{F. Capra, the distinguished polymath, wrote in The Web of Life, Harper Collins, New York, 1996: "Increasingly, all forms of culture are being subordinated to technology, and technological innovation, rather than the increase in human wellbeing, has become synonymous with progress. ..."}

Presented here, for the Year 12 student who would like to widen his or her perspectives in an unorthodox manner, are four fragmentary points which could be mulled over.

Also included here, to leaven these fragments, are selected scenes from the winter term of Narkover College's second year as a co-educational, bilingual establishment. [... Since Narkover's foundation, in 1859, the inhabitants of Borsetshire have referred to Narkoverians as «Beavers». Present-day students, evincing a woefully insecure grasp of chronology, presume this soubriquet is a reference to the mandatory requirement for each student to spend at least three years in the school's Scout troop; their parents, with a natural though irrational disposition to view the fruit of their loins through rose-tinted glasses, assume that it refers to the presumed industriousness of their offspring; and their teachers, revealing a most unbecoming vein of misanthropy, assert that it refers to the correspondence between hardwood and students' grey cells: truth, however, can be stranger than fiction. ... Thus, Narkover's founder, a German prince with a penchant for designing unsuitable military attire, was inspired by his observations of chaff adorned with ermine hoods in the House of Lords to design a singularly hideous forage cap to be worn by the school's first pupils. In consequence, moth-eaten beaver pelts were transported from the North American hinterland, via Sault Sainte Marie (Canada) and Drummond Island (United States), to the workshops of Hydragyrum Chapelier Vinaigrette in La Rochelle (France), wherein they were «fashioned» into forage caps. So, while his peers in Victorian England were either contracting scrotal cancer in chimneys and mines or acquiring those accomplishments necessary to increase their prospective inheritances, each Narkoverian was suffering the indignity of doffing his beaver cap. Fortunately, following the prince's death in 1861, the then Headmaster made the sensible decision to withdraw these eccentric and superfluous caps: by contrast, similar judgements of eccentricity and superfluity have not extended either to ermine hoods or to the said august mausoleum. ...]

PLAYLET 7: L'Uccelliera

2.30 p.m. Penultimate afternoon of the summer vacation. In his study, the Headmaster, Mr. Mervyn B. Pond, an armchair golfer, is practising his golf putting. Dr. Alec D. Stuart arrives outside the door; then he knocks ...

Mr. POND.
Enter! (Dr. S. enters.) Ah! ... Alec, please do sit down. (He does so.) From your agitated look, I suspect that you have just seen this year's time-table?

Dr. STUART.
Indeed I have, Headmaster. Needless to say, I am not best pleased.

Mr. POND.
Mmm, ... Well, in view of your health problems during the last eighteen months or so, we thought a lighter teaching schedule would be more appropriate.

Dr. STUART.
Hmph! Setting aside your casual use of the royal "we", I do assure you that — unless I have been seriously misinformed — neither said problems nor their cures will have affected my grey cells. (His tone is decidedly acerbic.)

Mr. POND.
Oh! ... Alec, rest assured, I was not suggesting otherwise. (He looks slightly embarrassed.) However, I must admit that my concerns on your behalf have indeed influenced several of my decisions. ... Whilst I have been — and will continue to be — most appreciative of your sterling efforts in teaching lower school Science, I am sure that you would agree with me that neither of your degrees — in the Classics, yes? (Dr. S. nods.) — is an ideal basis from which to teach the upper school? ...

Dr. STUART.
Yes, Headmaster; albeit reluctantly, I must agree.

Mr. POND.
Moreover, Mlle Backson's arrival this term, from the Lycée Villiers, allows us to extend our bilingual approach into the sciences — should, of course, we wish to. ... And,... (Dr. S. interrupts.)

Dr. STUART.
Forgive my interruption, Headmaster, but whilst there maybe no shortage of good reasons why I should not teach upper school Science, I am at a loss as to why I should be given General Studies — not least because that is surely Arsenio's province. (Mr. Pond holds up his hand.)

Mr. POND.
Alec, patience, please. ... Firstly, because many students have opted to study Spanish this year, the subject must take priority in Sig. Sal.'s teaching commitments. And secondly, because I have considered Advanced-level General Studies to have been a frightful waste of time for everyone concerned, I am looking to you, Alec, to revitalize the subject. (He gives Dr. S. his most winning smile.) ...

Dr. STUART.
That's as maybe, Headmaster: but surely I will be as much a hostage to the syllabus as Arsenio?

Mr. POND.
Indeed you would, ... if we were to continue to offer this subject as an examination one. However, I would like you to take, supervise, teach — call it what you will — General Studies without this constraint; that is, as a «complement» to their examination subjects. ...

Dr. STUART.
Fair enough, Headmaster: but would you care to be a little more specific, please?

Mr. POND.
Certainly. ... I thought you might pivot the subject around the notion of consilience — «the unity of knowledge». (Dr. S. looks puzzled.) Alec, shame on you! ... From the Latin consiliens ...?

Dr. STUART.
Mmm! ... I would hazard the suggestion that consiliens is modern Latin; not my former field of study at all. Be that as it may, assuming that I can cobble something together, I have grave doubts as to whether I could sustain the students' attention for an extended period without some sort of focus.

Mr. POND.
Ah, well, Alec, here we are definitely thinking as one! (He smiles.) And, I believe I might have a couple of partial solutions in this regard. ... Last term, Mr. Gowers showed me a play written by Chalice Poison and Ralph Pattullo; A Porphyric Apocalypse. ... I gathered you have read it, Alec?

Dr. STUART.
Yes, Headmaster; I read through their first complete draft.

Mr. POND.
Good! Well, I think you might consider encouraging each of them to try their hand in this genre?

Dr. STUART.
Mmm? (He looks doubtful.)

Mr. POND.
And, to sweeten the bitter pill, so to speak, (He smiles.) I have managed to persuade Hydragyrum Chapelier Vinaigrette to award a prize for the best play; their Director, M. Scrooge, will personally underwrite the expenses of a one-months' working holiday at the company! (He looks pleased with himself.) ...

Dr. STUART.
Mmm!? (He looks even more doubtful.) And, ... your second «solution», Headmaster? ...

Mr. POND.
Ah, yes! (He picks up a letter.) Alec, let me read through this letter from Father Richelieu; who, as you are doubtless aware, has a rather jaundiced opinion of me. ... "Bassett, My dear sister informs me that those students who disgraced themselves a couple of years ago will be visiting our Lycée again over the spring half-term. Not only do I insist that you ensure unimpeachable good behaviour on their part, but I also expect these students to present a divertissement which might be considered as an «act of atonement». Benoît." ...

Dr. STUART.
Headmaster, that's it?

Mr. POND.
I'm afraid so. (He adopts a rather aggrieved look.) Mmm, ... When I married Euphémie, I half-expected that her mother might be a thorn in my side: but not her brother. ... Never mind. (He sighs.) ...

Dr. STUART.
So, Headmaster, ... would I be correct in assuming that you would like me to cajole these students into preparing this divertissement as part of their General Studies?

Mr. POND.
Exactly, Alec; thank you. Now, ... (The telephone rings.) Excuse me, please. (He answers.) "Headmaster speaking. ... Ô ! Ma chère Euphémie... Oui,... ... Oui,... Mais,..." (He looks at Dr. S. with a resigned expression; the latter indicates with his hands that he should leave, followed by a nod of agreement from Mr. Pond.) ...


6.30 p.m. First evening of term. Chalice Poison is lying on her bed in her double study-dormitory. Preceded by the sound of footsteps, the door opens; and standing framed in the doorway are Flora Stuart and her guide-dog, Carotene ...

CHALICE.
Flo ! (Her excited tone is welcoming. She rises from her prone position, and approaches F.) Ça fait longtemps que je ne t'ai pas vu !

FLORA.
Oui. (The pair exchanges kisses.) Ça va la vie ?

CHALICE.
Comme ci comme ça... Et toi ?

FLORA.
La même ; oui. Mais tant mieux pour te voir encore ! (She smiles at C.) Et comment les jumelles,... Alice et Mally ?

CHALICE.
Elles sont... (She stops abruptly, as Flora's mother, Diana, hoves into view.) Bonsoir, Mme Stuart. Je suis enchantée de vous se revoir.

DIANA.
Moi aussi, Chalice. Comment vas-tu ?

CHALICE.
Ça va bien, merci.

DIANA.
C'est bon ! (Then she addresses F.) Il me faut parler avec ton père avant je retourne aux États-Unis. Est-ce que tu veux passer chez lui dans peu de temps ?

FLORA.
Oui, Maman.

DIANA.
Très bien. En attendant, je vous deux laisserai se remettre au courant de bavette ! (She smiles; then exits.) ...


6.45 p.m. Same evening. In his study, Dr. S. is smoking his pipe while listening to Corrette's concerto La Servante au bon tabac. His estranged wife, Dr. Diana Stuart, arrives outside the door; then she knocks ...

Dr. STUART.
Veni! (She enters.) Oh heaven preserve me! (Sotto voce. He douses his pipe.) Good evening, Diana. (His tone is one of studied politeness. She starts to open all the windows.)

DIANA.
Hmph! Desmond, ... (He grits his teeth.) ... I see you are still spouting that Latin nonsense — like some spiritual relative of Crocker-Harris. (He looks puzzled.) ...

Dr. STUART.
Who the devil is this Crocker whatnot?

DIANA.
Oh! I see; feigning ignorance? ... The embittered Classics' Master in The Browning Version ...?

Dr. STUART.
Ah! I'm with you now. (His tone becomes pompous.) Setting aside the fact that I no longer teach the stuff, my students are distinctly blasé about erudition: on the other hand, to their eternal credit, none of them would share your peculiar fondness for second-rate, drawing-room plays.

DIANA.
Mmm, ... That's as maybe; but, ... (She looks at him with mischievous intent.) ... as a result of your problems in the nether regions, I gather that you share at least one other characteristic of your fictional alter ego? ...

Dr. STUART.
Diana, you're speaking in riddles! (His tone is testy.)

DIANA.
Well, as I recall, Crocker-Harris couldn't cut the mustard between the sheets either. (He looks aghast.) ...

Dr. STUART.
Diana!! What an absolutely appalling sideswipe! You should know — surely better than most — that one's virility is not necessarily reduced following a prostatectomy or treatment for testicular cancer. ... I'd have you know that my current state of celibacy is out of choice; Matron Nightingale, for one, is quite smitten with me.

DIANA.
Dear me! I see that you are now as soft in the head as you were in our marital bed. Let me assure you that Florence merely humors your wilted ... ego, let us say.

Dr. STUART.
And I see that, in both senses of the term, your «bedside manners» have not changed for the better. Mmm, ... Yes, in retrospect, it truly beggars belief that we shared the same bed for five weeks let alone five years. But: no, I do you an injustice; as I recall, you also shared... (There is a knock at the door. Then he looks pointedly at her.)

Dr. STUART.
Veni! (Flora Stuart enters, with her guide dog, and walks unerringly towards her father.)

FLORA.
Good evening, Father. (She kisses him.) Ugh! (She recoils instantly.)

Dr. STUART.
"Ugh!"? Er, ... I may not be wearing designer after-shave, but surely that is no way to greet your most belovèd father? (His tone is an admixture of nervousness and whimsicality.)

FLORA.
On the contrary, it is precisely how one greets an ash-tray; your jacket reeks of tar and stale tobacco.

Dr. STUART.
Perhaps it will pass muster as a smoking jacket? (He laughs gently.)

FLORA.
Eh! I do not consider smoking to be a light-hearted matter. Anyway, must dash; people to see, and so forth. (She turns about face.) Come on, Carotene. (The pair leave.) ...

Dr. STUART.
How extraordinary!

DIANA.
What is?

Dr. STUART.
Flora's forthright manner.

DIANA.
Not at all. ... Admittedly she does not suffer fools gladly, — No, I must resist the temptation — but surely you did not expect her to treat you as some sort of prodigal father?

Dr. STUART.
No, not as such; but... (She interjects.)

DIANA.
There are no buts. In what ... thirteen years? ... how many times did you visit her either in Boston or in Montréal? ... Precisely none! Heavens above, you only saw her this June out of sufferance. (Her tone is withering.)

Dr. STUART.
That's not fair... (She interjects.)

DIANA.
Eh? Fairness be damned! (Then her tone softens.) Although I have never understood why you chose to blame yourself for the accident, I do appreciate that your perceptions have not changed. ... That said, you must appreciate that Flora has — of necessity — developed a very high degree of physical and emotional independence. ... Incidentally, why do you suppose I ensured that Flora transferred from Montgomery College to Narkover? ...

Dr. STUART.
Er, ... Presumably, you considered she would benefit from an improved education, compared to what was on offer in Canada?

DIANA.
Eh! Then, indeed, you are a fool. ... No, I felt that Flora must have at least one extended opportunity to be in closer contact with her father — before her pending adulthood. ... Your feelings didn't enter the equation! (Then she rummages about in her shoulder-bag; removes a sealed white envelope; and passes same to him.) ...

Dr. STUART.
Flora's personal details?

DIANA.
No; divorce papers. You should find them straightforward.

Dr. STUART.
Er, ... Undoubtedly. But, after so long, ... why now?

DIANA.
That's not important; just be thankful. ...

Dr. STUART.
Ah well! I will be losing a wife: but gaining a daughter. (He smiles whimsically.)

DIANA.
Hmph! The first is certain: but I wouldn't be too confident about the second — time is not always a great healer. (She looks at her watch.) Oh! Must go; plane to catch. Ciao, Desmond! (She exits abruptly.) ...


2.45 p.m. First full day of term. Dr. S. takes the Lower 6th-Remove (Year 12) for their first lesson of General Studies ...

Dr. STUART.
Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman.

CLASS.
Afternoon, Sir. ...

Dr. STUART.
For my sins — aside from taking General Studies — I have the dubious privilege of being your Form Tutor. And, as such, one of my duties is to ensure that each of you is keeping up to the mark in your subjects — despite there being no public examinations at the end of this particular academic year. Accordingly, as a first step, I'll need you to confirm your choices shown on this table prepared by Mr. Thompson. (He holds up same.) Salice, would you be so kind? (He smiles engagingly at S.)

SALICE.
Yes, Sir. (She collects said table, shown below, which is then passed round the class, before being returned by Zigo about five minutes later.)

YEAR 12: Group, Remove; Form Tutor, Dr. A. D. Stuart
NAME	EXAMINATION SUBJECTS (YEAR 13)
Ms. Salice Albero	English, French, Maths, Spanish
Ms. Constance Bonacieux	Biology, Chemistry, Geography, Physics
Brown	Biology, Chemistry, Des. & Tech., French
Ms. Shandy Drynck	Biology, English, French, Geography
East	Biology, Chemistry, Des. & Tech., French
Flashman	French, History, Latin, Spanish
Ms. Malice A. Forthort	Chemistry, French, Geography, Maths
Ms. Alice Lidell-Lonsdale	French, Double Maths, Physics
McKechnie	French, Geography, Maths, Spanish
Merridew	French, Geography, History, Spanish
Mumford	Biology, Chemistry, Des. & Tech., French
Pattullo	French, History, Latin, Music
[Piggy]	[Deceased]
Ms. Chalice Poison	Latin, Maths, Music, Spanish
Ms. Popsy Rice	Biology, Chemistry, French, Physics
Ms. Flora Stuart	English, French, Maths, Music
Ms. Lolli Stich	Biology, Chemistry, French, Geography
Ms. Trudi Taplow	English, French, Maths, Physics
Unman	Des. & Tech., French, Maths, Physics
Wittering	English, French, History, Spanish
Zigo	French, Double Maths, Physics

ZIGO.
All but one present and correct, Sir. (He smiles.)

Dr. STUART.
Thank you, Zigo. ... Mmm, ... Let me see, ... newcomers, ... Ms. Constance Bonacieux?

CONSTANCE.
Yes, Sir.

Dr. STUART.
Ah ! Soyez la bienvenue, Constance... Je déduis que vous avez transféré du Lycée Villiers ?

CONSTANCE.
Oui, Monsieur.

Dr. STUART.
J'espère que vous vous installerez bien ici à Narkover.

CONSTANCE.
Merci, Monsieur.

Dr. STUART.
C'est bon... Er, ... Ms. Flora Stuart? (He sounds a mite self-conscious.)

FLORA.
Yes, Sir.

Dr. STUART.
Welcome to the class, Flora. ... I believe you already know a few of the other girls?

FLORA.
Yes, Sir; Alice, Chalice, Mally, and I became firm friends when they stayed that half-term at Montgomery.

Dr. STUART.
Splendid. ... Now, ... Ms. Trudi Taplow?

TRUDI.
Yes, Sir.

Dr. STUART.
Welcome to the class, Trudi.

TRUDI.
Thank you, Sir.

Dr. STUART.
I gather that you have transferred here from Gage High, in Boston?

TRUDI.
Yes, Sir.

Dr. STUART.
I hope you too will settle in well here at Narkover.

TRUDI.
Thank you, Sir. ...

Dr. STUART.
And now, General Studies. ... In his wisdom, the Headmaster has decided that the school's approach to the subject in the upper school should now become different in two particular respects: firstly, by being essentially non-disciplinary in nature; and secondly, by being non-examinable. In principle, such an approach should be «complementary» to, and provide a «contrast» to, your examination subjects. ... ... Yes, East?

EAST.
Sir, unless my memory is playing tricks, you always used to follow the construction "in principle" with "in practice": so I assume there is a downside of sorts?

Dr. STUART.
Oh dear! ... Am I becoming a parody of myself? (He smiles.)

CLASS.
Perish the thought! (In unison, with accompanying laughter; aside from Constance, Flora, and Trudi, who look bemused.)

Dr. STUART.
Settle down, please. ... Thank you. ... Mmm? ... To answer East's question specifically, I doubt whether there will be any "downside" because our sessions together should prove to be — at the very least — congenial equivalents to free-study periods: supervised, that is. (He peers over the top of his glasses and directs a brief glance at each student in turn.) ... Yes, Brown?

BROWN.
And, «at the very most», Sir? (Dr. S. smiles.)

Dr. STUART.
Mmm? ... I am sorry to say that, at present, I cannot be so specific; in part, because I have only just been «parachuted in» by the Headmaster. That said, I think you might get an inkling of our future direction as this lesson unfolds. ... Firstly, as several of you may already be aware, Chalice and Pattullo wrote a play together last summer term. And, in a nutshell, we would like each of you to try your hand in this genre. ... Yes, Shandy?

SHANDY.
Individually or in pairs, Sir?

Dr. STUART.
In pairs — most definitely — because each member of the pair will be able to provide moral support. ... However, to avoid both the «over-subscribing» and «wallflower» phenomena, I have decided that «Lady Luck» should be the sole arbiter in selecting the pairs. (He holds aloft a small box containing twenty pieces of paper. ... Flashman rises from his seat and starts to move forward.) Oh! Leaving us so soon, Flashman? (He smiles. F. has a brief look round the class; then ...)

FLASHMAN.
No, Sir; just stretching my legs. (He sits down.) ...

