Magic

Act I

THE PRELUDE

SCENE: _A plantation of thin young trees, in a misty and rainy

twilight; some woodland blossom showing the patches on the earth

between the stems._

THE STRANGER _is discovered, a cloaked figure with a pointed hood.

His costume might belong to modern or any other time, and the

conical hood is so drawn over the head that little can be seen of

the face._

_A distant voice, a woman's, is heard, half-singing, half-chanting,

unintelligible words. The cloaked figure raises its head and

listens with interest. The song draws nearer and_ PATRICIA CARLEON

_enters. She is dark and slight, and has a dreamy expression.

Though she is artistically dressed, her hair is a little wild. She

has a broken branch of some flowering tree in her hand. She does

not notice the stranger, and though he has watched her with

interest, makes no sign. Suddenly she perceives him and starts

back._

PATRICIA. Oh! Who are you?

STRANGER. Ah! Who am I? [_Commences to mutter to himself, and maps out

the ground with his staff._]

I have a hat, but not to wear;

I wear a sword, but not to slay,

And ever in my bag I bear

A pack of cards, but not to play.

PATRICIA. What are you? What are you saying?

STRANGER. It is the language of the fairies, O daughter of Eve.

PATRICIA. But I never thought fairies were like you. Why, you are taller

than I am.

STRANGER. We are of such stature as we will. But the elves grow small,

not large, when they would mix with mortals.

PATRICIA. You mean they are beings greater than we are.

STRANGER. Daughter of men, if you would see a fairy as he truly is, look

for his head above all the stars and his feet amid the floors of the

sea. Old women have taught you that the fairies are too small to be

seen. But I tell you the fairies are too mighty to be seen. For they are

the elder gods before whom the giants were like pigmies. They are the

Elemental Spirits, and any one of them is larger than the world. And you

look for them in acorns and on toadstools and wonder that you never see

them.

PATRICIA. But you come in the shape and size of a man?

STRANGER. Because I would speak with a woman.

PATRICIA. [_Drawing back in awe._] I think you are growing taller as you

speak.

[_The scene appears to fade away, and give place to the milieu of_

ACT ONE, _the Duke's drawing-room, an apartment with open French

windows or any opening large enough to show a garden and one house

fairly near. It is evening, and there is a red lamp lighted in the

house beyond. The_ REV. CYRIL SMITH _is sitting with hat and

umbrella beside him, evidently a visitor. He is a young man with

the highest of High Church dog-collars and all the qualities of a

restrained fanatic. He is one of the Christian Socialist sort and

takes his priesthood seriously. He is an honest man, and not an

ass._

[_To him enters_ MR. HASTINGS _with papers in his hand._

HASTINGS. Oh, good evening. You are Mr. Smith. [_Pause._] I mean you are

the Rector, I think.

SMITH. I am the Rector.

HASTINGS. I am the Duke's secretary. His Grace asks me to say that he

hopes to see you very soon; but he is engaged just now with the Doctor.

SMITH. Is the Duke ill?

HASTINGS. [_Laughing._] Oh, no; the Doctor has come to ask him to help

some cause or other. The Duke is never ill.

SMITH. Is the Doctor with him now?

HASTINGS. Why, strictly speaking, he is not. The Doctor has gone over

the road to fetch a paper connected with his proposal. But he hasn't far

to go, as you can see. That's his red lamp at the end of his grounds.

SMITH. Yes, I know. I am much obliged to you. I will wait as long as is

necessary.

HASTINGS. [_Cheerfully._] Oh, it won't be very long.

[_Exit._

[_Enter by the garden doors_ DR. GRIMTHORPE _reading an open paper.

He is an old-fashioned practitioner, very much of a gentleman and

very carefully dressed in a slightly antiquated style. He is about

sixty years old and might have been a friend of Huxley's._

DOCTOR. [_Folding up the paper._] I beg your pardon, sir, I did not

notice there was anyone here.

SMITH. [_Amicably._] I beg yours. A new clergyman cannot expect to be

expected. I only came to see the Duke about some local affairs.

