Arcadia (13 page)

Bernard: Oh, no—no—

Hannah: I’m sorry, Bernard.

Bernard: Fucked by a dahlia! Do you think? Is it open and
shut? Am I fucked? What does it really amount to? When all’s said and done? Am
I fucked? What do
you
think, Valentine? Tell me the truth.

Valentine: You’re fucked.

Bernard: Oh God! Does it mean that?

Hannah: Yes, Bernard, it does.

Bernard: I’m not sure. Show me where it says. I want to see
it. No—read it—no, wait ...

(Bernard
sits at the table. He prepares to listen as
though listening were an oriental art.)
Right.

Hannah:
(Reading)
‘October ist, 1810. Today under the
direction of Mr Noakes, a parterre was dug on the south lawn and will be a
handsome show next year, a consolation for the picturesque catastrophe of the
second and third distances. The dahlia having propagated under glass with no
ill effect from the sea voyage, is named by Captain Brice ‘Charity’ for his bride,
though the honour properly belongs to the husband who exchanged beds with my dahlia,
and an English summer for everlasting night in the Indies.’
(Pause.)

Bernard: Well it’s so round the houses, isn’t it? Who’s to
say what it means?

Hannah:
(Patiently)
It means that Ezra Chater of the
Sidley Park connection is the same Chater who described a dwarf dahlia in
Martinique in 1810 and died there, of a monkey bite.

Bernard:
(Wildly)
Ezra wasn’t a botanist! He was a
poet!

Hannah: He was not much of either, but he was both.

Valentine: It’s not a disaster.

Bernard: Of course it’s a disaster! I was on ‘The Breakfast
Hour’!

Valentine: It doesn’t mean Byron didn’t fight a duel, it
only means Chater wasn’t killed in it.

Bernard: Oh, pull yourself together!—do you think I’d have
been on ‘The Breakfast Hour’ if Byron had
missedl
Hannah: Calm down,
Bernard. Valentine’s right.

Bernard:
(Grasping at straws)
Do you think so? You
mean the
Piccadilly
reviews? Yes, two completely unknown Byron essays—
and
my discovery of the lines he added to ‘English Bards’. That counts for
something.

Hannah:
(Tactfully)
Very possible—persuasive, indeed.

Bernard: Oh, bugger persuasive! I’ve proved Byron was here
and as far as I’m concerned he wrote those lines as sure as he shot that hare.
If only I hadn’t somehow ... made it all about
killing Chater.
Why didn’t
you stop me?! It’s bound to get out, you know—1 mean this—this
gloss
on
my discovery—

I mean how long do you think it’ll be before some botanical
pedant blows the whistle on me? Hannah: The day after tomorrow. A letter in
The
Times,
Bernard: You wouldn’t. Hannah: It’s a dirty job but somebody—Bernard:
Darling. Sorry. Hannah-Hannah:—and, after all, it is my discovery. Bernard:
Hannah. Hannah: Bernard. Bernard: Hannah. Hannah: Oh, shut up. It’ll be very
short, very dry, absolutely gloat-free. Would you rather it were one of your
friends? Bernard:
(Fervently)
Oh God, no! Hannah: And then
inyour
letter
to
The Times-
Bernard: Mine? Hannah: Well, of course. Dignified congratulations
to a colleague, in the language of scholars, I trust. Bernard: Oh, eat shit,
you mean? Hannah: Think of it as a breakthrough in dahlia studies.

(CHLOfi
hurries in from the garden.)
chloE: Why aren’t
you coming?!—Bernard! And you’re not dressed! How long have you been back?

(Bernard
looks at her and then at
Valentine
and
realizes for the first time that
Valentine
is unusually dressed.)
Bernard:
Why are you wearing those clothes? chloE: Do be quick!

(She is already digging into the basket and producing odd
garments for
Bernard.)

Just put anything on. We’re all being photographed. Except

Hannah. Hannah: I’ll come and watch.

(Valentine
and
chloE
help
Bernard
into a
decorative coat and fix a lace collar round his neck.)
chloE:
(To
Hannah)
Mummy says have you got the theodolite? Valentine: What are you supposed to be,
Chlo? Bo-Peep? chloE: Jane Austen!

Valentine: Of course.

Hannah:
{To
CHLOfi) Oh—it’s in the hermitage! Sorry.
Bernard: I thought it wasn’t till this evening. What photograph? chloE: The
local paper of course—they always come before we start. We want a good crowd of
us—Gus looks gorgeous—Bernard:
{Aghast)
The newspaper!

