Arcadia (5 page)

Bernard: Oh, yes. Of what?

Hannah: The whole Romantic sham, Bernard! It’s what happened
to the Enlightenment, isn’t it? A century of intellectual rigour turned in on
itself. A mind in chaos suspected of genius. In a setting of cheap thrills and
false emotion. The history of the garden says it all, beautifully. There’s an
engraving of Sidley Park in 1730 that makes you want to weep. Paradise in the
age of reason. By 1760 everything had gone—the topiary, pools and terraces, fountains,
an avenue of limes—the whole sublime geometry was ploughed under by Capability
Brown. The grass went from the doorstep to the horizon and the best box hedge
in Derbyshire was dug up for the ha-ha so that the fools could pretend they
were living in God’s countryside. And then Richard Noakes came in to bring God
up to date. By the time he’d finished it looked like this
(the sketch book).
The decline from thinking to feeling, you see.

Bernard:
{A judgement)
That’s awfully good.

(Hannah
looks at him in case of irony but he is professional.)

No, that’ll stand up. Hannah: Thank you.

Bernard: Personally I like the ha-ha. Do you like hedges? Hannah:
I don’t like sentimentality. Bernard: Yes, I see. Are you sure? You seem quite
sentimental over geometry. But the hermit is very very good. The genius of the
place. Hannah:
(Pleased)
That’s my title! Bernard: Of course. Hannah:
(Less
pleased)
Of course? Bernard: Of course. Who was he when he wasn’t being a symbol?
Hannah: I don’t know.

Bernard: Ah.

Hannah: I mean, yet.

Bernard: Absolutely. What did they do with all the paper?

Does Peacock say? Hannah: Made a bonfire. Bernard: Ah, well.
Hannah: I’ve still got Lady Croom’s garden books to go through. Bernard:
Account books or journals? Hannah: A bit of both. They’re gappy but they span
the period. Hannah: Really? Have you come across Byron at all? As a matter of
interest. Hannah: A first edition of ‘Childe Harold’ in the library, and

English Bards,
I think. Bernard: Inscribed? Hannah:
No.

Bernard: And he doesn’t pop up in the letters at all? Hannah:
Why should he? The Crooms don’t pop up in his. Bernard:
(Casually)
That’s
true, of course. But Newstead isn’t so far away. Would you mind terribly if I
poked about a bit? Only in the papers you’ve done with, of course.

(Hannah
twigs something.)

Hannah: Are you looking into Byron or Chater?

(chloE
enters in stockinged feet through one of the side
doors?

laden with an armful of generally similar leather-covered
ledgers.

She detours to collect her shoes.)
CHLOE: Sorry—just
cutting through—there’s tea in the pantry if you don’t mind mugs—Bernard: How
kind. chloE: Hannah will show you. Bernard: Let me help you. chloE: No, it’s
all right—

(Bernard
opens the opposite door for her.)

Thank you—I’ve been saving Val’s game books. Thanks.

(Bernard
closes the door.)
Bernard: Sweet girl. Hannah:
Mmm. Bernard: Oh, really? Hannah: Oh really what?

(CHLOfi’s
door opens again and she puts her head round it.)
chloE: Meant to say, don’t worry if father makes remarks about your car, Mr
Nightingale, he’s got a thing about—
(and the

Nightingale now being out of the bag)
ooh—ah, how was
the surprise?—not yet, eh? Oh, well—sorry—tea, anyway—so sorry if I—
(Embarrassed,
she leaves again, closing the door.

Pause.)
Hannah: You absolute shit.

(She heads off to leave.)
Bernard: The thing is,
there’s a Byron connection too.

(Hannah
stops andfaces him.)
Hannah: I don’t care.
Bernard: You should. The Byron gang are going to get their dicks caught in
their zip. Hannah:
(Pause)
Oh really? Bernard: If we collaborate. Hannah:
On what? Bernard: Sit down, I’ll tell you. Hannah: I’ll stand for the moment.
Bernard: This copy of The Couch of Eros’ belonged to Lord

Byron.

Hannah: It belonged to Septimus Hodge.

Bernard: Originally, yes. But it was in Byron’s library
which was sold to pay his debts when he left England for good in 1816. The
sales catalogue is in the British Library. ‘Eros’ was lot 74A and was bought by
the bookseller and publisher John Nightingale of Opera Court, Pall Mall ...
whose name survives in the firm of Nightingale and Matlock, the present
Nightingale being my cousin.
(He pauses.
H ANN ah
hesitates and then
sits down at the table.)
I’ll just give you the headlines. 1939, stock
removed to Nightingale country house in Kent. 1945, stock returned to bookshop.
Meanwhile, overlooked box of early nineteenth-century books languish in country
house cellar until house sold to make way for the Channel Tunnel rail-link. ‘Eros’
discovered with sales slip from 1816 attached—photocopy available for
inspection.

