Complete works of hall c.., p.645
Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 645
Governor (rising and walking about moping his forehead). It must be the Prince! Who else could it be? Why should a man pretend to be a woman? Why should I pretend to be a woman?
Mayor. I dun’ know.
Governor. Why should /you pretend to be a woman?
Mayor. I never do, your Excellency.
Governor. When a man pretends to be a woman it’s for the same reason that a widow of forty pretends to be twenty-five — she’s going to drop down on some poor devil soon. And then why — why should anybody who can’t pay a penny sing — sing all day long?
Mayor. I give it up, sir.
Governor. It’s even worse than I expected! When I first heard of this cursed incognito I thought to myself — somebody will come and tell me a distinguished-looking stranger has arrived in a yacht and put up at the Grand Hotel. But a low pot-house on the quay! In the disguise of a woman, too! Good heavens! this means something serious! (Mops his forehead and fans himself. The others begin to groan.) How long has he been here, do you say?
Head Constable. A week — a week come Wednesday.
Governor. (throwing up his hands). A week! Long enough to hear as much about the island as will ruin everybody!
Judge (taking a nip of whiskey). Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
Seneschal. Yes, we shall all be sent about our businesses, and our little perquisites –
Bishop. Heaven have mercy upon us all as sinners!
Judge (takes another nip). Oh, dear! Oh, dear! (They all groan together — general business.)
Governor (standing by his chair and assuming the manner of a public speaker). Gentlemen, let me speak. All is not yet lost. On the contrary, I might say everything has just been found. What does the proverb tell us: “To be forewarned is to be forearmed!” We are forewarned. We know the young Prince is on the island in disguise. What, then, ought we to do?
All. What, what?
Governor (with a knowing wink). We ought to take him by strategy.
Bishop. Good!
Seneschal. Splendid!
Judge (hiccoughing). Exactly what I say! Let us show him we see through his incog — (hiccoughing) — nito.
Mayor. What do you think — hadn’t we better go down to him in a body in gala uniform?
Judge. Jus’ so! I’ll pu’ on my wig and gown.
Mayor. And I’ll put on my mayoral robes and chain.
Bishop. And I’ll put on my
Governor. Bah! Bosh! Perhaps you would like to bring up the town band, and the town crier, and the bell-man! No, no, leave this matter to me. I’ve had ticklish jobs before now and I’ve pulled them off all right. I flatter myself I know a thing or two. The Prince goes out as a woman, does he? Very well, I’ll play up to his little game. He makes believe to be poor, to be nobody. All right — I’ll feed him with his own sweet chaff. (All laugh — Governor rings bell and calls.) Jenkyns, order round the carriage immediately. I’ll go down to the inn at once.
Judge. And I — I’ll go with you.
Governor. No, you won’t. You’ll go home and souse your head and see if you can make yourself sober. You’ve put water in your spirits long enough: put your spirits in water for a change.
Bishop. Quite right, but I’ll go with you, your Excellency.
Governor. No, nor you neither. You’ll go back and burn your atheistic books — fire and religion have gone together pretty well; see if fire and the other thing will do the same.
Head Constable. Certainly: but I’ll go with your Excellency.
Postmaster. And I –
Mayor. And me — me too.
Governor. No, none of you. You’ll all go to your own departments and see that everything is right there. What does the proverb say— “Let everybody sweep before his own door and the street will be clean.” So let each of you take hold of his own door — I mean his own street — hang it, no, I mean his own broom — (Calling off.) Jenkyns! Where’s Jenkyns! Somebody run to my room, sharp, d’ye hear, and fetch my new hat and cane! Jenkyns! Jenkyns! (He goes off. The others look at each other significantly — then come close, put their heads together and play the scene in an undertone.)
Head Constable. Sh! Come here! Listen! This Governor is playing a deep game. Having found out the Prince by my instrumentality –
Postmaster. And mi-mine, Mr. Con-constable.
Head Constable. Well, yes and yours — having found out the Prince by our instrumentality he is going to keep him all to himself.
Judge. The villain!