{He grabs something like a bishop’s mitre from the basket
and pulls it down completely over his face.

(Muffled)
I’m ready!

{And he staggers out with
Valentine
and
chloE,
followed by

Hannah.

A light change to evening. The paper lanterns outside
begin to glow. Piano music from the next room.

Septimus
enters with an oil lamp. He carries Thomasina
^}
s
algebra primer, and also her essay on loose sheen. He settles down to read at
the table. It is nearly dark outside, despite the lanterns.

THOMASINA
enters, in a nightgown and barefoot, holding a
candlestick. Her manner is secretive and excited.)
Septimus: My lady! What
is it? Thomasina: Septimus! Shush!

{She closes the door quietly.)

Now is our chance! Septimus: For what, dear God?

{She blows out the candle and puts the candlestick on the
table.)
Thomasina: Do not act the innocent! Tomorrow I will be seventeen!

{She kisses
Septimus/h//
on the mouth.)

There! Septimus: Dear Christ!

Thomasina: Now you must show me, you are paid in advance. Septimus:
{Understanding)
Oh! Thomasina: The Count plays for us, it is God-given!
I cannot be seventeen and not waltz. Septimus: But your mother—Thomasina: While
she swoons, we can dance. The house is all abed. I heard the Broadwood. Oh,
Septimus, teach me now!

9i

Septimus: Hush! I cannot now!

Thomasina: Indeed you can, and I am come barefoot so mind my
toes. Septimus: I cannot because it is not a waltz. Thomasina: It is not? Septimus:
No, it is too slow for waltzing. Thomasina: Oh! Then we will wait for him to
play quickly. Septimus: My lady—Thomasina: Mr Hodge!

(She takes a chair next to him and looks at his work.)

Are you reading my essay? Why do you work here so late?
Septimus: To save my candles. Thomasina: You have my old primer. Septimus: It
is mine again. You should not have written in it.

(She takes it, looks at the open page.)
Thomasina: It
was a joke. Septimus: It will make me mad as you promised. Sit over there.

You will have us in disgrace.

(Thomasina
gets up and goes to the furthest chair.)
Thomasina:
If mama comes I will tell her we only met to kiss, not to waltz. Septimus:
Silence or bed. Thomasina: Silence!

(Septimus
pours himself some more wine. He continues to
read her essay.

The music changes to party music from the marquee. And
there are fireworks—small against the sky, distant flares of light like exploding
meteors.

Hannah
enters. She has dressed for the party. The
difference is not, however, dramatic. She closes the door and crosses to leave
by the garden door. But as she gets there,
Valentine
is entering. He has
a glass of wine in his hand.)

Hannah: Oh ...

(But
Valentine
merely brushes past her, intent on
something, and half-drunk.)
Valentine:
(To her)
Got it!

(He goes straight to the table and roots about in what is
now a considerable mess of papers, books and objects.
Hannah
turns back,
puzzled by his manner. He finds what he has been looking for—the ‘diagram’.

Meanwhile,
Septimus
reading Thomasina’s essay, also
studies the diagram.

Septimus
and
Valentine
study the diagram doubled by
time.)
Valentine: It’s heat. Hannah: Are you tight, Val? Valentine: It’s a
diagram of heat exchange. Septimus: So, we are all doomed! Thomasina:
(Cheerfully)
Yes. Valentine: Like a steam engine, you see—

(Hannah
fills Septimus’s glass from the same decanter,
and sips from it.)

She didn’t have the maths, not remotely. She saw what things
meant, way ahead, like seeing a picture. Septimus: This is not science. This is
story-telling. Thomasina: Is it a waltz now? Septimus: No.

(The music is still modern.)
Valentine: Like a film. Hannah:
What did she see? Valentine: That you can’t run the film backwards. Heat was the
first thing which didn’t work that way. Not like Newton.

A film of a pendulum, or a ball falling through the air—

backwards, it looks the same. Hannah: The ball would be
going the wrong way. Valentine: You’d have to know that. But with heat—friction—a
ball breaking a window—Hannah: Yes.

Valentine: It won’t work backwards. Hannah: Who thought it
did? Valentine: She saw why. You can put back the bits of glass but you can’t
collect up the heat of the smash. It’s gone. Septimus: So the Improved
Newtonian Universe must cease and grow cold. Dear me.