Dr. STUART.
Now, ... let me set out the two minimal requirements of each play. First, it must be in two versions: one English, the other French. And second, whilst there are no restrictions in your choice of theme or themes, it must include one or more historical and one or more scientific elements. ... Yes, Merridew?

MERRIDEW.
Sir, I don't wish to appear rude, but all this sounds to me like a rather Machiavellian way of ensuring that each of us continues with subjects that we ditched after Year 11. ...

Dr. STUART.
I'm uncertain as to whether the Headmaster would be offended or flattered by your intimation that he shares a character trait with an Italian prince, ... (He smiles.) ... but I am certain he would assert that only the compulsory requirement of following a balanced and examined syllabus would ensure such continuation. ... Yes, Alice?

ALICE.
Sir, um, ... do I take it that your use of the word "element" implies that we did not have to include, say, a scientific theme?

Dr. STUART.
Absolutely; not least because the drama itself should self-impose its theme or themes. ... Yes, Unman?

UNMAN.
But, Sir, we could include a scientific theme if we wanted?

Dr. STUART.
Yes, indeed. ... As I believe I said a little earlier, there are no restrictions in this respect. ... Yes, Trudi?

TRUDI.
We attempted to do something similar in the 10th grade at my last school — small sketches and the like — but we always seemed to get bogged down in stage directions. ...

Dr. STUART.
Good point! Mmm? ... I suspect that each of you might find it helpful to ignore both the practicalities and the medium of performance in writing your play. ... Yes, Mumford?

MUMFORD.
So, Sir, we could write a «tacit» drama; that's to say, one written to be read rather than acted.

Dr. STUART.
Yes; most certainly. ... Yes, Lolli?

LOLLI.
Er, ... Sir, how long have we got to write this play?

Dr. STUART.
Five terms. ... Incidentally, I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that the Director of Hydragyrum Chapelier Vinaigrette has offered a prize for the best play: a one-months' working holiday at the company. ... Yes, Wittering?

WITTERING.
Sir, ... does second prize get two-months? (There are a few titters among the class, followed by the distinct frisson of a pregnant silence. ... Then, Dr. S. smiles.)

Dr. STUART.
Wittering, I must admit — and I am ashamed to say — that the same ungracious thought crossed my mind when the Headmaster informed me of these «joyous tidings». ... However, because Dr. Brummel still carries some weight in the company, I feel sure that he will do his level best to reduce or change this «prison sentence». (He smiles wryly.) Yes, Popsy?

POPSY.
Sir, would I be allowed to write a drama by myself or with a different partner?

Dr. STUART.
Yes, providing that it does not result in you spreading your efforts too thinly; since, aside from the one written with your randomly selected partner, there are the other delights of school life — your formal academic studies, for example. (He smiles waspishly.) Now, ... let us move on to something of more immediate concern. ... Roughly eighteen months ago, every boy here disgraced himself on the exchange visit to the Lycée Villiers; more than living up to their original soubriquet of the «sans-culottes»! (Each boy feigns either embarrassment or studied innocence.) Accordingly, Father Richelieu, their Headmaster, has made it a condition of your visit there — over the spring half-term — that you present a divertissement which might be considered as — to quote his exact words — "an act of atonement". ... I will refrain from designating «the power behind the throne»: but, McKechnie, I should like you and your confrères to prepare something for appraisal, please.

McKECHNIE.
No problem, Sir. Er, ... Any time-scale, Sir?

Dr. STUART.
Let us say, for the fifth week of term? (McK. nods.) Now, Malice, although you were one of those who bore the brunt of their disgraceful — not to say, dangerous — behaviour, may I impose upon you the task of coordinating the preparation of a second divertissement; say, for the seventh week, please?

MALICE.
With pleasure, Sir.

Dr. STUART.
Thank you, Malice. (He smiles warmly at her; then he looks at his watch.) Mmm? ... Despite the bell being some time away, I think we have reached a convenient pause. However, before you leave, I would like you to listen carefully to a notable snippet — one of many — from Eco's novel The Name of the Rose: (He speaks very slowly.) "... what the temptation of adultery is for laymen and the yearning for riches is for secular ecclesiastics, the seduction of knowledge is for monks." ... ... Class dismissed! ...


10.00 p.m. One night during the 1st week of term. In the Salieris' bedroom, Sig. Sal. and his lady wife Vespina are in bed ...

VESPINA.
Arsenio, fais l'amour à moi...

Sig. SALIERI.
Heu,... Je suis désolé, pas ce soir.

VESPINA.
Aïe ! Pas encore !?... Tout au début notre mariage tu étais désireux — voire pressé — de «besogner».

Sig. SALIERI.
C'est un peu grossier, ça ! (He looks quite shocked.)

VESPINA.
Peut-être bien, mais toujours est-il ! De plus, tu m'as dit : "Je t'adore et t'adorerai tant que je vivrai."

Sig. SALIERI.
Oui,... oui ; je me souviens bien... Mais, pour être tout à fait franc avec toi, ces deux dernières années, en faisant l'amour a été, bel et bien, la besogne.

VESPINA.
Ah ! Mais, à moi ou... à Agnès ?

Sig. SALIERI.
Hein ! Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire par là !?

VESPINA.
Comment !... Tu n'as jamais été infidèle à moi ?

Sig. SALIERI.
Jamais !... Agnès et moi ? Nous sommes amis : c'est tout !... Et, maintenant, si tu n'as plus de questions idiots, je voudrais s'endormir. (He turns over in a deliberate manner; then switches off his bedside light.) ...


11.15 p.m. Same night. Sig. Sal. and Vespina are now asleep; Arsenio starts dreaming ...

........................................................................................
[Start of dream sequence.]

Initially: Sig. Sal. «appears» in the school grounds, where Flashman, McKechnie, Merridew, Wittering, and Zigo are standing before a plaque which reads Hat Wissensdrang Xavier Getötet? ...

BOYS.
Ciao, Professore! (In rather breezy tones.)

Sig. SALIERI.
"Ciao"!? You boys should have been fast asleep hours ago!

ZIGO.
But, Sir, we needed to pay our respects; Xavier Piggy died a couple of years ago today, ... (He looks at his watch.) ... almost to the minute, in fact.

Sig. SALIERI.
Your respects!? You disliked Piggy so much that you plotted his death.

WITTERING.
That's slanderous! ... We do admit to placing Fleabit on a red cloak near the lake's edge: but, Sir, we hardly expected Piggy to be such a bollock-brained fool as to go and attempt to rescue the wretched moggy at the dead of night. ...

Sig. SALIERI.
But, you did know that he was hyperallergic to cat fur!?

MERRIDEW.
Yes, Sir; it pays to know the weaknesses of others. ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Mmm? ... So, might I be correct in assuming that you have some knowledge of the weaknesses of, ... let us say, ... my wife, Vespina?

FLASHMAN.
Certainly, Sir; females of the species are our speciality.

Sig. SALIERI.
Ecco, ... Would I be able to draw on your expertise in, ... let us say, ... the disposal of «red cloaks»?

McKECHNIE.
Yes, Sir, absolutely; but you will need to sign our Faustian contract first. (He passes a document to Sig. Sal.; as the latter reads same, the boys «disappear».) ...

Next: Sig. Sal. «reappears» in a double study-dorm, where Constance and Trudi are seated on beanbags in their dressing gowns; using the light of two candles, they are reading and discussing some sketch notes ...

CONSTANCE.
Trudi, we agree, then? ... Sorrel should be the scientific element of our play for Dr. Stuart?

TRUDI.
Yes, Conny; definitely. We bound to firm up its use by the Native Americans in colonial Massachusetts. Er, ... By the way, what was that nickname the boys used for Dr. Stuart when we were on that joint field trip to Drummond Island — that second semester before last? ... Remember? ...

CONSTANCE.
Let me think. ... Ah, yes! «Barbydol», ... I think, or was it «Desdemona»? Perhaps both? I'm not sure why; something about the Latin names of bats. (She shrugs.) ... [Sig. Sal. exclaims: "Lighted candles in the dormitory are forbidden!" — but neither girl reacts to the sound of his voice.]

TRUDI.
Er, ... What's the French for sorrel?

CONSTANCE.
Oseille.

TRUDI.
Bird-seller!? (C. laughs gently.)

CONSTANCE.
Non ; pas oiselier : mais,... oseille,... oseille.

TRUDI.
Oseille,... oseille.

CONSTANCE.
Oui ; précisément !...

Next: Sig. Sal. «reappears» in the library, where Fr. Richelieu, in his black cassock, is carefully turning the pages of a massive tome ...

Fr. RICHELIEU.
Bonsoir, Arsenio... Comment vas-tu ?

Sig. SALIERI.
Ça ne va pas très fort.

Fr. RICHELIEU.
Quel dommage ! Ne t'en fais pas...

Sig. SALIERI.
Heu,... Benoît, qu'est-ce que tu lis ?

Fr. RICHELIEU.
Ma contribution à l'érudition ornithologique : c'est-à-dire Corvorum Narkoverae...

Sig. SALIERI.
Pas Les grands Corbeaux de Narkover ?

Fr. RICHELIEU.
Si ; tout à fait !...

Next: Sig. Sal. «reappears» in a small laboratory, where Mlle Charlotte Backson is talking to Alice, Chalice, Malice, and Salice ...

Mlle BACKSON.
Mesdemoiselles, il y a environ six mois, pendant le voyage d'échange des étudiants du Lycée Villiers, vous avez préparé deux composés porphyriniques : (She points to this reaction scheme on one of the blackboards.)

... soit la porphyrine A par macrocylisation et la porphyrine B par métallation. (She points to this table on the other blackboard.)

Réactions principales des porphyrines
Réaction	Exemple(s)
Macrocylisation	Pyrrole et benzènecarbaldéhyde ——® Porphyrine A
Dégradation	Porphyrine A ——® Tétrapyrroles «linéaires»
Métallation	Porphyrine A ——® B
Démetallation	Porphyrine B ——® A
Substitution	Porphyrine B ——® C et D
Échange de ligand*	Porphyrine-Fe-O=O ——® Porphyrine-Fe-CºO
Hydrogénation	Porphyrine A ——® Di- ou tétra-hydroporphyrine
* Un ligand est une espèce chimique — atome, molécule, ion — directement liée à l'atome central par une liaison covalente.

... Et, aujourd'hui... (Alice interrupts.)

ALICE.
Excusez-moi l'interruption, Mademoiselle, est-ce qu'on peut généraliser cette macrocyclisation à d'autres carbaldéhydes et pyrroles ?

Mlle BACKSON.
Oui ; heureusement, la champ de cette réaction est large... 3,4-Diméthylpyrrole et 4-fluorobenzènecarbaldéhyde sont deux exemples simples... Oui, Malice ?

MALICE.
Heu,... Mais alors pourquoi est-ce que vous avez choisi ces porphyrines particulières, Mademoiselle ?...

Mlle BACKSON.
Pour des raisons très simples : la sécurité et le prix, bien sûr, mais surtout la volonté d'entrer vite dans le «vif du sujet» sans difficulté... Oui, Salice ?

SALICE.
Mademoiselle, est-ce que des porphyrines de cuivre sont très répandues dans le monde vivant ?

Mlle BACKSON.
Non ; au contraire... Un exemple rare est l'uroporphyrine de cuivre qui est responsable de la coloration rouge des plumes de tête d'un oiseau africain nommé Musophaga rossae ; soit le «Touraco de Lady Ross»... Or, aujourd'hui, vous préparez les deux porphyrines C et D par substitution. [Sig. Sal. exclaims: "C'est du chinois pour moi !" — but those present do not react to the sound of his voice.]

CHALICE.
Ô ! Mademoiselle, j'ai déjà fait ces deux porphyrines quand j'étais lycéenne à La Rochelle. (She looks and sounds a bit miffed.)

Mlle BACKSON.
Tant pis ! (She smiles.) Comme dit les Anglais : «De la pratique naît la perfection» ! (C. smiles ruefully.) ...

Next: Sig. Sal. «reappears» in Dr. Stuart's bedroom, where Dr. S. and Matron Nightingale are in bed: their clothes are neatly folded on the backs of two chairs; and on his bedside table is an opened packet of condoms. Dr. S. has a expression which is an admixture of distress and embarrassment, whereas Matron has one of sympathy ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Alec e Florence, insieme? ... Dio mio! (He looks shocked.)

MATRON.
I beg your pardon! ... Arsenio, speak English! ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Er, ... No matter, Matron; not least because I would appear to have intruded at a most inopportune moment.

MATRON.
You have indeed! ... Moreover, one should never intrude on private grief. So, be off with you: this instant! ...

Next: Sig. Sal. «reappears» in a room given to the hobby of handicraft, where Dr. Bob Brummel is supervising Brown, East, Mumford, and Unman making wall-hangings for a model baronial hall constructed largely out of matchsticks; they are embroidering white silk with diverse lattices based on the following motifs:

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Mmm, ... Brown, you lads are embroidering some esthetically pleasing designs. (He smiles benevolently.)

BROWN.
Thank you, Sir. ... Though, to be perfectly honest, they are not completely original.

EAST.
No, Sir. We're sort of adapting that one designed by Spats and Chalice for their «porphyria» play ...?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Sorry; I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of reading it.

MUMFORD.
Never mind, Sir. Well, in one scene, these girls — they are suffering from this disease, Sir — are each placed on top of a quilt which had a symmetrical design based on delocalized benzene rings.

UNMAN.
Yes, Sir; and we thought it would be natty to extend this to naphthalene and anthracene, because... (Dr. B. interjects.)

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Whoa! Hold your horses, there. Are these double and treble circle motifs meant to be the delocalized representations of: (He sketches the following formulas on the board.)

... these aromatic hydrocarbons!? (The boys look distinctly apprehensive.)

MUMFORD.
Um, ... Yes, Sir; they were meant to be: but, plainly, they are not. (His tone is contrite.)

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Indeed they are not! (Then his tone softens.) Oh! I'm so sorry, lads; I forgot that this is Sig. Sal.'s hobby club: not a lesson. ...

BROWN.
Er, ... Those formulae were present in every textbook that we came across, Sir.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Ah! The «Cane toad syndrome»! (He smiles. The boys' faces express varying admixtures of faint recognition and puzzlement.) Mmm, ... I suppose that would be «mitigating circumstances»?

UNMAN.
Indeed they are, Sir! (Dr. B. laughs warmly.) ...

EAST.
Sir, would be kind enough to explain to us exactly why these multiple circle motifs are wrong?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
No! (The boys look miffed.) Or, rather, I think it would be more instructive for you to explain to me. (The boys now look bemused.) Firstly, Unman, how many carbon atoms are there in benzene?

UNMAN.
6, Sir.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
And, if each of these contributes one p electron, how many delocalized bonds must there be in benzene?

UNMAN.
3, Sir.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Good! ... By convention, three delocalized covalent bonds are represented by one circle. Therefore, Brown, how many delocalized covalent bonds are implied by the double circle representation of naphthalene?

BROWN.
6, Sir.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Correct. ... How many carbon atoms are there in naphthalene, each contributing 1 p electron? ...

BROWN.
10, Sir. Oh! ... And, so only 5 delocalized bonds, Sir?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Precisely! Brown, well done! (B. looks chuffed.) And now, East,... (E. interrupts.)

EAST.
Sorry for interrupting, Sir, but I see where you are going with this. The triple circle representation of anthracene would imply 9 delocalized bonds: but there are only 7, as it has 14 carbons, and so 14 p electrons. ... Yes, Sir?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Exactly! (E. looks chuffed; while M. looks introspective.) Er, ... Mumford, have you heard what we have been saying? (His tone is concerned.)

MUMFORD.
Oh yes, Sir; perfectly. I am wearing my hearing-aid; I get a proverbial thick ear from Dr. S. when I'm not. (He smiles to himself.) No, Sir, I was just thinking that there is a pattern here. ...

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Go on, please; I'm all ears! (He shares a smile with M.)

MUMFORD.
Well, Sir, ... each of these is a planar cyclic system with 2 + 4n p electrons: ... in benzene, n = 1, so 6 p electrons; then 10 p and 14 p; and so, when n = 4, ... for example, in naphthacene? ... (Dr. B. nods encouragingly.) ... there will be 18 p electrons. ...

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Clink! The penny's dropped. ... And to think that you lads wanted me to explain to you. ... Hmph! (The boys groan good naturedly; then, after exchanging conspiratorial smiles ...)

BOYS.
Perish the thought, Sir! (In unison. Dr. B. smiles.) ...

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Mmm! However, I do think I should enlighten you with their correct formulas: (He sketches the following diagram on the board.)

... although these motifs may be less esthetically pleasing to you putative seamstresses. (He smiles, wickedly. Then he shivers involuntarily; looks straight through Sig. Sal., who «disappears».) ...

Next: Sig. Sal. «reappears» in a room containing a harpsichord, where Flora is playing as Pattullo reads the pages of a musical score; after the last note has died away ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Flora, what piece of music were you playing?

FLORA.
Thomas Ravenscroft's There were Three Ravens, Sir; it's an old — and rather obscure — English folk song. ...

Sig. SALIERI.
But, Flora, ... er, ... surely you are unable to read this type of musical score?

FLORA.
Indeed so, Sir; I'm simply playing from memory. The score is for Spats' benefit; he's the one who is reading the words and music. (She turns to Pattullo and smiles; he gently touches her arm.) ...

Sig. SALIERI.
I see. ... Mmm, ... Pattullo, are the ravens in this song benevolent or malevolent?

PATTULLO.
Neither, Sir; they are essentially spectators. ... But there is mention of a knight's lady who lifts up "his bloudy hed" ...

Finally: Sig. Sal. «reappears» in a kitchen, where Mlle Agnès Gossâge is supervising a lesson to Lolli, Popsy, and Shandy; aside from various ingredients, before each girl is a ball of dough under a damp cloth ...

Mlle GOSSÂGE.
Girrls! (She trills.) In her lesson notes, Signora Salieri has left a few cryptic comments, which read: "From Giovanni del Turco's book Epulario ..., 1602, recipe for ... «To make Pies that the Birds may be Alive in them, and Fly out when they are cut up.» ... Girls to sing nursery rhyme when dough is resting (?)" ... ... I presume she can only be referring to Sing a Song of Sixpence; and, with this recipe, there is truly no time like the present. ... So, how about it?

GIRLS.
Oh super, Miss! (In unison.)

Mlle GOSSÂGE.
Formidable !... À trois,... un,... deux,... trois :

GIRLS.
Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye;
Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing;
Wasn't that a dainty dish, to set before the King? (At this moment, Vespina comes bursting through the door.)

VESPINA.
Mlle Gossâge, how dare you! Not content with stealing my husband, you have the effrontery to steal my class as well. (Mlle G. looks momentarily unsettled; then ...)

Mlle GOSSÂGE.
Bôf ! I have stolen neither. ... Firstly, because you had a prior engagement, you asked me — last week — whether I would supervise one of your classes. And secondly, I suspect your unreasonable demands are the true cause for the loss of your spouse. [Sig. Sal. exclaims: "Would the pair of you mind not speaking about me as if I wasn't here!" — but those present do not react to the sound of his voice.] However, now that you are here, the class is all yours. (She exits.) ...

