PATIENCE
or
Bunthorne's Bride
Book by
W.S. GILBERT
Music by
ARTHUR SULLIVAN
First produced at the Opera Comique, London,
on April 23, 1881.
PATIENCE
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Officers of Dragoon Guards
COLONEL CALVERLEY Baritone
MAJOR MURGATROYD Baritone
LIEUT. THE DUKE OF DUNSTABLE Tenor
REGINALD BUNTHORNE (A Fleshly Poet) Light Baritone
ARCHIBALD GROSVENOR (An Idyllic Poet) Baritone
MR. BUNTHORNE'S SOLICITOR Non-singing
Rapturous Maidens
THE LADY ANGELA Mezzo-Soprano
THE LADY SAPHIR Mezzo-Soprano
THE LADY ELLA Soprano
THE LADY JANE Contralto
PATIENCE (A Dairy Maid) Soprano
Chorus of Rapturous MAIDENS and Officers of DRAGOON GUARDS
ACT I—Exterior of Castle Bunthorne
ACT II—A Glade
ACT I
[Scene: Exterior of Castle Bunthorne, the gateway to which is
seen, R.U.E., and is approached by a drawbridge over a moat.
A rocky eminence R. with steps down to the stage. In front
of it, a rustic bench, on which ANGELA is seated, with ELLA
on her left. Young Ladies wearing aesthetic draperies are
grouped about the stage from R. to L.C., SAPHIR being near
the L. end of the group. The Ladies play on lutes, etc., as
they sing, and all are in the last stage of despair.]
No. 1. Twenty love-sick maidens we
(Opening Chorus and Solos)
Maidens, Angela, and Ella
MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still!
Twenty love-sick maidens we,
And we die for love of thee!
Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still!
ANGELA Love feeds on hope, they say, or love will die;
MAIDENS Ah, miserie!
ANGELA Yet my love lives, although no hope have I!
MAIDENS Ah, miserie!
ANGELA Alas, poor heart, go hide thyself away,
To weeping concords tune thy roundelay!
Ah, miserie!
MAIDENS All our love is all for one,
Yet that love he heedeth not,
He is coy and cares for none,
Sad and sorry is our lot!
Ah, miserie!
ELLA Go, breaking heart,
Go, dream of love requited!
Go, foolish heart,
Go, dream of lovers plighted;
Go, madcap heart,
Go, dream of never waking;
And in thy dream
Forget that thou art breaking!
MAIDENS Ah, miserie!
ELLA Forget that thou art breaking!
MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still.
Ah, miserie!
ANGELA There is a strange magic in this love of ours! Rivals as
we all are in the affections of our Reginald, the very
hopelessness of our love is a bond that binds us to one another!
SAPHIR Jealousy is merged in misery. While he, the very
cynosure of our eyes and hearts, remains icy insensible — what
have we to strive for?
ELLA The love of maidens is, to him, as interesting as the
taxes!
SAPHIR Would that it were! He pays his taxes.
ANGELA And cherishes the receipts!
[Enter LADY JANE, L.U.E.]
SAPHIR Happy receipts! [All sigh heavily]
JANE [L.C., suddenly] Fools! [They start, and turn to her]
ANGELA I beg your pardon?
JANE Fools and blind! The man loves — wildly loves!
ANGELA But whom? None of us!
JANE No, none of us. His weird fancy has lighted, for the
nonce, on Patience, the village milkmaid!
SAPHIR On Patience? Oh, it cannot be!
JANE Bah! But yesterday I caught him in her dairy, eating fresh
butter with a tablespoon. Today he is not well!
SAPHIR But Patience boasts that she has never loved — that love
is, to her, a sealed book! Oh, he cannot be serious!
JANE `Tis but a fleeting fancy — `twill quickly wear away.
[aside, coming down-stage] Oh, Reginald, if you but knew what a
wealth of golden love is waiting for you, stored up in this
rugged old bosom of mine, the milkmaid's triumph would be short
indeed!
