The Literati Read online

  And on this subject I must insist I hear nothing more from you!

  SCENE NINE

  VADIUS, CHRISTOPHER.

  VADIUS:

  Well, how did it go? I saw Philomena leaving as I came in.

  So, was it a success? Does Clinton have Juliet?

  I take it your wife consented? So, then, we’re all set?

  I mean, you did have a little chat?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Where shall I begin?

  VADIUS:

  She agreed?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Not quite; not yet;

  VADIUS:

  She refused?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Refused? No, no.

  VADIUS:

  So, she’s undecided then?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  My wife?! You’ll pardon my guffaw.

  In fact she suggested someone else to be our son-in-law.

  VADIUS:

  Someone else?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Yes, someone else.

  VADIUS:

  Oh. Anyone I know?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Oh, yes.

  VADIUS:

  What’s his name?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Tristan Tosser.

  VADIUS:

  What!? You don’t mean—

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Yes.

  VADIUS:

  You didn’t accept, I hope!

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Dear God, certainly not.

  VADIUS:

  So what did you say?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Well, nothing much—She had me on the spot;

  Other than to say his Latin verses were a kind of verbal latrine,

  At the mention of his name, I thought I should stay uncommitted.

  VADIUS:

  But did you at least inform her Clinton was a suitable alternative?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  I was so shocked, my dear Athénaïs, I erred on the side of conservative.

  VADIUS:

  Ah yes, I’m sure your reason’s sound, and your prudence well-acquitted,

  But—

  CHRISTOPHER:

  It somehow seemed unhelpful to throw another hat in the ring.

  VADIUS:

  But did you not feel some regret at your display of meekness?

  I worry that your dear wife may perceive that as a weakness.

  Your restraint on this point is surely a remarkable thing,

  As neither party to a marriage should make the decisions alone.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  My God! My dear Athénaïs, that’s so easy for you to say;

  You and your husband share decisions!

  VADIUS:

  We would have it no other way.

  Neither one should bully the other by taking a superior tone.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  You’ve no idea of how her savage tongue weighs down upon me;

  If darling Philly does her block you can hear it a mile away;

  When she gets on her high horse, by God, she can give you a spray.

  I much prefer tranquillity, peace and quiet, domestic harmony.

  If I raise the slightest opposition, I just end up being fearful—

  VADIUS:

  But you’d think her lofty morality and contempt for property and money

  Would calm her turbulent temper, like a kind of intellectual honey.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  On the contrary, I endure a week of hell, and cop one almighty earful.

  I’m absolutely terrified if she’s alone with me;

  You have to realise what it’s like being daily accosted;

  If I’d pushed her about Clinton, she would have completely lost it.

  She’s a dragon full of fire, and when she takes that tone with me,

  I call her Dear Heart and Sweetie-Pie.

  VADIUS:

  Then the fault lies with you, too:

  You can’t blame Philomena for being strong, and making a firm decision:

  It’s your weakness that gives her strength, your timidity augments her position.

  It’s not your wife, but your own cowardice, that reigns supreme over you.

  Marriage is an institution, which has rules, like any polity.

  If you stoop, you lend her height; if you cringe, you increase her authority;

  Hand her the halter, you’ll be led by the nose, as you place her in seniority.

  Marriage can’t function in harmony if you abandon the concept of equality.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Equality? She fired the kitchen maid; guess who’ll be doing the dishes?

  VADIUS:

  Can someone as precious as your daughter be devalued or underpriced?

  How will you live without shame, if Juliet is sacrificed?

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Do you really believe that Philomena would condescend to my wishes?

  VADIUS:

  May I share with you something that bears on your present state?

  In Africa, there’s a part of a jungle, where the underbrush is so dense

  That the butterflies find it impossible to see each other, and hence

  They fly high above a mountain, and there they find a mate.

  My parents wanted me to marry a brilliant biologist.

  Instead, I chose a simple man, which they thought was not a good start;

  That is, until they had a glimpse of the goodness in his heart.

  So they gave us their blessing as it was what we dearly wished.

  If we make the ground rules so harsh that lovers can’t see each other,

  Like some oppressive jungle, where the light can’t penetrate,

  Then they’ll fly above that mountain where they will choose their mate.

  We lose them both forever, but they will have one another.

  Your family is currently possessed by a most ridiculous delusion:

  A man with six words of Latin has bound them in a spell,

  And trying to get them to see the truth is a very hard sell.

  To them, he’s a writer of genius, who, in their state of confusion—

  Though we know he makes a racing guide look like superior art—

  They hail as a nouveau Socrates or Shakespeare, and there’s the rub:

  Not only is your entire house being turned into a book club

  But this fraud might marry your daughter, and, in doing so, break her heart.

  Come on! Once more I say, don’t be a laughing stock;

  Cowardice has no place, when your daughter’s life is at stake.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Yes, of course, you’re right! Tristan Tosser’s an absolute fake;

  I must embolden my heart, and my courage I must unlock.

  Thank you, dear friend, profoundly, for teaching me that I was wrong,

  VADIUS:

  Glad to be of help. And remember, I’m also a wife and mother.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Yes, and now I see clearly: no spouse should smother the other.