VESPINA.
Mmm, ... Girls, I see that there remains some time before your pastry dough is ready, so I think we should sing my version of Sing a Song of Sixpence; I will take the first verses, and you can take the second. (She passes a sheet containing these words to each of the girls; then ...)
Vespina was in her kitchen, making bread and honey;
Arsenio was in the garden, making love not honey.
Agnès was in seventh heaven, receiving his masculine charms;
Then along came a raven, and pecked off those charms. (Then, using a wooden kitchen spoon, she conducts in ...)

GIRLS.
Sing a song for Arsenio, whose been condemned to die;
Four and twenty ravens, are circling o'er high.
When the trapdoor opens, the harbingers will begin to kaw;
Won't that be a just fate, for an unfaithful mate? ...

[End of dream sequence.]
........................................................................................

00.30 a.m. Same night. Sig. Sal. wakes up suddenly to find Vespina, in her black dressing gown, mopping his brow ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Cosa fai!?

VESPINA.
Chut, chut... Tu faisais un cauchemar.

Sig. SALIERI.
Un cauchemar ?... De quoi ?

VESPINA.
Je ne sais pas ! Mais, tu as marmonné plusieurs fois le mot anglais ravens. C'est bizarre, n'est-ce pas ? (She looks puzzled, while he looks quite disconcerted.) ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Heu,... Oui... Excuse-moi, je fais un brin de toilette. (He walks towards the bathroom.)

VESPINA.
Il y a quelque chose qui ne vas pas avec lui. (Sotto voce.)

Sig. SALIERI.
Pardon ?... J'ai mal entendu.

VESPINA.
Ne t'en fais pas ; ça n'a pas d'importance. ...


4.15 p.m. One afternoon during the 2nd week of term. In his study, Dr. S. is waiting for a pot of tea to brew. Sig. Sal. arrives outside the door; then he knocks ...

Dr. STUART.
Veni! (Sig. Sal. enters.) Ah! Good afternoon, Arsenio; excellent timing! (He points to the china.)

Sig. SALIERI.
Splendid! (Each pours himself a cup of tea; then both seat themselves down. ...) Alec, do you ever give much thought to dreams? ...

Dr. STUART.
No; I can't say that I do. Er, ... My ones always appear to be a succession of real or possible events in which the personalities are chronologically displaced; ... somehow or other, information seems to be ... deleted, substituted, ... inverted, ... transposed, whatever. (He shrugs.) ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Mmm. (He nods.) Alec, ... may I ask you a deeply personal question, please?

Dr. STUART.
Yes; if you wish. I'm an empty but open book! (He smiles.)

Sig. SALIERI.
Er, ... Have you ever slept with Matron Nightingale?

Dr. STUART.
Eh? She should be so lucky! ... But no; so far, I have been able to resist Florence's offer of a cup of hot chocolate. (He smiles.) Why do you ask? ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Ecco, ... Last week, I had a quite extraordinary dream: no, nightmare would be a better description. ... ...

Dr. STUART.
Arsenio, and? ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Well, in one fragment, I dreamt that you and Florence were in bed together. (He looks embarrassed. ... Dr. S. looks at him with slightly mischievous intent.)

Dr. STUART.
Perhaps the good Matron and I were «substitutes» for you and a certain lady? (He smiles.)

Sig. SALIERI.
Oh no! ... No, Alec, not you as well. (He looks mortified.) Vespina virtually accused me of having an affair with Agnès, barely a week ago. (He looks aggrieved.)

Dr. STUART.
Me, "as well"!? Good heavens, Arsenio, there is not so much a grapevine at Narkover as a veritable vineyard. ... I doubt whether there is a staff member or student who has not made a similar assumption — however presumptuous it may be.

Sig. SALIERI.
Well, it is presumptuous. I have never once been unfaithful to Vespina. Never! ...

Dr. STUART.
Forgive me, Arsenio. (He looks contrite.) I wouldn't doubt your word; not for one moment. ... Yet, ... No. No matter.

Sig. SALIERI.
Alec, there's a «but»!? ...

Dr. STUART.
Not as such; no. However, everything depends on whether one considers «faithfulness» purely in terms of the body ... or the mind. ...

Sig. SALIERI.
I'm sorry, but I don't follow.

Dr. STUART.
I may be being more than a shade misanthropic, but I suspect that whilst most couples remain faithful to each other, in a physical sense, few if any partners resist the temptation to imagine their desires to be transposed onto someone else ... at some time or another. (His neutral tone then changes to one that is an admixture of cynicism and bitterness.) But, imagination is one thing: and execution quite another. ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Alec, er, ... I don't wish to pry, but were you referring to your wife, Diana?

Dr. STUART.
Soon to be ex-wife! ... Sorry. I was; yes. ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Was her unfaithfulness the cause of your estrangement?

Dr. STUART.
No, Arsenio; ... at least, not directly. I would be being monstrously unfair on her to assert that it was. ... No, its root cause was the realization one day that I simply did not want to teach Classics for the rest of my career. ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Because, ... what, the students over there were philistines? (He smiles.)

Dr. STUART.
No. No. ... Indeed, perhaps quite the contrary. Certainly, the great majority of those I taught in Boston had a most admirable attitude. ... Be that as it may, this realization did prove to exacerbate my problems at home — particularly after Flora's accident, when I could not come to terms with her resulting blindness. (He looks introspective.) ... ... From every point of view, my family and professional life turned increasingly sour; and the final straw, so to speak, came when Marianne and Gustav decided to go to England.

Sig. SALIERI.
Gustav! ... As in Dr. Krautmann?

Dr. STUART.
Yes; the very same! (He smiles.) Gustav was the senior consultant in the gynaecology department where Diana worked. Well, socially, we did most things together as a foursome; and, for me, their company was the only thing that made life at all tolerable during that last year in the States. (He looks pained, ... then resolved.) But, enough of my woes — particularly since my marriage will soon be, well and truly, history. (He smiles.) ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Perhaps history is repeating itself? (His tone is gloomy.)

Dr. STUART.
Arsenio, no! There is absolutely no similarity between our marriages. Looking back, I have the gravest doubts whether Diana and I were ever in love with each other: by contrast, on countless occasions in the past few years, I have seen you and Vespina look at each other with what I would presume to be the genuine article. ... Yes?

Sig. SALIERI.
Undoubtedly; ... and my feelings for her remain very strong. But, these days, I find I have so much more in common with Agnès. (He looks anguished.) Alec, what should I do?

Dr. STUART.
Eh!? ... Arsenio, with the greatest respect, I am completely the wrong person to ask — much less offer — advice in your situation: your priest, certainly; Vespina, probably; Agnès, possibly; ... even the village idiot, unless he and I are one and the same: (He smiles.) but no, not me. ... Mmm? On t'other hand, there is — perhaps — one sensible question you might consider asking yourself. ... ... ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Yes, Alec? (His tone is slightly impatient.)

Dr. STUART.
Well, ... although I am not privy to your feelings towards Agnès — and would not wish to be, I hasten to add — I would have thought it eminently reasonable to ask yourself this: «Are your feelings towards her stronger than those you felt towards Vespina during the halcyon days of your marriage?». (During a short silence, he looks concerned whereas Sig. Sal. looks confused; then, after briefly glancing at his watch, the latter stands up abruptly.)

Sig. SALIERI.
A music lesson; yes! ... Mmm? ... Much to think about; thank you, Alec. (He smiles appreciatively.) Er, ... One final question. ... Am I right in believing that the library holds a copy of Corvorum Narkoverae, by Father Richelieu?

Dr. STUART.
The Ravens of Narkover? Oh yes! (He smiles mischievously.) Our captious archivist usually keeps that tome «in reserve»; ostensibly to prevent it being pawed by the students' sticky mitts: but, in truth, I suspect, because he considers it to be a waste of shelf-space. Certainly, it only reappears on the shelves — rather miraculously — when a visit is expected from le bon père; ... as if it were a gift of a particularly ghastly ornament from a well-meaning relative. (Both share a smile of recognition, before Sig. Sal. walks to and then opens the door. Suddenly ...) Arsenio!

Sig. SALIERI.
Yes, Alec?

Dr. STUART.
I have had a thought: just then, were you — by any chance — referring to your dream. (He smiles wickedly. Sig. Sal. looks momentarily embarrassed before smiling with studied innocence.)

Sig. SALIERI.
Alec, my dear fellow, idle speculation doesn't become you! (Both laugh indecorously.) ...


5.55 p.m. One afternoon during the 3rd week of term. In her study, Mlle Backson is marking students' work. Matron Nightingale arrives outside the door; then she knocks ...

Mlle BACKSON.
Entrez, s'il vous plaît. (Matron enters.) Oh! Good evening, Matron. (Her tone is welcoming.)

MATRON.
Call me Florence, please; "Matron" makes be sound like some type of dowager — which is probably how most of the boys see me! (Her laugh is reciprocated by Mlle B.) I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I was wondering whether you might be ill. (Her tone is concerned.)

Mlle BACKSON.
Ill? No. Why would you have thought that?

MATRON.
Well, during the past few days, I could not help but notice you have not graced us with your delightful presence at the feeding «trough». (She smiles.)

Mlle BACKSON.
Le mot juste; most definitely! (She and Matron share another laugh.) I'm afraid that — apart from the incessant noise — the food is ... How shall we say? ... not to my taste.

MATRON.
Ah! I dare say that is to be expected. (As she smiles, the bell for high-tea rings.) However, we simply cannae have ye wasting away: so, may I suggest you come and share a spot of supper with me?

Mlle BACKSON.
Er? (She points to a pile of still unmarked scripts.)

MATRON.
Dinna fash yourself; the invitation is open all evening!

Mlle BACKSON.
That's most hospitable; thank you, Florence.

MATRON.
Splendid! I'll see you anon, Charlotte. (She exits.) ...

7.30 p.m. One evening during the 4th week of term. In his study, Dr. B. dials the phone number of M. Oliver Scrooge, the Director of Hydragyrum Chapelier Vinaigrette in La Rochelle ...

M. SCROOGE.
Allô ?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Bonsoir. Est-ce que je pourrais parler à M. le directeur, s'il vous plaît ? C'est de le part du docteur Brummel.

M. SCROOGE.
Ah, Bob ! Quelle surprise agréable ! Comment ça va ?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Ça va bien.

M. SCROOGE.
Et comment va Mme votre épouse?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Chandeleur va bien, merci.

M. SCROOGE.
Alors, qu'est-ce que je pourrais faire pour vous aider ?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Eh bien, d'après ce que notre proviseur m'a dit, vous offrez un prix d'un vacance de travail pour le meilleur drame écrit par nos étudiants ?

M. SCROOGE.
Oui, Bob ; c'est juste.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Il va sans dire que votre offre est généreuse, bien sûr ; ... néanmoins, parce que plusieurs de nos étudiants ne savent pas leurs projets d'avenir, j'espérais que vous envisagiez peut-être de offrir un autre prix ?

M. SCROOGE.
Mmm,... Quoi par exemple ?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Une bourse sans conditions ?

M. SCROOGE.
Comment !... C'est un peu fort.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Vrai ; mais je suis sûr que votre défunt frère, Jacob, en aurait approuvé.

M. SCROOGE.
Euh ! Cette remarque était un coup bas. Mmm ?... Il faudra que j'y réfléchisse bien ; et je vous le ferai savoir.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Oui ; c'est raisonnable. Merci, M. le directeur. Au revoir. (He places the receiver down.) ...


2.45 p.m. During the 5th week of term, one of the Lower 6th-Remove's General Studies' lessons; Dr. S. and Mrs. Chandeleur Brummel in attendance ...

Dr. STUART.
Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.

CLASS.
Afternoon, Sir. ...

Dr. STUART.
I have taken the liberty of inviting Mrs. Brummel, for two reasons. First and foremost, her knowledge of French drama and history is immeasurably greater than my own. ... And second, whilst I am having a routine check-up next week, she has graciously consented to cover your lesson. (He smiles warmly at Mrs. B.) Now, without further ado, McKechnie the «stage» is all yours. ...

McKECHNIE.
Thank you, Sir. ... In Paris, during the eighteenth century, there was a flourishing tradition of presenting playlets at the outdoor fairs, such as La Foire Saint-Ovide. The street versions of these were known as «parades»; and one of their most successful authors was Thomas-Simon Gueullette, who was a lawyer by profession. We have chosen his parade Le muet, aveugle, sourd, et manchot, which appears to us to be fairly typical of his work. Unfortunately, the published sources do not indicate a date for its première: however, because there is a reference to one of the battles of the War of the Spanish Succession, concluded by the Treaty of Utrecht of 1713, we tentatively propose 1720 or thereabouts. ...

ZIGO.
In a performance with Jack Merridew as «The Master», George Wittering as «The Servant», and Rudolph Flashman as «The Swindler», La Jeunesse dorée present their production of:

........................................................................................

THE BLIND, ONE-ARMED, DEAF MUTE

A parade by Thomas-Simon Gueullette,
translated and adapted by
Duncan McKechnie & Frederik Zigo
of Narkover College, Nr. Borchester, England.

[Curtain Music (obligato): François Couperin's La Petite Pince-sans-rire.]

SCENE 1. Curtain rises, to reveal a typical Parisian boulevard in 1720: a well dressed gentleman, The Master, is looking up and down same; his modestly dressed manservant, Gilles, clutching a letter with the wax seal broken, is a short distance behind him; and a sharply dressed man, The Swindler, is loitering with intent in the background.

MASTER.
Gilles. [No reply] Gilles! [Still no reply; then he talks to himself ...] Why must I shout myself hoarse every time I have need of the rascal? [He sighs; then ...] Gilles!!

GILLES.
[He tiptoes towards his Master, and then shouts very loudly in the latter's ear.] Here I am, Monsieur! ...

MASTER.
Rascal, pox on you! ... You put me in fear of my life.

GILLES.
Mine too, Monsieur; your cries would have awoken the dead.

MASTER.
That's as maybe. ... What were you doing when I called you?

GILLES.
Monsieur, each to his own affairs. Me, I was chatting with the post rider; he had brought me a letter, and I was just about to read it to myself when you called.

MASTER.
Mmm, I see. ... And have you read it?

GILLES.
You didn't give me time!

MASTER.
Well, where does the letter come from?

GILLES.
I've no idea; as I've just told you, I hardly had the time to remove its seal.

MASTER.
Let us see, then.

GILLES.
Here you are, Monsieur. [He gives his Master the letter.]

MASTER.
[He starts reading.] "From the country. ..." Countryside?

GILLES.
Yes, Monsieur; near Limoges, according to the post rider.

MASTER.
[He reads.] "My Cousin Gilles, with the greatest regret, I must inform you that my aunt, your mother, is dead. ..."

GILLES.
My mother: dead! [He starts crying.] Oh, Monsieur, I've become an orphan; ... who will take care of me now?

MASTER.
Eh!? Yourself, perhaps? One could hardly describe you as a «fledgling»! ... Be that as it may, while I am delighted by your warm disposition towards your mother, I would point out out that we are all mortal. ... Shall we continue to read the letter? [Gilles nods. ... He reads.] "She has left you 150 livres. ..."

GILLES.
My mother has left me 150 livres? Mmm, ... That's what I'd call a good woman! [Then he looks doubtful.] Monsieur, are you sure that you've read that sentence right?

MASTER.
Absolutely. ... But, it would appear to me that you are a shade too readily consoled to the loss of your good mother?

GILLES.
Oh? [He appears slightly embarrassed; then ...] She was rather old!

MASTER.
Hmph! [He looks askance at Gilles; then ...] Very well! [He reads.] "I inform you that your little sister, Catin, is a prostitute. ..."

GILLES.
My sister, Catin, a prostitute! [He starts crying again; then, through the tears ...] I'll thrash the brazen hussy to within an inch of her life. Monsieur, the shame of it!

MASTER.
There, there, ... console yourself.

GILLES.
No, Monsieur, I'm worthless.

MASTER.
Listen! [He reads.] "In the four years she has led this life, she has saved 600 livres. ... "

GILLES.
[He starts laughing.] 600 livres? ... How extraordinary! My sister must have been thrifty; and very well paid!

MASTER.
So it would seem! [He reads.] "However, dear Cousin, you should know that, about a fortnight ago, in a quarrel with a fencer, she received a facial gash which left her most horribly disfigured. ..."

GILLES.
[He starts crying once again.] Oh dear! My poor, little Catin — whom I love as myself — she will no longer be able to practice her profession so well. ... Alas, that appears to be the fate of nearly all those near and dear to me.

MASTER.
My friend, wait! [He reads.] "As the doctor adjudged this cut to be life-threatening, she made her will: and you are bequeathed the greater part. ..."

GILLES.
She's truly a generously spirited lass.

MASTER.
[He reads.] "And, shortly thereafter, she died. ..."

GILLES.
Oh, Monsieur, I'm absolutely heart-broken. ...

MASTER.
[He reads.] "By this will, she leaves you a well-furnished house. ... "

GILLES.
[He starts laughing again.] A well-furnished house; by her own efforts! ... Of course, she was a good natured soul and an honest girl.

MASTER.
An honest girl!?

GILLES.
By me, Monsieur; certainly! I'm now a man of comfortable means, with 150 livres from my mother and a furnished house from my sister. ...

MASTER.
So, would I be correct in assuming that the «poor orphan» is no longer feeling sorry for himself?

GILLES.
Indeed so, Monsieur: by contrast, he is perfectly content. Let's read the rest of the letter; perhaps it will contain more good things for me.

MASTER.
Let us see. [He reads.] "However, my dear Cousin, a great misfortune has befallen you: fire took to this house, and it was consumed along with most of the furniture; those pieces which survived the flames were pillaged; and your 150 livres have been stolen. ..."

GILLES.
Fire!? Thieves!? ... Monsieur, I'll be ruined in no time at all. Write immediately to their Mayor; he must seal off the town and order the citizens to throw as much water on the fire as possible.

MASTER.
Eh? [He partially suppresses a smile.] My poor Gilles, you have become a shade light-headed. Long before your letter arrived here, the fire had burnt down the entire town! ...

GILLES.
Oh, Monsieur, what's to be done? ... I've no wish to survive such calamities; with my mother dead and my poor sister just deceased, it's necessary that I too should meet our Maker.

MASTER.
Bah! Stuff and nonsense, Gilles; you are merely in need of some Dutch courage: so we will go and have a drink together; and then I will send you to deliver 300 livres to my lawyer.

GILLES.
[He mutters plaintively.] But, Monsieur, the fates are conspiring against me. [As the Master leads Gilles away, the Swindler moves to their recently vacated position. ...]

SWINDLER.
Monsieur's decision warms the cockles of my heart; if he is foolish enough to entrust his valet Gilles with such a sum, it's simply a matter of time before I can secure those 300 livres: indeed, it's precisely why I've a soldier's uniform close at hand! [He disappears. ... Curtain falls.]

[Curtain Music (obligato): François Couperin's Le Croc-en-jambe.]

SCENE 2. Curtain rises, to reveal the same boulevard; The Master is twirling his walking cane while he waits for Gilles' arrival.

