Priestley Plays Four (14 page)

Some applause
.

We are looking forward very much to seeing this new piece before London sees it. And I’m sure Mr. Cheveril and ’is company will find ’ere as good an audience as they can ’ope to find anywhere – very keen an’ always ready for a good laugh.

‘Hear hear!’ and some laughter and applause
.

Now we people in Barton Spa are very proud of this old Theatre Royal of ours – which dates back nearly two ’undred year – and ’as been associated with some of the greatest actors an’ actresses of its time. We’ve spent a good deal of time and trouble – yes,
and
money – keeping this famous old theatre – including the old Green Room ’ere – in good shape, keeping every thing we could keep to remind us that this is one of the oldest theatres in the country. A lot of people think it’s the best outside London. We
know
it is.

Some laughter and applause
.

Well, I ’ope you ladies and gentlemen who ’ave come to entertain us will accept out best wishes for the show, and that you’ll ’ave a very enjoyable stay so that you’ll want to come again.

Applause, during which OTLEY whispers to the MAYOR. Then OTLEY addresses the company
.

OTLEY: Ladies and gentleman, as Mr. Cheveril has been delayed, I’m going to ask Miss Pauline Fraser, leading lady of
The Glass Door
company to reply on his behalf.

Applause, and all turn and look expectantly at PAULINE, who is rather nervous but charming
.

PAULINE: Mr. Mayor – Ladies and Gentlemen – first I must apologise for the absence of Mr. Cheveril, and I know how sorry he’ll be that he’s missed this lovely party. All of us in the company do appreciate the privilege of playing in this beautiful old theatre of yours.

‘Hear, hear!’ and applause from the players
.

We’ve all often heard and read about the famous old Theatre Royal of Barton Spa – and of this old Green Room you’ve kept so wonderfully. It has a lovely atmosphere, even if at times it is a bit ghostly.

Some laughter
.

Being here in the old place with a brand-new play – which we’ll have to rehearse again tonight – so I hope nobody’s had too many cocktails –

Laughter
.

I say, being here makes me feel all over again what a marvellous thing the theatre is. Never as good as it was – always just about to die – but somehow always renewing its enchantment – always finding new life – perhaps just because it’s so warm and human, so foolish, and yet so glorious – as people themselves are. Yes, just because it’s really so close to the heart. That’s why we’re so glad and proud to be working for it. And why we’re so glad and proud to be here. Thank you very much.

During the latter part of this speech a stage-hand enters L. and beckons importantly to OTLEY, who goes up to him, listens to what her has to whisper, then hastily goes out L.. During the applause at end of PAULINE’s speech, OTLEY re-enters L., obviously excited
.

OTLEY:
(Rather excitedly.)
Ladies and Gentlemen –

There is silence, and they all look at him
.

Mr. Cheveril is here –

A buzz of interest and excitement. OTLEY holds up his hand for silence, and looks serious
.

He had rather a nasty little accident down on the stage – but he’s recovered sufficiently now to say a few words –

Some applause, during which OTLEY brings in MARTIN CHEVERIL. He is an attractive man in his late thirties, but at the moment is looking white and shaky and rather dazed. He speaks with some effort, and now and again put a hand to his head
.

PAULINE:
(Going up to him – with concern.)
Martin – what happened?

MARTIN: It’s all right, Pauline.
(With an obvious effort he faces the party.)
Mr. Mayor – Ladies and Gentlemen, I was fortunate enough to overhear Miss Fraser’s very charming speech. And now I feel it is hardly necessary for me to apologise for not being here earlier, because Miss Fraser replied for us all so much better than I could have done. But I must explain that as I was looking at some furniture in the wings, on my way up here, one of the counter-weights suddenly took a dislike to me and knocked me out for about half an hour –

A murmur of sympathy and concern
.

(Smiles, with an effort.)
I can only hope that some of your old ghosts here don’t dislike authors…

Some laughter
.

(Looking more serious.)
I am not sure if I agree with what Miss Fraser has said about the theatre. I’m beginning to have serious doubts whether the theatre can renew its life and its old enchantments. The play we are opening here,
The Glass Door
, is a serious attempt to write about the world as it is and people as they actually are, which means that it may seem to some of you a grim and unpleasant affair, and not what you wanted. If so, please accept my regret in advance.
(He concludes his speech with an obvious effort, but smiling.)
And I can assure you, Mr. Mayor, that we do appreciate this fine old theatre, and the friendly welcome you have offered us. Thank you.