DOCTOR. [_Smiling._] And so, oddly enough, did I. But I suppose we

should both like to get hold of him by a separate ear.

SMITH. Oh, there's no disguise as far as I'm concerned. I've joined this

league for starting a model public-house in the parish; and in plain

words, I've come to ask his Grace for a subscription to it.

DOCTOR. [_Grimly._] And, as it happens, I have joined in the petition

against the erection of a model public-house in this parish. The

similarity of our position grows with every instant.

SMITH. Yes, I think we must have been twins.

DOCTOR. [_More good-humouredly._] Well, what is a model public-house? Do

you mean a toy?

SMITH. I mean a place where Englishmen can get decent drink and drink it

decently. Do you call that a toy?

DOCTOR. No; I should call that a conjuring trick. Or, in apology to your

cloth, I will say a miracle.

SMITH. I accept the apology to my cloth. I am doing my duty as a priest.

How can the Church have a right to make men fast if she does not allow

them to feast?

DOCTOR. [_Bitterly._] And when you have done feasting them, you will

send them to me to be cured.

SMITH. Yes; and when you've done curing them you'll send them to me to

be buried.

DOCTOR. [_After a pause, laughing._] Well, you have all the old

doctrines. It is only fair you should have all the old jokes too.

SMITH. [_Laughing also._] By the way, you call it a conjuring trick that

poor people should drink moderately.

DOCTOR. I call it a chemical discovery that alcohol is not a food.

SMITH. You don't drink wine yourself?

DOCTOR. [_Mildly startled._] Drink wine! Well--what else is there to

drink?

SMITH. So drinking decently is a conjuring trick that you can do,

anyhow?

DOCTOR. [_Still good-humouredly._] Well, well, let us hope so. Talking

about conjuring tricks, there is to be conjuring and all kinds of things

here this afternoon.

SMITH. Conjuring? Indeed? Why is that?

_Enter_ HASTINGS _with a letter in each hand._

HASTINGS. His Grace will be with you presently. He asked me to deal with

the business matter first of all.

[_He gives a note to each of them._

SMITH. [_Turning eagerly to the_ DOCTOR.] But this is rather splendid.

The Duke's given 50 to the new public-house.

HASTINGS. The Duke is very liberal.

[_Collects papers._

DOCTOR. [_Examining his cheque._] Very. But this is rather curious. He

has also given 50 to the league for opposing the new public-house.

HASTINGS. The Duke is very liberal-minded.

[_Exit._

SMITH. [_Staring at his cheque._] Liberal-minded!... Absent-minded, I

should call it.

DOCTOR. [_Sitting down and lighting a cigar._] Well, yes. The Duke does

suffer a little from absence [_puts his cigar in his mouth and pulls

during the pause_] of mind. He is all for compromise. Don't you know the

kind of man who, when you talk to him about the five best breeds of dog,

always ends up by buying a mongrel? The Duke is the kindest of men, and

always trying to please everybody. He generally finishes by pleasing

nobody.

SMITH. Yes; I think I know the sort of thing.

DOCTOR. Take this conjuring, for instance. You know the Duke has two

wards who are to live with him now?

SMITH. Yes. I heard something about a nephew and niece from Ireland.

DOCTOR. The niece came from Ireland some months ago, but the nephew

comes back from America to-night. [_He gets up abruptly and walks about

the room._] I think I will tell you all about it. In spite of your

precious public-house you seem to me to be a sane man. And I fancy I

shall want all the sane men I can get to-night.

SMITH. [_Rising also._] I am at your service. Do you know, I rather

guessed you did not come here only to protest against my precious

public-house.

DOCTOR. [_Striding about in subdued excitement._] Well, you guessed

right. I was family physician to the Duke's brother in Ireland. I knew

the family pretty well.

SMITH. [_Quietly._] I suppose you mean you knew something odd about the

family?

DOCTOR. Well, they saw fairies and things of that sort.

SMITH. And I suppose, to the medical mind, seeing fairies means much the

same as seeing snakes?