  VADIUS:

  Anything you’ve heard from me was in your heart all along.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  I’ve been far too wishy-washy.

  VADIUS:

  True.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  And too submissive.

  VADIUS:

  Rather.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  Starting today I have to change, and make Philomena understand

  If we’re to be equal partners, then I play an equal part, and

  That Juliet’s my daughter too, and it follows that I’m her father.

  VADIUS:

  Unimpeachable logic.

  CHRISTOPHER:

  And I’ll convince her of Juliet’s choice

  That Clinton is right for our daughter, whereas Tristan is a dunce.

  You know where Clinton lives; tell him to come and see me at once.

  The great thing with growing some balls, is it gives
you a bit of a voice!

  END OF ACT TWO

  ACT THREE

  SCENE ONE

  PHILOMENA, AMANDA, TRISTAN TOSSER.

  PHILOMENA:

  Welcome to the Tuesday Book Club! And hail to our Author of the Week!

  It’s Tristan Tosser! and his stunning new work on which he’s going to speak!

  AMANDA:

  I burn to read it!

  PHILOMENA:

  We’re all on fire, just dying to inhale its pages!

  What oozes from your pen enthrals us, oh most lucid of sages!

  AMANDA:

  Your unequalled eloquence caresses me with oils, which it’s so rich in!

  PHILOMENA:

  Yes, like a lingual banquet from some gorgeous gourmet kitchen!

  Please, let us suffer no longer in awaiting your aural perfection!

  AMANDA:

  Do hasten!

  PHILOMENA:

  Yes, quick! Thrust some gems in my general direction!

  AMANDA:

  Soothe our impatient hunger with an epigrammatic orgasm!

  PHILOMENA:

  Let your sumptuous syntax plunge deep through my ectoplasm!

  TRISTAN:

  Ah, ladies, this book’s like an infant, newborn unto the light.

  AMANDA:

  God, don’t you just love ‘unto’!

  TRISTAN:

  You’ve good reason to experience delight,

  As it was in your very courtyard, with my mind electric and quivery,

  That from the womb of my imagination, I finally effected delivery.

  PHILOMENA:

  The baby is more glorious, when one has the pleasure to know the father.

  TRISTAN:

  And may your radiant approbation serve as its surrogate mother.

  AMANDA:

  Pure genius!

  SCENE TWO

  PHILOMENA, AMANDA, TRISTAN, JULIET, CLINTON.

  JULIET enters, and turns immediately to leave.

  PHILOMENA:

  Hang on, Juliet! Just where do you think you’re going?

  JULIET:

  I mustn’t disrupt your meeting; sorry, I entered without knowing—

  PHILOMENA:

  Don’t go! Come and join us! We’ll make up a fabulous foursome!

  Treat your neglected ears to some intoxicating marvels!

  JULIET:

  Awesome;

  But I don’t really know very much about the nitty-gritty of writing;

  It’s not really my thing, so you wouldn’t find me all that exciting.

  PHILOMENA:

  Don’t be silly; and anyway, after this meeting is through

  I have a lovely little secret, which I have to impart to you.

  TRISTAN:

  The literary arts are not something one should be frightened of,

  Especially when you have other means of inspiring intimate love.

  JULIET:

  Well, I’m not much good at either, actually—

  TRISTAN:

  Please, I implore you.

  AMANDA:

  Yes, open your mind to this newborn work of genius before you!

  CLINTON enters. JULIET is delighted.

  JULIET:

  [To him] I didn’t know you were here, Clint!

  CLINTON:

  [To her] Your father sent for me, Jules.

  PHILOMENA:

  Clinton! Make yourself useful! Fetch some chairs or comfortable stools.

  CLINTON does so, and on bringing chairs, has a spectacular fall. JULIET goes to him.

  You clumsy oaf! Haven’t you learnt the principles of balance?

  CLINTON:

  I’m sorry, Madam, they fall outside the limits of my talents.

  AMANDA:

  Your fall, you ignorant man, is due to your mental depravity,

  You strayed from a clear fixed point, which we call the centre of gravity.

  CLINTON:

  I am well aware of gravity, having fallen flat on my arse.

  PHILOMENA:

  How parlously prosaic!

  TRISTAN:

  It’s a good thing he’s not made of glass.

  AMANDA:

  What a brilliant riposte! Such dazzling wit, from poetry’s high priest!

  JULIET:

  [Aside] Are you okay, Clint?

  CLINTON:

  [With a smile] I’m fine, Jules.

  PHILOMENA:

  [To TRISTAN] Let us savour your feast.

  TRISTAN:

  Video fames magna coram…

  AMANDA:

  I melt when he speaks in Latin!

  CLINTON:

  [To JULIET] How strange, as Doctor Vadius says, it’s a language he’s a total pratt in.

