\ A Laemmle Donation ROCOCO A Farce in One Act BY HARLEY GRANVILLE-BARKER SAMUEL FRENCH Founded 1845 • Incorporated 1898 25 West 45TH St. 811 West 7th St. New York City Los Angeles ^ Price 50 Cents ROCOCO A Farce in One Act BY HARLEY GRANVILLE-BARKER SAMUEL FRENCH New York , London Los Angeles Koyalty oii this play payable to om Loe Angeles OHice SAMUEL FRENCH FiNt. /s^-s Bldo,. 811 WrsT 7th Stubrt TifUrHoMlt VANOIKE 6B»4 l_OS ANC»KL,E*i, Ca I.! r. COPYRIGHT, 191 7, BY GRANVILLE BARKER All Rights Reserved ■ ' Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance, representation, production, recitation, or public reading, or radio broadcasting may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York, or 811 West 7 th Street, Los Angeles, California. This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of Ten Dollars for each performance, payable to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York, one week before the date when the play is given. Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French of New York." Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any infringement of the author's rights, as follows : "Section 4966: — Any person publicly performing or repre- senting any dramatic or musical composition for which copy- right has been obtained, without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful per- formance and representation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes : Title 60, Chap. 3. Rococo A FARCE 1912 r907f5y rK ROCOCO Do you know how ugly the drawing-room of an English vicar- age can be? Yes, I am aware of all that there should be about it; the old-world grace and charm of Jane- Austenism. One should sit upon Chippendale and glimpse the grey Norman church-tower through the casement. But what of the pious foundations of a more industrial age, churches built in mid-nineteenth century and rather scamped in the building, dedicated to the Glory of God and the soul's health of some sweating and sweated urban district? The Bishop would have a vicarage added grumbled the church-donor. Well, then, consider his comfort a little, but to the glory of the Vicar nothing need be done. And nothing was. The architect (this an added labour of but little love to him) would give an ecclesiastical touch to the front porch, a pointed top to the front door, add some stained glass to the staircase window. But a mean house, a stuffy house, and the Vicar must indeed have fresh air in his soul if mean a7td stuffy doctrine was not to be gener- ated there. The drawing-room would be the best room, and not a bad room in its way, if it weren't that its proportions were vile, as though it felt it wanted to be larger than it was, and if the window and the fireplace and the door didn't seem to be quarrelling as to which should be the most conspicuous. The fireplace wins. This particular one in this particular drawing-room is of yellow wood, stained and grained. It reaches not quite to the ceiling. It has a West Front air, if looking-glass may 3 4 ROCOCO stand for windows; it is fretted, moreover, here and there, with little trefoil holes. It bears a full assault of the Vicar's wife's ideas of how to make the place "look nice." There is the clock, of course, which won't keep time; there are the vases which won't hold water; framed photographs, as many as can be crowded on the shelves; in every other crevice knickknacks. Then, if you stand, as the Vicar often stands, at this point of van- tage you are conscious of the wall-paper of amber and blue with a frieze above it measuring of yard by yard a sort of desert scene, a mountain, a lake, three palm trees, two camels; and again; and again; until by the corner a camel and a palm tree are cut out. On the walls there are pictures, of course. Two of them convey to you in a vague and water-coloury sort of way that an English countryside is pretty. There is "Christ among the Doctors," with a presentation brass plate on its frame; there is "Simply to Thy Cross I Cling." And there is an illuminated testimonial to the Vicar, a mark of affection and esteem from the flock he ministered to as senior curate. The furniture is either very heavy, stuffed, sprung, and tapestry- covered, or very light. There are quite a number of small tables {occasional-tables they are called), which should have four legs but have only three. There are several chairs, too, on which it would be unwise to sit down. In the centre of the room, beneath the hanging, pink-shaded, electric chandelier, is a mahogany monument, a large round table of the "pedestal'^ variety, and on it tower to a climax the vicarage symbols of gentility and culture. In the centre of this table, beneath a glass shade, an elaborate reproduction of some sixteenth- century Pietd (a little High Church, it is thought; but Art, for some reason, runs that way). It stands on a Chinese silk mat, sent home by some exiled uncle. It ROCOCO 5 is symmetrically surrounded by gift books, a photograph album, a tray of painted Indian figures (very jolly! another gift from the exiled uncle), and a whalers tooth. The whole ajffair is draped with a red embroidered cloth. The window of the room, with so many sorts of curtains and blinds to it that one would think the Vicar hatched conspiracies here by night, admits but a blurring light, which the carpet {Brussels) reflects, toned to an ugly yellow. You really would not expect such a thing to be happening in such a place, but this carpet is at the moment the base of an apparently mortal struggle. The Vicar is under- most, his baldish head, when he tries to raise it, falls back and bumps. Kneeling on him, throttling his collar, is a hefty young man conscientiously out of temper, with scarlet face