Arnold Bennett

“ Not but it passes me how anybody can catch pneumonia in August.
Carve. Coming over from the Continent.
Janet. Oh! the Continent. It's not Mr. Shawn that's ill?
Carve. (Hesitating.) Mr. Shawn? Oh no, no! It's Ilam Carve.
Janet. (Half whispering. Awed.) Oh, him! Poor thing. And nobody but men in the house.
Carve. And who told you that?
Janet. Well! (waves her hand to indicate the state of the room, smiling indulgently) I always feel sorry for gentlemen when they have to manage for themselves, even if they're well and hearty. But when it comes to illness—I can't bear to think about it. ”

“ Ebag. My name is Ebag—New Bond Street.
Carve. What! You're my old dealer!
Ebag. And I'm delighted at last to make your acquaintance, sir. It wasn't until I'd bought several of those small canvases from the Putney man that I began to inquire closely into their origin. As a general rule it's a mistake for a dealer to be too curious. ”

“ When I see rows of people in Trafalgar Square waiting to get into the [95] National Gallery, then I shall begin to think it's about time we had some more galleries. If I'd been Ilam Carve——
Carve. Well, what should you have done, witch?
Janet. I should have left a bit more to you, for one thing.
Carve. I don't want more. If he'd left me eight hundred a year instead of eighty, I shouldn't be any happier. That's just what I've learnt since I took lodgings in your delightful wigwam, Jane—money and fame have no connection whatever with happiness.
Janet. Money has, when you haven't got enough. ”

“ Carve. Personally, I am quite satisfied with a plain but perfect table.
Janet. You needn't tell me what you are satisfied with. You're satisfied with the very best at one shilling and sixpence a pound.
Carve. I can place eighty pounds per annum at your absolute disposal. That alone will pay for over a thousand best cuts.
Janet. Yes, and what about your clothes and my clothes, and the rates and taxes, and bus-fares, and holidays, and your cigarettes, and doctor, and errand boys' Christmas-boxes, and gas, and coal, and repairs? Repairs! A hundred and eighty is more like what we want. ”

“ Pascoe. Of course. And I was shy when I came in here. I was thinking to myself, "Now I'm going to see the great Ilam Carve actually in the flesh," and I was shy. You'd think my profession would have cured me of being shy, but not a bit. Nervous disease, of course! Ought to be treated as such. Almost universal. Besides, even if he is shy, your governor—even if he's a hundredfold shy, that's no reason for keeping out of England. Shyness is not one of those diseases you can cure by change of climate.
Carve. Pardon me. My esteemed employer's shyness is a special shyness. ”

“ Janet. Well, I can tell you it would be viewed with satisfaction in a certain street in Putney. But influential quarters—what's it got to do with them?
Alcar. I shall be quite frank with you. The dignity of Westminster Abbey is involved in this case, and nothing in all England is more sacred to us than Westminster Abbey. One has only to pronounce the word "the Abbey"—to realize that. We know what a modern trial is; we know what the modern press is; and, unhappily, we know what the modern bench is. ”

“ Janet. (Sympathetically.) The fact is, you scarcely know what you're doing, my poor Mr. Shawn. You're on wires, that's what's the matter with you—hysteria. I know what it is as well as anybody. You'll excuse me saying so, but you're no ordinary man. You're one of these highly-strung people and you ought to take care of yourself. Well, I'll go now, and if it's mutually agreeable we might perhaps meet again in a month's time—say.
Carve. A month? But what am I to do with myself for a month? Do you know you're absolutely the only friend I've got in London—in England. We're never here. ”

“ I claim nothing except to be let alone. Certainly I do not ask to be [140] accepted as Ilam Carve. I was leading a placid and agreeable existence in a place called Putney, an ideal existence with a pearl among women, when my tranquillity was disturbed and my life transformed into a perfect nightmare by a quarrel between a retail trades-man (indicating Ebag) and a wholesale ink-dealer (indicating Texel) about one of my pictures. It does not concern me. My role is and will be passive. If I am forced into the witness-box I shall answer questions to the worst of my ability, and I shall do no more. ”

“ He's only shy when he has to play the celebrity. So long as people take him for no one in particular he's quite all right. For instance, he's never shy with me. But instantly people approach him as the celebrity, instantly he sees in the eye of the beholder any consciousness of being in the presence of a toff—then he gets desperately shy, and his one desire is [28] to be alone at sea or to be buried somewhere deep in the bosom of the earth. (Pascoe laughs.) What are you laughing at? (Carve also laughs.)
Pascoe. ”