DOCTOR. [_With a sour smile._] Well, they saw them in Ireland. I suppose

it's quite correct to see fairies in Ireland. It's like gambling at

Monte Carlo. It's quite respectable. But I do draw the line at their

seeing fairies in England. I do object to their bringing their ghosts

and goblins and witches into the poor Duke's own back garden and within

a yard of my own red lamp. It shows a lack of tact.

SMITH. But I do understand that the Duke's nephew and niece see witches

and fairies between here and your lamp.

[_He walks to the garden window and looks out._

DOCTOR. Well, the nephew has been in America. It stands to reason you

can't see fairies in America. But there is this sort of superstition in

the family, and I am not easy in my mind about the girl.

SMITH. Why, what does she do?

DOCTOR. Oh, she wanders about the park and the woods in the evenings.

Damp evenings for choice. She calls it the Celtic twilight. I've no use

for the Celtic twilight myself. It has a tendency to get on the chest.

But what is worse, she is always talking about meeting somebody, some

elf or wizard or something. I don't like it at all.

SMITH. Have you told the Duke?

DOCTOR. [_With a grim smile._] Oh, yes, I told the Duke. The result was

the conjurer.

SMITH. [_With amazement._] The _conjurer_?

DOCTOR. [_Puts down his cigar in the ash-tray._] The Duke is

indescribable. He will be here presently, and you shall judge for

yourself. Put two or three facts or ideas before him, and the thing he

makes out of them is always something that seems to have nothing to do

with it. Tell any other human being about a girl dreaming of the fairies

and her practical brother from America, and he would settle it in some

obvious way and satisfy some one: send her to America or let her have

her fairies in Ireland. Now the Duke thinks a conjurer would just meet

the case. I suppose he vaguely thinks it would brighten things up, and

somehow satisfy the believers' interest in supernatural things and the

unbelievers' interest in smart things. As a matter of fact the

unbeliever thinks the conjurer's a fraud, and the believer thinks he's a

fraud, too. The conjurer satisfies nobody. That is why he satisfies the

Duke.

[_Enter the_ DUKE, _with_ HASTINGS, _carrying papers. The_ DUKE _is

a healthy, hearty man in tweeds, with a rather wandering eye. In

the present state of the peerage it is necessary to explain that

the_ DUKE, _though an ass, is a gentleman._

DUKE. Good-morning, Mr. Smith. So sorry to have kept you waiting, but

we're rather in a rush to-day. [_Turns to_ HASTINGS, _who has gone over

to a table with the papers._] You know Mr. Carleon is coming this

afternoon?

HASTINGS. Yes, your Grace. His train will be in by now. I have sent the

trap.

DUKE. Thank you. [_Turning to the other two._] My nephew, Dr.

Grimthorpe, Morris, you know, Miss Carleon's brother from America. I

hear he's been doing great things out there. Petrol, or something. Must

move with the times, eh?

DOCTOR. I'm afraid Mr. Smith doesn't always agree with moving with the

times.

DUKE. Oh, come, come! Progress, you know, progress! Of course I know how

busy you are; you mustn't overwork yourself, you know. Hastings was

telling me you laughed over those subscriptions of mine. Well, well, I

believe in looking at both sides of a question, you know. Aspects, as

old Buffle called them. Aspects. [_With an all-embracing gesture of the

arm._] You represent the tendency to drink in moderation, and you do

good in _your_ way. The Doctor represents the tendency not to drink at

all; and he does good in _his_ way. We can't be Ancient Britons, you

know.

[_A prolonged and puzzled silence, such as always follows the more

abrupt of the_ DUKE'S _associations or disassociations of thought._

SMITH. [_At last, faintly._] Ancient Britons....

DOCTOR. [_To_ SMITH _in a low voice._] Don't bother. It's only his

broad-mindedness.

DUKE. [_With unabated cheerfulness._] I saw the place you're putting up

for it, Mr. Smith. Very good work. Very good work, indeed. Art for the

people, eh? I particularly liked that woodwork over the west door--I'm

glad to see you're using the new sort of graining ... why, it all

reminds one of the French Revolution.

