Noel Coward

“ When the curtain rises it is just after dinner on the Sunday of the week-end party—the gramophone is going and there is a continual buzz of conversation. Clara Hibbert, an emaciated soprano, is dancing with Tom Veryan, Helen with Pawnie, and Nicky with Bunty. Florence is seated on the club fender, talking intellectually with Bruce Fairlight, an earnest dramatist, the squalor of whose plays is much appreciated by those who live in comparative luxury.
There must be a feeling of hectic amusement and noise, and the air black with cigarette smoke and superlatives. ”

“ Modern realists would have us believe that romance and beauty are dead, that the spirit of heroic achievement and chivalry has been crushed by the juggernautic wheels of civilisation. Poor blind, sad-hearted fools—their dreary, unlovely minds have risen like gaunt weeds from the ashes of their wasted opportunities. Romance dead? Never! And in order to disprove their dismal forebodings, I have included in my portrait gallery studies of such national heroes as—Snurge, Spout, Puffwater and Plinge. ”

“ Evangeline. So should we all—it would be miserable.
Sylvia. Think how awful it must be for mother.
Joyce. I say, don't you think Oliver ought to be here—if anything's going to happen? He's the eldest.
Sylvia. He wouldn't be any help. He cares for nothing but the inside of motors and the outside of Maisie Stuart; he's not observant enough to know her inside.
Evangeline. What a perfectly horrible thing to say!
Sylvia. Well, it's absolutely true; he thinks she's everything that's good and noble, when all the time she's painfully ordinary and a bit of a cat; what fools men are. ”

“ Of course the salient feature of Hank's study of Spout is the deep love and affection for his subject which permeates every page. Nobody but a true enthusiast and lover of beauty could ever have been so inspired. It was not until reaching the intellectually austere atmosphere of the Coffee House that Spout regained consciousness: he opened his eyes wearily, but the light of dazzled amazement replaced fatigue when he beheld the company that surrounded him—every man's face seemed to be stamped indelibly with the ineffaceable mark of artistic achievement. Spout rose in happy, awed wonderment. ”

“ Helen
Nonsense.
Florence
It’s silly to be sarcastic about Tom.
Helen
It’s better than being maudlin about him.
Florence
I don’t know what you mean, dear. I’m not in the least maudlin, and never have been about anybody. I sometimes wish I could be—I’m too hard.
Helen
[Taking a cigarette]
Tom will let you down.
[32]
Florence
Let me down? Why ... how ... I don’t understand——
Helen
You’re more in love with him than he is with you.
Florence
Don’t be so absurd, Helen.
Helen
It’s true.
Florence
[Complacently]
He adores me—worships me—he’s never seen anyone like me before in his life. ”

“ The unknown artist has caught the fleeting look of ineffable sadness, as though she entertained some inward premonition of her destiny and her spirit was rebelling dumbly against what was inevitable.
Esher in those days was but a tiny hamlet—a few houses clustered here, and a few more clustered there. London, then a graceful city set upon a hill, could be seen on a clear day from the northernmost point of Esher. On anything but a clear day it was, of course, impossible to see it at all. Esher is now, and always has been, remarkable for its foliage. ”

“ Eighteen months ago it seemed providential that Uncle should only have such a short time to live, now I rather hate it, in spite of the money. He's a dear, though of course we didn't see much of him. He went back to South America soon after he'd seen us, but still he left an impression. Here we are, all working like slaves, and helping mother to keep on the house. It would have broken her heart to have given it up. There are my prospects—a huge fortune, quite soon.
Faith. Yes, but, Bobbie, one of the others might get it. ”

“ She had nothing—nothing but her beauty. What a woman's beauty can do for herself and her country is amply portrayed in the kaleidoscopic pageant of Anna Podd's life. The only existing picture of her (here reproduced) was discovered in Moscow after Ivan Buminoff's well-remembered siege, lasting seventeen years. Poor Anna! Destiny seemed ruthlessly determined to lead her so far and no further. A Tsar loved her, which is more than falls to the lot of some women, yet fate's unrelenting finger was forever placed upon the pulse of her career. ”