glowing against carrotty hair. His name is Reginald and he is {one regrets to add) the Vicar's nephew, though it be only by marriage. The Vicar's wife, fragile and fifty, is making pathetic attempts to pull him off. "Have you had enough? " asks Reginald and grips the Vicar hard. "Oh, Reginald . . . be good," is all the Vicar's wife's appeal. Not two yards off a minor battle rages. Mrs. Reginald, coming up to reinforce, was intercepted by Miss Underwood, the Vicar's sister, on the same errand. The elder lady now has the younger pinned by the elbows and she emphasises this very handsome control of the situa- tion by teeth-rattling shakes. "Cat . . . cat . . . cat!" gasps Mrs. Reginald^ who is plump and flaxen and easily disarranged. Miss Underwood only shakes her again. "I'll teach you manners, miss." "Oh, Reginald . . . do drop him," moans poor Mrs. Under- wood^. For this is really very bad for the Vicar. 6 ROCOCO "Stick a pin into him, Mary," advises her sister-in-law. _ Whereat Mrs. Reginald yelps in her iron grasp, "Don't you dare . . . it's poisonous," and then, "Oh . . . if you weren't an old woman I'd have boxed your ears." Three violent shakes. " Would you? Would you? Would you? " "/ haven't got a pin, Carinthia," says Mrs. Underwood. She has conscientiously searched. "Pull his hair, then," commands Carinthia. At intervals, like a signal gun, Reginald repeats his query: "Have you had enough?" And the Vicar, though it is evident that he has, still, with some unsur rendering school-days' echo answering in his mind, will only gasp, "Most undignified . . . clergyman of the Church of England . . . your host, sir . . . ashamed of you . . , let me up at once." Mrs. Underwood has failed at the hair; she flaps her hands in despair. "It's too jhort, Carinthia," she moans. Mrs. Reginald begins to sob pitifully. It is very painful to be tightly held by the elbows from behind. So Miss Underwood, with the neatest of twists and pushes, lodges her in a chair, and thus released herself, folds her arms and surveys the situation. "Box my ears, T^uld you?" is her postscript. MRS. REGINALD. Well . . , you boxed father's. MISS UNDERWOOD. Where is your wretched father-in-law? Her hawklike eye surveys the room for this unknown in vain. REGINALD. {^The proper interval having apparently elapsed.2 Have you had enough? Dignified he cannot look, thus outstretched. The Vicar, therefore, assumes a mixed expression of saintliness and obstinacy, his next best resource. His poor wife moans again. . . . MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, plcasc, Reginald . . . the floor's so hard for him! ROCOCO 7 REGINALD. '[A little anxious to have done with it himself. 2 Have you had enough? THE VICAR. \_Quite supine.'} Do you consider this conduct becoming a gentleman? MRS. UNDERWOOD. And . . . Simon! ... if the servants have heard . . . they must have heard. What will they think? No, even this heart-breaking appeal falls flat. REGINALD. Say you've had enough and I'll -let you up. THE VICAR. ^Reduced to casuistry.} It's not at all the sort of thing I ought to say. MRS. UNDEi^ooD. "po helpless.} Oh ... I think you might say it, Simon, just for once. MISS UNDERWOOD. {Grim with the pride of her own victory^ Say nothing,of the sort, Simon! The Vicar has a burst of exasperation; for, after all, he is on the floor and being knelt on. THE VICAR. Confound it all, then, Carinthia, why don't you do something? Carinthia casts a tactical eye over Reginald. The Vicar adds in parenthesis . . . a human touch! . . . THE VICAR. Don't kneel there, you young fool, you'll break my watch! MISS UNDERWOOD. Wait till I get my breath. But this prospect raises in Mrs. Underwood a perfect dithyramb of despair. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, please, Carinthia . . . No . . . don't start again . Such a scandal! I wonder everything's not broken. [So coaxingly to Reginald^ Shall I say it for him? MRS. REGINALD. [Fat little bantam, as she smooths her feathers in the armchair!} You make him say it, Reggie. But now the servants are on poor Mrs. Under- wood's brain. Almost down to her knees she goes. MRS. UNDERWOOD. They'll be coming up to see what the noise is. Oh . . . Simon! 8 ROCOCO // does strike the Vicar that this would occasion con- siderable scandal in the parish. There are so few good excuses for being found lying on the carpet, your nephew kneeling threateningly on the top of you. So he makes up his mind to it and enunciates with musical charm; it anight be a benediction. . . . THE VICAR. I have had enough. REGINALD. [7w some relief^ That's all right. He rises from the prostrate church militant; he even helps it rise. This pleasant family party then look at each other, an^, truth to tell, they are all a little ashamed. MRS. UNDERWOOD. [Walking round the re-erected pillar of righteousness.^ Oh, how dusty you are! MISS UNDERWOOD. Ycs! [^The normal self uprising.^ Room's not been swept this morning. The Vicar, dusted, feels that a reign of moral law can now be resumed. He draws himself up to fully five foot six. THE VICAR. Now, sir, you will please apologise. REGINALD. [^Looking very muscular."] I shall not. The Vicar drops the subject. Mrs. Reginald mutters and crows from the armchair. MRS. REGINALD. Ha . . . who began it? Black and blue I am! Miss Underwood can apologise . . . your precious sister can apologise. MISS UNDERWOOD. {^Crushing if inconsequent^ You're running to fat, Gladys. Where's my embroidery? MRS. UNDERWOOD. I put it Safe, Carinthia. [_She dis- closes it and then begins to pat and smooth the dishevelled room.'] Among relations too! One expects to quarrel sometimes ... it can't be helped. But not fighting! Oh; I never did ... I feel so ashamed! MISS UNDERWOOD. [^Britannia-l!f:e.] Nonsense, IVIary. MRS. REGINALD. Nobody toucheu you, Aunt Mary. THE VICAR. [After his eyes have wandered vaguely round.] Where's your father, Reginald? ROCOCO 9 REGINALD. \^Quiie uninterested. He is straightening his own tie and collar.