第 12 页

Poor fellow!

LOUIS [musing] I used to be awfully afraid of death; but now it's come I

have no fear; and I'm perfectly happy. Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear?

LOUIS. I'll tell you a secret. I used to think that our marriage was all

an affectation, and that I'd break loose and run away some day. But

now that I'm going to be broken loose whether I like it or not, I'm

perfectly fond of you, and perfectly satisfied because I'm going to live

as part of you and not as my troublesome self.

MRS DUBEDAT [heartbroken] Stay with me, Louis. Oh, dont leave me,

dearest.

LOUIS. Not that I'm selfish. With all my faults I dont think Ive ever

been really selfish. No artist can: Art is too large for that. You will

marry again, Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, how can you, Louis?

LOUIS [insisting childishly] Yes, because people who have found marriage

happy always marry again. Ah, I shant be jealous. [Slyly.] But dont

talk to the other fellow too much about me: he wont like it. [Almost

chuckling] I shall be your lover all the time; but it will be a secret

from him, poor devil!

SIR PATRICK. Come! youve talked enough. Try to rest awhile.

LOUIS [wearily] Yes: I'm fearfully tired; but I shall have a long rest

presently. I have something to say to you fellows. Youre all there, arnt

you? I'm too weak to see anything but Jennifer's bosom. That promises

rest.

RIDGEON. We are all here.

LOUIS [startled] That voice sounded devilish. Take care, Ridgeon: my

ears hear things that other people's cant. Ive been thinking--thinking.

I'm cleverer than you imagine.

SIR PATRICK [whispering to Ridgeon] Youve got on his nerves, Colly. Slip

out quietly.

RIDGEON [apart to Sir Patrick] Would you deprive the dying actor of his

audience?

LOUIS [his face lighting up faintly with mischievous glee] I heard

that, Ridgeon. That was good. Jennifer dear: be kind to Ridgeon always;

because he was the last man who amused me.

RIDGEON [relentless] Was I?

LOUIS. But it's not true. It's you who are still on the stage. I'm half

way home already.

MRS DUBEDAT [to Ridgeon] What did you say?

LOUIS [answering for him] Nothing, dear. Only one of those little

secrets that men keep among themselves. Well, all you chaps have thought

pretty hard things of me, and said them.

B. B. [quite overcome] No, no, Dubedat. Not at all.

LOUIS. Yes, you have. I know what you all think of me. Dont imagine I'm

sore about it. I forgive you.

WALPOLE [involuntarily] Well, damn me! [Ashamed] I beg your pardon.

LOUIS. That was old Walpole, I know. Don't grieve, Walpole. I'm

perfectly happy. I'm not in pain. I don't want to live. Ive escaped from

myself. I'm in heaven, immortal in the heart of my beautiful Jennifer.

I'm not afraid, and not ashamed. [Reflectively, puzzling it out for

himself weakly] I know that in an accidental sort of way, struggling

through the unreal part of life, I havnt always been able to live up

to my ideal. But in my own real world I have never done anything wrong,

never denied my faith, never been untrue to myself. Ive been threatened

and blackmailed and insulted and starved. But Ive played the game. Ive

fought the good fight. And now it's all over, theres an indescribable

peace. [He feebly folds his hands and utters his creed] I believe in

Michael Angelo, Velasquez, and Rembrandt; in the might of design, the

mystery of color, the redemption of all things by Beauty everlasting,

and the message of Art that has made these hands blessed. Amen. Amen.

[He closes his eyes and lies still].

MRS DUBEDAT [breathless] Louis: are you--

Walpole rises and comes quickly to see whether he is dead.

LOUIS. Not yet, dear. Very nearly, but not yet. I should like to rest my

head on your bosom; only it would tire you.

MRS DUBEDAT. No, no, no, darling: how could you tire me? [She lifts him

so that he lies on her bosom].

LOUIS. Thats good. Thats real.

MRS DUBEDAT. Dont spare me, dear. Indeed, indeed you will not tire me.

Lean on me with all your weight.

LOUIS [with a sudden half return of his normal strength and comfort]

Jinny Gwinny: I think I shall recover after all. [Sir Patrick looks

significantly at Ridgeon, mutely warning him that this is the end].

MRS DUBEDAT [hopefully] Yes, yes: you shall.

LOUIS. Because I suddenly want to sleep. Just an ordinary sleep.

MRS DUBEDAT [rocking him] Yes, dear. Sleep. [He seems to go to sleep.