Head Constable. Yes, he’s going to drive up to Peter Quiggan’s in fine style, with his new hat and cane, and his coachman in livery, and then it’ll be (bowing profoundly) “Your Royal Highness” here and “your Royal Highness” there, and none of us poor officials permitted to come within fifty paces of the Prince.
Judge. The double-faced villain!
Head Constable. More than that — he is going to make complaints against us, so as to get us all dismissed, and rule the roast himself.
Bishop. Traitor! Judas!
Head Constable. And when the Prince is gone he’ll walk over us like a cock over a dunghill, and his head will be swelled to such a size that he’ll have to use a shoe-horn to put on his hat.
All. The tyrant!
Head Constable. Sh! Don’t make a noise. Shall I tell you what we ought to do? We ought to get hold of the Prince first.
Judge. Exactly what I say.
Head Constable. Yes, we ought to approach him one by one. I’ll go first.
Bishop. No, I’ll go first — as Bishop, you know –
Mayor. No, I’ll go first as Mayor –
Seneschal. No, I’ll go first as Seneschal –
(Judge and Postmaster make drunken and stuttering efforts to speak).
Head Constable. No, no, no! I’ll go first as Head Constable. I’ll — yes, I’ll — that’s it — (winking all round). I’ll go on an official tour of inspection to see that all taverns and inns are properly conducted and all visitors to the Isle of Boy receive due consideration.
Judge (hiccoughing). Capital!
Head Constable. Then we must get up something — let me see –
Mayor. A public address — eh?
Bishop. Or a little testimonial, perhaps –
Head Constable No, no, no. I know! He’s travelling in disguise and pretends to be poor — hum! It’s risky, very risky. But we certainly ought to make the attempt.
Judge. What attempt?
Head Constable (nudging him with elbow). You know what I mean. Judge.
Judge. Palm oil?
Head Constable. Yes, let us try a little palm oil. If the Prince takes our money
Bishop. As a poor traveller, of course –
Head Constable. Of course as a poor stranded traveller. If he takes it he will think— “How well those officials do their duty: their discipline and philanthropy is wonderful — perfectly wonderful — incredible!” And then the island is ours!
Judge. Capital! (All chuckle.)
Head Constable. And when this rascally Governor comes along, he can take our leavings!
Judge. Hurrah! (All chuckle.)
Governor. (Voice of Governor within). Jenkyns! Where the deuce is Jenkyns?
Head Constable. Sh! He’s coming! Let’s be off! Strategy indeed! Others can play at that game, your Excellency! (All gathering up their tall hats and creeping off on tiptoe. Grotesque business.)
Judge (taking another nip). Drunkard indeed!
Bishop. Atheist forsooth!
Seneschal. Grocer, eh?
Mayor. Publican, if you please!
Postmaster. Foo-foo-fool, am I?
Head Constable. Sh! now! sh! (They are all gone except Postmaster who is last when Governor returns.)
Governor brings in his cane and a hat-box — puts hat-box on the table.
Governor. Jenky — Hello, where are the others?
Postmaster. Go-gone, sir!
Governor (buttonholing him). All the better! Look here, Postmaster, I know you. A friend in need is a friend indeed — in act and deed really. You are my friend, Postmaster, but those other scoundrels, I believe they’ve got petitions against me under their coat-tails already. (Looking round furtively.) Now, don’t you think. Postmaster, don’t you think you could keep an eye — on the Prince’s correspondence during the next few days, and slightly — just slightly — open any letters — eh? For the public benefit, you know, to see if they contained anything suspicious- — anything against me, in fact — couldn’t you?
Postmaster. Le-le-leave it to me, your Ex-xlncy! I al-always do that from pu-pure duty. I’m de-death on du-duty — and when I see — see anything sus-sus-suspicious –
Governor. Thanks, friend! Thanks! (good-bye! (Calling.) Jenkyns! Postmaster going off’ bumps against Footman coming in hurriedly.) Hello, Jenkyns! Where the mischief have you been hiding yourself?
Footman. Mr. William has — arrived from Cambridge, your Excellency, and I’ve been taking his portmanteau upstairs.
