Complete works of hall c.., p.648
Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 648
Governor’s Wife. Well, songs, recitations, imitations — I don’t know what they are, but your father wishes you to see them and he sent us out to find you. So run — run to your room and dress: the Prince will begin presently.
Bill. But tell me — what’s he like — this Prince — young or old?
Governor’s Wife. Oh, young, very young, only two or three and twenty.
Bill. Tall?
Governor’s Wife. Quite tall.
Daughter. Mamma, dear, he’s short — as short as I am.
Governor’s Wife. Of course, you must contradict. He’s tall. You’re told he’s tall — he’s as tall as your mother.
Bill. Is he dark or fair?
Governor’s Wife. Dark.
Daughter. No, fair.
Governor’s Wife. Well, dark and fair.
Bill (eagerly). Auburn hair?
Governor’s Wife. Exactly: dark auburn, and his eyes
Bill (more eagerly). They’re brown, aren’t they?
Governor’s Wife. No, blue — deep blue.
Daughter. Mamma, they’re brown — I looked at them myself,
Governor’s Wife. And they looked at me, miss — indeed I noticed that the Prince kept looking at me all through dinner.
Daughter. Oil, Mamma, he kept looking at me!
Governor’s Wife. Get along with your rubbish — your remarks are quite inappropriate.
Daughter. But, mamma, he did, he really did.
Governor’s Wife. There you are — arguing again! When did he look at you, pray?
Daughter. When he said I must surely resemble my brother he gazed at me the whole time.
Governor’s Wife. Well, perhaps he did look at you once or twice, but that was only tor the sake of appearances. (Voice of Governor outside, ^’Rubina.’”’) There, (to Bill.) there’s your father; run away and return quickly.
Bill. (going, asidee). The Prince — twenty-three — auburn hair — brown eyes — songs — imitations! Oh, my head’s going round like a windmill! (Exit Bill, r.)
Enter Governor from House.
Governor. Bill got back?
Governor’s Wife. Yes, dear; the boy’s gone up to dress and will be down presently.
Governor (mopping his forehead). Oh, Lord, I haven’t got over my fright yet!
Governor’s Wife. Why, what is there to be frightened about?
Governor. That’s just like ii woman! A big-wig comes down on you like a bolt out of the blue, and she asks what is there to be frightened about!
Governor’s Wife. Well, I see nothing in the Prince but a nice, polished, polite young gentleman, and if there was ever any danger of trouble, than heaven it’s all over.
Governor. Yes, yes, but it’s a queer world for all that. You ought to be able to recognise great people by their distinguished appearance, but you can’t, yon can’t! There’s the Prince, a mere stripling! And there’s that old equerry, he drank so much at dinner and gave vent to such allegories and ambiguities that I couldn’t make head or tail of ‘em.
Governor’s Wife. Sh! He’s coming!
Enter Daddie from house, gorgeously got up in grotesque evening dress and considerably elevated.
Daddie. Splendid! Your dinner, sir, was splendid! Do you have a spread like that every day?
Governor. Not every day; it was in honour of our distinguished guest.
Daddie. Just so! He’s fond of his dinner, too. In fact he’s charmed with the way you have in this island of showing your hospitality. In other places they showed him nothing.
Governor’s Wife. You have found your journey very disagreeable, I fear?
Daddie. Excessively so. After being used, comprenez-vous, to living in society — to find one’s-self all at once in a dirty inn in the depths of un-civilization
Governor’s Wife. How unpleasant it must have been for you!
Daddie (with a killing air). But I find it quite the reverse at this moment, dear lady!
Governor’s Wife (curtseying). Oh, how can you say so, sir! You do me too much honour.
Enter Bill, hurriedly, in evening dress.
Governor. Ah, here is my son at last. Allow me to introduce
Bill (with a start). What? Da –
Daddie (signalling to him). Charmed, I’m sure! Charmed to make the acquaintance of the son of so distinguished an official!
Bill (aside). Well, I’m blest!
Enter Footman.
Footman (announcing guests). The Bishop and Mrs. Chanton — Judge Deenlaw and Mrs. Deenlaw. (Governor, Wife, and Daughter go up L. to receive guests. Bill and Daddie come down u.)
Bill. Look here, Daddie, what’s going on?