“ And that was his notion too? (Telephone bell rings, Janet answers it.)
Carve. His? Rather. You bet it was.
Honoria. I'm so glad. I'm so glad. I knew I was right about Chinese white. Oh, Anselm, do let him be buried in the Abbey! Do let me suggest to uncle——
Looe. My dear girl, ask your conscience. Enthusiasm for art I can comprehend; I can even sympathize with it. But if this grave national question is to be decided by considerations of Chinese white——
(Carve turns to Janet as if for succour.) ”

“ You'd bury him in Westminster Abbey because he's a philanthropist, not because he's an artist. That's England all over.... Well, I'm hanged if I'll have it.
Looe. But, my dear sir——
Carve. And I tell you another thing—he's not dead.
Peter. Not dead—what next?
Carve. I am Ilam Carve.
Honoria. (Soothingly.) Poor dear! He's not himself.
Carve. That's just what I am. (Sinks back exhausted.)
Peter. (Aside to Looe.) Is he mad, Father? Nothing but a clerk after all. And yet he takes a private room at the Grand Babylon, and then he refuses a hundred and fifty of the best and goes on like this. ”

“ Ebag wins——
Ebag. As I assuredly shall.
Alcar. Then we should have the whole world saying, "Well, they haven't given a national funeral to a really great artist for about a century, and when at last they do try they only succeed in burying a valet."
Carve. (Looking round casually.) England all over!
Alcar. The effect would be lamentable—utterly lamentable. You will realize that in influential quarters——
Texel. But do you reckon this policy of hushing up things ever does any good?
Alcar. My dear sir, it is the corner-stone of England's greatness. It is the policy that has made her what she is! ”

“ As regards myself, I should state at once that I am and have been for many years private secretary, indeed I may say almost companion, to the celebrated painter. Mr. Ilam Carve, whose magnificent pictures you are doubtless familiar with."
Janet. No, I'm not.
Carve. Really. "We have been knocking about England together for longer than I care to remember, and I personally am anxious for a change. Our present existence is very expensive. I feel the need of a home and the companionship of just such a woman as yourself. Although a bachelor, I think I am not unfitted for the domestic hearth. ”

“ Ebag, came to sell as a genuine Ilam Carve, without offering any explanation, a picture which, on the face of it, was painted some time after that great painter had received a national funeral in Westminster Abbey.
Ebag. Sheer carelessness, my lord.
Alcar. Or we might ask ourselves why a valet should try to pass himself off as a world-renowned artist. Or, on the other hand, why a world-renowned artist should pass himself off as a valet. ”

“ Texel. May I interrupt, Lord Leonard? I could listen for hours to this absolutely stupendous gentleman. A circus is nothing to it. But aren't we jumping the track? I've got two witnesses. Mr. Cyrus Carve will swear that your Mr. X is not his cousin. And the original Mrs. Albert Shawn will swear that he is her husband. That's my case. How is my esteemed opponent going to answer it?
Ebag. ”

“ A bachelor at his age never thinks about anything else—morning, noon, and night. It stands to reason—and they can say what they like—I know. And now he's dead—probably because he'd no notion of looking after himself, and it's been in all the papers how wonderful he was, and florists' girls have very likely sat up half the night making wreaths, and Westminster Abbey was crowded out with fashionable folk—and do you know what all those fashionable folk are thinking about just now—tea! And if it isn't tea, it's whisky and soda.
Carve. ”

“ Janet. Lady Alice Rowfant, of course. Oh! You needn't pretend! As soon as Mr. Ebag asked me to go out I knew he'd got her up his sleeve. (Weeps slightly.)
Alcar. (Very sympathetically.) My dear young lady, what is the matter?
Janet. (Her utterance disturbed by sobs—indicating Carve.) He'd do it for her, but he wouldn't do it for me!
Alcar. I assure you, Lady Alice Rowfant has not been here.
Janet. Honest?
Alcar. No. The mere mention of her name was sufficient.
Janet. That's even worse! (Rushing across to Carve and pettishly seizing his necktie. Carve submits.) Here! ”