Walpole makes another movement. She protests]. Sh--sh: please dont

disturb him. [His lips move]. What did you say, dear? [In great

distress] I cant listen without moving him. [His lips move again;

Walpole bends down and listens].

WALPOLE. He wants to know is the newspaper man here.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [excited; for he has been enjoying himself enormously]

Yes, Mr Dubedat. Here I am.

Walpole raises his hand warningly to silence him. Sir Ralph sits down

quietly on the sofa and frankly buries his face in his handkerchief.

MRS DUBEDAT [with great relief] Oh thats right, dear: dont spare me:

lean with all your weight on me. Now you are really resting.

Sir Patrick quickly comes forward and feels Louis's pulse; then takes

him by the shoulders.

SIR PATRICK. Let me put him back on the pillow, maam. He will be better

so.

MRS DUBEDAT [piteously] Oh no, please, please, doctor. He is not tiring

me; and he will be so hurt when he wakes if he finds I have put him

away.

SIR PATRICK. He will never wake again. [He takes the body from her and

replaces it in the chair. Ridgeon, unmoved, lets down the back and makes

a bier of it].

MRS DUBEDAT [who has unexpectedly sprung to her feet, and stands

dry-eyed and stately] Was that death?

WALPOLE. Yes.

MRS DUBEDAT [with complete dignity] Will you wait for me a moment? I

will come back. [She goes out].

WALPOLE. Ought we to follow her? Is she in her right senses?

SIR PATRICK [with quiet conviction]. Yes. Shes all right. Leave her

alone. She'll come back.

RIDGEON [callously] Let us get this thing out of the way before she

comes.

B. B. [rising, shocked] My dear Colly! The poor lad! He died splendidly.

SIR PATRICK. Aye! that is how the wicked die.

For there are no bands in their death;

But their strength is firm:

They are not in trouble as other men.

No matter: its not for us to judge. Hes in another world now.

WALPOLE. Borrowing his first five-pound note there, probably.

RIDGEON. I said the other day that the most tragic thing in the world is

a sick doctor. I was wrong. The most tragic thing in the world is a man

of genius who is not also a man of honor.

Ridgeon and Walpole wheel the chair into the recess.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [to Sir Ralph] I thought it shewed a very nice

feeling, his being so particular about his wife going into proper

mourning for him and making her promise never to marry again.

B. B. [impressively] Mrs Dubedat is not in a position to carry the

interview any further. Neither are we.

SIR PATRICK. Good afternoon to you.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Mrs. Dubedat said she was coming back.

B. B. After you have gone.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Do you think she would give me a few words on How It

Feels to be a Widow? Rather a good title for an article, isnt it?

B. B. Young man: if you wait until Mrs Dubedat comes back, you will be

able to write an article on How It Feels to be Turned Out of the House.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [unconvinced] You think she'd rather not--

B. B. [cutting him short] Good day to you. [Giving him a visiting-card]

Mind you get my name correctly. Good day.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Good day. Thank you. [Vaguely trying to read the

card] Mr--

B. B. No, not Mister. This is your hat, I think [giving it to him].

Gloves? No, of course: no gloves. Good day to you. [He edges him out at

last; shuts the door on him; and returns to Sir Patrick as Ridgeon and

Walpole come back from the recess, Walpole crossing the room to the

hat-stand, and Ridgeon coming between Sir Ralph and Sir Patrick].

Poor fellow! Poor young fellow! How well he died! I feel a better man,

really.

SIR PATRICK. When youre as old as I am, youll know that it matters very

little how a man dies. What matters is, how he lives. Every fool that

runs his nose against a bullet is a hero nowadays, because he dies for

his country. Why dont he live for it to some purpose?

B. B. No, please, Paddy: dont be hard on the poor lad. Not now, not now.

After all, was he so bad? He had only two failings: money and women.

Well, let us be honest. Tell the truth, Paddy. Dont be hypocritical,

Ridgeon. Throw off the mask, Walpole. Are these two matters so well

arranged at present that a disregard of the usual arrangements indicates

real depravity?

WALPOLE. I dont mind his disregarding the usual arrangements. Confound

the usual arrangements! To a man of science theyre beneath contempt both

as to money and women. What I mind is his disregarding everything

except his own pocket and his own fancy. He didn't disregard the

usual arrangements when they paid him. Did he give us his pictures

for nothing? Do you suppose he'd have hesitated to blackmail me if I'd

compromised myself with his wife? Not he.