[PATIENCE appears on an eminence, R. She looks down with pity on
the despondent Ladies.]
No. 2. Still brooding on their mad infatuation!
(Recitative)
Patience, Saphir, Angela, and Maidens
PATIENCE Still brooding on their mad infatuation!
I thank thee, Love, thou comest not to me!
Far happier I, free from thy ministration,
Than dukes or duchesses who love can be!
SAPHIR [looking up] `Tis Patience — happy girl! Loved by a
poet!
PATIENCE Your pardon, ladies. I intrude upon you! [Going]
ANGELA Nay, pretty child, come hither. [PATIENCE descends.] Is
it true that you have never loved?
PATIENCE Most true indeed.
SOPRANOS Most marvelous!
ALTOS And most deplorable!
I cannot tell what this love may be
(Solo)
Patience
PATIENCE I cannot tell what this love may be
[L.C.] That cometh to all but not to me.
It cannot be kind as they'd imply,
Or why do these ladies sigh?
It cannot be joy and rapture deep,
Or why do these gentle ladies weep?
It cannot be blissful as `tis said,
Or why are their eyes so wondrous red?
Though ev'rywhere true love I see
A-coming to all, but not to me,
I cannot tell what this love may be!
For I am blithe and I am gay,
While they sit sighing night and day.
PATIENCE ALL
For I am blithe and I am gay, Yes, she is blithe and she is
gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt Yes, she is blithe and
them and me, she is gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt them, Yes, she is blithe and
and me, and she is gay,
Fal lal la la la la la la la la la la la la la
la la la la la la la la la la la la,
and miserie! Ah, miserie!
[She dances across R. and back to R.C.]
PATIENCE If love is a thorn, they show no wit
Who foolishly hug and foster it.
If love is a weed, how simple they
Who gather it, day by day!
If love is a nettle that makes you smart,
Then why do you wear it next your heart?
And if it be none of these, say I,
Ah, why do you sit and sob and sigh?
Though ev'rywhere true love I see
A-coming to all, but not to me,
I cannot tell what this love may be!
For I am blithe and I am gay,
While they sit sighing night and day.
PATIENCE ALL
For I am blithe and I Yes, she is blithe and she is
am gay, gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt Yes, she is blithe and she is
them and me, gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt Yes, she is blithe and she is
them and me, gay,
Fal lal la la la la la la la la la la la la la
la la la la la la la la la la la la,
and miserie! Ah, miserie!
ANGELA Ah, Patience, if you have never loved, you have never
known true happiness! [All sigh.]
PATIENCE [C.] But the truly happy always seem to have so much on
their minds. The truly happy never seem quite well.
JANE [coming L.C.] There is a transcendentality of delirium —
an acute accentuation of supremest ecstasy — which the earthy
might easily mistake for indigestion. But it is not indigestion
— it is aesthetic transfiguration! [to the others.] Enough of
babble. Come!
PATIENCE [stopping her as she turns to go up C.] But stay, I
have some news for you. The 35th Dragoon Guards have halted in
the village, and are even now on their way to this very spot.
ANGELA The 35th Dragoon Guards!
SAPHIR They are fleshly men, of full habit!
ELLA We care nothing for Dragoon Guards!
PATIENCE But, bless me, you were all engaged to them a year ago!
SAPHIR A year ago!
ANGELA My poor child, you don't understand these things. A year
ago they were very well in our eyes, but since then our tastes
have been etherealized, our perceptions exalted. [to the others]
Come, it is time to lift up our voices in morning carol to our
Reginald. Let us to his door!
[ANGELA leading, the Ladies go off, two and two, Jane last, over
the drawbridge into the castle, singing refrain of "Twenty
love-sick maidens", and, as before, accompanying themselves
on harps, etc.]
No. 2a. Twenty love-sick maidens we
(Chorus)
Maidens
MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still!
Ah, miserie!
[PATIENCE watches them in surprise, and, with a gesture of
complete bafflement, climbs the rock and goes off the way
she entered.]