Governor (fluttering about in excitement). Bill? Come on that fool’s errand, has he? But I’ve something better to think of than Master Bill! Run to the door and see if the carriage is ready. Or wait — get me my new white gloves. There — inside the hat in the hat-box. (Footman opens hat-box, hands gloves, etc.) Now run — run to the carriage and see if the door is ready — Quick, quick! (Footman goes out hurriedly — bumps against Bill coming in, followed by his mother and sister.) Oh, it’s you, is it?
Bill. Yes, dad. I’ve come from Cambridge expressly to speak to you.
Governor (pulling on white gloves). I’ve heard all about that, so you can save your breath to cool your porridge. (Going.) I’ve an important matter on hand to-day — most important
Wife. But let the boy speak, dear.
Daughter. Yes, let the poor boy speak, papa.
Governor. Well, speak, speak, speak! Who is she? What is she? Where does she come from?
Bill. She’s Lesta Lily, dad.
Governor. Lest her — what?
Bill. Lesta Lily, the famous artiste. She sings, you know.
Governor. Oh, she sings, does she? And who are her family? I suppose she has a family.
Bill. Yes, dad, she has a father and a mother, a sister and a brother.
Governor. No more? Is that all the kinds she’s got?
Bill. All the kinds she’s got at present, dad.
Governor. And what is her father?
Bill. He sings too, dad.
Governor. Does he now? And her mother?
Bill. She sings also.
Governor. Is that so? And I suppose her brother and her sister –
Bill. Yes, they sing as well, dad.
Governor. So they all sing, do they? You’ll sing, too, if you go any farther with this preposterous business — you’ll sing small. Blockhead and bumpkin! Do you think I’ve lived all my life in cotton-wool and don’t know what these people are? Why didn’t you tell me at once that a son of mine wanted to marry a music-hall singer?
Bill. There are music-hall singers and music-hall singers, dad. Lesta Lily is a great music-hall singer — but that is not all — she’s a lady, a real lady.
Governor. And her father? Is he a real gentleman? And her mother — and brother and sister — are they all real ladies and gentlemen? (Laughs contemptuously.) Where did you meet her?
Bill. In Cambridge — she was singing at a theatre in town, and I went every night to see her.
Governor. And that’s what fathers send their sons to the University for! What’s a University? A place where an old fool pays while a young fool plays! Where is she now?
Bill. She’s in the Isle of Boy, dad.
Governor (with a gasp). What? Has it gone as far as that?
Bill. I didn’t bring her. She came over to play an engagement, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to introduce her to the family, so l –
Governor. You did, did you. You thought you would like to shunt the whole travelling troupe on to Government House — her father the real gentleman, and her mother the real lady, and her brother the clown, and her sister the ballet-dancer.
Bill. Say what you like, dad; whatever her family may be, Lesta Lily is a lady, a sweet, modest, refined little lady — and I love her: with all my heart and soul I love her –
Governor. Rats!
Bill. – And if I’m not allowed to marry her, I’ll marry nobody else in the world.
Governor. Dare say not! Nobody else will have you. But I won’t argue with you — you booby! Only don’t bring your singing birds into this house, or I’ll tell Jenkyns to shoot them out again — straight! (Going off.)
Footman returns, takes hat out of hat-box, brushes it, and stands, holding it, by the door.
Daughter (weeping). But, papa!
Wife (also weeping). Husband!
Governor (coming back). Music-hall troupe, indeed! And just at the moment when we are expecting a Prince to honour us with his presence!
Bill. A prince?
Governor. Yes, sir, a prince! A royal prince! He has been on the island a week.
Bill (bewildered). A week?
Governor (mimicking him). Yes, a week — a week come Wednesday.
Bill (more bewildered) . A week come Wednesday!
Governor. Staying at Peter Quiggan’s on the quay.
Bill (with increasing bewilderment). Peter Quiggan’s on the quay!
Governor. Incognito, d’ye understand? No, you don’t understand. You are too stupid! But I know a thing or two, and I’ve penetrated his disguise, and now I’m going to fetch him up here.
Bill (amazed). Fetch him up here?