“ Nicky
[Vehemently]
Yes, everything! Don’t be a beast, Bunty; just try to see her point a little, even if you do dislike her. She is terribly silly about being “young,” I know, but she’s been used to so much admiration and flattery and everything always, she feels she sort of can’t give it up—you do see that, don’t you? And she hasn’t really anything in the least comforting [131] to fall back upon. She’s not clever—real kind of brain cleverness—and father’s no good, and I’m no good, and all the time she’s wanting life to be as it was instead of as it is. ”

“ You, Bobbie, you are artistic, too, you might without undue strain become a world famed composer, artist, actor. (Bobbie rises, moves down L., posing as actor.) Sylvia, for you I foresee a marvellous career as a decorative designer. You already arrange flowers and jumble sales—and last, but not by any means least, little Joyce (Joyce hangs her head, polishes her nails) , now on the very threshold of life. What are you going to do with yourself? Sit at home and wait for a nice husband with mediocre prospects and perhaps an over-developed Adam's apple? ”

“ According to Sophie's diary, written by her every day with unfailing regularity for thirty-five years, she always just missed seeing Dick Turpin. This was apparently a source of great grief to her; often she would pause by the roadside and weep gently at the thought of him. Poor Sophie! One was to ride along that very road who was destined to mean much more to her than bold Dick Turpin. But we anticipate.
It was perhaps early autumn that saw Esher at its best—how brown everything was, and yet, in some cases, how yellow! ”

“ Nicky
You’ve wanted love always—passionate love, because you were made like that. It’s not your fault—it’s the fault of circumstances and civilization; civilization makes rottenness so much easier. We’re utterly rotten—both of us——
Florence
Nicky—don’t—don’t——
[181]
Nicky
How can we help ourselves? We swirl about in a vortex of beastliness. This is a chance—don’t you see—to realize the truth—our only chance.
Florence
Oh, Nicky, do stop—go away!
Nicky
Don’t keep on telling me to stop when our only hope is to hammer it out.
Florence
You’re overwrought. It isn’t as bad as you think. ”

“ Sylvia. They're not really disappointed so much as outraged. They feel you've been laughing up your sleeve at them, as of course you have.
Daniel. No, I haven't—you're wrong there—I haven't. I couldn't help you financially. I'd borrowed the money to come over and the cheque I'd sent before. I'd just won, so I thought that the only way to assist at all was to use mental persuasion on all of you. There's always something fascinating in the idea of having money left one. It seems such an easy way of getting it. Of course it answered better than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.
Sylvia. ”

“ From the portrait by Baloona (early Spanish)
SPAIN has ever been the home of romance and beauty and fiery passion, but never in its whole history has it bred such a tremulously beautiful love story as that of Donna Isabella Angelica y Bananas. A romance of two passionate hearts in such a vivid setting cannot but fail to make the eye kindle and the pulses throb. Compared to it, Lancelot and Elaine become cardboard puppets, Dante and Beatrice figures of clay utterly devoid of life, while Paolo and Francesca appear merely idiotic. ”

“ Nicky
You’re not happy—you’re never happy—you’re fighting—fighting all the time to keep your youth and your looks—because you can’t bear the thought of living without them—as though they mattered in the end.
Florence
[Hysterically]
What does anything matter—ever?
[187]
Nicky
That’s what I’m trying to find out.
Florence
I’m still young inside—I’m still beautiful. Why shouldn’t I live my life as I choose?
Nicky
You’re not young or beautiful; I’m seeing for the first time how old you are. ”

“ WHY is it that to some are vouchsafed such supreme gifts while other have perforce to drag out their lives in the hideous monotony of offices and banks and the like?
Jake D'Annunzio Spout—even he, Jake the glorious—Spout the magnificent—commenced his career behind the counter of a delicatessen on Ninth Avenue—and now—his name and glory have waved across America like a pennon of victory. ”