MASTER.
This poor, miserable Gilles makes me feel sorry for him; he cries like a baby: but it is less about his mother and sister than the inheritance on which he had counted. A few glasses of wine will drown his sorrows. ... Ah! Here he comes. [Gilles arrives, looking mournful.] Come on, my friend, a little gaiety; you are letting yourself be ground down for nothing.

GILLES.
Oh, Monsieur, the deed is done; I've sealed my fate.

MASTER.
You have "sealed your fate": what do you mean?

GILLES.
Well, Monsieur, because I respect and honour you, I wish to die in your arms.

MASTER.
To die; in my arms!?

GILLES.
Yes, Monsieur; I've barely two hours to live.

MASTER.
And you, my friend, are a plain fool.

GILLES.
No, Monsieur; I've just poisoned myself.

MASTER.
Heavens above!

GILLES.
Yes, Monsieur. You know those six beautifully engraved pots that somebody sent you last year from Rouen, and that I took to be preserves?

MASTER.
Yes; I remember well.

GILLES.
And you told me that they were poison; that I should guard them with my life: and that if I ate so much as a spoonful, I'd be done for; ... that I'd be a dead man?

MASTER.
Indeed; I recall myself saying so. [He smiles, knowingly.]

GILLES.
Well, Monsieur, so that I'd be able to rejoin sooner my mother and my little sister, Catin, I've just swallowed everything that was in two of those pots.

MASTER.
You miserable wretch! They just contained apple jelly!

GILLES.
Mmm ... I know that only too well, Monsieur; and such poison was by no means disagreeable to take: but I feel that it's already having an effect. ... Oh, Monsieur, I'm dying.

MASTER.
Good heavens! What is to be done?

GILLES.
Do not feel sorry for me, Monsieur; merely, receive my last goodbyes, ... I beg you.

MASTER.
Your last goodbyes!?

GILLES.
Yes, Monsieur; be sure to pay my compliments to Jacqueline.

MASTER.
Hmph! ... You are without shame!

GILLES.
Oh, Monsieur, it's callous to treat me so; I'm burning... [The Master interrupts.]

MASTER.
I well believe it — after eating two pots of preserves!

GILLES.
Poisoned, as by the devil. ... Comfort me, Monsieur my dear Master; and, farewell, as you lose a valet who has been very fond of you.

MASTER.
[He speaks his thoughts out loud.] I must confess that I am taken in by this glutton. I know his weakness for sweet morsels: so, in order to prevent him eating my preserves, I make him believe that they were poison — although they were, well and truly, apple preserves from Rouen - and this simple creature eats two pots believing to give himself the kiss of death. [He sighs deeply.]

GILLES.
What!? ... Monsieur, they weren't poison?

MASTER.
No, wretch! ... Now, providing that you have no other morbid feelings, we will both consider ourselves fortunate to have escaped somewhat lightly from this affair.

GILLES.
Bless my soul, the veil is beginning to lift. And, since you assure me that I will not die, I say: «Long Live Gilles». ... Yet, I don't regret having swallowed it, because I found that poison very sweet.

MASTER.
I well believe it. ... Now that I have put your mind at rest, do you have enough gumption to carry this purse of 300 livres to my lawyer?

GILLES.
Oh, Monsieur, you can rely on my loyalty.

MASTER.
I do not doubt your loyalty: no, it is your habitual faux-pas which leads me to believe that these 300 livres may yet evade your grasp.

GILLES.
No, Monsieur; you've naught to fear there.

MASTER.
Very well! Here they are; in this purse. [He hands same to Gilles.] Now, while you carry out my errand, I will take a stroll round the ramparts. [He departs.]

GILLES.
[He looks relieved.] Thank the Good Lord; ... if I'd ever believed I was going to die, it was in that moment. [Then, slowly, his look changes to one of being aggrieved.] But, if the truth be told, it was really the fault of my Master; after all, it was he who warned me that they were poison: and, who could possibly consider that amusing!? [He looks bemused. ... Curtain falls.]

[Curtain Music (obligato): François Couperin's Les Tours de passe-passe.]

SCENE 3. Curtain rises, to reveal the same boulevard; as Gilles slowly starts to walk in the direction of the lawyer's office, he is politely accosted by a man dressed in a loose-fitting soldier's uniform.

SWINDLER.
Monseigneur, have compassion for a poor gentleman who is in dire poverty, and who cannot beg for his living.

GILLES.
And why, my good fellow, can't you beg for your living?

SWINDLER.
Because, Monsieur, I've been mute for three years.

GILLES.
You've been mute for three years?

SWINDLER.
Yes, Monsieur.

GILLES.
And how did this accident come about?

SWINDLER.
Well, there I was, carrying this bird into a building — for my own pleasure, you understand — when I was a labourer, and this ladder broke under me: I was given such a blow to the chin that my tongue was sliced straight through.

GILLES.
You've a cut tongue?

SWINDLER.
Yes, Monsieur; this is all that remains. [He shows Gilles his tongue.]

GILLES.
By the devil, you must have had a long tongue, then?

SWINDLER.
Yes, Monsieur; I've always been told that I had a very long tongue.

GILLES.
And how long was it before?

SWINDLER.
About as long as that. [He indicates a longer length.]

GILLES.
Mmm! [He nods his head.] That seems quite reasonable for a labourer. And, er, ... since then, you haven't spoken?

SWINDLER.
No, Monsieur.

GILLES.
If that's so, what are you doing now?

SWINDLER.
Nothing, Monsieur.

GILLES.
How comes "nothing"? ... You talk like a chatterbox!

SWINDLER.
Oh, Monsieur, I've not opened my mouth.

GILLES.
Eh? ... But for the last quarter of hour, you've been talking to me.

SWINDLER.
Ah! That's true, yes; but only to ask for my necessities.

GILLES.
But it's still talking!

SWINDLER.
I must explain to you about that. ... There was this clever operator who tricked me; although he promised to heal me, it would only be to save my life. And then he said he could do nothing more for me, and that I'd need to wait three months before the operation took place. [He looks aggrieved.]

GILLES.
And for how long have you taken his remedies?

SWINDLER.
Monsieur, what do you take me for!? ... I didn't take them!

GILLES.
You haven't taken them?

SWINDLER.
No, Monsieur; it was he who gave them to me.

GILLES.
That amounts to the same thing!

SWINDLER.
Then, in that case, Monsieur, it may well be twelve weeks.

GILLES.
And how many months is that?

SWINDLER.
I believe that's three, in fact.

GILLES.
Oh! I'm no longer surprised: it's those remedies which have given you the power of speech.

SWINDLER.
Then you believe what I say, Monsieur?

GILLES.
That's neither here nor there. What is certain is that you talk: and you talk very clearly.

SWINDLER.
Ah! Then so much the better, Monsieur; I'm very happy about that. [He starts crying.]

GILLES.
You say you're happy about it: yet you're crying. What does that mean?

SWINDLER.
Well, it's just that while this operator was treating me, I forgot to ask him for a remedy for my sight.

GILLES.
Do you have bad eyesight?

SWINDLER.
Oh! Very bad, Monsieur; I'm blind.

GILLES.
Blind!? That's not possible!

SWINDLER.
It's only too true, Monsieur; and, what's more, it happened to me by an accident that was both comic and singular.

GILLES.
Tell me about it, then.

SWINDLER.
Certainly, Monsieur; as you wish. ... In our village, there was a fat girl who had a septic boil on her backside; and it was necessary to blow a highly corrosive powder into this place, using a thin pipe. However, because nobody wished to carry out this task — for fear of inhaling this powder — out of the kindness of my heart, I accepted this chore for a fee of six livres. I blew this powder: but, this girl burst out laughing at the very moment of the operation — making such a terrible fuss that she sent part of this powder into my eye: and, straightaway, I was deprived of sight.

GILLES.
Indeed, that was a most singular event. And so, since then, you haven't seen clearly?

SWINDLER.
No, Monsieur.

GILLES.
Mmm? ... I'm going to see if you're deceiving me. Happily, I have on my person a one livre coin and several sous: look here, my friend. [He shows said coins to The Swindler, who carefully examines same and then takes the one livre coin.]

SWINDLER.
Monsieur, I thank you.

GILLES.
But you chose the one livre coin!?

SWINDLER.
Of course, Monsieur; I could readily see that it was worth more than a sou: this faculty of sight is the only one that remains to me.

GILLES.
You seem to be a most deceitful scoundrel.

SWINDLER.
Eh! Monsieur, you're wrong to insult me; and you're most fortunate that I'm deaf, because if I'd heard what you just said... [Gilles interrupts his veiled threat.]

GILLES.
Which was?

SWINDLER.
That I seem to be a deceitful scoundrel.

GILLES.
You heard that? ... So you're not deaf, then!

SWINDLER.
I'm sorry, Monsieur, but I don't hear anything when nonsense is spoken to me.

GILLES.
That's quite extraordinary!

SWINDLER.
It's true; ... yet all this wouldn't matter one jot if I had the usage of my left arm, which is fully retracted, and if a cannon ball hadn't carried away the other.

GILLES.
It seems to me that it does good service as a left arm; [He shows the Swindler some more coins, which immediately results in the latter extending this arm.] because you can extend it rather easily.

SWINDLER.
Yes, Monsieur; but only when someone gives me something.

GILLES.
And where did you lose your arm?

SWINDLER.
At Port-Mahon.

GILLES.
You wore this uniform then?

SWINDLER.
Yes, Monsieur; it's my regulation uniform.

GILLES.
[Aside.] Ah! I've got him here. [Aloud.] So, how comes the cannon ball carried away the arm and left the sleeve?

SWINDLER.
[Aside.] Ah! I'm taken to be a fool. [Aloud.] Monsieur, have you never heard say that lightning melts a sword in its scabbard, without damaging the scabbard?

GILLES.
No.

SWINDLER.
That, nonetheless, is certain! ... Well, this is roughly the same thing; this cannon ball passed through the pores of the fabric of the sleeve of my doublet.

GILLES.
Without damaging it!?

SWINDLER.
Yes, Monsieur.

GILLES.
Good Lord! That's truly remarkable. ... May I examine this sleeve?

SWINDLER.
Please do, Monsieur. [While Gilles places his right arm in the Swindler's empty left sleeve, while the latter rummages round in one of Gilles' coat pockets, to leave his left hand showing; that is, both men are locked together.]

GILLES.
Hah, hah! M. Scoundrel, you said that you'd lost your arm: but here it is!

SWINDLER.
What is, Monsieur?

GILLES.
Your arm.

SWINDLER.
My arm? That's not possible!

GILLES.
But I'm holding it.

SWINDLER.
So you are! ... Oh, Monsieur, I'm truly indebted to you!

GILLES.
For what?

SWINDLER.
Well, that crook of a surgeon — who treated me three months ago — kept on assuring me that I'd lost that arm: but there it is, in broad daylight!

GILLES.
Hmph! You may act the innocent: but I, for one, will not be your dupe.

SWINDLER.
Eh? I speak in good faith; indeed, I'm most obliged to you for finding it again.

GILLES.
I'm not falling for that one! You're a swindler!

SWINDLER.
A swindler? No! It's you who is the swindler.

GILLES.
Me!?

SWINDLER.
Yes; a swindler and a thief; since it must have been you who stole my arm and hand.

GILLES.
Pull the other one!

SWINDLER.
Eh!? Was not my hand in your pocket?

GILLES.
Yes, by Jove, it was.

SWINDLER.
And, is not the hand attached to the arm?

GILLES.
Undoubtedly so.

SWINDLER.
Well, then, it must have been you who had placed it there — and you who had hidden my arm from me for such a long time. Mmm, ... I'm going to have you prosecuted; and, I will make sure you hang: do you understand!?

GILLES.
Devil take the hindmost! This has become serious.

SWINDLER.
Deadly serious! In the army, the camp followers were awash with scoundrels like yourself, who robbed us of our arms and legs. Indeed, in the last campaign, our General caught twelve red-handed: and, today, it seems to me that you've every likelihood of being the thirteenth. Let's go: prison!

GILLES.
To prison?

SWINDLER.
Yes, prison! There, in forty-eight hours, your fate will be sealed.

GILLES.
But I'll prove that I've never been to Berg-op-zoom!

SWINDLER.
And I will furnish twenty witnesses to assert the contrary. Let's go! [Gilles looks distinctly apprehensive.]

GILLES.
Hold on a moment! Er, ... Is there any means of arriving at an accommodation in this matter? ...

SWINDLER.
Er, ... Yes; perhaps. But how? I've not been able to work at all since you stole my arm in that last campaign; and I'd have been able to earn more than 500 livres.

GILLES.
500 livres!? Oh dear! I don't have that much: but I've 300 in this purse I was taking to my Master's lawyer. [He shows the Swindler said purse.] Er, ... Would you settle for this amount?

SWINDLER.
That's a little on the short side, and I'll lose out: but I'm not malicious, so I'll be reasonably content with such a modest sum — providing, of course, there are no further repercussions. [He relieves Gilles of the purse.] Goodness gracious, an arm stolen in this way has dire consequences.

GILLES.
Yes, I well believe that. ... But in truth, it wasn't me who stole your arm from you.

SWINDLER.
So how comes it was found in your pocket?

GILLES.
For the life of me, I've no idea. [He looks bemused.]

SWINDLER.
Ah well, no matter. Farewell; the next time we meet I'll stand the drinks. [He leaves.]

GILLES.
Truly, Good Lord, I'm very happy to have extricated myself so nimbly. ... Doubtless my Master will take me to task: but I'd much prefer to give away his 300 livres than to rot in prison. ... [The Master returns from his stroll.]

MASTER.
Ah! There you are, Gilles. Did you find my lawyer?

GILLES.
Er, ... No; not exactly, Monsieur. ... Let me explain: ... [Curtain falls, to the sounds of an altercation between The Master and Gilles.] ... ...

........................................................................................

(There is applause from the rest of the class as Flashman, Merridew, and Wittering take a bow. Then, ...)

Dr. STUART.
Thank you, McKechnie, and Zigo. (He gives each boy a smile of appreciation.) Class, I think we will leave it there today. (He waves a hand in the direction of the door; then starts conversing with Mrs. B.) ...


2.45 p.m. During the 6th week of term, one of the Lower 6th-Remove's General Studies' lessons; Mrs. B. in attendance ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Good afternoon, Class.

CLASS.
Afternoon, Miss. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Now, Class, Dr. Stuart's instructions to me for this lesson were minimalist in the extreme; to wit: "I would just ask them whether anyone would like to open the batting; and then play it by ear." (She smiles.) However, because he did not suggest a course of action should everyone decide to stay in the locker room, so to speak, I'm pitching for the sympathy vote. So, would anyone care to offer an opening comment on the play? ... ... Yes, Malice? (She looks most heartened.)

MALICE.
Well, Miss, their play was pure male chauvinism; what with the original author, the actors, and the producers all being male. (Her tone is scornful.)

McKECHNIE.
That's absolute nonsense! You know perfectly well that Dr. Stuart asked us to present something for appraisal: and that is precisely what we did. ... And, as for the author and his choice of characters, I don't see why we should be held responsible for his shortcomings, ... if there be any. (He shrugs his shoulders in a dismissive manner.)

MALICE.
Er, ... Perhaps so: but you should be held accountable for perpetuating those shortcomings. (Her tone is mildly triumphant; McK. shakes his head.)

ZIGO.
I wouldn't worry about it, Duncan; ... after all, no way can we be held responsible for her perpetuation of second-hand feminist twaddle. She... (Mrs. B. interjects.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
That's quite enough, all three of you. ... Both my husband and Dr. Stuart warned me of the deep rooted enmities in this class: but, mes enfants, I have no intention whatsoever of allowing these to surface while I am supervising. ... Do I make myself clear, ... Malice?

MALICE.
Yes, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
McKechnie?

McKECHNIE.
Yes, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Zigo?

ZIGO.
Yes, Miss. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Good! ... Mmm, ... Perhaps I should point out that one fatal disadvantage of introducing personal invective — into any discussion which has a constructive aim — is that elements of the truth are either ignored or obscured. For example, Malice's main point — in essence — was that the play and its production was, indisputably, male «centric»: yet, in flat contradiction to the evidence, she asserted it was male chauvinistic. ... Zigo et al. did choose a male author: but given, on the one hand, the historical predominance of males in most fields of human endeavor, and on the other, the absence of either chauvinism or misogyny in the play, their choice could not reasonably be described as a cardinal sin. ... That said, given that their choice was a reasonable one, their decision — to present an adaptation which retained the absence of female characters — is certainly a questionable one. ... Which characters, if any, could be transposed to a female part, Alice? ...

ALICE.
I suppose just that of «The Master», who could become «The Mistress»; certainly not that of «The Swindler», because he is a soldier. ... I don't know about Gilles, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Fair enough, Alice. Does anybody have any views on Gilles? ... ... Yes, Popsy?

POPSY.
Miss, ... given that The Swindler must be male, then surely Gilles also has to be male.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Because?

POPSY.
Well, Miss, ... that part of the last scene, when they are locked together with their arms, would be laden with sexual innuendo — or overtones, at least — because... (She stops mid-sentence, as Flora exclaims: "Oh! I get it.")

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Flora, "get" what? (Her tone is concerned.)

FLORA.
Sorry, Miss. ... I've only just realized that Gilles and The Swindler were locked together with their own arms. ... Yes; that makes a lot more sense, now. I had assumed that The Swindler had some sort of prosthetic arm.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Mmm, ... Flora, I did wonder at the time whether you would have been able to appreciate the physical elements in that final scene. ... Certainly, their presentation was more than a little insensitive to... (Zigo interjects.)

ZIGO.
Miss, no! That criticism is definitely not justified; I do assure you that we were not insensitive to Flora's position. I know it sounds a bit feeble, but we simply didn't come up with a solution in our rehearsals.

McKECHNIE.
Yes, Miss; I can endorse what Ziggy has just said. But, we do apologize to Flora, here and now. (He looks at Flora.) Flo, rest assured, no slight was intended.

FLORA.
No problem, Duncan; thanks. (Mrs. B. nods with approval, then smiles mischievously.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Mmm!? While Flora is prepared to be magnanimous, I am much less forgiving, since the attempts were feeble: demonstrably so! ... McKechnie, as a rule of thumb, would you agree that, when an apparently insuperable problem is evident, common sense dictates that one should consult an expert?

McKECHNIE.
Yes, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
And who, here, is indisputably the expert in this matter?

McKECHNIE.
Flora. Oh? ... Of course! (He looks annoyed with himself.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Now, Zigo, let us suppose that, for one reason or t'other, you didn't wish to consult Flora.

ZIGO.
You mean, purely for the sake of argument, Miss? (He looks and sounds distinctly offended.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes. ... Now in your rehearsals, what «prop» did your actors have that would be useful — albeit in a modified form — for somebody whose sight was either completely or partially impaired. ... ...

ZIGO.
The script, Miss? (He looks and sounds doubtful.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Good! Zigo, go on. (She smiles encouragingly.) ... ...

