Landed Gentry E-Book

William Somerset Maugham

• Herausgeber: Interactive Media
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

"Landed Gentry: A Comedy in Four Acts" by William Somerset Maugham humorously dissects the lives and follies of the British upper class. Centered around the eccentric Lydgate family, the play showcases their attempts to maintain tradition and status in a rapidly changing world. Romantic entanglements, social pretensions, and generational conflicts unfold with wit and charm. Maugham's sharp dialogue and keen observations reveal the absurdity and resilience of the landed gentry, offering a delightful exploration of societal norms and personal ambitions.

Leseprobe

William Somerset Maugham

Landed Gentry:

A Comedy in Four Acts

New Edition

Published by Sovereign Classic

This Edition

First published in 2021

Copyright © 2021 Sovereign Classic

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781787362789

Contents

CHARACTERS

THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

THE FOURTH ACT

CHARACTERS

Claude Insoley

Rev. Archibald Insoley

Henry Cobbett

Gann

Moore

Grace Insoley

Mrs. Insoley

Miss Vernon of Foley

Miss Hall

Edith Lewis

Margaret Gann

The Action takes place at Kenyon-Fulton, Claude Insoley’s place in Somersetshire.

THE FIRST ACT

Scene: The drawing-room at Kenyon-Fulton. It is a handsome apartment with large windows, reaching to the ground. On the walls are old masters whose darkness conceals their artistic insignificance. The furniture is fine and solid. Nothing is very new or smart. The chintzes have a rather pallid Victorian air. The room with its substantial magnificence represents the character of a family rather than the taste of an individual.

It is night and one or two electric lamps are burning.

Moore, an elderly impressive butler, comes in, followed by Gann. This is Claude Insoley’s gamekeeper, a short, sturdy man, grizzled, with wild stubborn hair and a fringe of beard round his chin. He wears his Sunday clothes of sombre broadcloth.

Moore.

You’re to wait here.

[Gann, hat in hand, advances to the middle of the room.

Moore.

They’ve not got up from dinner yet, but he’ll come and see you at once.

Gann.

I’ll wait.

Moore.

He said I was to tell him the moment you come. What can he be wanting of you at this time of night?

Gann.

Maybe if he wished you to know he’d have told you.

Moore.

I don’t want to know what don’t concern me.

Gann.

Pity there ain’t more like you.

Moore.

It’s the missus’ birthday to-day.

Gann.

Didn’t he say you was to tell him the moment I come?

Moore.

I’ve only just took in the dessert. Give ’em a minute to sample the peaches.

Gann.

I thought them was your orders.

Moore.

You’re a nice civil-spoken one, you are.

[With an effort Gann prevents himself from replying. It is as much as he can do to keep his hands off the sleek, obsequious butler. Moore after a glance at him goes out. The gamekeeper begins to walk up and down the room like a caged beast. In a moment he hears a sound and stops still. He turns his hat round and round in his hands.

[Claude Insoley comes in. He is a man of thirty-five, rather dried-up, rather precise, neither good-looking nor plain, with a slightly dogmatic, authoritative manner.

Claude.

Good evening, Gann.

Gann.

Good evening, sir.

[Claude hesitates for a moment; to conceal a slight embarrassment he lights a cigarette. Gann watches him steadily.

Claude.

I suppose you know what I’ve sent for you about.

Gann.

No, sir.

Claude.

I should have thought you might guess without hurting yourself. The Rector tells me that your daughter Peggy came back last night.

Gann.

Yes, sir.

Claude.

Bit thick, isn’t it?

Gann.

I don’t know what you mean, sir.

Claude.

Oh, that’s all rot, Gann. You know perfectly well what I mean. It’s a beastly matter for both of us, but it’s no good funking it.... You’ve been on the estate pretty well all your life, haven’t you?

Gann.

It’s fifty-four years come next Michaelmas that my father was took on, and I was earning wages here before you was born.

Claude.

My governor always said you were the best keeper he ever struck, and hang it all, I haven’t had anything to complain about either.

Gann.

Thank you, sir.

Claude.

Anyhow, we shan’t make it any better by beating about the bush. It appears that Peggy has got into trouble in London.... I’m awfully sorry for you, and all that sort of thing.

Gann.

Poor child. She’s not to blame.

[Claude gives a slight shrug of the shoulders.

Gann.

I want ’er to forget all she’s gone through. It was a mistake she ever went to London, but she would go. Now I’ll keep ’er beside me. She’ll never leave me again till I’m put underground.

Claude.

That’s all very fine and large, but I’m afraid Peggy can’t stay on here, Gann.

Gann.

Why not?

Claude.

You know the rule of the estate as well as I do. When a girl gets into a mess she has to go.

Gann.

It’s a wicked rule!

Claude.

You never thought so before, and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen it applied, by a long chalk.

Gann.

The girl went away once and come to grief. She wellnigh killed herself with the shame of it. I’m not going to let ’er out of my sight again.

Claude.

I’m afraid I can’t make an exception in your favour, Gann.

Gann.

[Desperately.] Where’s she to go to?

Claude.

