The Title, Arnold Bennett [best motivational books of all time txt] 📗

/> TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced conversations?

HILDEGARDE (nods). Why did you come?

TRANTO. Well--

HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this house.

TRANTO (in a new confidential tone). I wish you'd treat me as your father does.

HILDEGARDE. But of course I will--

TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend.

HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa.

TRANTO (slightly dashed). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two very straight talks with your father last night.

HILDEGARDE. Two?

TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I left--when you'd gone to bed. He began them--both of them.

HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole situation.

TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is.

HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What do you think of it?

TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite right.

HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was expecting something rather more original.

TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very largely responsible for the situation. I think our joint responsibility binds us inextricably together.

HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto!

TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your father was enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article on the Honours scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that you wrote it and I published it--

HILDEGARDE (alarmed). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight? TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing?

HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you what I think of the situation?

TRANTO. I wish you would.

HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if parents weren't so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking particularly of papa and mamma. I mean all parents. But take mamma. She's absolutely matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as bad. Of course I know they're always calling each other by pet names; but that's mere camouflage for their matter-of-factness. Whereas if they both had in them a little of the real romance of life--everything would be different. At the same time I needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle of--there's no question of ratiocination.

TRANTO. Of what?

HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side.

TRANTO. Oh no!

HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if only--. But there! What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears! They have forgotten! (With emphasis.) They have forgotten--what makes life worth living.

TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's knee.

HILDEGARDE (bravely, after hesitation). Yes! Crudely--that's what I do mean.

TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met. You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me. I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first. But I saw it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met you. Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely. (Approaching her.) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait any longer. (Feeling for her hand, vainly.)

HILDEGARDE (drawing back). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat father?

Enter Mr. Culver, back.

CULVER (quickly). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs. HILDEGARDE. What am I to do?

CULVER. I don't know. (With meaning.) Think what the sagacious Sampson Straight would do, and do that.

(Hildegarde gives a sharp look first at Culver, and then at Tranto, and exit, back.)

CULVER (turning to Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically over.

TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the Club.

CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war.

TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war?

CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo!

TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying?

CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you. Not that it'll be any use.

TRANTO. But what's the matter?

CULVER. The matter is--keeping a woman in the house.

TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean--

CULVER. I mean my wife--of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here, the second in the boudoir (indicating boudoir). The second act was the shortest but the worst.

TRANTO. But what was it all about?

CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You know perfectly well what it was about. It was about the baronetcy. I have decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife has refused to let me refuse it.

TRANTO. But what are her arguments?

CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. 'What are her arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. You know that. You're too wise not to know it. She merely wants the title, that's all.

TRANTO. And how did the second act end?

CULVER. I don't quite remember.

TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver sits.) Thanks. Now I've always gathered from my personal observation, that you, if I may say so, are the top dog here when it comes to the point--the crowned head, as it were.

CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, it did last night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't to-night.

TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are the top dog. In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is so, isn't it? I only want to be clear.

CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right.

TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a question of principle, to refuse the title. You intend to refuse it.

CULVER. I--I do.

TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it.

CULVER. Nobody.

TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it?

CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone.

TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus--I think you said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I have seen far more of marriage than you have. You're only a married man. I'm a bachelor, and I've assisted at scores of married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It passes--and leaves the victor more firmly established than ever before.

CULVER (rising). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about rumpuses. This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I shall win. I have won. But at what cost? (With effect.) The cost may be that I shall never kiss the enemy again. The whole domestic future is in grave jeopardy.

TRANTO. Seriously?

CULVER. Seriously.

TRANTO. Then you musn't win.

CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my principles? I can't sacrifice my principles.

TRANTO. Why not?

CULVER. I never have.

TRANTO. How old are you?

CULVER. Forty-four.

TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle?

CULVER. Never.

TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better begin, before it's too late. Besides, there are no principles in married life.

CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that out?

TRANTO. I've often noticed it.

CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the entire situation.

TRANTO. It does.

CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about the title?

TRANTO. I do.

CULVER. Strange! (Casually.) I had thought of doing so, but I never dreamt you'd agree, and I'd positively determined to act on your advice. You know, you're taking an immense responsibility.

TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of real trouble in this house.

CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you?

TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the institution of marriage.

CULVER (ringing the bell twice). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly beaten yet. I've quite half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight to the last ditch.

TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired?

CULVER. Yes.

TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics to--er--run after her?

CULVER. It would.

TRANTO. Well then?

CULVER. She will return.

TRANTO. How do you know?

CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace on my own terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, accountants! For one thing they make their money by counting other people's. I've known accountants do marvellous stunts.

Enter Miss Starkey, back.

TRANTO. I'll leave you.

CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so very long--I hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these two letters. How much time have we before post goes?

(Exit Tranto, back.)

MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes.

CULVER. Excellent.

MISS STARKEY (indicating some papers which she has brought). These things ought to be attended to to-night.

CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be.

MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves for Glasgow to-morrow.

CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it to-night. Please take down these two letters.

MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning.

CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning.

MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid you wouldn't do anything to-night.

CULVER (resigned). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see cook about breakfast. (Beginning to dictate.) 'My dear Lord Woking'--

MISS STARKEY (sitting). Excuse me, is this letter about the title?

CULVER. Yes.

MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. That's the etiquette.

CULVER. How do you know?

MISS STARKEY. General knowledge.

CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's flat.

MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting.

CULVER. Can you?

MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver--by this time.

CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. Forge the whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My dear Lord Woking. Extreme pressure of--er--government business has compelled me to leave till last thing to-night my reply to your letter in which you are good enough to communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but, comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you, comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and the greatest gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss Starkey shows emotion.) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear Lord Woking, Cordially yours.' (To Miss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is the matter with you?

MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's notice.

CULVER (staggered). Have--have you gone mad too?

MISS STARKEY.