^ I don't know. In the little silence that follows there comes a voice from under the mahogany monument. It is a voice at once dignified and pained, and the property of Reginald's father, whose name is Mortimer Uglow. And it says . . . THE VOICE. I am here. MRS. UNDERWOOD. [Who may be forgiven nerves."] Oh, how uncanny! REGINALD. [_Still at his tie.'] Well, you can come out, father, it's quite safe. THE VOICE. \^Most unexpectedly.] I shall not. [^And then more unexpectedly still.] You can all leave the room. THE VICAR. [Who is generally resentful.] Leave the room! whose room is it, mine or yours? Come out, Mor- timer, and don't be a fool. But there is only silence. Why will not Mr. Uglow come out? Must he be ratted for? Then Mrs. Under- wood sees why. She points to an object on the floor. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Simon! THE VICAR. What is it? Again, and this time as if to indicate some mystery, Mrs. Underwood points. The Vicar picks up the object, some disjection of the fight he thinks, and waves it mildly. THE VICAR. Well, where does it go? I wonder every- thing in the room's not been upset! MRS. UNDERWOOD. No, Simon, it's not a mat, it's his . . . She concludes with an undeniable gesture, even a smile. The Vicar, sniffing a little, hands over the trophy. REGINALD. £As he views it^ Oh, of course. MRS. REGINALD. Reggie, am I tidy at the back? He tidies her at the back — a meticulous matter of hooks and eyes and oh, his fingers are so big. Mrs. Under- wood has taken a little hand-painted mirror from the mantelpiece, and this and the thing in question she 10 ROCOCO places just without the screen of the falling tablecloth much as a devotee might place an offering at a shrine. But in Miss Underwood dwells no respect for persons. MISS UNDERWOOD. Now, sir, for Heaven's sake put on your wig and come out. There emerges a hand that trembles with wrath; it re- trieves the offerings; there follow bumpings into the tablecloth as of a head and elbows. THE VICAR. I must go and brush myself. MRS. uxDERWOOD. Simon, d'you think you could tell the maids that something fell over . . . they are such tattlers. It wouldn't be untrue. [_It wouldnH!'\ THE VICAR. I should scorn to do so, Mary. If they ask me, I must make the best explanation I can. The Vicar swims out. Mr. Mortimer Uglow, his wig assutned and hardly awry at all, emerges from be- neath the table. He is a vindictive-looking little man. MRS. UNDERWOOD. You're not hurt, Mortimer, are you? Mr. Uglow's only wound is in the dignity. That he cures by taking the situation oratorically in hand. MR. UGLOW. If we are to continue this famUy discussion and if Miss Underwood, whom it does not in the least con- cern, has not the decency to leave the room and if you, Mary, cannot request your sister-in-law to leave it, I must at least demand that she does not speak to m e again. Whoever else might be impressed, Miss Underwood is not. She does not even glance up from her em- broidery. MISS UNDERWOOD. A good thing for you I hadn't my thimble on when I did it. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Carinthia, I don't think you should have boxed Mortimer's ears . . . you know him so shghtly. MISS UNDERWOOD. He called me a Futile Female. I considered it a suitable reply. The echo of that epigram brings compensation to Mr. Uglow. He puffs his chest. ROCOCO 11 MR. UGLOW. Your wife rallied to me, Reginald. I am much obliged to her . . . which is more than can be said of you. REGINALD. Well, you can't hit a woman. MR. UGLOW. ^Biiingly.'} And she knows it. MISS UNDERWOOD. Pf ! The sound conveys that she would tackle a regiment of men with her umbrella: and she would. REGINALD. [^Apoplectic, but he has worked down to the waist.2 There's a hook gone. MRS. REGINALD. I thought SO ! Lace torn? REGINALD, It doesn't show much. But I tackled Uncle Simon the minute he touched Gladys . . . that got my blood up all right. Don't you worry. We won. This callotisly sporting summary is too much for Mrs. Underwood: she dissolves. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, that such a thing should ever have happened in our house! . . . in my drawing-room! ! . . . real blows! ! ! . . . MRS. REGINALD. Dou't cry, Aunt Mary ... it wasn't your fault. The Vicar returns, his hair and his countenance smoother. He adds his patting consolations to his poor wife's comfort. MRS. UNDERWOOD. And I was kicked on the shin. MRS. REGINALD. Say you're sorry, Reggie. THE VICAR. My dear Mary . . . don't cry. MRS. UNDERWOOD. [Clasping her beloved's arm.'} Simon did it . . . Reggie was throttling him black ... he couldn't help it. THE VICAR. I suggest that we show a more or less Chris- tian spirit in letting bygones be bygones and endeavour to resume the discussion at the point where it ceased to be an amicable one. [His wife, her clasp on his coat, through her drying tears has found more trouble.} Yes, there is a slight rent . . . never mind. 12 ROCOCO The family party now settles itself into what may have been more or less the situations from which they were roused to physical combat. Mr. Uglow secures a central place. MR. UGLOW. My sister-in-law Jane had no right to be- queath the Vase ... it was not hers to bequeath. That is the gage of battle. A legacy! What English family has not at some time shattered its mutual regard upon this iron rock. One notices now that all these good folk are in deepest mourning, on which the dust of combat stands up the more distinctly, as indeed it should. