Lyre and Lancet Part 1

Lyre and Lancet.

by F. Anstey.

PART I

SHADOWS CAST BEFORE

_In_ Sir RUPERT CULVERIN'S _Study at Wyvern Court. It is a rainy Sat.u.r.day morning in February._ Sir RUPERT _is at his writing-table, as_ Lady CULVERIN _enters with a deprecatory air_.

_Lady Culverin._ So _here_ you are, Rupert! Not _very_ busy, are you?

I won't keep you a moment. (_She goes to a window._) Such a nuisance it's turning out wet, with all these people in the house, isn't it?

_Sir Rupert._ Well, I was thinking that, as there's nothing doing out of doors, I might get a chance to knock off some of these confounded accounts, but--(_resignedly_)--if you think I ought to go and look after----

_Lady Culverin._ No, no; the men are playing billiards, and the women are in the morning-room--_they_'re all right. I only wanted to ask you about to-night. You know the Lullingtons, and the dear Bishop and Mrs.

Rodney, and one or two other people are coming to dinner? Well, who ought to take in Rohesia?

_Sir Rupert_ (_in dismay_). Rohesia! No idea she was coming down this week!

_Lady Culverin._ Yes, by the 4.45. With dear Maisie. Surely you knew that?

_Sir Rupert._ In a sort of way; didn't realize it was so near, that's all.

_Lady Culverin._ It's some time since we had her last. And she wanted to come. I didn't think you would like me to write and put her off.

_Sir Rupert._ Put her off? Of course I shouldn't, Albinia. If my only sister isn't welcome at Wyvern at any time--I say at _any_ time--where the deuce is she welcome?

_Lady Culverin._ I don't know, dear Rupert. But--but about the table?

_Sir Rupert._ So long as you don't put her near me--that's all _I_ care about.

_Lady Culverin._ I mean--ought I to send her in with Lord Lullington, or the Bishop?

_Sir Rupert._ Why not let 'em toss up? Loser gets her, of course.

_Lady Culverin._ _Rupert!_ As if I could suggest such a thing to the Bishop! I suppose she'd better go in with Lord Lullington--he's Lord Lieutenant--and then it won't matter if she _does_ advocate Disestablishment. Oh, but I forgot; she thinks the House of Lords ought to be abolished _too_!

_Sir Rupert._ Whoever takes Rohesia in is likely to have a time of it.

Talked poor Cantire into his tomb a good ten years before he was due there. Always lecturing, and domineering, and laying down the law, as long as _I_ can remember her. Can't stand Rohesia--never could!

_Lady Culverin._ I don't think you ought to say so, really, Rupert.

And I'm sure _I_ get on very well with her--generally.

_Sir Rupert._ Because you knock under to her.

_Lady Culverin._ I'm sure I don't, Rupert--at least, no more than everybody else. Dear Rohesia is so strong-minded and advanced and all that, she takes such an interest in all the new movements and things, that she can't understand contradiction; she is so democratic in her ideas, don't you know.

_Sir Rupert._ Didn't prevent her marrying Cantire. And a democratic Countess--it's downright unnatural!

_Lady Culverin._ She believes it's her duty to set an example and meet the People half-way. That reminds me--did I tell you Mr. Clarion Blair is coming down this evening, too?--only till Monday, Rupert.

_Sir Rupert._ Clarion Blair! never heard of him.

_Lady Culverin._ I suppose I forgot. Clarion Blair isn't his _real_ name, though; it's only a--an alias.

_Sir Rupert._ Don't see what any fellow wants with an alias. What _is_ his real name?

_Lady Culverin._ Well, I know it was _something_ ending in "ell," but I mislaid his letter. Still, Clarion Blair is the name he writes under; he's a poet, Rupert, and quite celebrated, so I'm told.

_Sir Rupert_ (_uneasily_). A poet! What on earth possessed you to ask a literary fellow down _here_? Poetry isn't much in our way; and a poet _will_ be, confoundedly!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED YOU TO ASK A LITERARY FELLOW DOWN HERE?"]

_Lady Culverin._ I really couldn't help it, Rupert. Rohesia insisted on my having him to meet her. She likes meeting clever and interesting people. And this Mr. Blair, it seems, has just written a volume of verses which are finer than anything that's been done since--well, for _ages_!

_Sir Rupert._ What sort of verses?

_Lady Culverin._ Well, they're charmingly bound. I've got the book in the house, somewhere. Rohesia told me to send for it; but I haven't had time to read it yet.

_Sir Rupert._ Shouldn't be surprised if Rohesia hadn't, either.

_Lady Culverin._ At all events, she's heard it talked about. The young man's verses have made quite a sensation; they're so dreadfully clever and revolutionary, and morbid and pessimistic, and all that, so she made me promise to ask him down here to meet her!

_Sir Rupert._ Devilish thoughtful of her.

_Lady Culverin._ Wasn't it? She thought it might be a valuable experience for him; he's sprung, I believe, from _quite_ the middle-cla.s.s.

_Sir Rupert._ Don't see myself why he should be sprung on _us_. Why can't Rohesia ask him to one of her own places?

_Lady Culverin._ I dare say she will, if he turns out to be quite presentable. And, of course, he _may_, Rupert, for anything we can tell.

_Sir Rupert._ Then you've never seen him yourself! How did you manage to ask him here, then?

_Lady Culverin._ Oh, I wrote to him through his publishers. Rohesia says that's the usual way with literary persons one doesn't happen to have met. And he wrote to say he would come.

_Sir Rupert._ So we're to have a morbid revolutionary poet staying in the house, are we? He'll come down to dinner in a flannel s.h.i.+rt and no tie--or else a _red_ one--if he don't bring down a beastly bomb and try to blow us all up! You'll find you've made a mistake, Albinia, depend upon it.

_Lady Culverin._ Dear Rupert, aren't you just a little bit _narrow_?

You forget that nowadays the very best houses are proud to entertain Genius--no matter _what_ their opinions and appearance may be. And besides, we don't know what changes may be coming. Surely it is wise and prudent to conciliate the clever young men who might inflame the ma.s.ses against us. Rohesia thinks so; she says it may be our only chance of stemming the rising tide of Revolution, Rupert!

_Sir Rupert._ Oh, if Rohesia thinks a revolution can be stemmed by asking a few poets down from Sat.u.r.day to Monday, she might do _her_ share of the stemming at all events.

_Lady Culverin._ But you will be _nice_ to him, Rupert, won't you?

_Sir Rupert._ I don't know that I'm in the habit of being uncivil to any guest of yours in this house, my dear, but I'll be hanged if I _grovel_ to him, you know; the tide ain't as high as all that. But it's an infernal nuisance, 'pon my word it is; you must look after him yourself. _I_ can't. I don't know what to talk to geniuses about; I've forgotten all the poetry I ever learnt. And if he comes out with any of his Red Republican theories in _my_ hearing, why----

_Lady Culverin._ Oh, but he _won't_, dear. I'm certain he'll be quite mild and inoffensive. Look at Shakespeare--the bust, I mean--and _he_ began as a poacher!