[_Another silence. As the_ DUKE _lounges alertly about the room_,

SMITH _speaks to the_ DOCTOR _in an undertone._

SMITH. Does it remind you of the French Revolution?

DOCTOR. As much as of anything else. His Grace never reminds me of

anything.

[_A young and very high American voice is heard calling in the

garden. "Say, could somebody see to one of these trunks?"_

[MR. HASTINGS _goes out into the garden. He returns with_ MORRIS

CARLEON, _a very young man: hardly more than a boy, but with very

grown-up American dress and manners. He is dark, smallish, and

active; and the racial type under his Americanism is Irish._

MORRIS. [_Humorously, as he puts in his head at the window._] See here,

does a Duke live here?

DOCTOR. [_Who is nearest to him, with great gravity._] Yes, only one.

MORRIS. I reckon he's the one I want, anyhow. I'm his nephew.

[_The_ DUKE, _who is ruminating in the foreground, with one eye

rather off, turns at the voice and shakes_ MORRIS _warmly by the

hand._

DUKE. Delighted to see you, my dear boy. I hear you've been doing very

well for yourself.

MORRIS. [_Laughing._] Well, pretty well, Duke; and better still for Paul

T. Vandam, I guess. I manage the old man's mines out in Arizona, you

know.

DUKE. [_Shaking his head sagaciously._] Ah, very go-ahead man! Very

go-ahead methods, I'm told. Well, I dare say he does a great deal of

good with his money. And we can't go back to the Spanish Inquisition.

[_Silence, during which the three men look at each other._

MORRIS. [_Abruptly._] And how's Patricia?

DUKE. [_A little hazily._] Oh, she's very well, I think. She....

[_He hesitates slightly._

MORRIS. [_Smiling._] Well, then, where's Patricia?

[_There is a slightly embarrassed pause, and the_ DOCTOR _speaks._

DOCTOR. Miss Carleon is walking about the grounds, I think.

[MORRIS _goes to the garden doors and looks out._

MORRIS. It's a mighty chilly night to choose. Does my sister commonly

select such evenings to take the air--and the damp?

DOCTOR. [_After a pause._] If I may say so, I quite agree with you. I

have often taken the liberty of warning your sister against going out in

all weathers like this.

DUKE. [_Expansively waving his hands about._] The artist temperament!

What I always call the artistic temperament! Wordsworth, you know, and

all that.

[_Silence._

MORRIS. [_Staring._] All what?

DUKE. [_Continuing to lecture with enthusiasm._] Why, everything's

temperament, you know! It's her temperament to see the fairies. It's my

temperament not to see the fairies. Why, I've walked all round the

grounds twenty times and never saw a fairy. Well, it's like that about

this wizard or whatever she calls it. For her there is somebody there.

For us there would not be somebody there. Don't you see?

MORRIS. [_Advancing excitedly._] Somebody there! What do you mean?

DUKE. [_Airily._] Well, you can't quite call it a man.

MORRIS. [_Violently._] A man!

DUKE. Well, as old Buffle used to say, what is a man?

MORRIS. [_With a strong rise of the American accent._] With your

permission, Duke, I eliminate old Buffle. Do you mean that anybody has

had the tarnation coolness to suggest that some man....

DUKE. Oh, not a _man_, you know. A magician, something mythical, you

know.

SMITH. Not a _man_, but a medicine man.

DOCTOR. [_Grimly._] I am a medicine man.

MORRIS. And you don't look mythical, Doc.

[_He bites his finger and begins to pace restlessly up and down the

room._

DUKE. Well, you know, the artistic temperament....

MORRIS. [_Turning suddenly._] See here, Duke! In most commercial ways

we're a pretty forward country. In these moral ways we're content to be

a pretty backward country. And if you ask me whether I like my sister

walking about the woods on a night like this! Well, I don't.