Oh, I expect she’ll be able to get a job somewhere. Mrs. Insoley’ll do all she can.

Gann.

It’s no good, Squire. I can’t let ’er go. I want ’er.

Claude.

I don’t want to be unreasonable. I’ll give you a certain amount of time to make arrangements.

Gann.

Time’s no good to me. I haven’t the ’eart to send her away.

Claude.

I’m afraid it’s not a question of whether you like it or not. You must do as you’re told.

Gann.

I can’t part with her, and there’s an end of it.

Claude.

You’d better go and talk it over with your wife.

Gann.

I don’t want to talk it over with anyone. I’ve made up my mind.

[Claude is silent for a moment. He looks at Gann thoughtfully.

Claude.

[Deliberately.] I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it.

Gann.

[Startled.] What d’you mean by that, sir?

Claude.

If Peggy isn’t gone by that time, I am afraid I shall have to send you away.

Gann.

You wouldn’t do that, sir? You couldn’t do it, Squire, not after all these years.

Claude.

We’ll soon see about that, my friend.

Gann.

You can’t dismiss me for that. I’ll have the law of you. I’ll sue you for wrongful dismissal.

Claude.

You can do what you damned well like; but if Peggy hasn’t gone by to-morrow night I shall turn you off the estate on Tuesday.

Gann.

[Hoarsely.] You wouldn’t do it! You couldn’t do it.

[There is a sound of talking and laughter, and of a general movement as the dining-room door is opened.

Claude.

They’re just coming in. You’d better hook it.

[Miss Vernon and Edith Lewis come in, followed by Grace. For a moment Gann stands awkwardly, and then leaves the room. Miss Vernon is a slight, faded, rather gaunt woman of thirty-five. Her deliberate manner, her composure, suggest a woman of means and a woman who knows her own mind. Edith Lewis is a pretty girl of twenty. Grace is thirty. She is a beautiful creature with an eager, earnest face and fine eyes. She has a restless manner, and her frequent laughter strikes you as forced. She is always falling from one emotion to another. She uses a slightly satirical note when she speaks to her husband.

Edith.

[Going to the window.] Oh, what a lovely night! Do let’s go out. [To Grace.] May we?

Grace.

Of course, if you want to.

Edith.

I’m perfectly sick with envy every time I look out of the window. Those lovely old trees!

Grace.

I wonder if you’d be sick with envy if you looked at nothing else for forty-six weeks in the year?

Edith.

I adore the country.

Grace.

People who habitually live in London generally do.

Miss Vernon.

Aren’t you fond of the country?

Grace.

[Vehemently.] I hate it! I hate it with all my heart and soul.

Claude.

My dear Grace, what are you saying?

Grace.

It bores me. It bores me stiff. Those endless trees, and those dreary meadows, and those ploughed fields. Oh!

Edith.

I don’t think I could ever get tired of the view from your dining-room.

Grace.

Not if you saw it for three meals a day for ten years? Oh, my dear, you don’t know what that view is like at an early breakfast on a winter’s morning. You sit there looking at it, with icy fingers, wondering if your nose is red, while your husband reads morning prayers, because his father read morning prayers before him; and the sky looks as if it were going to sink down and crush you.

Claude.

You can’t expect sunshine all the year round, can you?

Grace.

[Smiling.] True, O King!

Edith.

Well, I’m a Cockney, and I feel inclined to fall down on my very knees and worship those big trees in your park. Oh, what a night!

Miss Vernon.

In such a night as this,

When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees

And they did make no noise....

[Miss Vernon and Edith Lewis go out. Grace is left alone with her husband.

Grace.

What on earth was Gann doing here?

Claude.

I had something to say to him.

Grace.

May I know what?

Claude.

It would only bore you.

Grace.

That wouldn’t be a new experience.

Claude.

I say, you’re looking jolly to-night, darling.

Grace.

It’s kind of you to say so.

Claude.

Were you pleased with the necklace I gave you this morning?

Grace.

[Smiling.] Surely I said so at the time.

Claude.

I was rather hoping you’d wear it to-night.

Grace.

It wouldn’t have gone with my frock.

Claude.

You might have put it on all the same.

Grace.

You see, your example hasn’t been lost on me. I’ve learnt to put propriety before sentiment.

Claude.

[Rather shyly.] I should have thought, if you cared for me, you wouldn’t have minded.

Grace.

Are you reproaching me?

Claude.

No!

Grace.

Only?

Claude.

Hang it all, I can’t help wishing sometimes you’d seem as if—you were fond of me, don’t you know.

Grace.

If you’ll point out anything you particularly object to in my behaviour, I’ll try to change it.

Claude.

My dear, I don’t want much, do I?

Grace.

I don’t know why you should choose this particular time to make a scene.

Claude.

Hang it all, I’m not making a scene!

Grace.

I beg your pardon, I forgot that only women make scenes.

Claude.

I only wanted to tell you that I’m just about as fond of you as I can stick.

Grace.

[Suddenly touched.] After ten years of holy matrimony?

Claude.

It seems about ten days to me.

Grace.

Good God, to me it seems a lifetime.

Claude.

I say, Grace, what d’you mean by that?