There is some rather bewildered applause. Leaning a little on OTLEY, MARTIN goes across to be introduced to the MAYOR and MAYORESS, while the GUESTS begin to drift out, and the WAITER and WAITRESS begin to clear the table away. During speeches that follow, MARTIN, PAULINE, and OTLEY go off R
.

Exeunt MARTIN, PAULIN and OTLEY
.

Meanwhile, ALFRED LEATHERS and WHITEFOOT have come downstage
.

LEATHERS:
(Confidentially.)
Well, old boy, what do we do now?

WHITEFOOT:
(Same tone.)
He looks very shaky. Probably ought to get to bed. He must have a dam’ narrow escape from being knocked out altogether.

LEATHERS: I know. Saw it happen once. Still, he could make that speech.

WHITEFOOT: And we agreed that we’d have to tackle him before tonight’s rehearsal. About our last chance.

LEATHERS: Yes – but you heard what he said. Good as told them they wouldn’t like it, and that he didn’t care.

WHITEFOOT:
(Grinning.)
Too late. The advance has almost sold us right out here.

LEATHERS:
(Impatiently.)
Yes, old boy, I know. But I’m not thinking about here. I’m thinking about when we get to town.

WHITEFOOT: Yes, yes, Alfred, we’re all thinking about town. And we’ll simply have to put it to him, as we agreed.

LEATHERS: Well, you heard him. What are we going to say if he’s in this mood? Authors! I’ve had fifty years of ’em. And I know now why Shakespeare’s the best of the lot.

WHITEFOOT: Why?

LEATHERS:
(Chuckling.)
He’s dead.

PAULINE now enters R. She joins them with a rather conspiratorial air
.

PAULINE: Martin was unconscious when that stage hand found him. They’ve sent for a doctor, but Martin insists on staying here. What are we going to do now?

WHITEFOOT: We’ll have to put it to him. It’s our only chance, thought Alfred doesn’t give us much hope.

LEATHERS: Well, my dear, you heard what he said to the Mayor and Corporation. Not very tactful, to say the least of it.

PAULINE: I know. Though it must have been an awful effort to talk at all. I’m not sure –
(She hesitates.)

WHITEFOOT: Not sure about what?

PAULINE: I’m not sure this is the best way of doing it, particularly now. I might do better by myself.

LEATHERS: I think you might, my dear. You’re old friends, and the feminine touch might do it.

PAULINE: But I want him to understand that we all feel the same. But if we’re obviously making no headway with him – I’ll give you a hint – and then you’d better leave him to me.

WHITEFOOT: That’ll be easy, because we can go down to rehearse the first act, and there’s twenty minutes at least before we come to your entrance.

PAULINE: Yes. And remember – don’t go back on what you said this morning. If necessary, tell him what you feel. It’s our only chance.

MARTIN now enters slowly from R.. They break up and watch him
.

LEATHERS: How do you feel, old boy?

MARTIN:
(Carefully.)
Not too bright, Alfred. I got a hell of a crack, and though nothing seems to be broken, I still ache a lot, and my head’s still singing. So I’ll sit down.
(He does so.)

PAULINE: Perhaps you oughtn’t to stay, Martin.

MARTIN: No, I’ll be all right. There’s a doctor coming, and probably he can give me something to keep me going tonight. Then I can take it easy tomorrow all day. If you want to start on the first act, go ahead. I’ll be down later, after the doctor’s been. Don’t worry about me.

He sees now that the three of them are not going, but are facing him with a deputation look about them. He looks from one to the other with a quizzical smile
.

MARTIN: I see. A deputation, eh?

LEATHERS:
(Rather apologetically.)
Well yes, old boy, you could call it that.

MARTIN: Go on, then.
(As they hesitate.)
It’s the third act, isn’t it?

WHITEFOOT: We’ve all been feeling it for several days. But we pretended, even to each other, that it was all right.

PAULINE: And after rehearsal this morning, we couldn’t keep it up any longer.
(Vehemently.)
Martin, we all hate that third act.

LEATHERS: It’s true, old boy.

MARTIN:
(Not unpleasantly, but dryly.)
Rather late to discover that, isn’t it? We open on Monday.