ZIGO.
Oh! Rats! Of course! (He looks annoyed with himself.) We just had to modify the script to include more comprehensive stage directions, and then use Flo's nifty text-to-Braille computer program. ... Yes, Miss?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Indeed so, Zigo. ... ... ... Mmm! (She smiles.) A silence: but apparently not a pregnant one. ... ... Ah! Yes, Lolli?

LOLLI.
Well, Miss, er, ... I could say something, but I'm not sure whether it would be fair comment. (She sounds apologetic.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
No matter, Lolli: be bold! ...

LOLLI.
All right, Miss. I did enjoy the play: but, during the last week, I have felt, ... well, sort of uncomfortable. ... ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Come on, Lolli! Don't leave me in suspense; I'm agog! ...

LOLLI.
Er, ... In my view, Miss, the play is distasteful.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Oh!? ... In what sense, Lolli?

LOLLI.
Well, ... the plot lines hinge on disabilities: Gilles is, at best, simple-minded; whereas The Swindler uses four physical disabilities to dupe Gilles — and each of this is a serious condition. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Good Lord! I must admit that your train of thought had not entered my noggin. (She looks disconcerted.) Mmm? ... Let me think. ... ... Firstly, I must emphasize that these short farces were conceived as pure and simple entertainments of an ephemeral nature; and, as such, their authors would not have presumed to impose any intellectual demands on contemporary audiences, nor to have had any expectations of performances much beyond their premières. ... Yes, McKechnie?

McKECHNIE.
So, in effect, what you are saying, Miss, is that Lolli is guilty of «over analysis».

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
No, McKechnie; that is most definitely not what I am saying. In common with the original audiences, Lolli's reception of the play — as simple, undemanding entertainment — appears to have been shared by us all; including you, McKechnie? ...

McKECHNIE.
Yes, Miss; I suppose so. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Now, once a work has been removed from its original context, one is not «honor bound» to retain the «sensibilities» of the original audiences, either on reception or subsequently. Accordingly, Lolli's feelings are not only perfectly valid, but, in my opinion, do her much credit. ... ... Yes, Zigo?

ZIGO.
Miss, I'm not sure that I agree with your point — I'll need time for that one — but, ... would I be correct in assuming that some people might be offended by the play because they would feel that it trivializes disabilities?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes, Zigo; that would appear to be a real possibility.

ZIGO.
Well, Miss, if that's so — and I'm sure Duncan will agree with me here — we'd like to withdraw our play.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
I presume you mean as a candidate for performance at the Lycée Villiers?

ZIGO.
Yes, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
McKechnie, do you agree with Zigo?

McKECHNIE.
Absolutely, Miss. ... Although, ... ... No; no matter, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Come on, McKechnie; I can see that you're disappointed. ...

McKECHNIE.
Well it's just that Ziggy, Jack, Witters, Flashy, and I have put a lot of effort in this, and it would be nice to salvage something, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Ah! That's no problem; there are several ways of achieving that — each depends on how much further time you care to invest. ... The first and simplest method is to place your translated script on the Web — as is. ... Yes, Zigo?

ZIGO.
With a commentary, Miss?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
No; not only is that the second method, but it requires you to make an important «artistic» decision. Thus, if your commentary is presented as an Afterword, then you allow the reader the opportunity of receiving the play uncolored by your opinions and/or judgments: whereas if you present it as a Foreword, then the reader's reception will inevitably be colored. ... The third method might usefully be described as a «reworking»; by, for example, introducing modifications indirectly suggested by the caveats of Malice, Popsy, and Lolli. ... Yes, McKechnie?

McKECHNIE.
Miss, would you be so kind as to be a little more specific?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Certainly. ... You could: transpose The Master to become The Mistress; insert a line of dialog to emphasize that Gilles is not simple-minded, but merely an innocent, though impish, servant who exists to eat and sleep — this, by the way, was his accepted characterization during the 18th century; and, lastly, replace each of The Swindler's con tricks with less contentious, but still contemporaneous, ones. ... Yes, Zigo?

ZIGO.
Miss, the problem with this third method — as it appears to me, at least — is that none of these changes would result in us preparing anything other than ... I don't know, ... what? ... rather trivial, second-hand ... nonsense?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Mmm, ... That's not necessarily a bad thing, in itself: but, yes, Zigo, I think I would agree with you.

ZIGO.
So, Miss, we still have — as you phrased it earlier — "an apparently insuperable problem". (Mrs. B. smiles.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
And?

ZIGO.
Well, Miss, are there any other methods?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes. ... ... ...

McKECHNIE.
Miss? Now your leaving us in suspense; and, in my opinion, mischievously so! (Mrs. B. smiles.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
I plead guilty to that charge; yet, only in part, since you should be forewarned that the fourth method I had in mind — namely, «appropriation» — would require rather a lot of time and effort on your part. ... Let me think. ... ... Yes! Let us first set up some background. ... During the Second World War — on both sides of the pond — professional entertainers presented «concert parties» for the troops; two particularly popular examples were Bob Hope and Vera Lynn. The purposes of these entertainments were two-fold: firstly, to provide an «oasis» from the brutal and uncivilized circumstances of war; and secondly, to provide these courageous troops with a reminder of what they were fighting for, namely, «home». ... Now, self-evidently, it would have been considered to be in unpardonably bad taste to present an entertainment which mirrored their real or — indeed — possible circumstances. And, ... Yes, East?

EAST.
Miss, I think I see where you are going with this. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes!? (She looks at E. with surprise cum doubt.)

EAST.
One could juxtapose this play and, say, a military hospital; I don't know how, exactly, ... the reactions of the patients to the play's casual use of disabilities as props and plot lines. ... Miss, yes?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Good Lord! What led you... (Brown interjects.)

BROWN.
Oh yes, Miss! I see where Scud's coming from. Dr. B., ... I mean, you husband, Miss, ... floated something dead similar about a year ago when we were developing our board game based on Gulliver's Travels.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
How extraordinary! ... I think he'll be chuffed to hear that not everything he says falls on stony ground. (She smiles.) ... Now, where were we? ... Ah, yes! Historical background. During the reign of King Louis XV, France — despite being Europe's richest and most populous nation — «drew the short straw», in territorial terms, at the peace treaties; either by choice, as in the 1748 Treaty of Aix-La-Chapelle, which concluded the Austrian War of Succession», or by necessity, as in the 1764 Treaty of Paris, which concluded the Seven Years' War. ... During this period, apart from the appalling loss and waste of life, tens of thousands of soldiers were permanently debilitated; and, aside from a very few poorly-provisioned institutions — for example, l'Hospice des Quinze Vingts — support was largely non-existent. Accordingly, in the absence of a mechanism to effect amelioration, or even a democratic forum to consider such, there was widespread and deep-seated resentment. ... ... Yes, Shandy?

SHANDY.
Miss, am I correct in assuming that one could juxtapose the play with, ... say, a group of maimed and destitute French soldiers from this period; their reactions ... and so forth?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Indeed, Shandy; that's one of several possibilities. ...

SHANDY.
But, Miss, ... surely this will root this appropriation — or whatever you called it — in 18th century France?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes, ... and no. (She smiles.) Yes, in the sense that one could retain the historical setting, though not the context, of the appropriated play. But no, in the sense that such a new work wouldn't necessarily be rooted in this period. ...

SHANDY.
No, Miss; I'm sorry but I don't understand that second bit.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Fair enough, Shandy; I will try and explain. Let me think for a moment. ... ... Ah, yes! ... Good! We will come full circle. ... Collectively, once stripped of their invective overtones, Malice and McKechnie contended that «sons should not be judged by the sins of their fathers: providing the sons do not, themselves, perpetuate those sins». And, quite reasonably, in a supposedly civilized world, one would find few, if any, people who would disagree with this principle: and yet, in practice, there are innumerable examples which reveal quite the contrary. ... One of the most iniquitous of these involves the mentally and physically debilitated survivors of Japanese prison camps in the Second World War: for over 50 years, regardless of their political persuasions and «ideals», successive governments have either ignored or brutally underestimated their plight. ... ... Accordingly, Shandy, your fictionalized scenario — in its 18th century setting — might be presented as an allegory for a prolonged and real 20th century one. However, ... (The bell sounds.) Oh dear! Class, perhaps we can continue our discussion next time, after half-term? ... Off you go! ...

________________________________________________________________________________________

1. [Scene: At the seminary, with Sister Immaculata and Brother Bernard.]

Sr. IMMACULATA.
Brother Bernard, when you were a novice, Father Ambrose may have been patronizing with his oversimplifications. Pray, what be your thoughts on this matter?

Br. BERNARD.
Sister Immaculata, merely that if this be true, then such «ill-gotten goods seldom prosper».

2. [Scene: ibid.]

Sr. IMMACULATA.
Brother Bernard, when you were a novice, Father Ambrose may have been arbitrary in his curricular decisions. Pray, what be your thoughts on this matter?

Br. BERNARD.
Sister Immaculata, merely that if this be true, then such a «fault confessed will be half redressed».

3. [Scene: ibid.]

Sr. IMMACULATA.
Brother Bernard, when you were a novice, Father Ambrose may have indulged in occasional philistinism. Pray, what be your thoughts on this matter?

Br. BERNARD.
Sister Immaculata, merely that if this be true, then «as you sow, so you shall reap».

4. [Scene: ibid.]

Sr. IMMACULATA.
Brother Bernard, when you were a novice, Father Ambrose may have oft required you to reinvent the wheel. Pray, what be your thoughts on this matter?

Br. BERNARD.
Sister Immaculata, merely that you were unwed when you bore a son. So, pray, why are you still a lady of the cloth?

Sr. IMMACULATA.
Brother Bernard, I will not have you question me so: your impertinence tarnishes Father Ambrose's memory.

Br. BERNARD.
Mother! ...

________________________________________________________________________________________

2.45 p.m. During the 7th week of term, one of the Lower 6th-Remove's General Studies' lessons; Dr. S. and Mrs. B. in attendance ...

Dr. STUART.
Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.

CLASS.
Afternoon, Sir. ...

Dr. STUART.
Malice, are your troupe ready? (He smiles engagingly at M.)

MALICE.
Yes, Sir. ... In our search for a possible divertissement, we read several one-act plays by Marivaux and parades by Gueullette; and, after much discussion, like the so-called La Jeunesse dorée (Her tone is withering.), we also chose a parade by this latter author, namely: Le mauvais exemple. Most disappointingly, neither the published sources nor the text itself gave any clues as to the date of its première; although Gueullette did write most of his parades between 1708 and 1725, and there is, in the fifth scene of the original, a reference to a lawyer named M. Pillardin, who is a character in a play called Arlequin Protée, which was first performed in 1683 and restaged intermittently up to, certainly, 1708 — but not, apparently, beyond. ... However, as Alice will now relate, our attempts to establish a date were as nothing compared to the problems we faced in establishing a workable translated text. ...

ALICE.
Indeed so. ... The standard of literacy shown in Le mauvais exemple is so markedly lower than Gueullette's other parades — for example, La confiance des cocus and Léandre, fiacre — as to suggest that a text was «reconstructed» from someone's memory of an improvised performance: and that someone wasn't Gueullette. ... Whilst this text is easy to understand, we'd argue that the minimal stage directions, non sequiturs, and phrasings — amongst other aspects — would present challenges in any production in the original French. ... And, finally, because the text is peppered with puns — some of which are so coarse as to be downright vulgar — we have chosen to opt for «mellower» alternatives in our translation, which — as Flora will confirm from her Braille text — contains fuller stage directions. ... Now, in a performance featuring — in order of appearance — James Unman as M. Gilles, Trudi Taplow as Mme Gilles, Toby Mumford as M. Cassandre, and Constance Bonacieux as Isabelle, The Belladonna Players present their production of:

........................................................................................

THE BAD EXAMPLE

A parade by Thomas-Simon Gueullette,
translated and adapted by
Malice A. Forthort & Alice Lidell-Lonsdale
of Narkover College, Nr. Borchester, England.

SCENE 1. Curtain rises, to reveal the garden of a well-to-do Parisian gentleman in the 1720s: Gilles and Madame Gilles — the valet and housekeeper, respectively, of the widower Monsieur Cassandre and his daughter, Isabelle — are engaged in banter; there are a couple of chairs and a wooden table.

GILLES.
I was no sooner wed than I found myself with a wife: not a lover. Isn't that true, our housekeeper?

Mme GILLES.
How amusing! [Her tone is withering.] And I was no sooner wed than I found myself with a husband: not a man.

GILLES.
Eh? But it was most enjoyable to begin with, ... wasn't it?

Mme GILLES.
Well, if that's so, then you should feel thoroughly ashamed: since these days you only think of debauchery. ...

GILLES.
"Debauchery"? ... What manner of beast is that, Mme Gilles?

Mme GILLES.
Hmm! A half-wit, who does things without knowing it. [She looks askance at G.] Yes. ... I'm starting to realize that you've begun to be rather disrespectful towards me: but have no fear, I'll make you walk the straight and narrow!

GILLES.
Believe you me, I'm going straight as I can; after all, when I drink, it's not as if it's my fault. [He shrugs. Then he looks aggrieved.] By the way, Madame, I don't think you should adopt that tone with me; you know only too well that the wife goes badly astray when the husband doesn't have the the upper hand.

Mme GILLES.
I'll answer you that, my husband: what you say is not always true; in some affairs of life, the skirt can be better than the breeches.

GILLES.
There's something in that, perhaps; but when all is said and done, the strength lies in the breeches; they always have the upper hand.

Mme GILLES.
And I tell you that strength lies under the skirt; something which neither you nor others ever give its due. ...

GILLES.
I must admit, though, Madame, you do have shapely legs.

Mme GILLES.
Eh? ... Ah! Well, there, I'd agree with you.

GILLES.
[He starts laughing.] That's funny; I can't stop myself laughing about it. ... It's as one person said to another: "Look here, insolent fellow, you who dares to call my wife's legs «skittles»". [He starts to laugh again; so she grabs his walking-cane.]

Mme GILLES.
Eh! I'll teach you to laugh! [She strikes him across the shoulders.]

GILLES.
Our housekeeper, you do me wrong by taking my right; it's up to me to beat in this household.

Mme GILLES.
You see well enough that it's you who deserves to be beaten! So: be careful as to what you say. ... Now, see me holding this cane; see how I use it: is it too big for my hand?

GILLES.
No. ... But it's not what I'd wish to see there!

Mme GILLES.
Ah well. Isn't the skirt the strongest now?

GILLES.
Yes, of course; when it's accompanied by a big cane.

Mme GILLES.
And I tell you that it's always true. [She hits him again.]

GILLES.
Fire! ... Fire!

Mme GILLES.
Why are shouting "Fire!"?

GILLES.
So that someone will come more quickly! ... Fire! Fire!! [M. Cassandre arrives hot foot. ...]

CASSANDRE.
What's this, then, my children? What's burning?

GILLES.
Me, Master; it's me who is being beaten.

CASSANDRE.
Oh? That's nothing; merely one of the small liberties of love that make the peace in a happy marriage.

GILLES.
Hmph! That's nonsense, of course; I've done nothing to deserve such chastisement.

CASSANDRE.
Now, now, my friend, when you have calmed down, you will appreciate its common sense. ... Here are 5½ sous of loose change so that you may buy me ...: but no, I'll agree to make them a pure gift so that you may drink to my health.

GILLES.
That's much preferable to what you normally say. ... But, fair enough; let me go and make a good comparison with a flagon of wine.

CASSANDRE.
Agreed! Go and refresh yourself; and, while your gone, I'm going to make your peace.

GILLES.
Please do; ... though I don't understand why you're putting yourself out on my account.

CASSANDRE.
Here you are; take your walking cane.

GILLES.
Woe is me! I don't want it; it beat me. ... Yet it's well made. ... Yes, give me it, our housewife; perhaps it will serve me in taking my revenge. [He leaves.] ...

CASSANDRE.
You see, my darling, how love becomes freed.

GILLES.
[He returns, unexpectedly.] Eh, our Master?

CASSANDRE.
I beg your pardon?

GILLES.
Should I drink wine?

CASSANDRE.
Er, ... Yes. Why not? Wine fortifies the spirit.

GILLES.
Well, it's just that if I were to drink beer, then I'd be able to drink more for your money.

CASSANDRE.
Ah! I see. Yes, certainly; beer is fine: it's refreshing and not so expensive.

GILLES.
Wine? Mmm, ... Beer? ... Wine? ... Beer? [He drifts away muttering these words alternately. ... ... ...]

CASSANDRE.
At last! He's left us; albeit with difficulty.

Mme GILLES.
Nasty men are like that; always at the bottle instead of with their wife.

CASSANDRE.
I agree, my poppet; it cost me so little to make him leave.

Mme GILLES.
But if he left — never to return — my word, chance would be a fine thing; for you see, M. Cassandre, he is a most inconvenient husband.

CASSANDRE.
Indeed; a most unpleasant inconvenience, particularly when he is such a boorish fellow who always mistreats his little wife. [His tone is sympathetic.]

Mme GILLES.
Sadly, you've seen yourself to what extremes I'm forced with him. I'm sure that if I hadn't beaten him — me, to whom, during the War, was given the soubriquet «The Sweet Dove» — I believe, my dear Monsieur, that he would have knocked me senseless.

CASSANDRE.
Hush, my adored one. You are sweetness itself; and I know of no softness as soft as yours.

Mme GILLES.
You're so kind, Monsieur. I don't know what would become of me if I didn't have you to console me in my distress.

CASSANDRE.
Yet it is you, my little sweet, who renders the days of my life with an enchanted happiness.

Mme GILLES.
Do, then, something else for me, Monsieur.

CASSANDRE.
By all means, my adorable one; be persuaded that I'll do whatever I can. First I must collect the 4 livres that are owed to me by one of my acquaintances: but I'll return as soon as possible to benefit from Gilles' absence — and to caress you, to kiss you, to... [Mme G. interjects.]

Mme GILLES.
Go! Go, my good Monsieur, but don't forget to return with a quart of beer and some pretzels; for you know well he must still gorge, and after the gluttony comes the beating.

CASSANDRE.
Yes, my dearest one; I'll be gone. [He leaves. ...]

Mme GILLES.
The old fool with his beer! He's not exactly what I'd wish, and I can't extract very much, I'd admit, but he's still a lover all the same. [Voices off.] What's this? He's back already? He's coming here? And who the devil does he have in tow? [M. Cassandre and Isabelle enter the garden; she is dressed in her finery.]

CASSANDRE.
[To Isabelle, in a stern tone.] I would like to know where you were going, dressed like that, all alone?

ISABELLE.
Sadly, my dear Papa, I was merely going for a promenade on the Boulevard.

CASSANDRE.
Do it in your room. Really! That is the only proper place for an unchaperoned young lady to take a promenade.

ISABELLE.
Papa, I assure you that there are many, and most agreeable ones too: but if you do not wish me to go, then you have to say no more; and, ... [She casts a glance at Mme G.] ... I will not leave your side all day. ...

CASSANDRE.
[He looks quite disconcerted.] Er, ... I didn't say that. No. One must allow a young lady a little liberty; otherwise the devil will make mischief.

ISABELLE.
[She looks perplexed.] Eh? Dearest Papa, I don't know this "mischief". How is this mischief made? ... Is it very big? Is it very long? [She looks innocent.]