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, Mortimer, think if you'd been able to come to the funeral and this had all happened then ... it might have done! MISS UNDERWOOD. But it didn't, Mary . . . control yourself. MR. UGLOW. My brother George wrote to me on his death-bed . . . {^And then fiercely to the Vicar, as if this concerned his calling^ . . . on his death-bed, sir. I have the letter here. . . . THE VICAR. Yes, we've heard it. REGINALD. And you sent them a copy. Mr. U glow's hand always seems to tremble; this time it is with excitement as he has pulled the letter from his pocket-book. MR. UGLOW. Quiet, Reginald! Hear it again and pay attention. \^They settle to a strained boredom.'] "The Rococo Vase presented to me by the Emperor of Ger- many" . . . Now there he's wrong. \^The sound of his own reading has uplifted him: he condescends to them.] They're German Emperors, not Emperors of Germany. But George was an inaccurate fellow. Reggie has the same trick . . . it's in the family. I haven't it. He is returning to the letter. But the Vicar interposes, lamblike, ominous though. ROCOCO 13 THE VICAR. I have not suggested on Mary's behalf . . . I wish you would remember, Mortimer, that the position I take up in this matter I take up purely on my wife's be- half. What have I to gain? REGINALD. {Clodhopping^ Well, you're her husband, aren't you? She'll leave things to you. And she's older than you are. THE VICAR. Reginald, you are most indelicate. [^And then, really thinking it is true . . •~\ I have forborne to demand an apology from you. . . . REGINALD. Because you wouldn't get it. MRS. UNDERWOOD. ^Genuinely and generously accommodat- ing.'} Oh, I don't want the vase ... I don't want any- thing! THE VICAR. £He is gradually mounting the pulpit.2 Don't think of the vase, Mary. Think of the principle involved. MRS. UNDERWOOD. And you may die first, Simon. You're not strong, though you look it . . . all the colds you get . . . and nothing's ever the matter with me. MR. UGLOW. \_Ignored . . . ignored!} Mary, how much longer am I to wait to read this letter? THE VICAR. [Ominously, ironically lamblike now.} Quite so. Your brother is waiting patiently . . . and politely. Come, come; a Christian and a businesslike spirit! Mr. Uglow's very breath has been taken to resume the reading of the letter when on him . . . worse, on that tender top-knot of his . . . he finds Miss Underwood's hawklike eye. Its look passes through him, piercing Infinity as she says . . . MISS UNDERWOOD. Why not a skull-cap ... a sanitary skull-cap? MR. UGLOW. [With a minatory though fearful gasp.} What's that? THE VICAR. Nothing, Mortimer. ' REGINALD. Some people look for trouble! 14 ROCOCO MISS UNDERWOOD. \^Addressing the Infinite still7\ And those that it fits can wear it. THE VICAR. [_A little fearful himself. He is terrified of his sister, that's the truth. And well he may be.~\ Let's have the letter, Mortimer. MISS UNDERWOOD. Or at least a little gum ... a little glue ... a little stickphast for decency's sake. She swings it to a beautiful rhythm. No, on the whole, Mr. Uglow will not join issue. MR. UGLOW. I trust that my dignity requires no vindica- tion. Never mind ... I say nothing. \^And with a for- giving air he returns at last to the letter.'] "The Rococo Vase presented to me by the Emperor of Germany" ... or German Emperor. THE VICAR. Agreed. Don't cry, Mary. Well, here's a clean one. [^Benevolently he hands her a handkerchief^ MR. UGLOW. "On the occasion of my accompanying the mission." MISS UNDERWOOD. Mission! The word has touched a spot. THE VICAR. Not a r e a 1 mission, Carinthia. MR. UGLOW. A perfectly real mission. A mission from the Chamber of Commerce at . . . Don't go on as if the world were made up of low church parsons and . . . and . .'*. their sisters! As a convinced secularist behold him a perfect fighting cock. REGINALD. \_Bored, but oh, so bored!] Do get ahead, father. MR. UGLOW. [With a flourish.] "Mission et cetera." Here we are. "My dear wife must have the enjoyment" . . . [Again he condescends to them.] Why he called her his dear wife I don't know. They hated each other like poison. But that was George all over . . . soft . . . never would face the truth. It's a family trait. You show signs of it, Mary. ROCOCO 15 THE VICAR. [_Soft and low.'^ He was on his death-bed. REGINALD. Get On . . . father. MR. UGLOW. "My wife" . . . She wasn't his dear wife. What's the good of pretending it? . . . "must have the en- joyment of it while she lives. At her death I desire it to be an heirloom for the family." \^And he makes the last sen- tence tell, every word.^ There you are! THE VICAR. [^Lamblike, ominous, ironic, persistent. 2 You sit looking at Mary. His sister and yours. Is she a member of the family or not? MR. UGLOW. [Cocksure.2 Boys before girls . . . men before women. Don't argue that . . . it's the law. Titles and heirlooms ... all the same thing. MRS. UNDERWOOD. [Worm-womanlike, turning ever so little.'} Mortimer, it isn't as if we weren't giving you all the family things . . . the miniature and the bust of John Bright and grandmother's china and the big Shake- speare . . . MR. UGLOW. Giving them, Mary, giving them? THE VICAR. Surrendering them willingly, Mortimer. They have ornamented our house for years. MRS. REGINALD. It isn't as if you hadn't done pretty well out of Aunt Jane while she was alive! THE VICAR. Oh, delicacy, Gladys! And some regard for the truth! MRS. REGINALD. [^No nonscnse about her.} No, if we're talking business let's talk business. Her fifty pounds a year more than paid you for keeping her, didn't it? Did it or didn't it? REGINALD. ^Gloomily.