couldn’t have.

&n
bsp; Chloë 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?

  Chloë Bouncy on his feet, you see, a sure sign. Should I invite him for you?

  Hannah To what? No.

  Chloë You can invite him – that’s better. He can come as your partner.

  Hannah Stop it. Thank you for the tea.

  Chloë 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?

  Chloë I’m just trying to fix you up, Hannah.

  Hannah Believe me, it gets less important.

  Chloë I mean for the dancing. He can come as Beau Brummell.

  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.

  Chloë Don’t be such a prune. You were kissing him, anyway.

  Hannah He was kissing me, and only out of general enthusiasm.

  Chloë 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!

  Chloë 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 the garden, in his customary silent awkwardness.

  Chloë Hello, Gus, what have you got?

  Gus has an apple, just picked, with a leaf or two still attached. He offers the apple to Hannah.

  Hannah (surprised) Oh! … Thank you!

  Chloë (leaving) Told you. (She closes the door on herself.)

  Hannah Thank you. Oh dear.

  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 – 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. (He 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.

  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, 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.

  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 Sophocles, 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. 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, 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 feet) 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.