Diminutive dramas

Scene.—A room in Julius Cæsar’s house. Discovered: Julius Cæsar and Calpurnia.

Calpurnia. Catullus has accepted, so that will make us thirteen.

Cæsar. I won’t sit down thirteen to dinner; it isn’t fair to one’s guests.

Calpurnia. What nonsense! They none of them mind.

Cæsar. I beg your pardon. I happen to know that Cicero is intensely superstitious. Of course I don’t mind personally, but one must think of others.

Calpurnia. Then what shall we do?

Cæsar. Ask some one else.

Calpurnia. Then you must get another man. You are sure to see some one at the Forum.

Cæsar. I will ask Calvus.

Calpurnia. How like a man. In the first place he is in mourning.

Cæsar. Who for?

Calpurnia. Quintilla, of course.

Cæsar. We need not go into that.

Calpurnia. He won’t go anywhere—at present—but even if it wasn’t for that, don’t you see that it would quite spoil the dinner to ask Calvus with Catullus?

Cæsar. Why?

Calpurnia. Because they both write poetry.

Cæsar. What does that matter?

Calpurnia. Of course, if you want to spoil the dinner——

Cæsar. Must it be a man?

Calpurnia. Yes; we have got quite enough women.

Cæsar. Why not ask Atticus?

Calpurnia. Then we should have to ask Pilia.

Cæsar. She hates going out.

Calpurnia. It is impossible to ask him without her—and I won’t ask her; she would ruin the dinner. Besides, I told you we can’t have another woman.

Cæsar. What about Cinna?

Calpurnia. Cornelia’s got him. She always gives a dinner the same night as I do, so as to take away the people I want from me.

Cæsar. I can’t think of anybody.

Calpurnia. You will see some one at the Forum; but mind you are careful, and don’t ask some one nobody else knows, or some one whom they all hate.

Cæsar. There’s nobody in Rome just now.

Enter a Slave, with a letter for Calpurnia

The Slave. They are waiting for a verbal answer.

[Calpurnia takes the letter and reads it.

Calpurnia. It is from Lucullus; he wants us to dine with him to-night—quite a tiny dinner, he says—he wants us to taste some oysters from Britain.

Cæsar. I suppose we can’t put off our guests?

Calpurnia. Certainly not. It is unlucky. (She sits down at a table and writes an answer.) It is the sort of thing that’s sure to happen. I wish you hadn’t asked all these people.

Cæsar. I didn’t ask a soul.

Calpurnia (to the Slave). There’s the answer.

[The Slave bows and retires. He returns again immediately with another letter, which he gives to Calpurnia.

Calpurnia. Is there an answer?

The Slave. The slave is waiting.

Calpurnia (reading out). “Most illustrious and celestially favoured Calpurnia”—it is from the Persian Ambassador—“Pity me. The gods are most cruel and unpropitious. Owing to the extraordinary carelessness of my private secretary I find that I have been engaged for several weeks to dine with Lucullus to-night. As I only know him slightly, I am sure you will understand that in this case I must sacrifice pleasure to duty, and miss a brilliant and charming evening. Alas, alas, pity me!—Your slave, Zoroaster Sorhab Jemshid.” (To the Slave) Say I quite understand. (Exit Slave.) Jemshid always, always throws one over.

Enter the Slave with two letters. He gives one to Cæsar and one to Calpurnia

The Slave. Both waiting for an answer.

Calpurnia. Who is yours from?

Cæsar. Mark Antony. (He reads) “Dear old Boy—I am frightfully sorry, but I can’t dine with you to-night. I have had a tooth pulled out this morning, and the doctor says I mustn’t go out, worse luck. My respects to Calpurnia. I will look in to-morrow if I am well enough. Don’t bother to come and see me, as I can’t talk.—M. A.”

Calpurnia. He’s dining with Lucullus, of course. If you had only let me engage that cook from Gaul, nobody would ever throw us over.

Cæsar. Who is yours from?

Calpurnia. Lucilius. (She reads) “Most illustrious and exquisite Calpurnia—I have got into the most frightful muddle. Last Monday, Lucullus asked me to dinner to-night, and I accepted. Then the next day I wrote to him and said I could not dine with him after all, as I had to go into Court the day after, and I should have to work all night. The day after I wrote this letter my case was put off, and then you kindly asked me to dinner, and of course I accepted; and now Lucullus has found out that I am dining with you, and thinks I threw him over for you. He says he’s a man short, and that as I was engaged to him first, I simply must come to his dinner. So I am writing to know whether you could possibly let me off? And as I have already been obliged to throw Lucullus over twice lately, I am sure you will understand that I cannot very well come to you to-night. I am too sorry for words.—Lucilius.”