} She never eat anything that I could see. THE VICAR. She had a delicate appetite. It needed teasing ... I mean coaxing. Oh, dear, this is most un- pleasant! REGINALD. Fifty pound a year is nearly a pound a week, you know. 16 ROCOCO THE VICAR. What about her clothes . . . what about her Uttle holidays . . . what about the doctor . . . what about her temper to the last? [_He summons the classics to clear this sordid air.'\ Oh: De mortuis nil nisi bonum! MRS. UNDERWOOD. She was a great trouble with her meals, Reginald. MR. UGLOW. \_Letting rip.2 She was a horrible woman. I disliked her more than any woman I've ever met. Sne brought George to bankruptcy. When he was trying to arrange with his creditors and she came into the room, her face would sour them ... I tell you, sour them. MRS. REGINALD. [^She SUMS it Up."} Well, Uncle Simon's a clergyman and can put up with unpleasant people. It suited them well enough to have her. You had the room, Aunt Mary, you can't deny that. And anyway she's dead now . . . poor Aunt Jane! \^She throws this conventional verbal bone to Cerberus.'} And what with the things she has left you . . . ! What's to be done with her clothes? Gladys and Mrs. Underwood suddenly face each other like two ladylike ghouls. MRS. UNDERWOOD. WcU, you remember the mauve silk . . . THE VICAR. Mary, pray allow me. ^Somehow his delicacy is shocked.} The Poor. MRS. REGINALD. \^In violent protest.} Not the mauve silk! Nor her black lace shawl! MISS UNDERWOOD. [_Shooting it out.} They will make soup. // makes Mr. Uglow jump, physically and mentally too. MR. UGLOW. What! MISS UNDERWOOD. The proceeds of their sale will make much needed soup . . . and blankets. ^Again her gaze transfixes that wig and she addresses Eternity.} No brain under it! . . . No wonder it's loose! No brain. Mr. Uglow just manages to ignore it. REGINALD. Where is the beastly vase? I don't know that I want to inherit it. ROCOCO 17 MR. UGLOW. Yes, may I ask for the second or third time to-day? . . . mss UNDERWOOD. The third. MR. UGLOW. l^He screws a baleful glance at her.2 May I ask for the second or third time . . . '' REGINALD. It is the third time, father. MR. UGLOW. £nis own son, too!'} Reginald, you have no tact. May I ask why the vase is not to be seen? MISS UNDERWOOD. {_Sharply7\ It's put away. MRS. REGINALD. [_As sharp as she. Never any nonsense about Gladys7\ Why? MR. UGLOW. Gladys . . . ignore that, please, Mary? MRS. UNDERWOOD. Yes, Mortimer. MR. UGLOW. It has been chipped. THE VICAR. It has not been chipped. MR. UGLOW. I f it has been chipped ... THE VICAR. I say it has not been chipped. MR. UGLOW. If it had been chipped, sir ... I should have held you responsible! Produce it. He is indeed very much of a man. A little more and he 7/ slap his chest. But the Vicar, lamblike, etc. . . . we can now add dangerous. . . . THE VICAR. Oh, no, we must not be ordered to produce it. MR. UGLOW. {^Trumpet-toned.'] Produce it, Simon. THE VICAR. Neither must we be shouted at. MISS UNDERWOOD. . . . or bawled at. Bald at! Ha, ha! And she taps her grey-haired parting with a thimbled finger to emphasize the pun, Mr. Uglow rises, too in- tent on his next impressive stroke even to notice it, or seem to. MR. UGLOW. Simon, if you do not instantly produce the vase I shall refuse to treat this any longer in a friendly way. I shall place the matter in the hands of my solicitors. This, in any family — is it not the final threat? Mrs. Underwood is genuinely shocked. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, Simonl 18 ROCOCO THE VICAR. As a matter of principle, Mary. . . . REGINALD. \_Impartially7\ What rot! MRS. UNDERWOOD. It was put away, I think, so that the sight of it might not rouse discussion . . . wasn't it Simon? REGINALD. WcU, we'vc had the discussion. Now get it out. THE VICAR. [^Lamblike . . . etc.; add obstinate now.^ It is my principle not to submit to dictation. If I were asked politely to produce it. . . . REGINALD. Ask him politely, father. MR. UGLOW. \yVhy shouldn't he have principles, too?~\ I don't think I can. To ask politely might be an admission of some right of his to detain the property. This matter will go further. I shall commit myself in nothing without legal advice. MRS. REGINALD. You get it out, Aunt Mary. MRS. UNDERWOOD. [_Almost thankful to be helpless in the matterJ} I can't. I don't know where it is. MR. UGLOW. [_All the instinct for Law in him blazing.]} You don't . . . ! This is important. He has no right to keep it from you, Mary. I venture to think. . . . THE VICAR. Husband and wife are one, Mortimer. MR. UGLOW. Not in Law. Don't you cram your religion down my throat. Not in Law any longer. We've im- proved all that. The married woman's property act! I venture to think. . . . Miss Underwood has disappeared. Her comment is to slam the door. MRS. UNDERWOOD. I think perhaps Carinthia has gone for it, Mortimer. MR. UGLOW. [^The case given him, he asks for costs, as it were.'} Then I object. ... I object most strongly to this woman knowing the whereabouts of a vase which you, Mary. . . . THE VICAR. [_A little of the mere layman peeping now."