Daddie. Sh! Don’t you see? They’ve mistaken Lesta for the Prince!
Bill. And you’re playing up to it?
Daddie. What do you think?
Footman (announcing). The Head Constable and Mrs. Catchem — the Mayor and Mrs. Waterdrink.
Bill. But what about these private theatricals?
Daddie. Soul’s, my boy, songs! Lesta’s to do her own songs in her own character — just to keep up the incognito.
Bill. You don’t mean to say that having come here as the Prime she is to play her own part and pretend to be herself?
Daddie. That’s about the size of it.
Bill. Oh, my head’s like a tee-to-tum and I’m as giddy as if I stood on a steeple.
Footman (announcing). The Seneschal and Mrs. Sugarsand — the Postmaster and Mrs. Peephem.
Bill. But what the deuce is it all about? What is expected to come of it?
Daddie. Sh! Didn’t you get your letter?
Bill. What letter?
Daddie. The one Lesta sent up, explaining everything.
Bill. Good heavens, no! What has become of it? I’ll go and see. (Exit Bill.)
Orchestra enters and takes up position on terrace.
Governor (clapping his hands). Places, places, places! (Guests seat themselves right and left of stage.) (Clearing his throat.) Colleagues and friends! I have persuaded our distinguished guest — who is happily endowed with a wondrous gift of mimicry — to favour us with imitations of a certain music-hall singer. Only a common person, I fear, one who is never admitted into society like the present, but the more on that account the condescension of the illustrious personage who has consented to entertain us. (The guests applause.)
Governor. This, dear friends, is not a case of the commercial theatre
Voices. No, no!
Governor. The august personage who deigns to sing to us has higher and nobler considerations, and his entertainment, I venture to suggest, will be found to be — ahem! — strictly moral.
Bishop. Hear, hear!
Governor. A warning to all our young people and a lesson to the age!
Daddie. Pickles!
Governor. Did you speak, sir?
Daddie. Precisely! I said precisely!
Governor. Thanks! And now silence, dear friends, silence! (Orchestra strikes up. Lesta comes out of tent in character and sings her first song. Guests applaud. Sunset begins.)
Ladies. Beautiful! Charming!
Judge. Wonderful!
Mayor. Delightful!
Seneschal. So clever!
Head Constable. Splendid!
Bishop. So elevating!
Postmaster. So touch — touch — touching!
Governor’s Wife. And so like! I’m sure it’s like! (To Daddie.) Isn’t it like, sir?
Daddie. Exactly like, dear lady!
Governor’s Wife. Ah, I can imagine with what perfect art and taste the dear Prince has reproduced the original.
Daddie. Perfect, madam, absolutely perfect! In fact you couldn’t tell the difference between them.
Re-enter Bill.
Postmaster. And who — who — who –
Daddie. Who is the original?
Postmaster. Yes, who — who is she?
Daughter. She? Is it a woman then?
Daddie. Yes, it’s a woman — it’s Lesta Lily. Ever hear of her? (All shake their heads.) No? Extraordinary! Most extraordinary! Such a popular favourite, too!
Governor’s Wife. Let me see — Lesta Lily! I must have heard that name before.
Daddie. Must have, dear lady!
Governor’s Wife. She’s a favourite, you say?
Daddie. An immense favourite! The Prince knows her intimately.
Governor. The Prince knows her?
Daddie. Nobody better. They’re as thick as butter. Always together.
Postmaster. A — a — always?
Daddie. Day and night! In fact they’re like the Siamese twins — you can’t separate them.
Governor’s Wife. Why, of course, how stupid of me! Now I remember! Lesta Lily — certainly!
Daughter. But, mamma dear, if Lesta Lily is a woman –
Governor’s Wife. There! Of course! I knew you would want to argue!
Bill (tugging at Daddie’s sleeve). Hold hard, Daddie — you’re letting the cat out of the bag. That letter hasn’t come, and I’ve got my eye on the Postmaster.
Governor (clapping his hands as before). Silence, friends, silence! (Orchestra again. Lesta sings her second song.)
Ladies. How lovely!
Head Constable. How sweet!
Judge. How fascinating!
Bishop. And how instructive!
