Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes. Anstey F.
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Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes
PART I
SHADOWS CAST BEFORE
In Sir Rupert Culverin's Study at Wyvern Court. It is a rainy Saturday morning in February. Sir Rupert is at his writing-table, as Lady Culverin enters with a deprecatory air.
Lady Culverin. So here you are, Rupert! Not very busy, are you? I won't keep you a moment. (She goes to a window.) Such a nuisance it's turning out wet, with all these people in the house, isn't it?
Sir Rupert. Well, I was thinking that, as there's nothing doing out of doors, I might get a chance to knock off some of these confounded accounts, but – (resignedly) – if you think I ought to go and look after —
Lady Culverin. No, no; the men are playing billiards, and the women are in the morning-room —they're all right. I only wanted to ask you about to-night. You know the Lullingtons, and the dear Bishop and Mrs. Rodney, and one or two other people are coming to dinner? Well, who ought to take in Rohesia?
Sir Rupert (in dismay). Rohesia! No idea she was coming down this week!
Lady Culverin. Yes, by the 4.45. With dear Maisie. Surely you knew that?
Sir Rupert. In a sort of way; didn't realize it was so near, that's all.
Lady Culverin. It's some time since we had her last. And she wanted to come. I didn't think you would like me to write and put her off.
Sir Rupert. Put her off? Of course I shouldn't, Albinia. If my only sister isn't welcome at Wyvern at any time – I say at any time – where the deuce is she welcome?
Lady Culverin. I don't know, dear Rupert. But – but about the table?
Sir Rupert. So long as you don't put her near me – that's all I care about.
Lady Culverin. I mean – ought I to send her in with Lord Lullington, or the Bishop?
Sir Rupert. Why not let 'em toss up? Loser gets her, of course.
Lady Culverin. Rupert! As if I could suggest such a thing to the Bishop! I suppose she'd better go in with Lord Lullington – he's Lord Lieutenant – and then it won't matter if she does advocate Disestablishment. Oh, but I forgot; she thinks the House of Lords ought to be abolished too!
Sir Rupert. Whoever takes Rohesia in is likely to have a time of it. Talked poor Cantire into his tomb a good ten years before he was due there. Always lecturing, and domineering, and laying down the law, as long as I can remember her. Can't stand Rohesia – never could!
Lady Culverin. I don't think you ought to say so, really, Rupert. And I'm sure I get on very well with her – generally.
Sir Rupert. Because you knock under to her.
Lady Culverin. I'm sure I don't, Rupert – at least, no more than everybody else. Dear Rohesia is so strong-minded and advanced and all that, she takes such an interest in all the new movements and things, that she can't understand contradiction; she is so democratic in her ideas, don't you know.
Sir Rupert. Didn't prevent her marrying Cantire. And a democratic Countess – it's downright unnatural!
Lady Culverin. She believes it's her duty to set an example and meet the People half-way. That reminds me – did I tell you Mr. Clarion Blair is coming down this evening, too? – only till Monday, Rupert.
Sir Rupert. Clarion Blair! never heard of him.
Lady Culverin. I suppose I forgot. Clarion Blair isn't his real name, though; it's only a – an alias.
Sir Rupert. Don't see what any fellow wants with an alias. What is his real name?
Lady Culverin. Well, I know it was something ending in "ell," but I mislaid his letter. Still, Clarion Blair is the name he writes under; he's a poet, Rupert, and quite celebrated, so I'm told.
Sir Rupert (uneasily). A poet! What on earth possessed you to ask a literary fellow down here? Poetry isn't much in our way; and a poet will be, confoundedly!
Lady Culverin. I really couldn't help it, Rupert. Rohesia insisted on my having him to meet her. She likes meeting clever and interesting people. And this Mr. Blair, it seems, has just written a volume of verses which are finer than anything that's been done since – well, for ages!
Sir Rupert. What sort of verses?
Lady Culverin. Well, they're charmingly bound. I've got the book in the house, somewhere. Rohesia told me to send for it; but I haven't had time to read it yet.
Sir Rupert. Shouldn't be surprised if Rohesia hadn't, either.
Lady Culverin. At all events, she's heard it talked about. The young man's verses have made quite a sensation; they're so dreadfully clever and revolutionary, and morbid and pessimistic, and all that, so she made me promise to ask him down here to meet her!
Sir Rupert. Devilish thoughtful of her.
Lady Culverin. Wasn't it? She thought it might be a valuable experience for him; he's sprung, I believe, from quite the middle-class.
Sir Rupert. Don't see myself why he should be sprung on us. Why can't Rohesia ask him to one of her own places?
Lady Culverin. I dare say she will, if he turns out to be quite presentable. And, of course, he may, Rupert, for anything we can tell.
Sir Rupert. Then you've never seen him yourself! How did you manage to ask him here, then?
Lady Culverin. Oh, I wrote to him through his publishers. Rohesia says that's the usual way with literary persons one doesn't happen to have met. And he wrote to say he would come.
Sir Rupert. So we're to have a morbid revolutionary poet staying in the house, are we? He'll come down to dinner in a flannel shirt and no tie – or else a red one – if he don't bring down a beastly bomb and try to blow us all up! You'll find you've made a mistake, Albinia, depend upon it.
Lady Culverin. Dear Rupert, aren't you just a little bit narrow? You forget that nowadays the very best houses are proud to entertain Genius – no matter what their opinions and appearance may be. And besides, we don't know what changes may be coming. Surely it is wise and prudent to conciliate the clever young men who might inflame the masses against us. Rohesia thinks so; she says it may be our only chance of stemming the rising tide of Revolution, Rupert!
Sir Rupert. Oh, if Rohesia thinks a revolution can be stemmed by asking a few poets down from Saturday to Monday, she might do her share of the stemming at all events.
Lady Culverin. But you will be nice to him, Rupert, won't you?
Sir Rupert. I don't know that I'm in the habit of being uncivil to any guest of yours in this house, my dear, but I'll be hanged if I grovel to him, you know; the tide ain't as high as all that. But it's an infernal nuisance, 'pon my word it is; you must look after him yourself. I can't. I don't know what to talk to geniuses about; I've forgotten all the poetry I ever learnt. And if he comes out with any of his Red Republican theories in my hearing, why —
Lady Culverin. Oh, but he won't, dear. I'm certain he'll be quite mild and inoffensive. Look at Shakespeare – the bust, I mean – and he began as a poacher!
Sir Rupert. Ah, and this chap would put down the Game Laws if he could, I dare say; do away with everything that makes the country worth living in. Why, if he had his way, Albinia, there wouldn't be —
Lady Culverin. I know, dear, I know. And you must make him see all that from your point. Look, the weather really seems to be clearing a little. We might all of us get out for a drive or something after lunch. I would ride, if Deerfoot's all right again; he's the only horse I ever feel really safe upon, now.
Sir