} Mortimer, do not refer to my sister as "this woman." ROCOCO 19 MR. UGLOW. Then treat my sister with the respect that is due to her, Simon. They are face to face. THE VICAR. I hope I do, Mortimer. MR. UGLOW. And will you request Miss Underwood not to return to this room with or without the vase? THE VICAR. Why should I? MR. UGLOW. What has she to do with a family matter of mine? I make no comment, Mary, upon the way you allow yourself to be ousted from authority in your own house. It is not my place to comment upon it and I make none. I make no reference to the insults . . . the un- womanly insults that have been hurled at me by this Futile Female . . . REGINALD. {^A remembered schroimaster joke. He feels not unlike one as he watches his l^un) elders squared to each other ^ Apt alliteration's artful aid . . what? MR. UGLOW. Don't interrupt. MRS. REGINALD. You're getting excited again, father. MR. UGLOW. I am not. MRS. REGINALD. Father! There is one sure way to touch Mr. Uglow. She takes it. She points to his wig. MR. UGLOW. What? Well . . . where's a glass . . . Where's a glass? He goes to the mantelpiece mirror. His sister follows him. MRS. UNDERWOOD. We talked it over this morning, Mor- timer, and we agreed that I am of a yielding disposition and I said I should feel much safer if I did not even know where it was while you were in the house. MR. UGLOW. [With every appropriate bitterness.'} And I your loving brother! THE VICAR. [Not to be outdone by Reginald in quotations.} A Httle more than kin and less than kind. MR. UGLOW. [His wig is straight.} How dare you, Simon? A little more than ten minutes ago and I was 20 ROCOCO struck . . . here in your house. How dare you quote poetry at me? The Vicar feels he must pronounce on this. THE VICAR. I regret that Carinthia has a masterful nature. She is apt to take the law into her own hands. And I fear there is something about you, Mortimer, that invites violence. I can usually tell when she is going to be unruly; there's a peculiar twitching of her hands. If you had not been aggravating us all with your so-called argu- ments, I should have noticed it in time and . . -. taken steps. MRS. UNDERWOOD. We're really very sorry, Mortimer. We can always . . . take steps. But . . . dear me! . . . I was never so surprised in my life. You all seemed to go mad at once. I makes me hot now to think of it. The truth about Carinthia is that she is sometimes thought to be a little off her head. It ^s a form of genius. THE VICAR. I shall have a headache to-morrow . . . my sermon day. Mr. Uglow now begins to glow with a sense of coming victory. And he's not bad-natured, give him what he wants. MR. UGLOW. Oh, no, you won't. More frightened than hurt! These things will happen . . . the normal gross- feeding man sees red, you know, sees red. Reggie as a small boy . . . quite uncontrollable! REGINALD. Well, I like that! You howled out for help. THE VICAR. ^Lamblike and only lamblike.^ I am willing to obliterate the memory. MRS. REGINALD. I'm sure I'm black and blue , . . and more torn than I can see. MR. UGLOW. But what can you do when a woman forgets herself? I simply stepped aside ... I happen to value my dignity. The door opens. Miss Underwood with the vase. She deposits it on the mahogany table. It is two feet in ROCOCO 21 height. It is lavishly blotched with gold and white and red. It has curves and crinkles. Its handles are bossy. My God, it is a Vase! MISS UNDERWOOD. There it is. MR. UGLOW. [IVith a victor's dignity.'] Thank you, Miss Underwood. [He puts up gold-rimmed glasses.] Ah . . . pure Rococo! REGINALD. The Vi-Cocoa vase! MR. UGLOW. That's not funny, Reginald. REGINALD. Well ... I think it is. The trophy before him, Mr. Uglow mellows. MR. UGLOW. Mary, you've often heard George tell us. The Emperor welcoming 'em . . . fine old fellow . . . speech in German . . . none of them understood it. Then at the end . . . Gentlemen, I raise my glass. Hock . . . hock . . . hock! REGINALD. [_Who knows a German accent when he hears it.] A little more spit in it. MR. UGLOW. Reginald, you're very vulgar. REGINALD. Is that Potsdam? The monstrosity has coloured views on it, one back, one front. MR. UGLOW. Yes , . . home of Friedrich der Grosse! A great nation. We can learn a lot from 'em! This was before the war. What he says of them now is unprintable. REGINALD. Yes. I suppose it's a jolly handsome piece of goods. Cost a lot. MR. UGLOW. Royal factory . . . built to imitate Sevres! Apparently he would contemplate it for hours. But the Vicar . . . Lamblike, etc. ; add insinuating now. THE VICAR. Well, Mortimer, here is the vase. Now where are we? MRS. REGINALD. [_Really protesting for the first time.] Oh . . . are we going to begin all over again! Why don't you sell it and share up? 22 ROCOCO MRS. UNDERWOOD. Gladys, I don't think that would be quite nice. MRS. REGINALD. I can't scc why not. MR. UGLOW. Sell an heirloom ... it can't be done. REGINALD. Oh, yes, it can. You and I together . . . cut off the entail . . . that's what it's called. It'd fetch twenty pounds at Christie's. MR. UGLOW. [The sight of it has exalted him beyond reason.2 More . . . more! First class rococo. I shouldn't dream of it. Miss Underwood has resumed her embroidery. She pulls a determined needle as she says . . . MISS UNDERWOOD. I think Mary would have a share in the proceeds, wouldn't she? MR. UGLOW. I think not. THE VICAR. Why not, Mortimer? MR. UGLOW. [With fine detachment.'] Well, it's a point of law. I'm not quite sure . . . but let's consider it in Equity. [Not that he knows what on earth he means!] If I died . . . and Reginald died childless and Mary survived us . . . and it came to her? Then there would be our cousins the Bamfords as next inheritors. Could she by arrangement with them sell and . . . ? MRS. UNDERWOOD. I shouldn't like to sell it. It would seem like a slight on George . . . because he went bankrupt perhaps. And Jane always had it in her bedroom. MISS UNDERWOOD. [ThimbUng the determined needle through.] Most unsuitable for a bedroom. MRS. UNDERWOOD. [Anxious to pkase.] Didn't you suggest, Simon, that I might undertake not to leave it out of the family? THE VICAR. [Covering a weak spot.] In private conversa- tion with you, Mary . . . MR. UGLOW. [Most high and mighty, oh most!] I don't accept the suggestion. I don't ac^ept it at all. THE VICAR. [And now taking the legal line in his turn.