DUKE. I am afraid you Americans aren't so advanced as I'd hoped. Why! as

old Buffle used to say....

[_As he speaks a distant voice is heard singing in the garden; it

comes nearer and nearer, and_ SMITH _turns suddenly to the_ DOCTOR.

SMITH. Whose voice is that?

DOCTOR. It is no business of mine to decide!

MORRIS. [_Walking to the window._] You need not trouble. I know who it

is.

_Enter_ PATRICIA CARLEON

[_Still agitated._] Patricia, where have you been?

PATRICIA. [_Rather wearily._] Oh! in Fairyland.

DOCTOR. [_Genially._] And whereabouts is that?

PATRICIA. It's rather different from other places. It's either nowhere

or it's wherever you are.

MORRIS. [_Sharply._] Has it any inhabitants?

PATRICIA. Generally only two. Oneself and one's shadow. But whether he

is my shadow or I am his shadow is never found out.

MORRIS. He? Who?

PATRICIA. [_Seeming to understand his annoyance for the first time, and

smiling._] Oh, you needn't get conventional about it, Morris. He is not

a mortal.

MORRIS. What's his name?

PATRICIA. We have no names there. You never really know anybody if you

know his name.

MORRIS. What does he look like?

PATRICIA. I have only met him in the twilight. He seems robed in a long

cloak, with a peaked cap or hood like the elves in my nursery stories.

Sometimes when I look out of the window here, I see him passing round

this house like a shadow; and see his pointed hood, dark against the

sunset or the rising of the moon.

SMITH. What does he talk about?

PATRICIA. He tells me the truth. Very many true things. He is a wizard.

MORRIS. How do you know he's a wizard? I suppose he plays some tricks on

you.

PATRICIA. I should know he was a wizard if he played no tricks. But once

he stooped and picked up a stone and cast it into the air, and it flew

up into God's heaven like a bird.

MORRIS. Was that what first made you think he was a wizard?

PATRICIA. Oh, no. When I first saw him he was tracing circles and

pentacles in the grass and talking the language of the elves.

MORRIS. [_Sceptically._] Do you know the language of the elves?

PATRICIA. Not until I heard it.

MORRIS. [_Lowering his voice as if for his sister, but losing patience

so completely that he talks much louder than he imagines._] See here,

Patricia, I reckon this kind of thing is going to be the limit. I'm just

not going to have you let in by some blamed tramp or fortune-teller

because you choose to read minor poetry about the fairies. If this gipsy

or whatever he is troubles you again....

DOCTOR. [_Putting his hand on_ MORRIS'S _shoulder._] Come, you must

allow a little more for poetry. We can't all feed on nothing but petrol.

DUKE. Quite right, quite right. And being Irish, don't you know, Celtic,

as old Buffle used to say, charming songs, you know, about the Irish

girl who has a plaid shawl--and a Banshee. [_Sighs profoundly._] Poor

old Gladstone!

[_Silence as usual._

SMITH. [_Speaking to_ DOCTOR.] I thought you yourself considered the

family superstition bad for the health?

DOCTOR. I consider a family superstition is better for the health than a

family quarrel. [_He walks casually across to_ PATRICIA.] Well, it must

be nice to be young and still see all those stars and sunsets. We old

buffers won't be too strict with you if your view of things sometimes

gets a bit--mixed up, shall we say? If the stars get loose about the

grass by mistake; or if, once or twice, the sunset gets into the east.

We should only say, "Dream as much as you like. Dream for all mankind.

Dream for us who can dream no longer. But do not quite forget the

difference."

PATRICIA. What difference?

DOCTOR. The difference between the things that are beautiful and the

things that are there. That red lamp over my door isn't beautiful; but

it's there. You might even come to be glad it is there, when the stars

of gold and silver have faded. I am an old man now, but some men are

still glad to find my red star. I do not say they are the wise men.

PATRICIA. [_Somewhat affected._] Yes, I know you are good to everybody.

But don't you think there may be floating and spiritual stars which will

last longer than the red lamps?