  TRISTAN:

  I see before me a great hunger, and for that reason, I suggest

  Instead of a mere eight lines, which would be a light hors d’oeuvre at best,

  I’d be doing well if I add to the epigram, or ‘madrigal’, to be precise,

  A simmering taste of ragout, glazed with just a hint of spice:

  It makes a rather delectable entrée of a sonnet, addressed to a princess,

  And which I’m pleased to say, to her heart found felicitous ingress;

  And you will experience, I truly believe, a most exquisite delicacy;

  It is seasoned with the salt of Attica, infusèd by the Aegean Sea,

  Where my most elegiac Muse oft lowered her poetical anchor;

  I trust you may find it Elysian.

  CLINTON:

  [To JULIET] Oh God, what a wanker.

  AMANDA:

  Who, with taste, could resist it?

  Each time TRISTAN goes to read it, AMANDA interrupts.

  My heart vibrates with anticipation!

  TRISTAN goes to read.

  I love poetry with what you might call a doggèd captivation.

  TRISTAN goes to read.

  Especially when its verses are spun with such congruity.

  PHILOMENA:

  But if we don’t stop talking, my dear, we won’t hear any poetry.

  TRISTAN:

  ‘Sonn—’

  AMANDA:

  Juliet, hush!

  TRISTAN:

  ‘SONNET TO THE PRINCESS URANIE

  ON THE SUBJECT OF HER FEVER’.

  Your prudence must have gone to sleep

  For you behaved so generously

  And in your house so graciously

  Your cruellest enemy did keep.

  AMANDA:

  Ah, what a pretty start! Each turn of phrase is so gallant!

  PHILOMENA:

  To him alone do verses flow in such abundant talent!

  AMANDA:

  ‘Prudence must have gone to sleep’ disarmed all my defences.

  And ‘Your cruellest enemy did keep’ has bombarded my senses.

  PHILOMENA:

  ‘Generously’ and ‘graciously’ are so admirably adverbial.

  AMANDA:

  Let us brace our ears, for the pithy and proverbial.

  TRISTAN:

  Drive him out, whatever they say,

  From your lavish residence;

  This ingrate who would, without hesitance

  Take your very life away.

  AMANDA:

  Stop! I am breathless! I need a moment to respire!

  PHILOMENA:

  Allow us, if you will, a little pause to admire.

  One can actually feel these verses flow to the depth of the soul,

  And a certain je ne sais quoi makes one swoon beyond control.

  AMANDA:

  ‘Drive him out, whatever they say/From your lavish residence—’

  It’s so—pretty! And so—witty! A metaphor of such eloquence!

  PHILOMENA:

  It’s the ‘Drive him out’, to my mind, that is pregnant with good taste,

  A priceless expression, and so scrumptiously well-placed!

  AMANDA:

  But when coupled wi
th ‘whatever they say’, it causes my heart to twitch.

  PHILOMENA:

  I agree: ‘whatever they say’ is like scratching a metaphorical itch.

  AMANDA:

  How I wish I’d written that! It’s worth an entire collection!

  PHILOMENA:

  But do you ingest, as I do, all the flavours of this confection?

  AMANDA:

  Oh! Oh? [After consideration] Ohhhhh!

  PHILOMENA:

  ‘Drive him out!’ ‘Drive him out!’

  As so often with a masterpiece, it’s the subtext that inspires doubt.

  AMANDA:

  Ah! Yes!

  PHILOMENA:

  On one reading, the poet’s mind is drawn to the fever;

  But ‘whatever they say’ refers to gossips who doubt the fever might leave her.

  I personally would love to know if everyone here is the same as I,

  In discovering for each phrase that a thousand interpretations apply?

  AMANDA:

  It’s true that it says more things than the phrase itself imparts,

  For the whole is often greater than the sum of all its parts.

  PHILOMENA:

  [To TRISTAN] But when you wrote this charming phrase, ‘whatever they say’,

  Did you yourself foresee the dazzling power it might convey?

  I mean, was it effortless and instinctive, or was it deliberate, I wonder,

  To plant those hidden layers for us to plumb and plunder?

  TRISTAN:

  [Mysteriously] Ahhh! Wellll—

  AMANDA:

  And how ‘ingrate’ has lodged in my head!

  This ingrate of a fever, so iniquitous and ill-bred,

  Which ingratiates itself so treacherously in those it occupies.

  PHILOMENA:

  So far both the quatrains have been a most arresting surprise;

  Let us come now to the triplets, which will be equally sublime.

  TRISTAN goes to read.

  AMANDA:

  Ah, but do you mind if I hear ingrate just one more time?

  TRISTAN:

  Drive him out, whatever they say—

  AMANDA:

  —How easily it falls from the lip.

  TRISTAN:

  From your lavish residence—

  AMANDA:

  —Here it comes, now let it rip!

  TRISTAN:

  This ingrate—

  AMANDA:

  —Oh Goddd!

  TRISTAN:

  Who would—

  AMANDA:

  It’s the thinking girl’s chocolate éclaire!

  And as for ‘lavish residence’, I think I’m going to slide off the chair.

  TRISTAN:

  Take your very life away.

  PHILOMENA:

  It’s the ‘very’ that’s the icing on top!

  AMANDA:

  I can’t imagine anything better than ‘away’ to precede a full stop.

  TRISTAN:

  What? Without respect for your rank,