Governor. Instructive! That’s the word! As my dear colleague says, how instructive I
Governor’s Wife (to Daddie). If Lesta Lily is anything like that –
Daddie. Anything like it? My dear lady, it’s Lesta Lily to the life.
Governor’s Wife. No wonder she’s so popular.
Daddie. Popular! It’s ridiculous! I dare say you think a variety artiste is sometimes out of an engagement, but Lesta Lily — never! It did once happen that she was “on the out” for half an hour, but the moment it became known the street where she lives was chokeful of managers — managers after managers! Just picture to yourself thirty-two thousand managers rushing up four flights of stairs to her lodgings on the fourth floor back!
Bill (aside). Half time, Daddie!
Postmaster. The fou — fou — fourth floor?
Daddie. Did I say the fourth floor? I was forgetting that she lives on the first floor. Why, the staircase alone cost her I don’t know how much. And it’s a curious sight to see her rooms on Sunday afternoon: authors and managers jostling and humming like bees: you can hear nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz! Yes, she knows all the literary men. For instance, she’s on a very friendly footing with Swinburne. Sometimes she slaps him on the back and says, “How do, Swinny, my boy?” “So, so, old man,” he replies: “things might be better.”
Postman. Old ma — ma — man?
Daddie. Did I say “old man”? I was thinking of the Prince. Yes, I must admit he lives in great style. He gives a supper every Sunday night.
Governor’s Wife. Ah, I can fancy with what magnificence the suppers will be given!
Daddie. It’s a simple affair, not worth talking about! Tripe and onions, you know, and a bottle of Bass to wash it down!
Postmaster. The Prin — Prin — Prince?
Daddie. Did I say the Prince? I meant Lesta Lily. But it’s all one — they live together!
Ladies. Oh! (The company start. Bill tugs at Daddie’s tail.)
Bill (aside). For the Lord’s sake, hold your tongue, Daddie! This is a serious business! You’re putting your foot in it!
Governor (clapinng his hands). Silence, friends, silence! (Orchestra again. Lesta sings her third song. Chorus of praise from the company generally.)
Governor’s Wife. Well, if Lesta Lily is as good as that, she’s charming.
Chorus of Voices. Charming! Charming!
Governor’s Wife (to Daddie). But tell me — what is she like to look at? Anything like the dear Prince?
Daddie. Absurdly like.
Governor’s Wife. You don’t say so!
Daddie. Once they mistook her for the Prince.
Governor’s Wife. Never!
Daddie. Fact! You should have seen the Guards rushing out of Whitehall and saluting! And when she goes to Court –
Governor. She goes to Court, you say?
Daddie. Constantly, every day, we go together. We have a whist club there — the Prince, one or two equerries, Lesta, and myself. She nearly kills herself over cards. And when she’s rushing away to get down in time for her ten o’clock turn at the Halls, you’ll see a nobleman flying after her on the stairs with a blacking-brush, thinking she’s the Prince: “Allow me, your Highness, to clean your boots for you.” (Daddie laughs. The company look at each other. Bill tugs again at Daddie’s coat-tail.)
Bill. That’ll do! Stop it, please — please!
Daddie. But the funniest thing was when they were both staying at the same hotel somewhere. The Prince had come down to lay a foundation-stone or open a bazaar or something. Suddenly he fell ill, and the question was how his place was to be taken — who was to fill it? It was a devil of a business, because the Prince couldn’t tell — he couldn’t disappoint the people. There was nothing to be done but come to Lesta. So late at night, when everybody was in bed, he went over to her room in his dressing-gown
Ladies. Oh! (The ladies start from their chairs in alarm.)
Bill. (aside). Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!
Postmaster. Was she in — in — in bed, or ou — ou — out?
Daddie. Oh, in — I mean out — in and out! Ill, you know.
Postmaster. But did — did — didn’t you say it was the Pr — Pr — Prince who was ill?
Daddie. Did I? Same thing. Whenever the Prince is ill Lesta is ill, too! Extraordinary fact! Can’t account for it!
Bill (tugging at Daddie). Good Lord! Will you never stop? If you say another word I’ll scream!
Governor (clapping hands). Silence! Silence! (Orchestra again; Lesta sings her fourth song; universal applause.)