(He brings this from his bag and gives it to
Hannah
who
inspects it.)

Hannah: All right. It was in Byron’s library.

Bernard: A number of passages have been underlined. (Hannah
picks
up the book and leafs through it.)
All of them, and only them—no, no, look
at me, not at the book—all the underlined passages, word for word, were used as
quotations in the review of ‘The Couch of Eros’ in the
Piccadilly Recreation
of April 30th 1809. The reviewer begins by drawing attention to his
previous notice in the same periodical of ‘The Maid of Turkey’.

Hannah: The reviewer is obviously Hodge. ‘My friend

Septimus Hodge who stood up and gave his best on behalf of
the Author.’

Bernard: That’s the point. The
Piccadilly
ridiculed
both books.

Hannah:
(Pause.)
Do the reviews read like Byron?

Bernard:
(Producing two photocopies from his case)
They
read a damn sight more like Byron than Byron’s review of Wordsworth the
previous year. (Hannah
glances over the photocopies.)

Hannah: I see. Well, congratulations. Possibly. Two previously
unknown book reviews by the young Byron. Is that it? Bernard: No. Because of
the tapes, three documents survived undisturbed in the book.

(He has been carefully opening a package produced from
his bag. He has the originals. He holds them carefully one by one.)
‘Sir—we
have a matter to settle. I wait on you in the gun room. E. Chater, Esq.’

‘My husband has sent to town for pistols. Deny what cannot
be proven—for Charity’s sake—1 keep my room this day.’ Unsigned.

‘Sidley Park, April nth 1809. Sir—1 call you a liar, a
lecher, a slanderer in the press and a thief of my honour. I wait upon your
arrangements for giving me satisfaction as a man and a poet. E. Chater, Esq.’

(Pause.)

Hannah: Superb. But inconclusive. The book had seven years
to find its way into Byron’s possession. It doesn’t connect Byron with Chater,
or with Sidley Park. Or with Hodge for that matter. Furthermore, there isn’t a
hint in Byron’s letters and this kind of scrape is the last thing he would have
kept quiet about.

Bernard:
Scrape?

Hannah: He would have made a comic turn out of it.

Bernard: Comic turn, fiddlesticks!
(He pauses for
effect.)
He killed Chater!

Hannah:
(A raspberry)
Oh, really!

Bernard: Chater was thirty-one years old. The author of two
books. Nothing more is heard from him after ‘Eros’. He disappears completely
after April 1809. And Byron—Byron had just published his satire,
English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers,
in March. He was just getting a name. Yet he
sailed for Lisbon as soon as he could find a ship, and stayed abroad for two
years. Hannah,
this is fame.
Somewhere in the Croom papers there will be
something—

Hannah: There isn’t, I’ve looked.

Bernard: But you were looking for something else! It’s not going
to jump out at you like ‘Lord Byron remarked wittily at breakfast!’ Hannah:
Nevertheless his presence would be unlikely to have gone unremarked. But there
is nothing to suggest that Byron was here, and I don’t believe he ever was.
Bernard: All right, but let me have a look. Hannah: You’ll queer my pitch. Bernard:
Dear girl, I know how to handle myself-Hannah: And don’t call me dear girl. If
I find anything on

Byron, or Chater, or Hodge, I’ll pass it on. Nightingale,

Sussex.

(Pause. She stands up.)
Bernard: Thank you. I’m sorry
about that business with my name. Hannah: Don’t mention it ... Bernard: What
was Hodge’s college, by the way? Hannah: Trinity. Bernard: Trinity?

Hannah: Yes.
(She hesitates.)
Yes. Byron’s old
college. Bernard: How old was Hodge? Hannah: I’d have to look it up but a year
or two older than

Byron. Twenty-two ... Bernard: Contemporaries at Trinity? Hannah:
(Wearily)
Yes, Bernard, and no doubt they were both in the cricket
eleven when Harrow played Eton at Lords!

(Bernard
approaches her and stands close to her.)
Bernard:
(Evenly)
Do you mean that Septimus Hodge was at school with Byron? Hannah:
(Falters slightly)
Yes ... he must have been ... as a matter of fact.
Bernard: Well, you silly cow.