CASSANDRE.
Ah! Here is someone who is truly admirable. [He bestows upon her a proud regard.] Let me see, ... "mischief", ... it's ... ... But no! I'm good; truly I am. So it's not for me to show you it: no, by contrast, it's for me to advise you to guard your honour. ...

ISABELLE.
And, Papa, ... this "honour", can it be taken away?

CASSANDRE.
Mmm? ... Here is a most embarrassing young lady with these questions. ... Let me say that one should keep quiet, and be sensible like me.

ISABELLE.
I will not fail there, dearest Papa; I'll strive to imitate you.

CASSANDRE.
You will be very good; ... otherwise! [He gives Isabelle a stern look.] I'm off now; and I don't expect to find you here when I return.

ISABELLE.
Yes, Papa. ... So, may I go on the Boulevard?

CASSANDRE.
Yes, yes; that'll be alright. ... It's a fine day today, so you'll see there Mme Rosehip's daughter, who has a carriage made by Lancry, the most brilliant in the world; the wife of M. Pillardin, the Prosecutor, who acts the role of a small Duchess with his clerk — by making him wear a plume, so that he has the air of a marquis; as well as the high society who are returning from the fashionable Rue des Porcherons: it'll be lively and entertaining. ... Upon my word, it should make for a most agreeable promenade! [Curtain falls]

[Curtain Music (obligato): François Couperin's La divine Babiche.]

SCENE 2. Curtain rises, to reveal the same setting: Isabelle, alone, is thinking out loud as she looks at herself in a hand-mirror.

ISABELLE.
Tell me my thoughts. ... What is to be done now that my dear Léandre is not here every day? ... I am in a most delicate position. ... And how will I fare on the Boulevard, where everybody else will be paired off in loving couples? ... I will be there all alone; and I would feel most uncomfortable being solicited by a prince who wished to take me in his carriage to the Bois de Boulogne, particularly since I have never had a lover so much to my taste as my dear Léandre. Yet, he has been away a long time. ... Four days are as long as days without bread; and a young lady is a body without a soul when she has not her Monsieur. [She sighs longingly.] Mmm, ... Perhaps I would do well to do as Papa told me? ... Though he only sent me to promenade so as to remain with our servant — after tricking M. Gilles! ... He thinks, the good man, that I see no further than his nose. ... Oh! How I would I like to give him such a jolt — and irritate him most profoundly — by remaining close to his side. ... [She sighs resignedly.] But, they say «one should live and let live»: so, then, I should go promenading; ... though, upon my word, it is most lamentable to do it all alone. ... But, perhaps, I will find my dear Léandre; he does like good company, and such is to be found on the Boulevard. [As she arranges her person and things, ready to leave, Mme G. arrives again.]

Mme GILLES.
Ah! My dear Mistress, although I'd seen the «old fox» had taken himself off at last, I left you be so that you'd have the time to brood on your lover. [Her tone is considerate but respectful.]

ISABELLE.
Yes, though I swear I would have killed my dressmaker for a pin, so much did Papa bore me with his sermonizing. ... But, what is one to do? ... When a «filly» is well brought up, she must graze where she is tethered.

Mme GILLES.
That's only too true; ... otherwise I'd wager you'd set out almost immediately for Versailles?

ISABELLE.
Yes, I would. Indeed, I should be bold and go there to find my adorable M. Léandre. ... And, when we went to bed in the cornfields — for it is the best season for such — I would be most blissfully happy. [She sighs longingly.]

Mme GILLES.
Mmm, ... But will he be away for a long time?

ISABELLE.
That, I don't know. ... He went there to ask His Majesty for a position; but I understand nothing about the intrigues at Court. What I do know is that I miss not having my lover. [Her tone is a shade petulant.] ...

Mme GILLES.
Do you wish, while he's not here, that I do as he would do?

ISABELLE.
Eh!? [She looks askance at Mme G.] I like nothing which is uncivil: and nothing is so impolite as two women making eyes at each other.

Mme GILLES.
Oh! My dearest Mistress, forgive me. No; I don't pretend, of course, to do anything to you. No; I'd wish merely to do as much, so as to relieve your boredom, by speaking to you for a moment as if I was M. Léandre, and by acting — as is done at the Comédie — so as to entertain us, perhaps: for the situation of ladies alone, whoever says otherwise, is none too amusing. ...

ISABELLE.
Ah well, let's see that.

Mme GILLES.
My word! I've nothing to show you. No; but listen all the same. ... [She adopts a light masculine tone of voice.] ... "Well, my charming one, how are things?"

ISABELLE.
"Very well, my dear Léandre: once you have consoled me from your dear absence."

Mme GILLES.
"That's what we'll see shortly." [She pretends to grind (tobacco?) under her apron.] "My beloved, you want this?"

ISABELLE.
[She lifts the apron.] "What!? Yes! Good! ... It's only tobacco."

Mme GILLES.
"I only show you the tip here, because self-control prevents me giving you further proof of my love: ... as I would do if it were night." ...

ISABELLE.
"It's been such a long while, my dear Léandre. So, have you missed me; and was your trip successful?"

Mme GILLES.
"Very well. Yet, my dear Isabelle, throughout, my thoughts have always been wholesome in your honour; and I have felt a grim harshness being separated from you, and not being able to tell you on bended knee that you are an Isabelle like no other. ... Allow me to kiss you."

ISABELLE.
"O, my dearest Liandre, only you could speak to me in such a manner: so I must kiss you." [She kisses Mme Gilles, who recoils with a shocked expression.]

Mme GILLES.
Hmph! A little less of that, if you please! You'll stir up our passions: yet we'll still only be women.

ISABELLE.
Ah! So true. You are absolutely right; though it was a fit of anger which carried me away, and you do such justice to him. ... But fear not that I trust myself there, for I don't love like that; it's so flat, and I have always in my mind the difference between the stem of a horn and its bell.

Mme GILLES.
Yes; that I well believe. ... Mmm, ... By the way, you'll be discussing these matters with our M. Cassandre?

ISABELLE.
You don't want me to speak of this when he returns? Perhaps he would stop me rising to the challenge; and, worse, I see myself how you deal with M. Gilles: something I should use to my advantage with my dear Léandre, when he's my husband.

Mme GILLES.
Oh, well. What should be done with a husband, if one isn't to give him false hopes: he certainly shouldn't understand our cant. ...

ISABELLE.
Goodness me! I'm amusing myself here like a spoilt child. It is true that this will always be the same for me in the the absence of my dear Léandre. ... My father is going to come; he must not find me here. Farewell.

Mme GILLES.
Farewell, my Mistress, I'll drink a cup to your health: but I fear that M. Cassandre will not be so able, and I'll have to content myself with a small «tipple».

ISABELLE.
You are fortunate indeed to be able to drink with a man who desires you so: it makes my mouth water, and I'm leaving here all alone with the intention of distracting my sadness. [She leaves.] ...

Mme GILLES.
That's certainly a fine lady of pleasure. My word, she's discreet; she's fond of you, like no other; and she wouldn't enter a tavern with one who'd wish to share a 3 livre fee. But, patience, she's young; she'll mend her ways: and those of the world will tell her what must be done. ... Ah! Here comes my agèd lover. [Cassandre arrives, carrying beer and some pretzels in his handkerchief.]

CASSANDRE.
Has my daughter left, my charming lover?

Mme GILLES.
Yes, Monsieur, she went off for her promenade.

CASSANDRE.
She is strikingly pretty: and so, you see, we mustn't do certain things in front of the young, as it would teach them too quickly.

Mme GILLES.
Ah, Monsieur, I believe that Isabelle would see all without learning anything; she is so sensible, that child there. ... That's what I'd say for my part.

CASSANDRE.
Ah! So true. She is as wise as her late mother; but I have raised her too. ... But that's enough talk of such matters. You see, my adorable one, how my freedom with the largesse has set aside the pitfalls; and given us a few moments of true liberty together. ... Shall we have a drink first?

Mme GILLES.
I think so; for the weather today is salty.

CASSANDRE.
[He laughs gently.] Ah! You always have le mot juste to lift the spirits. [He pours two glasses of beer.]

Mme GILLES.
And then, we'll go inside, close the door, and make sweet music in bed. [They sit down by each other's side at the table, drink a few sips of beer; then Cassandre embraces Mme G. Unobserved, Gilles approaches the intimate couple.]

GILLES.
Ah! Of course; very cozy, yes, as you'd like it. Mmm, ... But I see all too clearly that you two must separated; you are so bad together. Come, «Master Cane», my revenge! [He strikes each of them several times; then starts to drink a glass of beer.]

Mme GILLES.
Forgive me, my dear husband, but you're mistaken.

GILLES.
Quiet, woman! ... Now, Monsieur, my leave and my wages.

CASSANDRE.
What wages? I have just paid you them!

GILLES.
What! Those were my wages? And I'm supposed to look after your house? Hmph! [He strikes Cassandre again.]

CASSANDRE.
Very well, then; let's count.

GILLES.
Good grief! I was given them without counting: let's start again then.

CASSANDRE.
Eh? No; to the devil with such nonsense! How much money do you want?

GILLES.
I want 5 livres.

CASSANDRE.
What? 5 livres! It's not even a week since I took you into my service: and such a sum is at least three months' wages. Mmm? ... But perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement: you want 15 sous?

GILLES.
What!? 15 sous! [He raises his cane again.]

CASSANDRE.
Hold on! ... There's no need to get angry again. [His tone then changes from mollifying to benevolent.] I'm going to give you 18 sous so that you can drink to my health: but, on the condition that you never leave my service.

GILLES.
Well, of course, I'd agree to that.

CASSANDRE.
Splendid! What love makes us do: such expense! [He counts out and gives some loose change to Gilles; then leaves. ...]

GILLES.
I suspected one his little plots; and I nearly fell for it!

Mme GILLES.
What! [She splutters in indignation.] You believe M. Scarecrow that our Master had ... ... with me! ... You do wrong to my honour! ...

GILLES.
Well, far be it from me. [He shrugs; then starts to drink a glass of beer. While he is drinking, Mme G. removes his walking-cane, beats him, forces him to his knees, and makes him give her the money he had obtained from M. Cassandre.]

GILLES.
I'm going to complain to M. Léandre.

Mme GILLES.
Go and complain to the devil, if you wish. [Then she looks at him askance.] Eh! Where is M. Léandre?

GILLES.
He's on the first floor of the tavern with our daughter; ... she's taken advantage of Mlle Isabelle's example.

Mme GILLES.
Eh? I'll be off there to find them. And, in the meantime, mark my words, behave yourself, ... or! [She leaves in a hurry; leaving Gilles looking contented with himself. ...]

GILLES.
And, as for me? Well, such arrangements allow me to go into the house to eat and drink my pleasure; and, of course, now I'll have there a much more reasonable wife ... who I didn't believe! ... [Curtain closes, to the sound of Gilles humming happily.] ... ...

........................................................................................

(There is applause from the rest of the class as Constance, Mumford, Trudi, and Unman take a bow. Then, ...)

Dr. STUART.
Thank you, Alice, and Malice. (He gives each girl a smile of appreciation.) Mmm? ... Class, I have to admit to being rather puzzled by your noticeably less enthusiastic response to this parade — compared to the one before half-term: but, perhaps Mrs. Brummel will enlighten me? (He gives Mrs. B. a smile.) In the meantime! (He waves a hand in the direction of the door; then starts conversing with Mrs. B.) ...


2.45 p.m. During the 8th week of term, one of the Lower 6th-Remove's General Studies' lessons; Mrs. B. in attendance. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Good afternoon, Class.

CLASS.
Afternoon, Miss. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Mmm? ... Class, like Dr. Stuart, I could not help but notice that your reception of the second parade was appreciably more muted than to the first. ... Lolli, you, in particular, appeared to find it even more distasteful?

LOLLI.
Yes, Miss; I found this play totally misogynistic.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Oh!? Lolli, I think you have inadvertently chosen the wrong adjective there: but, please, do elaborate a little.

LOLLI.
Well, Miss, none of the characters seemed to be particularly pleasant; they were just self-centred hypocrites.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Ah! (She nods.) First and foremost, Lolli, I would agree with your assessment that those characters were not endowed with any admirable qualities; and so, in this respect, yes, one might reasonably describe this play as misanthropic: ... but not misogynistic. ... Yes, Shandy?

SHANDY.
Miss, what's the difference, please?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Well, misogyny is a «hatred of women», whereas misanthropy is a «hatred of mankind» — strictly speaking. However, in everyday language, these and related words are all used in contexts considerably wider than would be implied by the noun «hatred». For example, a misanthrope is somebody who holds a cynical, gloomy, dim, ... or generally jaundiced perspective on their fellow human beings. ... Yes, Malice?

MALICE.
Miss, ... oddly enough, during our rehearsals immediately before half-term, we came to the same conclusion as Lolli: but we saw no simple solution to the problem. (Her tone is one of irritation.)

ALICE.
Yes, Miss; we didn't really see how to «rework» it, short of an extensive rewrite — and there wasn't enough time. (Her tone is one of regret.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
I think both of you are being a little hard on yourselves. Thus, your somewhat bowdlerized translation — though lacking in rhythmic flow, here and there — is perfectly serviceable; and there are oodles of time to rework the play, should you wish to do so. ... Yes, East?

EAST.
Miss, I don't think their play should be reworked.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
No!? (She looks surprised.)

EAST.
No, Miss. I'd argue that its strength lies precisely in the fact that none of the characters have redeeming qualities: so, in their own small world, they deserve each other.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
But, East, do you not think that this play might be improved by the introduction of characters with some noble qualities?

EAST.
No, Miss; ... at least not in a reworking. I'd accept that one might need to do that in a full-length play — otherwise it would be dead boring; a couple of scenes, say, which had nobler characters in them, would only be tokenism. ...

BROWN.
Yes, Miss. But when me and Scud were talking about this in the dorm... (Mrs. B. interrupts.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Excuse me for interrupting, Brown, but are you telling me that you have been discussing this play outside class? (Her tone is one of barely suppressed incredulity.)

BROWN.
Oh yes, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Do any of the rest of you? (Collectively, and almost as one, the members of the class express the various sounds of affirmation.) Good heavens! ... Mmm? ... I am uncertain as to whether I regard such behavior as healthy or unhealthy. ... Yes, Flora?

FLORA.
Miss, ... if you did consider it unhealthy, then surely you would be being misanthropic. (Her smile is reciprocated by Mlle B., and then shared by the rest of the class.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
I would indeed! (She laughs.) But we digress. Brown, you were saying? ...

BROWN.
Um? ... Ah yes! ... Me and Scud thought it would be quite a good idea to write a set of scenes for the characters — say, ten years on — which reveal the results of their promiscuous behaviour; sort of their «chickens coming home to roost».

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
I don't think "promiscuous" is le mot juste, Brown, but your general idea certainly has merit. ... ... Yes, East?

EAST.
Miss, with the greatest respect, that sounds a bit like ... «damning with faint praise».

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Oh! I'm so sorry; that was definitely not my intention. ... However, I'm sure I'll be able to damn you completely: after you and Brown have given me your script. (She smiles.)

EAST.
No, Miss! We'll pass on that one! (He and Brown laugh.)

SHANDY.
Miss?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes, Shandy?

SHANDY.
Er, ... What Jock and Scud are suggesting is what you called "appropriation", Miss, isn't it?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes, Shandy.

SHANDY.
Well, Miss, I don't know what they had in mind, but if these characters, or at least some of them, had acquired sexually transmitted diseases, then — from what you said before half-term — one might be able to present the appropriation as a sort of moral tale for present-day times? ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes, Shandy; I do see possibilities there. ... Yes, Popsy?

POPSY.
Miss, I may be in a minority of one, but I think we are in danger of vastly over-rating the worth of the original play. ... Indeed, were I to take a leaf out of Ziggy's book — not that I would, of course (She smiles waspishly.) — then I'd say one would be tampering with rather trivial nonsense. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
«Papering over the cracks», in other words?

POPSY.
More like unstable foundations, Miss! (Mrs. B. smiles.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes, Popsy; under normal circumstances, I would agree with you whole-heartedly. ... But, ... ... ... ... ...

McKECHNIE.
Excuse me, Miss, but is your «pause» some sort of dramatic effect for our benefit? (His tone is mischievous. Mrs. B. laughs ruefully.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Not at all. It's merely a sign of my diminishing supply of gray cells grinding very slowly. ... No, my hesitation lies in my uncertainty as to the best method of getting across to you the most peculiar confluence of the topic matter of this particular parade and its surrounding historical context — without boring you all to tears. ... Yes, McKechnie?

McKECHNIE.
Miss, be bold! ... We have had plenty to cause us to weep in the past. (His gentle laugh is reciprocated by Mrs. B.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Well, then: be it on your head! ... ... Gueullette wrote his farces for the «working class», which was the overwhelming majority of the population in 18th century France. However, although the sexual mores and hypocritical attitudes of his characters in this particular parade would not have mirrored the typical experiences of his contemporary audiences, these latter would have immediately recognized that they reflected those of the noblesse. ... Yes, Lolli?

LOLLI.
Miss, why wouldn't these characteristics have been mirrored in the working class?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Well, largely because, on the one hand, they were too busy attempting to keep body and soul together, and on the other, they had a greater respect for the tenets of their religious faith. ... Now, quite extraordinarily, there was one person whose liberality in «intimate matters» was considerably more liberal than the vast majority of the noblesse, and yet did not share their hypocritical attitudes: and that person was King Louis XV! ... ... ... Yes, Zigo?

ZIGO.
Miss, I suppose like everyone else, one can readily envisage a reworking or an appropriation which involved — let's say — the transposition of the characters to the noblesse and this Louis chap added to provide some sort of contrast: but, ... no, I don't see where this leads us. (He shakes his head.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Don't underestimate yourself, Zigo; so far, so good: except (She smiles.) your unwitting, but nonetheless, massive faux pas of underestimating royalty; ... "this Louis chap". Hmm! (She laughs indecorously.) ... King Louis XV was an absolute monarch — not a constitutional one — and, as such, held the temporal «fate» of France — and everyone of its persons — exclusively in his hands. ... ... ... Yes, Zigo?

ZIGO.
Miss, ... and?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Well, his actions or — more precisely — his inactions flowed directly from his character traits; ... that's to say, his preternatural shyness, his sexual proclivities, and his lack of hypocrisy in his personal faith. ... And, paradoxically, perhaps, with respect to the shape of the Old, the New, and what is now — unfortunately — termed the «Third» World, his «inactions» had a far greater effect than, say, Louis XIV, Frederick the Great, George III, Napoleon, or Bismarck - to name but five. ... Yes, McKechnie?

McKECHNIE.
Miss, you've got to be joking, ... surely?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Absolutely not. ... Perhaps an example or two might temper your doubts? ... Let me think. ... ... Ah! In the summer of 1754, this «chap» Louis XV (She smiles wickedly at Zigo.) personally instructed that a Virginian colonel should not be hanged for the murder of M. le capitaine Joseph Coulon de Villiers; that Virginian's name was George Washington, who was later to become — as you know, or should know - both the savior of the fledgling American republic, during the War of Independence, and the first president of the United States. ... Furthermore, one cannot help but wonder whether General Washington's rather unexpectedly welcoming reception of the French volunteers in this war was not an acknowledgement — sub-conscious or otherwise — of his debt to Louis XV. ... Yes, Shandy?