“ Mrs. Dermott. Thank you so much, darling. Do you know, Mrs. Crombie, I started this at the beginning of the War and I haven't finished it yet? I do hope you are not being terribly dull here, Mrs. Crombie. (Drops ball of wool.) I'm afraid we're awfully bad at entertaining.
Mrs. Crombie. Not at all. You are one of those excellent hostesses who allow their guests to do as they like, it's so much more comfortable.
Faith (rising) . I think I'll go and talk to Bobbie in the garden.
(Goes between Chesterfield and armchair.)
Mrs. Dermott. Do dear, I'm sure he'd love it. (Kisses her. Faith giggles.) ”

“ Nicky
You ran after him up the stairs because your vanity wouldn’t let you lose him. It isn’t that you love him—that would be easier—you never love anyone, [186] you only love them loving you—all your so-called passion and temperament is false—your whole existence had degenerated into an endless empty craving for admiration and flattery—and then you say you’ve done no harm to anybody. Father used to be a clever man, with a strong will and a capacity for enjoying everything—I can remember him like that—and now he’s nothing—a complete nonentity because his spirit’s crushed. ”

“ Absinthe was her one consolation, together with a miniature of Louis in full regalia. Who is this haggard wretch with still the vestiges of her wondrous beauty discernible in her perfectly moulded features?—not La Belle Bibi! Oh, Fate—Destiny—how cruel are you who guided her straying feet through the mazes of life! Why could she not have died at her zenith—when her portrait was painted? ”

“ Sylvia. It must be so glorious out there—mining and prospecting and—by the way how does one prospect?
Daniel. How does one prospect? When one prospects one scoops up water from rivers and finds nuggets in one's hands—if one's lucky, of course.
Sylvia. You don't seem to know very much about it, uncle. ”

“ Helen
We all do that a little.
Florence
[Laughing]
You’re awfully cruel to her, Pawnie.
Pawnie
She upsets my vibrations.
Florence
[Before glass]
I’ve taken a sudden hatred to this hat. [She takes it off.] That’s better—are you going to the “New Elaine” to-night, either of you?
Helen
I’m not—but Pawnie is, of course.
[24]
Pawnie
It’s going to be amazing—what a cast, my dear! Marvelous Selwyn Steele, Nora Dean, and that perfect woman, Lily Burfield——
Helen
I can’t stand her, she always over-acts.
Pawnie
[Incensed]
How can you, Helen! ”

“ The wheel of circumstance had turned once more—and a few days later Julie changed her appartements for some on a higher landing.
What vice! What intrigue! What corruption! Versailles seemed but a vast conservatory sheltering the vile soil from which sprang the lilies of France—La Belle France, as Edgar Sheepmeadow so eloquently puts it. Did any single bloom escape the blight of ineffable depravity? No—not one! Occasionally some fresh young thing would appear at Court—appealing and innocent. ”

“ Evangeline. I know we didn't, but we're all sorry—frightfully sorry—we've talked it all over. Sylvia said we were beasts and ghouls and we wouldn't admit it then, but we do now. We are terribly ashamed of the way we've behaved. Please, please say you forgive us. (Kneels to him.)
Bobbie (placing chair behind Chesterfield) . And it doesn't matter about Faith, uncle, I'm glad you were the means of showing her up. I don't love her a bit now. I hate her, and we all want you to understand that we'd rather have you alive and with us than all the beastly money in the world. ”

“ Helen
I’m sure you will.
Pawnie
I expect Florence will just go on and on, then suddenly become quite beautifully old, and go on and on still more.
[8]
Helen
It’s too late now for her to become beautifully old, I’m afraid. She’ll have to be young indefinitely.
Pawnie
I don’t suppose she’ll mind that, but it’s trying for David.
Helen
And fiendish for Nicky.
Pawnie
Oh, no, my dear; you’re quite wrong there. I’m sure Nicky doesn’t care a damn.
Helen
It’s difficult to tell with Nicky.
Pawnie
He’s divinely selfish; all amusing people are. ”