Governor (mimicking again). Yes, fetch him up here. And your mother is getting the best spare room ready — so don’t bring your mummers here, sir, while the Prince and his suite are about, or I’ll pack you off along with them. (In his excitement and confusion he picks up the hat-hox in mistake for his hat.) And don’t talk to me about marrying your Filly — or Nilly- — or Silly — or I’ll — I’ll cut you off with a shilling — a shilling, d’ye hear? — a shilling — and you’ll be damned glad to get it! (Governor puts the hat-box on his head and strides off in high dudgeon.)
Footman (following him). Your Excellency! Your Excellency! That’s the hat-box, not your hat!
Curtain.
ACT II
Scene: — Inside of Inn on the Quay. Dilapidated place, much out of repair — very picturesque, timbered ceilings and fireplace, old English, half-timbered style. Doors have large glass panels at top. Through windows the harbour is seen, with fishing boats, etc., and cliff (quarried) at back. Sun is shining, lower half of windows thrown up. Table on left serves first as dressing-table, then as writing-table, finally as sideboard. Piano, fire-place — two basket trunks with “L. L.” “Professional luggage” painted on them.
Curtain rises on Lesta Lily, centre, a young lady in female dress but wearing a man’s silk hat and an eye-glass, and with a walking-cane under her arm, rehearsing a song. Her mother, a middle-aged “professional” with a mop of yellow hair is playing the piano.
Lesta, Once more, Mammie! (Mother plays, Lesta sings, acts the character, breaks off and piano stops.)
Lesta. No, no, that’s all wrong. I know how it ought to be done. Try again, Mammie dear. (Mother plays again, and again Lesta plays and acts.) That’ll fetch ‘em, Mammie darling! But how can a girl play a man’s part in a woman’s frock? My wig, Mammie, and my light grey suit. (Sits at dressing-table on left and proceeds to make up. Mother opens basket trunks and takes out wig, which she puts on the table, and frock coat, waistcoat, and trousers, which she shakes out one by one in view of audience and lays over the back of chairs.)
Mother. Rehearse in character, indeed! Why rehearse at all, I say? What’s the good of going on rehearsing when there’s no prospect of an engagement?
Lesta (humming a tune as she makes up). Don’t lose heart, Mannnie. Daddie has gone to see the Manager of the Palace this morning — and even if that fails — Hello, here he is!
Enter Elderly Man, “professionally” dressed, seedy, gloomy, and morose.
What luck, Daddie?
Daddie. Luck! Don’t talk about luck on this God-forsaken rock in the sea! Dinner served yet?
Mammie. It isn’t going to be. This morning the landlord sent up word that he can’t let us have anything more until we pay.
Daddie. Lily! In this beastly little island they’ll give you nothing without you pay. It’s simply disgusting! Deuce take it, I’m hungry. I took a stroll along the front, thinking my appetite would go. But not a bit of it. I’m as ravenous as ever. See if there’s any tobacco in the pouch, mammie.
Mother. Tobacco? You smoked the last two days ago, and the tobacconist says you can’t have any more unless you pay.
Daddie. Pay, pay, pay! I’m sick of the word pay. You would think that it was the only word in the English language, the way it monopolises some people’s conversation.
Lesta (still making up). Ring for the waiter, Daddie.
Daddie (tugging at bell rope). I’ll have to do something — there’s a noise in my inside like the trumpeters at the Tower.
Enter Waiter, untidy, insolent.
Ah, good day, my friend! And how are we now, eh?
Waiter. Pretty well, thank you!
Daddie. Business going nicely?
Waiter. Middling nicely.
Daddiw. Plenty of visitors?
Waiter. Plenty.
Daddie. Just so. Look here, my friend, we haven’t had our dinner brought in yet. Just hurry them up in the kitchen, won’t you?
Waiter. But there isn’t any dinner.
Daddie. Isn’t any? What nonsense!
Waiter. Well, there is some, and there isn’t!
Daddie. How so?
Waiter. Only for the gentlemen as pays.
Daddie (to Lesta). Upon my soul, this is getting monotonous.
Waiter. The landlord says he’ll give you no more until you settles up.
Daddie. But you reason with him, my friend — talk him over — speak seriously to him. We are bona fide travellers, and if other people are eating, hang it all, why shouldn’t we?