Governor (clearing his throat). Ahem! Everything has a stopping-place except time, dear friends, and we must not trespass further on the indulgence of our distinguished guest. What he has shown us with his admirable art and what our eloquent friend (indicating Daddie) has explained with his wonderful lucidity, teaches a great, an improving lesson — that women, like the one in question, whatever their gifts, whatever their fascinations, their alluring fascinations, are but the creatures of the great.
Bishop. Hear, hear!
Governor. Shall we take such persons into our families?
Judge. No, no!
Governor. Shall we open our hearts to them?
Head Constable. Impossible!
Governor. Shall we clasp them to our bosoms?
Bishop. Never!
Daddie. Rats! (The gong goes off in house with a loud bang. Twilight.)
Governor. Ah, supper! (Company rise.) Bill, give your arm to your mother.
Bill (aside). Oh, Lord, my head’s in a whirl! Where’s that letter? Where? Where? (To Daddie, crossing.) Tell Lesta I’ll be back presently.
Governor. Now Bishop — Judge — Constable — Seneschal — Postmaster — will you! (As he names them they pair off with ladies and go in. Agatha stands waiting.)
Governor (taking Daddie aside). A word in your ear, my friend — Sidney — your name’s Sidney, isn’t it? (Daddie nods.) Well, I hear — but this is confidential?
Daddie. Oh, strictly confidential!
Governor. I hear that your little friend Lesta is in the Isle of Boy.
Daddie. You don’t say so!
Governor. Yes, she arrived to-day!
Daddie. Well, who would have thought it! Talk of the angels –
Governor. Just so! The little woman must be charming, Sid — perfectly charming!
Daddie. Oh, she is, Gov, she is!
Governor. Do you think now –
Daddie. What?
Governor. If I made it worth your while, Sid — you could — eh?
Daddie. Introduce you? Certainly! When shall it be. Gov?
Governor (in a whisper). Why not to-night? After supper, when everybody’s gone to bed, we’ll creep off –
Daddie (aside). The old tom-cat! (Aloud.) Well, no, not to-night — there’s the Prince, you know!
Governor. Ah, of course! Shall we say to-morrow morning, then?
Daddie. To-morrow morning, by all means!
Governor. But not a word to your master!
Daddie. Oh, not a word!
Governor. And not a syllable to my son!
Daddie. Not a syllable! (They giggle, laugh, wink, and nudge each other with their elbows.) (Aside.) The old catawaller! (Agatha coughs. Governor starts.)
Governor (offering his arm). Ah, Agatha, my child, I was just saying how sad it is that our sons do not follow in the footsteps of their fathers. That’s the model (Goes on talking.)
Lesta comes bounding down from tent, followed slowly by Mammie. The moon rises.
Lesta (intoxicated with excitement). How’s it going, Daddie?
Daddie. Like a house afire! Did you hear me?
Lesta. Hear you? Did I nearly crack my sides to keep myself from exploding?
Daddie. I drew the long bow certainly, but then no story is told without a little exaggeration. And what do you think now?
Lesta. What?
Daddie. Old Cockatoo wants to be introduced to you!
Lesta. To me?
Daddie. To Lesta Lily. I’m to bring him round in the morning, and the Prince is to know nothing about it.
Lesta. Oh! Oh! Oh! The Lord be with ‘em! (They roll about laughing.)
Mammie (gravely). But, Lesta, do you know
Lesta. Know what, Mammie?
Mammie. It’s high time we were going!
Daddie. Going? What nonsense! This sort of life just suits me to a T.
Mammie. I mean it. You’ve gone far enough with this deception: and after all what’s going to be the good of it? Let us get away now — to-night!
Daddie. Just when we’re getting along so comfortably?
Mammie. You don’t know what may happen next — somebody else may come. And, even if the others deserve to be made fools of, there’s Bill –
Lesta (putting her hand over Mammie’s mouth from behind). There, there, there! I know I’ve serious things to think about — very serious — but don’t ask me to think of them now. Give me until to-morrow, Mammie. I can’t think of serious things to-night! When the grey old world turns its back to the sun it has its face to the merry moon, and if we cannot wipe out our troubles we can sometimes forget them. Let me forget mine, Mammie. To-morrow I’ll be Lesta Lily and meet the Governor and settle accounts with him. But to-night I’m the Prince, and I’ve a right to fool him to the top of his bent.