^ ROCOCO 23 Let me point out to you, Mortimer, that there is nothing to prevent Mary's selling the vase for her own exclusive benefit. MK. UGLOW. [^His guard down.'} Simon! THE VICAR. [^Satisfied to have touched him.'] Once again, I merely insist upon a point of principle. MR. UGLOW. [_But now flourishing his verbal sword.} And I insist ... let everybody understand it ... I insist that all thought of selling an heirloom is given up ! Reginald . . . Gladys, you are letting me be exceedingly upset. REGINALD. Well . . . shall I walk off with it? They couldn't stop me. He lifts it up; and this simplest of solutions strikes them all stupent; except Miss Underwood, who glances under her bushy eyebrows. MISS UNDERWOOD. You'U drop it if you're not careful. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, Reggie, you couldn't carry that to the station . . . everyone would stare at you. THE VICAR. I hope you would not be guilty of such an unprincipled act. MRS. REGINALD. I won't have it at home, Reg, so I tell you. One of the servants'd be sure to ... ! [_She sighs desperately^ Why not sell the thing? MR. UGLOW. Gladys, be silent. REGINALD. [_As he puts the vase down, a little nearer the edge of the tabled It is a weight. So they have argued high and argued low and also argued round about it; they have argued in a full circle. And now there is a deadly calm. Mr. Uglow breaks it; his voice trembles a little as does his hand with its signet ring rattling on the table. MR. UGLOW. Then we are just where we started half an hour ago . . . are we, Simon? THE VICAR. {_Lamblike in excelsis7\ Precisely, Mortimer. MR. UGLOW. I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. [^He gazes at them with cool ferocity^ Now let us all keep our tempers. 24 ROCOCO THE VICAR. I hope I shall have no occasion to lose mine. MR. UGLOW. Nor I mine. He seems not to move a muscle, but in some mysterious way his wig shifts: a sure sign. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, Mortimer, you're going to get excited. MR. UGLOW. I think not, Mary. I trust not. REGINALD. ^Profcring real temptation^ Father . . . come away and write a letter about it. MR. UGLOW. [_As his wrath swells7\ If I write a letter . . . if my solicitors have to write a letter . . . there are people here who will regret this day. MRS. UNDERWOOD. [Trembling at the coming storm."] Simon, I'd much sooner he took it . . . I'd much rather he took everything Jane left me. MR. UGLOW. Jane did not leave it to you, Mary. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, Mortimer, she did try to leave it to me, MR. UGLOW. [Running up the scale of indignation.'] She may have tried . . . but she did not succeed . . . because she could not . . . because she had no right to do so. [And reaching the summit.] I am not in the least excited. Suddenly Miss Underwood takes a shrewd hand in the game. MISS UNDERWOOD. Have you been to your lawyer? MR. UGLOW. [Swivelling round.] What's that? MISS UGLOW. Have you asked your lawyer? He has not. MR. UGLOW. Gladys, I will not answer her. I refuse to answer the . . . the . . . the female. [But he has funked the 'futile.'] MRS. REGINALD. [Soothing him.] All right, father. MISS UNDERWOOD. He hasn't because he knows what his lawyer would say. Rot's what his lawyer would say! MR. UGLOW. [Calling on the gods to protect this woman from him.] Heaven knows I wish to discuss this calmly! ROCOCO 25 REGINALD. Aunt Mary, might I smoke? MISS UNDERWOOD. Not in the drawing-room. MRS. UNDERWOOD. No . . • not in the drawing-room, please, Reginald. MR. UGLOW. You're not to go away, Reginald. REGINALD. Oh, weU . . . hurry up. Mr. Uglow looks at the Vicar. The Vicar is actually smiling. Can this mean defeat for the house of Uglow ? Never. MR. UGLOW. Do I understand that on your wife's behalf you entirely refuse to own the validity of my brother George's letter . . . where is it? ... I read you the passage written on his death-bed. THE VICAR. \_Measured and confident. Victory gleams for him now.^ Why did he not mention the vase in his wiU? MR. UGLOW. There were a great many things he did not mention in his will. THE VICAR. Was his widow aware of the letter? MR. UGLOW. You know she was. THE VICAR. Why did she not carry out what you think to have been her husband's intention? MR. UGLOW. Because she was a beast of a woman. Mr. Uglow is getting the worst of it, his temper is slipping. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Mortimer, what language about the newly dead! THE viCA^ An heirloom in the family? MR. UGLOW. Quite so. THE VICAR. On what grounds do you maintain that George's intentions are not carried out when it is left to my wife? And indeed, 'Mr. Uglow is against the ropes,^ so to speak. MISS UNDERWOOD. The man hasn't a wig to stand on. . . . I mean a leg. 26 ROCOCO MR. UGLOW. £Pale with fury, hoarse with it, even pathetic in itJ} Don't you speak to me ... I request you not to speak to me. Reginald and Gladys quite seriously think this is bad for him. REGINALD. Look here, father. Aunt Mary will undertake not to let it go out of the family. Leave it at that. MRS. REGINALD. We don't want the thing, father . . . the drawing-room's full already. MR. UGLOW. \^The pathos hi him growing; he might flood the best Brussels with tears at any moment^ It's not the vase. It's no longer the vase. It's the principle. MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, don't, Mortimer . . . don't be like Simon. Thr^ > why I mustn't give in. It'll make it much more '.Ilficult if you start thinking of it like that. MISS UNDERWOOD. [_Pulling and pushing that embroidery needle more grimly than ever.'} It's a principle in our family not to be bullied. MRS. REGINALD. [7w almost a vulgar tone, really.'