SHANDY.
Miss, why did the French volunteer for that war?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Ah! The plot thickens, so to speak. ... Mmm? ... I will be running the grave risk of over-simplifying matters here. ... But, the root cause for their involvement lies in the deep resentment felt by a small group of French nobles to the humiliating conditions signed by Louis XV at the 1764 Treaty of Paris, which concluded the Seven Years' War. ... Yes, Popsy?

POPSY.
Miss, I don't want to sound rude — and I am finding this stuff you've been talking about interesting — but I'm afraid I still don't think the original has enough merit to be used as a vehicle for some sort of historical reconstruction. ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Oh Popsy! I think you are doing me an injustice here. (Her tone is one of feigned hurt.) Setting aside the fact that I would never entertain the notion of attempting an historical reconstruction — a rather specious exercise at the best of times — I have been speaking «on the hoof», albeit perhaps a shade injudiciously here and there. ... Be that as it may, I am fair worn out! (She smiles warmly at Popsy.)

POPSY.
A shadow of your former self, then, Miss?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
I am indeed! (She and the class laugh.) ... Yes, Zigo?

ZIGO.
Miss, back a step, please. What do you mean by "historical reconstruction is rather a specious exercise"? ...

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Mmm, ... Merely that one can only «recreate the past» in the limited sense of an incomplete physical reconstruction. ...

ZIGO.
Sorry, Miss; I don't follow.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Fair enough. Er, ... Yes! Firstly, consider this scenario. ... A class of 12 year-old boys are taken down a coalmine. Then, back in the classroom, they write down their accounts which «empathize» with their Victorian contemporaries. ... I suspect that each one of you will readily appreciate that, however well-meaning and educational such an exercise might be, it would also be rather specious as a «reconstruction». ... Zigo, would you agree? ...

ZIGO.
I'll reserve my judgement for the moment, Miss.

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Fair enough. (She smiles.) Now, secondly, consider a more historically realistic scenario — albeit a hypothetical one in this day and age — at least in the supposedly «civilized world». ... The class of 12 year-old boys are taken down this coalmine for a period of two weeks; and, to provide the necessary degree of verisimilitude they are: supervised by a physically brutal overseer; dressed throughout in thin rags, regardless of the weather conditions; fed on a diet of the most nutritionally meager food; and finally, deprived of any modern conveniences or entertainment. Now, self-evidently, back in the classroom, these boys will certainly be able to empathize much more faithfully: however, this reconstruction would still be specious. ... But why? ... ... Yes, Flora?

FLORA.
Because, perhaps, ... these boys knew that their experiences were only ever going to last two weeks, Miss? (She looks and sounds very doubtful.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Precisely!! Well done, Flora! ... These boys could never — I repeat, never — have the same state of mind or perspective as their Victorian contemporaries. ... ... But, my culture vultures, (She smiles.) there is worse to follow. Thus, each of you has already had the opportunity of confirming the veracity of what I have just said, ... from the reading of a «set-book». ... (East audibly groans.) ... Yes, East?

EAST.
Not Lord of the Flies, Miss?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Yes, indeed! (Most of the class emit muffled groans. She looks bemused.) Er, ... Do I sense a degree of ennui, here?

EAST.
Most definitely, Miss. ... Ever since we studied it with Mr. Gowers — in Year 10 — both Dr. S. and Dr. B. have repeatedly trotted out that book ... I don't know ... as if it was some sort of «sacred work».

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Oh! ... Let me assure you that those three individuals would never regard that novel as such; indeed, to do so would be sacrilegious in itself. ... And, as for me, I consider it to be deeply flawed. ... Yes, Brown?

BROWN.
Miss, you're digressing again! (His tone is mischievous.)

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
So I am. Right! ... As the novel progresses, the marooned boys live a life in which their expectation of being rescued moves — slowly but inexorably — from their initial certainty of immediate rescue, to uncertainty, then to doubt, then to hope against hope, and, finally, to an acceptance of their true nightmare reality. In other words, they had moved from an equivalent state of mind to our class of 12 year-old boys on their «day-trip» down the coalmine to one which mirrored the Victorian contemporaries of these 12 year-old boys. ... ... Yes, Shandy?

SHANDY.
Miss, why do consider this novel to be deeply flawed?

Mrs. BRUMMEL.
Well, firstly, ... (The bell sounds.) Ah! Good! I'm saved from making a fool of myself. (She smiles.) Class, off you go! ...


5.55 p.m. One afternoon during the 9th week of term. In their study-dorm, Constance and Trudi are sprawled out on beanbags; they are poring over and discussing various maps of New England ...

TRUDI.
No; (She sighs.) none of these will quite do.

CONSTANCE.
No? But surely it's not necessary for our narrator to show, ... How do you say it? ... vraisemblance? ...

TRUDI.
Verisimilitude?

CONSTANCE.
Yes; that's the word. Thank you. (She smiles.) After all, the audience wouldn't know? (She shrugs.)

TRUDI.
True enough. But, on the other hand, unless we reconstruct our own colonial map of Massachusetts, I'd guess we'll get into a real muddle with ... (The bell for high-tea rings.) Shute! We'd better make tracks, otherwise we'll be late.

CONSTANCE.
Late?

TRUDI.
Yes; we're on duty!

CONSTANCE.
Oh! I had completely forgotten. ... Oh yes! Of course; it's that stuff they call «shepherd's pie» tonight.

TRUDI.
Ugh! It always looks like a dog's dinner to me.

CONSTANCE.
Précisément ! (Both are laughing as they leave.) ...


7.30 p.m. One evening during the 10th week of term. In his study, Dr. Brummel lifts up the ringing telephone ...

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Narkover, double two, six; Dr. Brummel speaking.

M. SCROOGE.
Bonsoir, Bob. C'est M. Scrooge.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Ah ! Bonsoir, M. le directeur. Je suis bien content de vous entendre. Bonnes nouvelles, je l'espère ?

M. SCROOGE.
Je crois que oui... Après mûre réflexion, Bob, j'ai décidé de consentir à votre suggestion pour le prix : je décernerai une bourse d'étude pour une année.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Ô ! Juste la seule ?

M. SCROOGE.
Oui. C'est plus que généreuse !

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Oui, bien sûr... Monsieur, pardonnez-moi, s'il vous plaît. (He sounds contrite.) Heu,... Certes, votre offre est très généreuse : mais, nous espérions pour une bourse de trois années.

M. SCROOGE.
Quoi !? C'est pas possible ; nous ne roulons pas d'or !

Dr. BRUMMEL.
D'accord !... Mais je vois que je dois jouer mon atout. (He laughs gently.)

M. SCROOGE.
Que diable voulez-vous dire !?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Il y a un an, vous m'avez dit que vous avez besoin de mes compétences pour votre nouveau procédé de fabrication ?

M. SCROOGE.
Oui ; je m'en souviens bien.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Eh bien, Monsieur,... en échange des bourses complètes — pour les deux étudiants — je suis prêt à devenir consultant de votre entreprise... Comme on dit : «Un échange juste est pas de vol» !

M. SCROOGE.
Hmm ! (He snorts.) J'y penserai... ... ... Vous négociez ferme, Bob, mais je me mets d'accord sur votre solution.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Merci beaucoup, Monsieur. ... Tout le monde ici à Narkover sera reconnaissant... Et si on réussissait à élaborer les détails plus tard ?

M. SCROOGE.
Oui ; je dois s'allonger à ce moment-ci ! (His gentle laugh is a little strained.)

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Moi aussi !... Merci, encore une fois, Monsieur. À bientôt ! (He places the receiver down.) ...


4.15 p.m. One afternoon during the 11th week of term. In her study-dorm, Flora is reading a Braille text. Salice, slightly out of breath, arrives outside the door; then she knocks ...

SALICE.
Ciao, Flo.

FLORA.
Oh! Ciao, Salice. Come in; take a pew. (She points to an easy chair.)

SALICE.
I've popped in to check whether you've received your copy of Spats' and Pierre's new divertissement? (Her tone is one of barely contained excitement.)

FLORA.
Yes; (She points to a small sheaf of Braille pages.) I was reading it just then. Pierre e-mailed me the file earlier this afternoon, with the note: "Spats and I are confident that you and Salice will be able to carry the piece."

SALICE.
Hmm! That remains to be seen. (Both laugh gently.) But we most definitely do have the lion's share. Mah, ... Flo, ... did you know that they were writing something together?

FLORA.
Yes ... and no. Chalice said that she and Spats bumped into Pierre when they stayed at La Rochelle over half-term; and one thing led to another, apparently. Chalice was decidedly miffed that the pair of them were not only closeted together most of the time but that they were also dead secretive.

SALICE.
What, so Spats said nothing about in it your daily warbling sessions? (F. laughs indecorously.)

FLORA.
He warbles: I'm just the kitten on the keys! (Both laugh.) But no, he didn't: and now I'm a bit miffed. ... Never mind.

SALICE.
By the way, who are you writing your play with?

FLORA.
Flashman.

SALICE.
Oh dear!

FLORA.
There's no need for sympathy on my account. (She smiles.) Thus far, he's been «the» perfect gentleman, so to speak; I don't whether that's because he feels sorry for me, or what, but he has been unfailingly considerate — perhaps because he is removed from the influence of the others? (She shrugs.) Now, do you fancy a brew?

SALICE.
A "brew"?

FLORA.
A cup of tea? (She smiles.)

SALICE.
Oh yes! Yes, please. I'll do the honours. (She stands up and proceeds to make a pot of tea whilst they continue their conversation.) Er, ... Flo, please excuse my rudeness, but did you miss your father when you were growing up?

FLORA.
What an odd question. ... Mmm? ... Let me think. ... ... No, I don't think I did really. ... I have these vague memories of the sound of his voice — which stopped rather suddenly — when I was very young; and then, I suppose, he never really swam into my consciousness — probably because I was too busy with my own life, problems, whatever. (She shrugs.) Why do you ask? ...

SALICE.
No particular reason, except that I thought that — because your parents had separated — you might be able to help me in some way.

FLORA.
Oh! I'm so sorry, Salice; I didn't know your parents were going through a rough patch. (Her tone is sympathetic.)

SALICE.
No. Not my parents; my uncle and aunt.

FLORA.
Eh? Do your parents keep you au fait with the family gossip from Naples?

SALICE.
No! No. I'm talking about Signore and Signora Salieri; they're the ones with the difficulties.

FLORA.
Oh! I didn't realize they were your uncle and aunt. ... Is, er, ... that because your aunt thinks your uncle is having an affair? ...

SALICE.
Oh no! (Her tone is deflated.) Flo, who told you that?

FLORA.
Nobody; I assure you. ... A hunch, really. I've noticed on various occasions — when Sig. Sal. has been showing me some phrasings on the harpsichord — his jacket has a lingering scent of perfume, which is the same as the one Mlle Gossâge favors: and not that worn by Signora Salieri. ... I've a nose for that sort of thing. (Her smile is not reciprocated by S.) Salice, I sense that you are terribly fond of both your aunt and uncle?

SALICE.
Yes; very much so. I'd be most upset if they split up. ...

FLORA.
Well, for what it's worth, my advice is to leave well alone, particularly as you probably don't know all the facts; for instance, just because your aunt thinks Mlle Gossâge is a «scarlet woman» does not mean she is one. Moreover, because they're adults, there's a version of an English expression that fits their situation perfectly: ... «They're old enough and ugly enough to look after themselves». (Her smile is reciprocated by a quiet laugh from S.) That's better! Now, I'm dying of thirst here!

SALICE.
Oh! Sorry, Flo. (She start pouring two cups of tea.)

FLORA.
And don't forget a saucer for the pooch, otherwise we will have one miffed mutt on our hands. (She gives Carotene an affectionate pat.) ...


10.00 p.m. One night during the 12th week of term. In the Salieris' bedroom, Sig. Sal. and his lady wife Vespina are in bed ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Heu, Vespina,... et si on faisait l'amour ?

VESPINA.
Comment ! (She looks at him suspiciously.) Ce soir ?

Sig. SALIERI.
Oui ; pourquoi pas ?... Un homme a ses besoins.

VESPINA.
Les tiennes ? Bôf ! Ne me fais rire... M'est avis que tu as mauvaise conscience.

Sig. SALIERI.
De quoi ?

VESPINA.
Comprenne qui pourra !... De toute façon, ce soir, je suis fatiguée ; et je voudrais s'endormir. (She turns over in a deliberate manner; and switches off her bedside light.) ... 11.15 p.m. Same night. Sig. Sal. and Vespina are now asleep; Vespina starts dreaming ...

........................................................................................
[Start of dream sequence.]

Initially: Vespina «appears» in the school grounds, where Flashman, McKechnie, Merridew, Wittering, and Zigo are standing before a plaque which reads Hat Eifersucht Vespina Getötet? ...

BOYS.
Bonsoir, Madame. (In respectful tones.)

VESPINA.
"Bonsoir" !?... Peu importe. (She looks confused.) Er, ... I thought the plaque here was in memory of Xavier Piggy?

ZIGO.
Yes, Miss; «Hat Wissensdrang Xavier Getötet?»: «Did A Thirst For Knowledge Kill Xavier?». ... And, Miss?

VESPINA.
Well, ... you've changed the plaque.

WITTERING.
Yes, Miss; «Hat Eifersucht Vespina Getötet?»: «Did Jealousy Kill Vespina?». ... And, Miss?

VESPINA.
But why? I'm still alive!

MERRIDEW.
We've merely put into practice our old Scout motto, namely: «Be Prepared».

VESPINA.
Prepared for what!?

FLASHMAN.
Arsenic, ... I mean, you husband, Miss ... has asked us to propose various «red cloak» scenarios for you; and, one of these has been suggested by Umberto Eco's novel, The Name of the Rose, set in a late medieval monastery. ...

VESPINA.
I'm not familiar with it; ... no. (She shakes her head.)

McKECHNIE.
Well, Miss, ... as result of being too inquisitive, several of the monks are murdered; ... they are poisoned by reading a manuscript laced with arsenic compounds. ... And, Miss, we believe this old, manuscript-style cookery book will be your husband's Christmas present to you. (He passes said book to Vespina; as the latter involuntarily accepts same, the boys «disappear».) ...

Next: Vespina «reappears» in a double study-dorm, where Constance and Trudi are seated on beanbags in their dressing gowns; using the light of two candles, they are reading and discussing some sketch notes ...

TRUDI.
Yes, I think we must add wood sorrel to our play.

CONSTANCE.
I agree; it will certainly allow us to introduce a macabre tone to some scenes. ... [Vespina exclaims: "You two girls will catch your death of cold!" — but neither girl reacts to the sound of her voice.]

TRUDI.
Most definitely! ... And, what's the French for wood sorrel?

CONSTANCE.
Petite oseille... ou... oxalis.

TRUDI.
Like the oxalates in rhubarb leaves!?

CONSTANCE.
Oui ; précisément !...

Next: Vespina «reappears» in the library, where Mrs. Pond (née Euphémie Richelieu), wearing a red dress, is reading a novel ...

Mrs. POND.
Bonsoir, Vespina... Comment vas-tu ?

VESPINA.
Ça ne va pas très bien.

Mrs. POND.
Oh là là !... Ne t'en fais pas...

VESPINA.
Heu,... Euphémie, qu'est-ce que tu lis ?

Mrs. POND.
Un roman, se passe dans le début du quatorzième siècle, sur une communauté religieuse...

VESPINA.
Pas Le Nom de la rose ?

Mrs. POND.
Si ; c'est bien cela !...

Next: Vespina «reappears» in a small laboratory, where Mlle Charlotte Backson is talking to Alice, Chalice, Malice, and Salice ...

Mlle BACKSON.
Mesdemoiselles, ... aujourd'hui, j'avais eu l'intention de rafraîchir vos mémoires à propos les fonctions principales des «pigments de la vie» ; soit les porphyrines et composés apparentés. (She points to this table on one of the black-boards.)

Fonctions principales des porphyrines et des composés apparentés
Fonction(s)	Exemple(s)
Transport de l'oxygène	Hémoprotéines comme l'hémoglobine et la myoglobine
Transfert d'électron dans la chaîne respiratoire	D'autres hémoprotéines ; les cytochromes
Catalyse de transformations oxydatives	Encore d'autres hémoprotéines ; le cytochrome P450 en particulier
Photosynthèse	Chlorophylles, bactériochlorophylles
Excrétion	Tétrapyrroles «linéaires» ; ici, les pigments biliaires
Morphogenèse des végétaux	Tétrapyrroles «linéaires» associés aux phytochromes
Transformations (e.g., par monométhylation)	Vitamine B12

Mais, comme dit Robert Burns : «Les plans les mieux conçus des souris et des hommes ne se réalisent pas». (She smiles enigmatically.) Oui, Malice?

MALICE.
Mademoiselle, je vois que vous avez été sous l'influence de Madame l'infirmière ; bientôt vous parlerez «écossais» ! (She smiles mischievously.)

Mlle BACKSON.
Aïe ! (She adopts a look of mock horror.) Périssez cette pensée, sur-le-champ ! (All the girls laugh.) Oui, Salice?

SALICE.
Heu,... Mademoiselle, pourquoi avez-vous décidé de changer vos «plans» ?

Mlle BACKSON.
Ô !... Permettez-moi d'expliquer. Heu,... Par où vais-je commencer ?... Ah !... Dr Stuart m'a dit que — environ il y a deux années — Wittering, entre d'autres «sans-culottes», a fait des recherches sur les effets de poisons divers — y compris le monoxyde de carbone et l'ion de cyanure — sur les composés porphyriniques. (She points to this diagram on the other blackboard.)

Alice, est-ce que vrai ?

ALICE.
Oui, Mademoiselle ; hélas, il n'est que trop vrai. Pendant mon premier trimestre à Narkover, les garçons étaient bien déplaisants ; en effet, tout au long de cette année. (Nods of agreement from both C. and M.)

Mlle BACKSON.
Eh bien, «les enfants s'amusent». (Her tone is withering; this prompts a knowing smile from each girl.) Alors,... Oui, Chalice ?

CHALICE.
Est-ce chaque porphyrine, F et G, serve de modèle à l'hème ; celle qui est montrée au-dessus ? [Vespina exclaims: "C'est du chinois pour moi !" — but those present do not react to the sound of her voice.]

Mlle BACKSON.
Oui ; tout à fait. Mais, vous m'avez anticipé un peu ! (She smiles warmly.) Où en étais-je ?... Ah ! Les vestiges des «sans-culottes» — soit «La Jeunesse dorée» — ont suggère à Signore Salieri que ces composés (She points to formulas F and G.) s'avèrent être utiles pour un scénario de «manteau rouge»... Et, aujourd'hui, vous préparez ces porphryines pour...