SIR PATRICK. Dont waste your time wrangling over him. A blackguard's a

blackguard; an honest man's an honest man; and neither of them will ever

be at a loss for a religion or a morality to prove that their ways are

the right ways. It's the same with nations, the same with professions,

the same all the world over and always will be.

B. B. Ah, well, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Still, de mortuis nil

nisi bonum. He died extremely well, remarkably well. He has set us an

example: let us endeavor to follow it rather than harp on the weaknesses

that have perished with him. I think it is Shakespear who says that

the good that most men do lives after them: the evil lies interred with

their bones. Yes: interred with their bones. Believe me, Paddy, we are

all mortal. It is the common lot, Ridgeon. Say what you will, Walpole,

Nature's debt must be paid. If tis not to-day, twill be to-morrow.

To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow

After life's fitful fever they sleep well

And like this insubstantial bourne from which

No traveller returns

Leave not a wrack behind.

[Walpole is about to speak, but B. B., suddenly and vehemently

proceeding, extinguishes him.]

Out, out, brief candle:

For nothing canst thou to damnation add

The readiness is all.

WALPOLE [gently; for B. B.'s feeling, absurdly expressed as it is, is

too sincere and humane to be ridiculed] Yes, B. B. Death makes people go

on like that. I dont know why it should; but it does. By the way, what

are we going to do? Ought we to clear out; or had we better wait and see

whether Mrs Dubedat will come back?

SIR PATRICK. I think we'd better go. We can tell the charwoman what to

do.

They take their hats and go to the door.

MRS DUBEDAT [coming from the inner door wonderfully and beautifully

dressed, and radiant, carrying a great piece of purple silk, handsomely

embroidered, over her arm] I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting.

SIR PATRICK } [amazed, all] { Dont mention it, madam.

B.B. } [together] { Not at all, not at all.

RIDGEON } [in a confused] { By no means.

WALPOLE } [murmur] { It doesnt matter in the least.

MRS. DUBEDAT [coming to them] I felt that I must shake hands with his

friends once before we part to-day. We have shared together a great

privilege and a great happiness. I dont think we can ever think of

ourselves ordinary people again. We have had a wonderful experience; and

that gives us a common faith, a common ideal, that nobody else can

quite have. Life will always be beautiful to us: death will always be

beautiful to us. May we shake hands on that?

SIR PATRICK [shaking hands] Remember: all letters had better be left to

your solicitor. Let him open everything and settle everything. Thats the

law, you know.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, thank you: I didnt know. [Sir Patrick goes].

WALPOLE. Good-bye. I blame myself: I should have insisted on operating.

[He goes].

B.B. I will send the proper people: they will know it to do: you shall

have no trouble. Good-bye, my dear lady. [He goes].

RIDGEON. Good-bye. [He offers his hand].

MRS DUBEDAT [drawing back with gentle majesty] I said his friends, Sir

Colenso. [He bows and goes].

She unfolds the great piece of silk, and goes into the recess to cover

her dead.

ACT V

One of the smaller Bond Street Picture Galleries. The entrance is from

a picture shop. Nearly in the middle of the gallery there is a

writing-table, at which the Secretary, fashionably dressed, sits with

his back to the entrance, correcting catalogue proofs. Some copies of a

new book are on the desk, also the Secretary's shining hat and a couple

of magnifying glasses. At the side, on his left, a little behind him,

is a small door marked PRIVATE. Near the same side is a cushioned bench

parallel to the walls, which are covered with Dubedat's works. Two

screens, also covered with drawings, stand near the corners right and

left of the entrance.

Jennifer, beautifully dressed and apparently very happy and prosperous,

comes into the gallery through the private door.

JENNIFER. Have the catalogues come yet, Mr Danby?

THE SECRETARY. Not yet.

JENNIFER. What a shame! It's a quarter past: the private view will begin

in less than half an hour.

THE SECRETARY. I think I'd better run over to the printers to hurry them

up.

JENNIFER. Oh, if you would be so good, Mr Danby. I'll take your place

while youre away.

THE SECRETARY. If anyone should come before the time dont take any

notice. The commissionaire wont let anyone through unless he knows

him. We have a few people who like to come before the crowd--people

who really buy; and of course we're glad to see them. Have you seen the

notices in Brush and Crayon and in The Easel?

JENNIFER [indignantly] Yes: most disgraceful. They write quite