Valentine: The heat goes into the mix.

(He gestures to indicate the air in the room, in the
universe.)
Thomasina: Yes, we must hurry if we are going to dance. Valentine:
And everything is mixing the same way, all the time, irreversibly ... Septimus:
Oh, we have time, I think.

Valentine: ... till there’s no time left. That’s what time
means. Septimus: When we have found all the mysteries and lost all the meaning,
we will be alone, on an empty shore. Thomasina: Then we will dance. Is this a
waltz? Septimus: It will serve.

(He stands up.)
Thomasina:
(Jumping up)
Goody!

(Septimus
takes her in his arms carefully and the waltz
lesson, to the music from the marquee, begins.

Bernard,
in unconvincing Regency dress, enters carrying a
bottle.)
Bernard: Don’t mind me, I left my jacket ...

(He heads for the area of the wicker basket.)
Valentine:
Are you leaving?

(Bernard
is stripping offhis period coat. He is wearing
his own trousers, tucked into knee socks and his own shirt.)
Bernard: Yes,
I’m afraid so. Hannah: What’s up, Bernard? Bernard: Nothing I can go into—Valentine:
Should I go? Bernard: No,
I’m
going!

(Valentine
and
Hannah
watch
Bernard
struggling
into his jacket and adjusting his clothes.

Septimus,
holding
Thomasina,
kisses her on the
mouth. The waltz lesson pauses. She looks at him. He kisses her again, in
earnest. She puts her arms round him.)
Thomasina: Septimus ...

(Septimus
hushes her. They start to dance again, with the
slight awkwardness of a lesson.

CHLOE
bursts in from the garden.)

chloE: I’ll kill her! I’ll
kill
her!

Bernard: Oh dear.

Valentine: What the hell is it, Chlo?

chloE:
(Venomously)
Mummy!

Bernard:
(To
Valentine) Your mother caught us in that
cottage. chloE: She snooped!

Bernard: I don’t think so. She was rescuing a theodolite.
chloE: I’ll come with you, Bernard. Bernard: No, you bloody won’t. chloE: Don’t
you want me to?

Bernard: Of course not. What for?
(To
Valentine) I’m
sorry. chloE:
(In furious tears)
What are you saying sorry to
him
for?
Bernard: Sorry to you too. Sorry one and all. Sorry, Hannah—

sorry, Hermione—sorry, Byron—sorry, sorry, sorry, now can I
go?

(chloE
stands stiffly, tearfully.)
chloE: Well ...

(Thomasina
and
Septimus
dance.)
Hannah: What a
bastard you are, Bernard.

(CHLOE
rounds on her.)
CHLOE: And you mind your own
business! What do you know about anything? Hannah: Nothing.

chloE:
(to
Bernard) It
was
worth it, though,
wasn’t it? Bernard: It was wonderful.

(CHLOE
goes out, through the garden door, towards the party.)
Hannah:
(An echo)
Nothing. Valentine: Well, you shit. I’d drive you
but I’m a bit sloshed.

(VALENTINE follows
chloE
out and can be heard
outside calling
⁽
Chlo!Chlo!’)
Bernard: A scrape. Hannah: Oh ...
(she
gives up)
Bernard! Bernard: I look forward to
The Genius of the Place.
I
hope you find your hermit. I think out front is the safest.

(He opens the door cautiously and looks out.)
Hannah:
Actually, I’ve got a good idea who he was, but I can’t prove it.

Bernard:
(With a carefree expansive gesture)
Publish!
(He goes out closing the door.

Septimus
and
Thomasina
are now waltzing freely.
She is delighted with herself)
Thomasina: Am I waltzing? Septimus: Yes, my
lady.

(He gives her a final twirl, bringing them to the table
where he bows to her. He lights her candlestick.

Hannah
goes to sit at the table, playing truant from the
party. She pours herself more wine. The table contains the geometrical solids,
the computer, decanter, glasses, tea mug, Hannah’s research books, Septimus’s
books, the two portfolios, Thomasina’s candlestick, the oil lamp, the dahlia,
the Sunday papers ..
.

GUS
appears in the doorway. It takes a moment to realize
that he is not Lord Augustus; perhaps not until
Hannah
sees him.)

Septimus: Take your essay, I have given it an alpha in blind
faith. Be careful with the flame.