Cæsar. I suppose the answer is “Very well” in both cases.

Calpurnia. Yes. (Exit Slave.) Of course they will all throw us over now.

Cæsar. Well, in that case, the matter would be solved, and we could dine with Lucullus.

Calpurnia. But they won’t all throw us over. Portia’s certain to come.

Enter the Slave with two letters. He gives them to Calpurnia

The Slave. No answer.

Calpurnia (eagerly). This is from Clodia. I wonder what lie she will tell. (Reads) “Darling Calpurnia—I am too, too miserable. Everything has gone stupidly wrong. When you asked me to dinner and said Friday, I thought Friday was the 10th, and now I see it is the 11th, and I have been engaged for ages to that tiresome old Lucullus. Of course I would throw him over at once, but Metellus won’t hear of it, and he says it will serve me right if you never ask us again. So like a husband! It is too unlucky, darling, isn’t it? You will feel for me, I am sure.—Your loving Clodia.” Well, Catullus won’t come now.

Cæsar. Is the other letter from him?

Calpurnia. No. Of course they wouldn’t send them together. It is from Cicero; if he can’t come, our dinner’s ruined. (She reads) “Most honoured and excellent Calpurnia—Owing to a quite unusual press of business I much regret to say that I will be compelled to forgo the pleasure of enjoying your kind hospitality to-night. The misfortune is all the more heavy since I shall not only miss the pleasure of enjoying your charming society, but also the opportunity of discussing several matters of importance with Cæsar, which I was particularly anxious to do. Believe me, I am consumed with regret, but I will not waste your time in vain excuses and apologies, which seem only to increase my vexation without diminishing the inconvenience I fear I may be causing you. Hail and farewell.—M. T. Cicero.”

Enter the Slave with a letter for Cæsar

The Slave. No answer. (He goes out.)

Cæsar (opening the letter). It is from Catullus. (Reading) “A terrible catastrophe has happened. Going home last night from the Esquiline I got my feet wet, and this has affected my style; my hexameters are beginning to limp and my elegiacs are gouty. The doctor says the only thing which can cure me is a quiet night’s rest and some oysters from Britain. But it is unlikely that I shall find any in Rome. In view of these distressing circumstances I fear I must put off coming to-night to your dinner-party. Quite seriously, I am unwell. With a thousand compliments to Calpurnia.—Wretched Catullus.” “P.S.—I was half engaged to Lucullus to-night, so if you see him later, tell him I was going to dine with you.”

Calpurnia. How silly he is! I shall never ask him again.

Cæsar. Who is there left?

Calpurnia. Now, there are only Brutus and Portia, Cassius and Cynthia.

Enter the Slave with a letter for Calpurnia. She takes it

The Slave. No answer. (He goes out.)

Calpurnia. It is from Cynthia. I thought she would throw us over too. (Reads) “Dearest Calpurnia—Lucullus says you and Cæsar and Catullus and Clodia are all dining with him. Is that right? Am I dining with him or with you? Please arrange it with him. I will do exactly what you like.—Your loving Cynthia.” Now we have only got the bores left, Cassius, Brutus and Portia. I don’t suppose we can very well put them off.

Cæsar. I think we might in this case. You see, it is perfectly true that our guests have all thrown us over, and it is much too late now to get any one else.

Calpurnia. Very well. You must write to Cassius and I will write to Portia.

Cæsar. And then we can dine with Lucullus.

Calpurnia. Just as you think best; but if Brutus and Portia find it out they will never forgive us.

Cæsar. What nonsense! Besides, perhaps Lucullus will ask them.

Calpurnia. Never. (Reading out as she writes) Dearest Portia—It is too unlucky, we are obliged to put off our dinner-party after all, because everybody has thrown us over; we are dreadfully disappointed, as we had so looked forward to seeing you. We shall have our little dinner on the 19th instead—Friday week. We do so hope you and Brutus are free.—Yours, Calpurnia.

Cæsar. That’s all right. I will write to Lucullus and say we will come, if he has still got room for us.

Calpurnia. Just as you like; but remember that Brutus is touchy and that Portia never forgives.

Curtain.