“ There is not one of them who hasn't achieved something—even Joyce, the flapper, has set to and made good at school. I tell you I'm proud of them, so proud that I could shout it from the house tops, and may I say this, Mrs. Crombie, that if your daughter has succeeded in making Bobbie fall in love with her, she is a very fortunate young woman. ”

“ Florence
I tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Nicky
Mother—don’t go on like that; it’s useless. We’ve arrived at a crisis; wherever we go—whatever we do we can’t escape from it. I know we’re neither of us very strong-minded or capable, and we haven’t much hope of coming through successfully—but let’s try. It’s no good pretending any more—our lives are built up of pretenses all the time. ”

“ The boy Rupert, then aged two years and a fortnight, exercised a fiercely dominant influence upon the ground charts, plans, etc., for the new palatial residence which was soon to rear its mighty pillars and porticos not so very far from the ivy-grown cottage which in the past had on several occasions sheltered the wistful personality of Harriet Beecher Stowe.
The inherent passion for beauty thus crystallized in the mellowing virility of the boy's finely wrought temperament went far toward satisfying his deep-rooted and well-nigh insatiable yearning for city splendour. ”

“ Joyce. Now you've just got to tell the others that.
Faith (flustered) . But I promised Bobbie I wouldn't say a word....
Joyce. Well, you've broken your word once, so you can do it again. Vangy! Vangy! (She goes to window, still dragging Faith.) Sylvia! Oliver! Bobbie!
Evangeline. What on earth is the matter?
Joyce. Faith will tell you when the others come. (Dragging Faith back to C.)
Faith. Look here, this isn't a bit fair of you. Bobbie will never forgive me....
Joyce. I can't help Bobbie's troubles—you should have thought of that before.
(Enter Sylvia and Oliver from garden.) ”

“ Pawnie
One more tune, Nicky, before we go to bed——
Florence
Yes, just one——
Nicky
[Looking at Bunty]
I’ll play “I love you”—such a romantic tune.
[He puts on the gramophone.]
Bunty
Do.
[135]
Helen
What time’s everyone going up in the morning?
Florence
The ten-o’clock’s the best—we’ll have breakfast at nine downstairs.
Pawnie
[Confidentially]
Do you know that in London I can never do more than nibble a piece of thin toast, and whenever I’m away I eat enormously!
Nicky
How very peculiar!
Pawnie
Your tone revolts me, Nicky. You must never be irascible with your old friends. ”

“ Poor Maggie—perchance she is finding in heaven the peaceful rest which was so lacking in her life on earth. For legend hath it that she never had two consecutive nights' sleep for fifteen years, so busy was she saving Bonnie Prince Charlie. ”

“ Sylvia. Shut up, Bobbie, I'm spokesman.
Daniel (weakly) . Couldn't it be some one else? Sylvia's so firm with me.
Sylvia. I think, uncle, that you occasionally need firmness. (Coming down R. by Chesterfield.)
Daniel. We all do, it's a weakness of the human race—lack of stamina—I have it at the moment. Please may I sit down?
Oliver. Yes.
Daniel (sinking into arm-chair) . Thank you so much. (Weakly.) I begin to feel sleepy. May I have perhaps—a small glass of water?
Bobbie. All right—I'll get it. (He goes to sideboard.)
Daniel. With perhaps the teeniest, weeniest little drop of whisky? ”

“ Life was one long round of sport and play—until one day—to quote Hans Burdle in his world-famed book of Travel, "Set Sail ahoy" "the radiant Ah! Ah! awoke and found herself to be a woman—with a woman's joys, a woman's sorrows and withal the touch of a woman's hand."
From that moment life in the Rude Islands became a different matter. ”