The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan Part 159

[Tiptoes up-stage, looking L. and R., and comes back down, C.]

If you're anxious for to shine in the high aesthetic line as a man of culture rare, You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and plant them ev'rywhere.

You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of your complicated state of mind, The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a transcendental kind.

And ev'ry one will say, As you walk your mystic way, "If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for me, Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must be!"

Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have long since pa.s.sed away, And convince 'em, if you can, that the reign of good Queen Anne was Culture's palmiest day.

Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever's fresh and new, and declare it's crude and mean, For Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the Empress Josephine.

And ev'ryone will say, As you walk your mystic way, "If that's not good enough for him which is good enough for me, Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must be!"

Then a sentimental pa.s.sion of a vegetable fashion must excite your languid spleen, An attachment a la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a not- too-French French bean!

Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high aesthetic band, If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand.

And ev'ryone will say, As you walk your flow'ry way, "If he's content with a vegetable love which would certainly not suit me, Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be!"

[At the end of his song, PATIENCE enters, L. He sees her.]

BUN. Ah! Patience, come hither. [She comes to him timidly.] I am pleased with thee. The bitter-hearted one, who finds all else hollow, is pleased with thee. For you are not hollow. Are you?

PATIENCE No, thanks, I have dined; but -- I beg your pardon -- I interrupt you. [Turns to go; he stops her.]

BUN. Life is made up of interruptions. The tortured soul, yearning for solitude, writhes under them. Oh, but my heart is a-weary! Oh, I am a cursed thing! [She attempts to escape.]

Don't go.

PATIENCE Really, I'm very sorry.

BUN. Tell me, girl, do you ever yearn?

PATIENCE I earn my living.

BUN. [impatiently] No, no! Do you know what it is to be heart- hungry? Do you know what it is to yearn for the Indefinable, and yet to be brought face to face, dally, with the Multiplication Table? Do you know what it is to seek oceans and to find puddles? That's my case. Oh, I am a cursed thing! [She turns again.] Don't go.

PATIENCE If you please, I don't understand you -- you frighten me!

BUN. Don't be frightened -- it's only poetry.

PATIENCE Well, if that's poetry, I don't like poetry.

BUN. [eagerly] Don't you? [aside] Can I trust her? [aloud]

Patience, you don't like poetry -- well, between you and me, I don't like poetry. It's hollow, unsubstantial -- unsatisfactory.

What's the use of yearning for Elysian Fields when you know you can't get `em, and would only let `em out on building leases if you had `em?

PATIENCE Sir, I--

BUN. Patience, I have long loved you. Let me tell you a secret.

I am not as bilious as I look. If you like, I will cut my hair.

There is more innocent fun within me than a casual spectator would imagine. You have never seen me frolicsome. Be a good girl -- a very good girl -- and one day you shall. If you are fond of touch-and-go jocularity -- this is the shop for it.

PATIENCE Sir, I will speak plainly. In the matter of love I am untaught. I have never loved but my great-aunt. But I am quite certain that, under any circ.u.mstances, I couldn't possibly love you.

BUN. Oh, you think not?

PATIENCE I'm quite sure of it. Quite sure. Quite.

BUN. Very good. Life is henceforth a blank. I don't care what becomes of me. I have only to ask that you will not abuse my confidence; though you despise me, I am extremely popular with the other young ladies.

PATIENCE I only ask that you will leave me and never renew the subject.

BUN. Certainly. Broken-hearted and desolate, I go. [Goes up- stage, suddenly turns and recites.]

"Oh, to be wafted away, From this black Aceldama of sorrow, Where the dust of an earthy to-day Is the earth of a dusty to-morrow!"

It is a little thing of my own. I call it "Heart Foam". I shall not publish it. Farewell! Patience, Patience, farewell!

[Exit BUNTHORNE.]

PATIENCE What on earth does it all mean? Why does he love me?

Why does he expect me to love him? [going R.] He's not a relation! It frightens me!

[Enter ANGELA, L.]

ANGELA Why, Patience, what is the matter?

PATIENCE Lady Angela, tell me two things. Firstly, what on earth is this love that upsets everybody; and, secondly, how is it to be distinguished from insanity?

ANGELA Poor blind child! Oh, forgive her, Eros! Why, love is of all pa.s.sions the most essential! It is the embodiment of purity, the abstraction of refinement! It is the one unselfish emotion in this whirlpool of grasping greed!

PATIENCE Oh, dear, oh! [beginning to cry]

ANGELA Why are you crying?

PATIENCE To think that I have lived all these years without having experienced this enn.o.bling and unselfish pa.s.sion! Why, what a wicked girl I must be! For it is unselfish, isn't it?

ANGELA Absolutely! Love that is tainted with selfishness is no love. Oh, try, try, try to love! It really isn't difficult if you give your whole mind to it.

PATIENCE I'll set about it at once. I won't go to bed until I'm head over ears in love with somebody.

ANGELA n.o.ble girl! But is it possible that you have never loved anybody?

PATIENCE Yes, one.

ANGELA Ah! Whom?

PATIENCE My great-aunt--

ANGELA Great-aunts don't count.