PAULINE: Yes, but as it’s you – and we’ve done it before – there’s still time –
(She hesitates.)

MARTIN: Time to do what?

PAULINE:
(Bursting out.)
Time to write and rehearse another ending to your play that isn’t so cynical and bitter – and – and
hopeless
. Alfred, Jimmy – you tell him.
(She swings away to hide her feelings.)

LEATHERS: She’s quite right, old boy. In my opinion – and I ought to know, after fifty years of it – they’ll never take that ending. Too much for ’em altogether. And if you insist on it, then when we get to town we’re in for a flop.

MARTIN: You may be right. But after all, Alfred, it’ll be a fairly distinguished sort of flop, and won’t do any of you much harm.

WHITEFOOT: Just a minute, Martin. That’s not quite what Pauline and I feel. We feel that even if it does run, it’s not going to do people any good. They’ve had a hard time, and they don’t want to be hurt any more – and we feel the same.

PAULINE:
(Charging in again.)
And what you make them say and do isn’t
true
. I just don’t believe it – and it’s all wrong.

MARTIN:
(Quietly.)
Now wait, Pauline. You and the others read the play. You and I discussed it.

PAULINE:
(Urgently.)
Yes, but we didn’t realise how absolutely desolating and hopeless that third act becomes in production. Of course you knew it, but we didn’t. There isn’t a glimmer of real understanding left between your people in the end – it’s as if each one is mumbling away in a glass case –

MARTIN: The play’s called
The Glass Door
, you know.

PAULINE:
(Savagely.)
And it might as well be called
The Glass Coffin
.

There is an awkward pause, with MARTIN looking at them coolly, while LEATHERS and WHITEFOOT exchange glances. PAULINE, with an effort, now speaks to them quietly
.

You’d better go down and start the first act. Tell Bernard I’ll be ready for my entrance.

LEATHERS: All right, my dear.

LEATHERS and WHITEFOOT go out L.
.

MARTIN:
(Looks expectantly at PAULINE.)
Well, Pauline.

PAULINE:
(Quietly, with an undercurrent of emotion.)
It’s not only that the play’s that going to flop or to hurt people and then make them harder than ever, but that ending isn’t true – and it isn’t really
you
Martin.

MARTIN: No, that’s where you are wrong. It’s me all right. And I believe it’s true. You don’t like the end of my play. But that’s how life is, Pauline. No real understanding. No genuine communication. And mumbling and mouthing behind glass doors.

PAULINE: Life’s not like that.

MARTIN: Isn’t it?

PAULINE: No, it isn’t. And I’ve seen more of it that you have. It’s just you, Martin.

MARTIN: All right, then, it’s me. But I don’t propose to give our customers any hot-water bottles and sedatives…

PAULINE:
(Cutting in, sharply.)
I’m not asking you to.

MARTIN: Let ’em shiver and stay awake – and think for once, before they start burning and blasting each other all over again –

PAULINE:
(Hotly.)
And they might as well, if that’s all life is –

MARTIN: All right, let ’em. And I’m sorry, Pauline – but I don’t care if this hopeless ending that you hate so much is my parting gift to that cosy painted old bawdy-house, the theatre, with all its old enchantment –

PAULINE: I meant that when I said it.

MARTIN: And I mean what I’m saying, my dear. I’ll tell you a secret. In about an hour or so George Gavin will be ringing me up from town, and it’s about ten to one he’ll offer me joint control of three of the best theatres in the West End –

PAULINE:
(With some excitement.)
Why, that’s what you’ve always wanted.

MARTIN: It’s what I wanted once. But now –
(He shrugs.)

PAULINE:
(Horrified.)
But you’re not going to turn down his offer?

MARTIN: Yes, with many thanks. I told you I was through.

PAULINE:
(Aghast.)
Martin, I don’t believe it!

MARTIN: It’s true. Oh – I’ll go on writing, naturally. Go back to novels. Do some film scripts. But I shan’t go on writing for the theatre. Not that that matters, because I don’t think the theatre, as we know it, will last much longer. The old witchcraft’s just about worn out…

PAULINE:
(Scornfully.)
We’ve all heard that before.

MARTIN: I know. It’s always been just about to die. But don’t forget that the most obstinate old invalids do at last turn their faces to the wall. And I believe that’s what the theatre’s doing.