(With a large gesture of pure happiness,
Bernard
throws
his arms around
Hannah
and gives her a great smacking kiss on the cheek.
CHLOE
enters to witness the end of this.)
chloE: Oh—erm ... I
thought I’d bring it to you.

(She is carrying a small tray with two mugs on it.)
Bernard:
I have to go and see about my car. Hannah: Going to hide it?

Bernard: Hide it? I’m going to sell it! Is there a pub I can
put up at in the village?

(He turns back to them as he is about to leave through the
garden.)

Aren’t you glad I’m here?

(He leaves.)
CHLOE: He said he knew you. Hannah: He
couldn’t have. chloE: No, perhaps not. He said he wanted to be a surprise, but

I suppose that’s different. I thought there was a lot of
sexual energy there, didn’t you? Hannah: What? chloE: Bouncy on his feet, you
see, a sure sign. Should I invite him for you? Hannah: To what? No. chloE: You
can invite him—that’s better. He can come as your partner. Hannah: Stop it.
Thank you for the tea. CHLOE: If you don’t want him, I’ll have him. Is he
married? Hannah: I haven’t the slightest idea. Aren’t you supposed to have a
pony? chloE: I’m just trying to fix you up, Hannah. Hannah: Believe me, it gets
less important. chloE: I mean for the dancing. He can come as Beau Brummel. Hannah:
I don’t want to dress up and I don’t want a dancing partner, least of all Mr
Nightingale. I don’t dance. chloE: Don’t be such a prune. You were kissing him,
anyway. Hannah: He was kissing me, and only out of general enthusiasm. chloE:
Well, don’t say I didn’t give you first chance. My genius brother will be much
relieved. He’s in love with you, I

suppose you know. Hannah:
(Angry)
That’s a joke!
chloE: It’s not a joke to him. Hannah: Of course it is—not even a joke—how can
you be so ridiculous?

(GUS
enters from thegarden
_y
in his customary
silent awkwardness.)
chloE: Hello, Gus, what have you got?

(Gus
has an apple, just picked, with a leaf or two still
attached.

He offers the apple to
Hannah.) Hannah:
(Surprised)
Oh! ... Thank you! CHLOE:
(Leaving)
Told you.

(chloE
closes the door on herself)
Hannah: Thank you.
Oh dear.

The schoolroom. The next morning. Present are:
THOMASINA,
Septimus, JELLABY.
We have seen this composition before:
Thomasina
at
her place at the table;
Septimus
reading a letter which has just
arrived;
Jellaby
waiting, having just delivered the letter. ‘The Couch
of Eros’ is in front of Septimus, open, together with sheets of paper on which
he has been writing. His portfolio is on the table. Plautus (the tortoise) is
the paperweight. There is also an apple on the table now, the same apple from
all appearances.
Septimus:
(With his eyes on the letter)
Why have
you stopped?

(THOMASINA
is studying a sheet of paper, a ‘Latin unseen’
lesson.

She is having some difficulty.)
THOMASINA:
Solio
insessa ... in igne ...
seated on a throne ... in the fire ... and also on
a ship ...
sedebat regina ..
. sat the queen ... Septimus: There is no
reply, Jellaby. Thank you.

(He folds the letter up and places it between the leaves
of’The

Couch of Eros’.)
JELLABY: I will say so, sir. THOMASINA:...
the wind smelling sweetly ...
purpureisvelis ..
.

by, with or from purple sails—Septimus:
(To
Jellaby)
I will have something for the post, if you would be so kind. Jellaby:
(Leaving)
Yes, sir. THOMASINA:... was like as to—something—by, with or from lovers—oh,
Septimus!—
musicatibiarumimperabat ...
music of pipes commanded ... Septimus:
‘Ruled’ is better. Thomasina: ... the silver oars—exciting the ocean—as if—as
if—

amorous—Septimus: That is very good.

(He picks up the apple. He picks off the twig and leaves,
placing these on the table. With a pocket knife he cuts a slice of apple, and while
he eats it, cuts another slice which he offers to Plautus.) 1HOMASINa: Regina
reclinabat ...
the queen-was reclining—

praeter descriptionem—
indescribably—in a golden tent
...

like Venus and yet more—Septimus: Try to put some poetry into
it. Thomasina: How can I if there is none in the Latin? Septimus: Oh, a critic!
Thomasina: Is it Queen Dido? Septimus: No. Thomasina: Who is the poet?
Septimus: Known to you. Thomasina: Known to me? Septimus: Not a Roman. Thomasina:
Mr Chater? Septimus: Your translation is quite like Chater.