Next: Vespina «reappears» in Dr. Stuart's bedroom, where Dr. S. and Matron Nightingale are in bed: their clothes are in disarray on the floor; on his beside table, there is a half-drunk cup of chocolate and opened packets of light-blue tablets and condoms, and on hers, there is another half-drunk cup and an opened packet of femidoms. Dr. S. and Matron, who both have contented expressions, are smoking cigarettes ...

VESPINA.
Grand Dieu !... Matron, I am very surprised at you. I would have expected you — above all — to practise «safe-sex».

MATRON.
What are you blethering about!? ... Alec and I are almost a parody of those advertisements for such. (She points to the accoutrements on the bedside tables.)

VESPINA.
I was not referring to, um, ... «protection» ... (She has a look which is an admixture of embarrassment and distaste.): but to the post-coital cigarettes.

MATRON.
Vespina, ... one should never be an uninvited spectre at a feast. So, be off with you: this instant! ...

Next: Vespina «reappears» in a room given to the hobby of handicraft, where Dr. Bob Brummel is supervising Brown, East, Mumford, and Unman making wall-hangings for a model monastery; they are embroidering white silk with diverse lattices based on the following motifs:

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Ah! I see you lads have decided to be much more ambitious. (He points to their model monastery.) Splendid!

BROWN.
Thank you, Sir. I can see you are connoisseur, ... unlike Signora Salieri. (His tone is aggrieved. The other three boys mutter darkly.)

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Eh? ... Am I missing something here?

EAST.
No, ... not really, Sir. It's just that on her one and only visit, ... What, Jock, last spring term? (He looks at B., who nods.) ... she barely gave our projects the time of day.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Oh? Never mind. (His tone is sympathetic.) Er, ... Unman, is your model monastery an original design?

UNMAN.
No, Sir; it's meant to be a replica of that one given in The Name of the Rose.

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Ah, yes! ... With «aromatic» wall-hangings!? (He smiles.)

MUMFORD.
Yes, Sir. And you can't tell us they are wrong: because we checked with Mlle Backson! ...

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Perish the thought! (Everybody laughs.) That is, I presume that they are meant to be delocalized representations of (He sketches the following formulas on the board.)

... these heterocyles?

MUMFORD.
Yes, Sir; definitely! ...

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Mmm? ... Lads, would you like me to explain the details of the aromaticity of porphyrin compounds; that's to say, the free-bases and the metallo-complexes?

EAST.
No, Sir! ... I mean, no thank you, Sir. ... We don't wish to be rude, ... or ungrateful, Sir, ... but every time you take Sig. Sal.'s hobby club, you get on your «soap-box».

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Oh! I know when I'm not wanted. (He looks mock aggrieved.) Henceforth, my lips will be sealed! (He smiles.) Which is rather a pity. ... (The boys look intrigued.) ...

BROWN.
Sir, what do you mean, "a pity"? (Dr. B. shrugs.) Sir, come on, spill the beans! ... Please? ...

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Er, ... Alright then. ... Arising — as far as I can gather — from conversations with La Jeunesse dorée, Sig. Sal. has intimated that he would like you to embroider these motifs (He sketches the following formulas on the board.)

... on red silk.

UNMAN.
But, Sir, surely only pyrrole is aromatic?

Dr. BRUMMEL.
Absolutely correct, Unman; well done! ... Apparently, Sig. Sal. wishes to focus attention on the toxic nature of these compounds; and, he suggests that those wall-hangings for the correctly named arsole should be placed in the kitchen of your model monastery. (Then he shivers involuntarily; looks straight through Vespina, who «disappears».) ...

Next: Vespina «reappears» in a room containing a harpsichord, where Flora is playing as Pattullo reads the pages of a musical score; after the last note has died away ...

VESPINA.
Flora, what piece of music were you playing?

FLORA.
Thomas Ravenscroft's Three Blinde Mice, Miss; it's a popular English nursery rhyme.

VESPINA.
Oh!? Flora, ... er, ... given your condition, is that not a rather odd choice?

FLORA.
No, Miss; not at all. ... Spats and I enjoy sharing private jokes. (She turns to Pattullo and smiles; he gently touches her arm.) ...

VESPINA.
Mmm? ... Pattullo, are the mice in this rhyme poisoned, by any chance?

PATTULLO.
No, Miss. ... But, in two versions, there is mention of "a wife and her carving knife". ...

Finally: Vespina «reappears» in a kitchen, where Mlle Agnès Gossâge is supervising a lesson to Lolli, Popsy, and Shandy ...

Mlle GOSSÂGE.
Girrls! (She trills.) In her lesson notes, Signora Salieri has left a few cryptic comments, which read: "From Giovanni del Turco's book Epulario ..., 1602, recipe for ... «To make Pies that the Birds may be Alive in them, and Fly out when they are cut up.» ... Girls to sing nursery rhyme when dough is resting (?)" ... ... I presume she can only be referring to Sing a Song of Sixpence; and, with this recipe, there is truly no time like the present. [Vespina nods vigorously.] So, how about it?

GIRLS.
Oh super, Miss! (In unison.)

Mlle GOSSÂGE.
Formidable !... À trois,... un,... deux,... trois :

GIRLS.
Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye;
Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing;
Wasn't that a dainty dish,to set before the King? (At this moment, Sig. Sal. sails through the door.)

Sig. SALIERI.
Mia cara Agnello, how truly wonderful you are! Not only do you steal my heart, you are generous enough to supervise my spouse's class as well. (Mlle G. attempts to look suitably demure; then ...)

Mlle GOSSÂGE.
My knight errant, hush! You are embarrassing me so; I'm all of a quiver. [Vespina exclaims: "Would the pair of you mind not making love whilst I'm still here!" — but those present do not react to the sound of her voice.] Moreover, this is neither the time nor the place: so I had better leave before Vespina finds us in flagrante ... delicto! (She exits.) ...

Sig. SALIERI.
Ecco, ... Ladies, ... I gather that there remains some time before your pastry dough is ready, so I think we should sing my version of Sing a Song of Sixpence; I will take the first verses, and you can take the second. (He passes a sheet containing the words to each of the girls; then ...)
Agnès was in the kitchen, regrinding a carving knife;
Arsenio was in the garden, disposing of his late wife.
Vespina is now in heaven, making her bread and honey;
As the Faustian heathen, are making love not honey. (Then, using a wooden kitchen spoon, he conducts in ...)

GIRLS.
Sing a song for Vespina, who'd been condemned to die;
Four and twenty ravens, had circled o'er high.
When the Warfarin did set in, the harbingers began to kaw;
Wasn't that a just fate, for an unreasonable mate? ...

[End of dream sequence.]
........................................................................................

00.30 a.m. Same night. Vespina wakes up suddenly to find Sig. Sal., in his red dressing gown, mopping her brow ...

VESPINA.
Qu'est-ce que tu fais !?

Sig. SALIERI.
Chut, chut, ma pauvre chérie ; tu faisais un cauchemar.

VESPINA.
Certes non !... Tu essayais de me tuer.

Sig. SALIERI.
À d'autres !... Tu plaisantes !?

VESPINA.
Non !... Ôte-toi de là ! Tout de suite !

Sig. SALIERI.
Euh !?

VESPINA.
On doit faire chambre à part !... Dépêche-toi ! (Sig. Sal., looking thoroughly bemused, walks through to the adjoining living room with a pillow in hand, and throws said pillow on the sofa. He shakes his head; then sighs deeply.) Et ferme la porte ! (He closes the door firmly.) ...


2.45 p.m. Last full day of term. Dr. S. takes the Lower 6th-Remove for their last lesson of General Studies ...

Dr. STUART.
Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman.

CLASS.
Afternoon, Sir. ...

Dr. STUART.
Mmm, ... With merely one or two loose ends to tidy up, this lesson should be short and sweet! First, I would like each pair to confirm the titles of their play, please — as shown on this table. (He holds up same.) Popsy, would you be so kind? (He smiles engagingly at P.)

POPSY.
Yes, Sir. (She collects said table, shown below, which is then passed round the class, before being returned by Flashman about five minutes later.)

YEAR 12: Group, Remove; Form Tutor, Dr. A. D. Stuart (The Narkoverian Dramas / Les Drames narkovriens)
AUTHOR(S) / AUTEUR(S)	TITLE / TITRE
Salice Albero and Popsy Rice	Willow, Weeping?  Saule, pleureur ?
Constance Bonacieux and Trudi Taplow	Sorrel, Wood?  Oseille, petite ?
Hamish Brown and Scudamore East	Seven Tin Soldiers  Sept Soldats d'étain
Shandy Drynck and Lolli Stich	Waxen Poppets  Poupées de cire
Malice A. Forthort and James Unman	Tar and Feathers  Goudron et Plumes
Alice Lidell-Lonsdale and Toby Mumford	Plagues and Placebos  Plaies et Placebos
Duncan McKechnie and Frederick Zigo	Seminal Thoughts  Pensées seminales
Jack Merridew and George Wittering	The Withering Spirit  L'Esprit se flétrissant
Chalice Poison and Ralph Pattullo	Veils of Hemp  Voiles de chanvre
Flora Stuart and Rudolph Flashman	Opiates of the Masses  Opiacés du peuple
[Xavier Piggy: deceased]

FLASHMAN.
There you are, Sir.

Dr. STUART.
Thank you, Flashman. ... Now, ... Yes, Flora?

FLORA.
Sir, you know the saying «Those who can't, teach»?

Dr. STUART.
Yes, Flora; I am familiar with that so-called witticism.

FLORA.
Well, Sir, ... would you agree that as we — mere students — have been required to write a play, our teacher should also write one? (Initially, he looks flabbergasted; then, hurt; and finally, resolved.)

Dr. STUART.
No, Flora; I most certainly would not agree. (Every member of the class starts muttering; and this slowly builds into a crescendo of disquiet.) Favete linguis! (Silence follows.) Thank you. (Their faces now show an admixture of hostility and disdain.) Oh dear! ... And I had always supposed this to be the season of Christmas cheer? (He laughs gently: but their faces remain unchanged.) Well, this is a sorry end to the term. ... But, so be it. ... However, before you leave, I would like you to listen carefully to my modifications to that snippet, from The Name of the Rose, which I gave you at the beginning of term: (He speaks very slowly.) «What both the temptation of adultery and the yearning for riches is for most of the secular populace, the seduction of knowledge should be for all students.» ... ... Class dismissed! ...


6.30 p.m. Last evening of term. Chalice and Flora are idling the time away in their study-dorm. Carotene, who has been intently watching his mistress, suddenly pricks up his ears and looks at the door. The sound of footsteps increases, then stops abruptly. Preceded by a knock, the door opens; and standing framed in the doorway is Dr. Diana Stuart ...

DIANA.
Salut à vous deux !

CHALICE.
Bonsoir, Mme Stuart.

FLORA.
Maman ! (Smiling, she approaches her mother; then the pair exchange kisses.) ...

DIANA.
Chalice, est-ce que tu attends le concert de Noël ce soir avec impatience ?

CHALICE.
Oui ; j'aime beaucoup les chantes de Noël. (She looks at her watch.) Il commence à environ une heure.

DIANA.
Et, je présume que tu as hâte de partir en vacances ?

CHALICE.
Bien sûr que oui ! (All three laugh indecorously. ... Then D. addresses F.)

DIANA.
Philip est en bas dans la voiture. Est-ce que tu veux tenir compagnie à lui, pendant que je parle un peu à ton père?

FLORA.
Oui, Maman.

DIANA.
Merci. À tantôt. Chalice, Joyeux Noël ! (She exits.) ...


6.45 p.m. Same evening. In his study, Dr. S. is smoking his pipe while listening to Corrette's concerto La Choisy. His (now) ex-wife, Dr. Diana Stuart, arrives outside the door; then she knocks ...

Dr. STUART.
Veni! (She enters. He douses his pipe.) Ah! Look what the witch's broom has dragged in! ... Good evening, Diana. (His tone is jolly. She starts to open all the windows.)

DIANA.
Very droll, Desmond. (Her tone is dismissive. ... Then she smiles.) Although, this is indeed a flying visit: merely to inform you that Flora will be staying here for the first ten days or so of the vacation. ...

Dr. STUART.
Here!? ... But, ... but I don't know how to look after her.

DIANA.
Eh!? "Look after" Flora? ... Don't be such a fool, Desmond. Hmph! ... If truth be told, it would be the other way round; since, despite superficial indications to the contrary, you can barely look after yourself! (Her tone is scornful.) By "here", I meant here in England; with Marianne and Gustav. (He almost suppresses a visible expression of relief.)

Dr. STUART.
I see. ... Mmm. ... Mmm! (He nods.) Yes; that would explain Gustav's rather cryptic comment about there being "one extra place" at Christmas dinner. ... But, why?

DIANA.
Why «what»?

Dr. STUART.
Why isn't Flora going home to Boston with you?

DIANA.
That is none of your business. My private affairs are ... (There is a knock at the door.)

Dr. STUART.
Veni! (Flora opens the door ajar, and stands framed in the doorway with Carotene.)

FLORA.
Mother, ... Philip has asked me to tell you that: "Time is pressing." (D. immediately looks at her watch.)

DIANA.
Oh dear! Yes! Flora, be an angel, tell him: "I'll be down momentarily."

FLORA.
Will do. (She closes the door.) ...

Dr. STUART.
Who the devil is "Philip"? ...

DIANA.
Need to know basis, Desmond. ... Suffice to say that while you may enjoy celebrating the life of a celibate monk — out of choice or ... (She casts a withering glance at his groin area.) ... out of necessity — I have no intention of taking the veil. ... Now, one final point before I fly off: Flora tells me that she hadn't entered your study once since the beginning of term?

Dr. STUART.
No, that's right; she hasn't. I must admit to having found that rather odd.

DIANA.
Not at all! Smoke is an intense irritation to her eyes.

Dr. STUART.
But I never smoke my pipe in front of the students.

DIANA.
I should hope not! But that's completely beside the point; Flora will not enter any room which is used to indulge in this deplorable habit. So, if you wish to get to know your daughter in more congenial surroundings, then you have but one sensible choice. (She starts to move towards the door.) And, I absolutely forbid you to smoke in Gustav's house over Christmas. Seasons greetings, Desmond! (She exits.) ...


2.30 p.m. Second afternoon of the winter vacation. In his study, Mr. Pond, looking tired and flushed, is seated behind his desk. Dr. S. arrives outside the door; then he knocks ...

Mr. POND.
Enter. (Dr. S. enters.) Ah! ... Alec, there you are.

Dr. STUART.
Yes, Headmaster. ... Oh! Forgive me for saying so, but you look decidedly under the weather. (His tone is concerned.)

Mr. POND.
I think I have one of those pesky winter colds, and a touch of indigestion. (As he shrugs, he grimaces; then points to a chair.) Alec, please do sit down.

Dr. STUART.
Thank you, Headmaster. ... ...? (He looks inquiringly.)

Mr. POND.
Ah, yes. I wanted to see you, Alec, so that we could have a little chat about General Studies with Year 12 this term: how do you feel it went?

Dr. STUART.
Fair-to-middling, I would say, Headmaster. Although, to be truthful, I have needed to do little in the way of formal teaching because the class have busied themselves with their dramatic activities; ... albeit with mixed results.

Mr. POND.
Are you referring to those two farces by Gueullette?

Dr. STUART.
Yes, Headmaster; in part. ... As doubtless both you and your lady wife would agree, neither would have proved suitable for the Lycée Villiers: but, largely due to Chandeleur's splendid leading of the class discussions, both provided the students with broader and deeper perspectives. ...

Mr. POND.
Would you say that these students are showing encouraging signs of maturity?

Dr. STUART.
Yes, ... in academic terms, at least: but I would have to reserve judgement on their extra-curricular activities; being, as they are, species of iceberg. (Both he and Mr. P. share a smile.) ...

Mr. POND.
Er, ... So, Alec, we do not have a suitable divertissement for the Lycée? (His tone is slightly anxious.)

Dr. STUART.
On the contrary, Headmaster; Pattullo has been beavering away with some lad called Aramis at the Lycée to produce a script which — according to Arsenio — should mollify even Father Richelieu! (He smiles. Mr. P. initially expresses a look of relief; this slowly changes to one of doubt.)

Mr. POND.
Oh? So, you haven't seen the script, Alec?

Dr. STUART.
No, Headmaster. However, I can assure you there is nothing sinister afoot. Apparently, their divertissement has a very strong musical element: so it is simply a matter of «horses for courses». (Mr. P. looks relieved again.) ...

Mr. POND.
And, er, ... Alec, how are the other students shaping up as putative dramatists? ...

Dr. STUART.
Slow and slightly unsure, I would say, Headmaster. However, as I intimated before, Chandeleur's discussions did provide each of them with a much needed fillip.

Mr. POND.
Excellent! (He looks at Dr. S. with mischievous intent.) I gather your students floated the idea that you should write a play? (He smiles.)

Dr. STUART.
Yes, Headmaster. ... Needless to say, I gave that particular kite short shrift; most definitely one for the long grass! (He smiles.)

Mr. POND.
Oh, Alec! I do think you have been more than a shade hasty there. ... Leading by example, and so forth?

Dr. STUART.
Headmaster, I have no pretensions whatsoever in that genre. (His tone is rather pompous.)

Mr. POND.
Alec, rest assured, I, for one, was not suggesting that you have. ... Nevertheless, because I feel that there may — just may — be some symbiotic benefits, I would urge you to do me the courtesy of at least reconsidering your decision. ...

Dr. STUART.
Yes, Headmaster; such a gracious suggestion demands no less.

Mr. POND.
Thank you, Alec. (He attempts to smile appreciatively: but then grimaces.) Alec. Alec! (Dr. S. rises immediately to his feet.) I've this crushing pain in my chest. Ergh! ... (Dr. S. moves rapidly to the other side of the desk — where Mr. P., doubled-up in pain, is breathless and looks sweaty: but is conscious.) No, ... I ... I don't feel well at all. Ergh! ... Alec!

Dr. STUART.
Bassett, is this pain like a tight band around your body? (His tone is very gentle and concerned.)

Mr. POND.
Ye ... Er ... Ergh! Alec, Alec, ... yes, but ... but it's also ... my neck ... my ... my ... Oh Alec! ... my arms ... He ... help ... me. (Dr. S. places Mr. P.'s legs on a foot-stool; then undoes the latter's jacket, collar, and tie.)

Dr. STUART.
That's a bit better; we will have you sorted out in no time! I'll just make a couple of calls. (He dials the telephone: ... ["Service required?"] "Ambulance to Narkover College, please; for Mr. Pond, Headmaster; suspected heart attack — first-aid is being given." ... He dials the phone a second time: ... ["Borchester, double-two, double-four, double-six. Dr. Krautmann speaking."] "Gustav, Alec here. Listen! No time for pleasantries. The Headmaster has had a mild heart attack; I've phoned for an ambulance." ["Right: on my way, Alec."] He dials the phone a third time: ... ["Narkover, double-two, zero; Mrs. Pond speaking."] "C'est Alec Stuart. Votre mari avait a eu une petite crise cardiaque ; le docteur Krautmann et une ambulance sont en route." [There is a loud click on t'other end.] "Mme Pond ?... Mme Pond ?...") ...

Playlet 8 (Spring Term 3):
Paradies-Konzert