“ It's so difficult to judge where one is—er—personally concerned. Especially if you're never on the spot.
Pascoe. So it's true Mr. Carve never comes to England?
Carve. Why should he come to England? He isn't a portrait painter. It's true he owns this house, but surely that isn't sufficient excuse for living in a place like England?
Pascoe. Of course, if you look at it like that, there's no particular attractiveness in England that I've ever seen. But that answer wouldn't satisfy Redcliffe Gardens. Redcliffe Gardens [26] is persuaded that there must be a special reason. ”

“ Janet. You didn't send a photograph.
Carve. Perhaps I was afraid of prejudicing you in advance.
[50] Janet. (Laughs.) Eh, Mr. Shawn! There's thousands of young gentlemen alive and kicking in London this minute that would give a great deal to be only half as good looking as you are. And so you're a bachelor?
Carve. Oh, quite.
Janet. Two bachelors, as you say, knocking about Europe together. (Carve laughs quietly but heartily to himself.) By the way, how is Mr. Carve? I hope he's better.
Carve. Mr. Carve?... (Suddenly stops laughing.) Oh! (Lamely, casually.) He's dead!
Janet. (Stocked.) Dead? ”

“ Pascoe. Money! He must make pots. You say I don't go in for art much, but I always read the big sales at Christie's. Why, wasn't it that policeman picture that Lord Leonard Alcar bought for 2000 guineas last year?
Carve. No, not Alcar. I think the bobby was last bought by Texel.
Pascoe. Texel? Who's Texel?
Carve. Collector—United States—one of their kings, I'm told.
Pascoe. Oh, him! Controls all the ink in the United States.
Carve. Really! That's what I should call influence. No. It was the "Pelicans feeding their Young" that Alcar bought. Four thousand. You're getting mixed up. ”

“ Pascoe. But are you an artist too?
Carve. (Recovering himself, calmly.) No, no.
Pascoe. (To Horning.) How's he going on?
Horning. (Shrugs his shoulders.) I'm sure the base of both lungs is practically solid.
[31] Pascoe. Well, we can't do more than we have done, my boy.
Horning. He'll never pull through.
Pascoe. (Calmly.) I should certainly be surprised if he did.
Carve. (Astounded.) But—but——
Pascoe. But what?
Carve. You don't mean to say—Why, he's a strong healthy man!
Pascoe. Precisely. Not very unusual for your strong healthy man to die of pneumonia in twenty-four hours. ”

“ You've had no reply from the relatives—the auctioneer cousin—what's his Christian name—Cyrus?
Carve. No, I—I didn't telegraph—I forgot——
Pascoe. Well, upon my soul! I specially reminded you yesterday afternoon.
Carve. I didn't know the address.
[33] Pascoe. Ever heard of the London Directory? You'd better run out and wire instantly. You don't seem to realize that the death of a man like Ilam Carve will make something of a stir in the world. And you may depend on it that whether they'd quarrelled or not, Cyrus Carve will want to know why he wasn't informed of the illness at once. ”

“ Carve. Don't you? Well, perhaps you don't go in for art much. If you did, you'd know that the usual and correct thing for a painter who has made a great success with a life-size picture of a policeman blowing his whistle, is to keep on doing life-size pictures of a policeman blowing his whistle for ever and ever, so that the public can always count on getting from him a life-size picture of a policeman blowing his whistle. ”

“ Great clumsy! (Still tearful—to Lord Leonard Alcar as she ties the necktie.) Somehow I don't mind crying in front of you, because you're so nice and fatherly.
Alcar. Well, if I'm so fatherly, may I venture on a little advice to you two? (To Carve.) You said you didn't want to be Ilam Carve. [152] Don't be Ilam Carve. Let Ilam Carve continue his theoretical repose in the Abbey and you continue to be somebody else. It will save a vast amount of trouble, and nobody will be a penny the worse. Leave England—unobtrusively. ”

“ You come into eighty pounds a year under it.
Carve. I was forgetting that.
Cyrus. (Reading.) "I bequeath to my servant, Albert Shawn, who I am convinced is a thorough rascal, but who is an unrivalled valet, courier, and factotum, the sum of eighty pounds a year for life, payable quarterly in advance, provided he is in my service at the time of my death."
(Carve laughs shortly.)
You don't want to lose that, do you? Of course, if the term "thorough rascal" is offensive to you, you can always decline the money. (Folds up will and puts it in his pocket—Carve walks about.) Now where's the doctor? ”