} If she'd go and mind her own family's business! The 'Vicar knows that he has his 'U glows on the run. Suavely he presses the advantage. THE VICAR. I am sorry to repeat myself, Mortimer, but the vase was left to Jane absolutely. It has been specifically left to Mary. She is under no obligation to keep it in the family. MR. UGLOW. [Control breaking^ You'll get it, will you . . . you and your precious female sister? THE VICAR. [Quieter and quieter; that superior quietude^ Oh, this is so unpleasant. MR. UGLOW. [Control broken.} Never! Never! ! . . . not if I beggar myself in law-suits. MISS UNDERWOOD. [A sudden and vicious jab.} Who wants the hideous thing? MR. UGLOW. [Broken, all of him. In sheer hysterics. ROCOCO 27 Tears starting from his eyes7\ Hideous! You hear her? They'd sell it for what it would fetch. My brother George's rococo vase! An objet d'art etvertu ... an heirloom . . . a family record of public service! Have you no feelings, Mary? MRS. UNDERWOOD. [_Dissohedl^ Oh, I'm very unhappy. Again are Mr. Uglow and the Vicar breast to breast. THE VICAR. Don't make your sister cry, sir. MR. UGLOW. Make y o u r sister hold her tongue, sir. She has no right in this discussion at all. Am I to be provoked and badgered by a Futile Female? The Vicar and Mr. Uglow are intent on each other, the others are intent on them. No one notices that Miss Underwood's embroidery is very decidedly laid down and that her fingers begin to twitch. THE VICAR. How dare you suppose, Mortimer, that Mary and I would not respect the wishes of the dead? MR. UGLOW. It's nothing to do with you, either. Miss Underwood has risen from her chair. This Gladys does notice. MRS. REGINALD. I say . . . Uncle Simon. THE VICAR. \Y\mt is it? REGINALD. Look here, Uncle Simon, let Aunt Mary write a letter undertaking. . . . There's no need lor all this row. . . . MRS. UNDERWOOD, I will! I'll undertake anything! THE VICAR. \^The Church on its militant dignity now.'] Keep calm, Mary. I am being much provoked, too. Keep calm. MR. UGLOW. \_Stamping it out^ He won't let her . . . he and his sister ... he won't give way in anything. Why should I be reasonable? REGINALD. If she will undertake it, will you . . . ? MRS. REGINALD. Oh, Aunt Mary, stop her! In the precisest manner possible, judging her distance with care, aiming well and true, Miss Underwood has 28 ROCOCO for the second lime to-day, soundly boxed Mr. U glow's ear. He yells. MR. UGLOW. I say . . . I'm hurt. REGINALD. Look here now . . , not again! THE VICAR. [He gets flustered. No wonder^ Carinthia! I should have taken steps! It is almost excusable. MR. UGLOW. I'm seriously hurt. MRS. REGINALD. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. MISS UNDERWOOD. Did you feel the thimble? MRS. UNDERWOOD. Oh, Carinthia, this is dreadful! MR. UGLOW. I wish to preserve my dignity. He backs out oj her reach that he may the better do so. MISS UNDERWOOD. Your wig's crooked. MRS. REGINALD. [_Rousing: though her well-pinched arms have lively recollections of half an hour ago.2 Don't you insult my father. MISS UNDERWOOD. Shall I put it straight? It'll be ofif again. She advances, her eyes gleaming. To do . . . Heaven knows what! MR. UGLOW. \_Still backing.^ Go away. REGINALD. [Who really doesn't fancy^ackling the lady either.'} Why don't you keep her in hand? MR. UGLOW. ^Backed as far as he can, and in terror.'] Simon, you're a cad and your sister's a mad cad. Take her away. But this the Vicar will not endure. He has been called a cad, and that no English gentleman will stand, and a clergy- man is a gentleman, sir. In. ringing tones and with his finest gesture you hear him. "Get out of my house!'* Mr. Uglow doubtless could reply more fittingly were it not that Miss Underwood still approaches. He is feebly forcible merely. "Don't you order me about,'* he quavers. What is he but a fascinated rabbit before the terrible woman? The gentlemanly Vicar advances — "Get out before I put you out," he vociferates — English- ROCOCO 29 man to the backbone. But that is Reginald's waited- for excuse. " Qh, no, you don't," he says and bears down on the Vicar. Mrs. Underwood yelps in soft but agonized apprehension: "Oh, Simon, be careful." Mr. Uglonv has his hands up, not indeed in token of surrender, — though surrender to the virago poised at him he would, — but to shield his precious wig. "Mind ■>,' hi 7, do," he yells; he will have it that it is his head. "Come away from my father," calls out Mrs. Reginald, stoutly clasping Miss Underwood from behind round that iron-corseted waist. Miss Underwood swivels round. "Don't yon touch me. Miss," she snaps. But Gladys has weight and the two are toppling groundward while Reginald, one hand on the Vicar, one grabbing at Miss Underwood to protect his wife {"Stop it, do!" he shouts), is outbalanced. And the Vicar making still determinedly for Mr. Uglow, and Mr. Uglow, his wig securer, preparing to defy the Vicar, the melee is joined once more. Only Mrs. Underwood is so far safe. The fighters breathe hard and sway. They sway against the great mahogany table. The Rococo Vase totters; it falls; it is smashed to pieces. By a supreme effort the immediate authors of its destruction — linked to- gether — contrive not to sit down among them. Mrs. Underwood is heard to breathe, "Oh . . . . Thank goodness." UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. JUt 1 G 1963 SEP 6 1369 75^ CD JAfUl >3^^ T MAYr. 01973 REC'D LD -7 PW REC'CS JANli;66-gP|V! LOAN D£:PT. LD 2l-100m-12/46(A2012sl6)4120 ■;y 8 8 Photomount Pamphlet Binder Gaylord Bros. Makers Syracuse, N. Y, PAT. JAN 21, 1908 BERKELEY LIBRARIES CDS35t,MDbS ^ytvnvyn^} D- UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY fr .. .:*