[The officers of the DRAGOON GUARDS enter, R., led by the MAJOR.
They form their line across the front of the stage.]
No. 3. The soldiers of our Queen
(Chorus and Solo)
Dragoons and Colonel
DRAGOONS The soldiers of our Queen
Are linked in friendly tether;
Upon the battle scene
They fight the foe together.
There ev'ry mother's son
Prepared to fight and fall is;
The enemy of one
The enemy of all is!
The enemy of one
The enemy of all is!
[On an order from the MAJOR they fall back.]
[Enter the COLONEL. All salute.]
COLONEL If you want a receipt for that popular mystery,
[C.] Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,
DRAGOONS [saluting] Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL Take all the remarkable people in history,
Rattle them off to a popular tune.
DRAGOONS Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the Victory—
Genius of Bismarck devising a plan—
The humour of Fielding (which sounds contradictory)—
Coolness of Paget about to trepan—
The science of Jullien, the eminent musico—
Wit of Macaulay, who wrote of Queen Anne—
The pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault—
Style of the Bishop of Sodor and Man—
The dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery—
Narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray—
Victor Emmanuel — peak-haunting Peveril—
Thomas Aquinas, and Doctor Sacheverell—
Tupper and Tennyson — Daniel Defoe—
Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot! Ah!
DRAGOONS Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL DRAGOONS
Take of these elements all A Heavy Dragoon,
that is fusible a Heavy Dragoon,
Melt them all down in a A Heavy Dragoon,
pipkin or crucible— a Heavy Dragoon,
Set them to simmer, A Heavy Dragoon,
and take off the scum, a Heavy Dragoon,
And a Heavy Dragoon Is the residuum!
is the residuum!
COLONEL If you want a receipt for this soldier-like paragon,
Get at the wealth of the Czar (if you can)—
The family pride of a Spaniard from Aragon—
Force of Mephisto pronouncing a ban—
A smack of Lord Waterford, reckless and rollicky—
Swagger of Roderick, heading his clan—
The keen penetration of Paddington Pollaky—
Grace of an Odalisque on a divan—
The genius strategic of Caesar or Hannibal—
Skill of Sir Garnet in thrashing a cannibal—
Flavour of Hamlet — the Stranger, a touch of him—
Little of Manfred (but not very much of him)—
Beadle of Burlington — Richardson's show—
Mister Micawber and Madame Tussaud! Ah!
DRAGOONS Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL DRAGOONS
Take of these elements all A Heavy Dragoon,
that is fusible a Heavy Dragoon,
Melt them all down in a A Heavy Dragoon,
pipkin or crucible— a Heavy Dragoon,
Set them to simmer, A Heavy Dragoon,
and take off the scum, a Heavy Dragoon,
And a Heavy Dragoon Is the residuum!
is the residuum!
COLONEL Well, here we are once more on the scene of our former
triumphs. But where's the Duke?
[Enter DUKE, listlessly, and in low spirits.]
DUKE Here I am! [Sighs.]
COLONEL Come, cheer up, don't give way!
DUKE Oh, for that, I'm as cheerful as a poor devil can be
expected to be who has the misfortune to be a Duke, with a
thousand a day!
MAJOR Humph! Most men would envy you!
DUKE Envy me? Tell me, Major, are you fond of toffee?
MAJOR Very!
COLONEL We are all fond of toffee.
ALL We are!
DUKE Yes, and toffee in moderation is a capital thing. But to
live on toffee — toffee for breakfast, toffee for dinner, toffee
for tea — to have it supposed that you care for nothing but
toffee, and that you would consider yourself insulted if anything
but toffee were offered to you — how would you like that?
COLONEL I can quite believe that, under those circumstances,
even toffee would become monotonous.
DUKE For "toffee" read flattery, adulation, and abject
deference, carried to such a pitch that I began, at last, to
think that man was born bent at an angle of forty-five degrees!