SMITH. [_With decision._] Yes. But they are fixed stars.

DOCTOR. The red lamp will last my time.

DUKE. Capital! Capital! Why, it's like Tennyson. [_Silence._] I remember

when I was an undergrad....

[_The red light disappears; no one sees it at first except_

PATRICIA, _who points excitedly._

MORRIS. What's the matter?

PATRICIA. The red star is gone.

MORRIS. Nonsense! [_Rushes to the garden doors._] It's only somebody

standing in front of it. Say, Duke, there's somebody standing in the

garden.

PATRICIA. [_Calmly._] I told you he walked about the garden.

MORRIS. If it's that fortune-teller of yours....

[_Disappears into the garden, followed by the_ DOCTOR.

DUKE. [_Staring._] Somebody in the garden! Really, this Land

Campaign....

[_Silence._

[MORRIS _reappears rather breathless._

MORRIS. A spry fellow, your friend. He slipped through my hands like a

shadow.

PATRICIA. I told you he was a shadow.

MORRIS. Well, I guess there's going to be a shadow hunt. Got a lantern,

Duke?

PATRICIA. Oh, you need not trouble. He will come if I call him.

[_She goes out into the garden and calls out some half-chanted and

unintelligible words, somewhat like the song preceding her

entrance. The red light reappears; and there is a slight sound as

of fallen leaves shuffled by approaching feet. The cloaked_

STRANGER _with the pointed hood is seen standing outside the garden

doors._

PATRICIA. You may enter all doors.

[_The figure comes into the room_

MORRIS. [_Shutting the garden doors behind him._] Now, see here, wizard,

we've got you. And we know you're a fraud.

SMITH. [_Quietly._] Pardon me, I do not fancy that we know that. For

myself I must confess to something of the Doctor's agnosticism.

MORRIS. [_Excited, and turning almost with a snarl._] I didn't know you

parsons stuck up for any fables but your own.

SMITH. I stick up for the thing every man has a right to. Perhaps the

only thing that every man has a right to.

MORRIS. And what is that?

SMITH. The benefit of the doubt. Even your master, the petroleum

millionaire, has a right to that. And I think he needs it more.

MORRIS. I don't think there's much doubt about the question, Minister.

I've met this sort of fellow often enough--the sort of fellow who

wheedles money out of girls by telling them he can make stones

disappear.

DOCTOR. [_To the_ STRANGER.] Do you say you can make stones disappear?

STRANGER. Yes. I can make stones disappear.

MORRIS. [_Roughly._] I reckon you're the kind of tough who knows how to

make a watch and chain disappear.

STRANGER. Yes; I know how to make a watch and chain disappear.

MORRIS. And I should think you were pretty good at disappearing

yourself.

STRANGER. I have done such a thing.

MORRIS. [_With a sneer._] Will you disappear now?

STRANGER. [_After reflection._] No, I think I'll appear instead. [_He

throws back his hood, showing the head of an intellectual-looking man,

young but rather worn. Then he unfastens his cloak and throws it off,

emerging in complete modern evening dress. He advances down the room

towards the_ DUKE, _taking out his watch as he does so._] Good-evening,

your Grace. I'm afraid I'm rather too early for the performance. But

this gentleman [_with a gesture towards_ MORRIS] seemed rather impatient

for it to begin.

DUKE. [_Rather at a loss._] Oh, good-evening. Why, really--are you

the...?

STRANGER. [_Bowing._] Yes. I am the Conjurer.

[_There is general laughter, except from_ PATRICIA. _As the others

mingle in talk, the_ STRANGER _goes up to her._

STRANGER. [_Very sadly._] I am very sorry I am not a wizard.

PATRICIA. I wish you were a thief instead.

STRANGER. Have I committed a worse crime than thieving?

PATRICIA. You have committed the cruellest crime, I think, that there

is.

STRANGER. And what is the cruellest crime?

PATRICIA. Stealing a child's toy.

STRANGER. And what have I stolen?

PATRICIA. A fairy tale.

CURTAIN

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.