Great heavens, what is there to adulate in me? Am I particularly
intelligent, or remarkably studious, or excruciatingly witty, or
unusually accomplished, or exceptionally virtuous?
COLONEL You're about as commonplace a young man as ever I saw.
ALL You are!
DUKE Exactly! That's it exactly! That describes me to a T!
Thank you all very much! [Shakes hands with the Colonel] Well,
I couldn't stand it any longer, so I joined this second-class
cavalry regiment. In the army, thought I, I shall be
occasionally snubbed, perhaps even bullied, who knows? The
thought was rapture, and here I am.
COLONEL [looking off] Yes, and here are the ladies!
DUKE But who is the gentleman with the long hair?
COLONEL I don't know.
DUKE He seems popular!
COLONEL He does seem popular!
[The DRAGOONS back up R., watching the entrance of the Ladies.
BUNTHORNE enters, L.U.E., followed by the Ladies, two and
two, playing on harps as before. He is composing a poem,
and is quite absorbed. He sees no one, but walks across the
stage, followed by the Ladies, who take no notice of the
DRAGOONS — to the surprise and indignation of those
officers.]
[Bunthorne, the Ladies following, comes slowly down L. and then
crosses the stage to R.]
No. 4. In a doleful train
(Chorus and Solos)
Maidens, Ella, Angela, Saphir, Dragoons, and Bunthorne
MAIDENS In a doleful train
Two and two we walk all day—
For we love in vain!
None so sorrowful as they
Who can only sigh and say,
Woe is me, alackaday!
Woe is me, alackaday!
DRAGOONS Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this
preposterous?
A thorough-paced absurdity — explain it if you
can.
Instead of rushing eagerly to cherish us and foster us,
They all prefer this melancholy literary man.
Instead of slyly peering at us,
Casting looks endearing at us,
Blushing at us, flushing at us, flirting with a fan;
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us,
jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us,
jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!
[Bunthorne, C.]
ANGELA [R. of BUNTHORNE] Mystic poet, hear our prayer,
Twenty love-sick maidens we—
Young and wealthy, dark and fair,
All of county family.
And we die for love of thee—
Twenty love-sick maidens we!
MAIDENS Yes, we die for love of thee—
Twenty love-sick maidens we!
BUNTHORNE [crossing to L.] Though my book I seem to scan
In a rapt ecstatic way,
Like a literary man
Who despises female clay,
I hear plainly all they say,
Twenty love-sick maidens they!
[BUNTHORNE crosses to C.]
DRAGOONS [to each other] He hears plainly all they say,
Twenty love-sick maidens they!
SAPHIR [L. of BUNTHORNE] Though so excellently wise,
For a moment mortal be,
Deign to raise thy purple eyes
From thy heart-drawn poesy.
Twenty lovesick maidens see—
Each is kneeling on her knee!
[All kneel.]
MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens see—
Each is kneeling on her knee!
BUNTHORNE [going R.] Though, as I remarked before,
Any one convinced would be
That some transcendental lore
Is monopolizing me,
Round the corner I can see
Each is kneeling on her knee!
DRAGOONS Round the corner he can see
Each is kneeling on her knee!
Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous?
A thorough-paced absurdity — ridiculous!
preposterous!
Explain it if you can.
MAIDENS DRAGOONS
In a doleful train Now is not this ridiculous,
Two and two we walk all day, and is not this preposterous?
A thorough-paced absurdity—
None so sorrowful as they explain it if you can.
For we love in vain! Instead of rushing eagerly
None so sorrowful as they to cherish us and foster us,
They all prefer this
melancholy literary man.
Who can only sigh and say, Instead of slyly peering at us,
Casting looks endearing at us,
Blushing at us, flushing at us,
Flirting with a fan;
Woe is me, alackaday! They're actually sneering at us,
fleering at us, jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for
a military man!
Woe is me, alackaday! They're actually sneering at us,
fleering at us, jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for
a military man!
Twenty love-sick maidens we, Now is not this ridiculous,
and is not this preposterous?
They all prefer this melancholy
literary man.
And we die for love of thee! Now is not this ridiculous,
and is not this preposterous?
They all prefer this melancholy,
Yes, we die for love of thee! melancholy literary man.
Now is not this ridiculous,
and is not this preposterous?
COLONEL [R.C.] Angela! what is the meaning of this?
ANGELA [C.] Oh, sir, leave us; our minds are but ill-tuned to
light love-talk.
MAJOR [L.C.] But what in the world has come over you all?
JANE [L.C.] Bunthorne! He has come over us. He has come among
us, and he has idealized us.
DUKE Has he succeeded in idealizing you?
JANE He has!
DUKE Good old Bunthorne!
JANE My eyes are open; I droop despairingly; I am soulfully
intense; I am limp and I cling!
[During this BUNTHORNE is seen in all the agonies of composition.
The Ladies are watching him intently as he writhes. At last
he hits on the word he wants and writes it down. A general
sense of relief.]
BUN. Finished! At last! Finished!
[He staggers, overcome with the mental strain, into the arms of
the COLONEL.]
COLONEL Are you better now?
BUN. Yes — oh, it's you! — I am better now. The poem is
finished, and my soul has gone out into it. That was all. It
was nothing worth mentioning, it occurs three times a day.
[Sees PATIENCE, who has entered during this scene.]
Ah, Patience! Dear Patience!
[Holds her hand; she seems frightened.]
ANGELA Will it please you read it to us, sir?
SAPHIR This we supplicate. [All kneel.]
BUN. Shall I?
DRAGOONS No!
BUN. [annoyed — to PATIENCE] I will read it if you bid me!
PATIENCE [much frightened] You can if you like!
BUN. It is a wild, weird, fleshy thing; yet very tender, very
yearning, very precious. It is called, "Oh, Hollow! Hollow!
Hollow!"
PATIENCE Is it a hunting song?
BUN. A hunting song? No, it is not a hunting song. It is the
wail of the poet's heart on discovering that everything is
commonplace. To understand it, cling passionately to one another
and think of faint lilies.
[They do so as he recites]
"OH, HOLLOW! HOLLOW! HOLLOW!"
What time the poet hath hymned
The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,
Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,
How can he paint her woes,
Knowing, as well he knows,
That all can be set right with calomel?
When from the poet's plinth
The amorous colocynth
Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills,
How can he hymn their throes
Knowing, as well he knows,
That they are only uncompounded pills?
Is it, and can it be,
Nature hath this decree,
Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?
Or that in all her works
Something poetic lurks,
Even in colocynth and calomel?
I cannot tell.
[He goes off, L.U.E. All turn and watch him, not speaking until
he has gone.]
ANGELA How purely fragrant!
SAPHIR How earnestly precious!
PATIENCE Well, it seems to me to be nonsense.
SAPHIR Nonsense, yes, perhaps — but oh, what precious nonsense!
COLONEL This is all very well, but you seem to forget that you
are engaged to us.
SAPHIR It can never be. You are not Empyrean. You are not
Della Cruscan. You are not even Early English. Oh, be Early
English ere it is too late!
[Officers look at each other in astonishment.]
JANE [looking at uniform] Red and Yellow! Primary colors! Oh,
South Kensington!
DUKE We didn't design our uniforms, but we don't see how they
could be improved!
JANE No, you wouldn't. Still, there is a cobwebby grey velvet,
with a tender bloom like cold gravy, which, made Florentine
fourteenth century, trimmed with Venetian leather and Spanish
altar lace, and surmounted with something Japanese — it matters
not what — would at least be Early English! Come, maidens.
[Exeunt Maidens, L.U.E., two and two, singing refrain of "Twenty
love-sick maidens we". PATIENCE goes off L. The Officers
watch the Ladies go off in astonishment.]
No. 4a. Twenty love-sick maidens we
(Chorus)
Maidens
[As the MAIDENS depart, the DRAGOONS spread across the stage.]
MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still!
Ah, miserie!
DUKE Gentlemen, this is an insult to the British uniform.
COLONEL A uniform that has been as successful in the courts of
Venus as on the field of Mars!
No. 5. When I first put this uniform on
(Solo and Chorus)
Colonel and Dragoons
[The DRAGOONS form their original line.]
Song — COLONEL
When I first put this uniform on,
I said, as I looked in the glass,
"It's one to a million
That any civilian
My figure and form will surpass.
Gold lace has a charm for the fair,
And I've plenty of that, and to spare,
While a lover's professions,
When uttered in Hessians,
Are eloquent ev'rywhere!"
A fact that I counted upon,
When I first put this uniform on!
Chorus of DRAGOONS
By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have counted upon,
The same thing occurred to me,
When I first put this uniform on!
COL. I said, when I first put it on,
"It is plain to the veriest dunce,
That every beauty
Will feel it her duty
To yield to its glamour at once.
They will see that I'm freely gold-laced
In a uniform handsome and chaste"—
But the peripatetics
Of long-haired aesthetics
Are very much more to their taste—
Which I never counted upon,
When I first put this uniform on!
CHORUS By a simple coincidence, few
Could ever have reckoned upon,
I didn't anticipate that,
When I first put this uniform on!
[The DRAGOONS go off angrily, R.]
[Enter BUNTHORNE, L.U.E., who changes his manner and becomes
intensely melodramatic.]
No. 6. Am I alone and unobserved?
(Recitative and Solo)
Bunthorne
BUN. [Up-stage, he looks off L. and R.]
Am I alone,
And unobserved? I am!
[comes down]
Then let me own
I'm an aesthetic sham!
[and walks tragically to down-stage, C.]
This air severe
Is but a mere
Veneer!
This cynic smile
Is but a wile
Of guile!
This costume chaste
Is but good taste
Misplaced!
Let me confess!
A languid love for Lilies does not blight me!
Lank limbs and haggard cheeks do not delight me!
I do not care for dirty greens
By any means.
I do not long for all one sees
That's Japanese.
I am not fond of uttering platitudes
In stained-glass attitudes.
In short, my mediaevalism's affectation,
Born of a morbid love of admiration!
[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 passed 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 passion 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 circumstances, 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 passions 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 ennobling and unselfish passion! 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 Noble 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.
PATIENCE Then there's nobody. At least — no, nobody. Not
since I was a baby. But that doesn't count, I suppose.
ANGELA I don't know. Tell me about it.
No. 7. Long years ago, fourteen maybe
(Duet)
Patience and Angela
PATIENCE [R.] Long years ago — fourteen, maybe,
When but a tiny babe of four,
Another baby played with me,
My elder by a year or more;
A little child of beauty rare,
With marv'lous eyes and wondrous hair,
Who, in my child-eyes, seemed to me
All that a little child should be!
[She goes to ANGELA, L.C.]
Ah, how we loved, that child and I!
How pure our baby joy!
How true our love — and, by the bye,
He was a little boy!
ANGELA Ah, old, old tale of Cupid's touch!
I thought as much — I thought as much!
He was a little boy!
PATIENCE Pray don't misconstrue what I say—
Remember, pray — remember, pray,
He was a little boy!
ANGELA No doubt! Yet, spite of all your pains,
The interesting fact remains -
He was a little boy!
BOTH Ah, yes, in/No doubt, yet spite of all my/your pains,
The interesting fact remains—
He was a little boy!
He was a little boy!
[Exit ANGELA, L.]
PATIENCE [R.C.] It's perfectly dreadful to think of the
appalling state I must be in! I had no idea that love was a
duty. No wonder they all look so unhappy! Upon my word, I
hardly like to associate with myself. I don't think I'm
respectable. I'll go at once and fall in love with... [As she
turns to go up R., GROSVENOR enters, R.U.E. She sees him and
turns back.] a stranger!