25
BERNARD: Florence?
hannah: What?
Bernard: No. You go on.
hannah: Thomas Love Peacock.
Bernard: Ah yes.
hannah: I found it in an essay on hermits and anchorites
published in the CornhillMagazine in the 186os. . . {She fishes for the magazine itself among the books on the table, and finds it.) . . . 1862 . . . Peacock calls him {S he quotes from memory.) 'Not one of your village simpletons to frighten the ladies, but a savant among idiots, a sage of lunacy.'
Bernard: An oxy-moron, so to speak.
hannah: {Busy) Yes. What?
BERNARD: Nothing.
hannah: {Having found the place) Here we are. 'A letter we have seen, written by the author of Headlong Hall nearly thirty years ago, tells of a visit to the Earl of Croom's estate, Sidley Park -'
BERNARD: Was the letter to Thackeray?
HANNAH: {Brought up short) I don't know. Does it matter?
Bernard: No. Sorry.
{But the gaps he leaves for her are false promises - and she is not
quick enough. Thaf show it goes.)
Only, Thackeray edited the Cornhill until '63 when, as you
know, he died. His father had been with the East India
Company where Peacock, of course, had held the position of
Examiner, so it's quite possible that if the essay were by
Thackeray, the letter. . . Sorry. Go on.
Of course, the East India Library in Blackfriars has most of
Peacock's letters, so it would be quite easy to . . . Sorry. Can I
look?
{Silently she hands him the Cornhill.)
Yes, it's been topped and tailed, of course. It might be worth . . .
Goon. I'm listening . . .
{Leafing through the essay, he suddenly chuckles.) Oh yes, it's
Thackeray all right. . .
{He slaps the book shut.) Unbearable . . .
{He hands it back to her.) What were you saying?
hannah: Are you always like this?
26
BERNARD: Like what?
HANNAH: The point is, the Crooms, of course, had the hermit under their noses for twenty years so hardly thought him worth remarking. As I'm finding out. The Peacock letter is still the main source, unfortunately. When I read this (the magazine in her hand) well, it was one of those moments that tell you what your next book is going to be. The hermit of Sidley Park was my ...
Bernard: Peg.
hannah: Epiphany.
Bernard: Epiphany, that's it.
hannah: The hermit was placed in the landscape exactly as one might place a pottery gnome. And there he lived out his life as a garden ornament.
Bernard: Did he do anything?
hannah: Oh, he was very busy. When he died, the cottage was stacked solid with paper. Hundreds of pages. Thousands. Peacock says he was suspected of genius. It turned out, of course, he was off his head. He'd covered every sheet with cabalistic proofs that the world was coming to an end. It's perfect, isn't it? A perfect symbol, I mean.
Bernard: Oh, yes. Of what?
hannah: The whole Romantic sham, Bernard! It's what happened to the Enlightenment, isn't it? A century of intellectual rigour turned in on itself. A mind in chaos suspected of genius. In a setting of cheap thrills and false emotion. The history of the garden says it all, beautifully. There's an engraving of Sidley Park in 1730 that makes you want to weep. Paradise in the age of reason. By 1760 everything had gone - the topiary, pools and terraces, fountains, an avenue of limes - the whole sublime geometry was ploughed under by Capability Brown. The grass went from the doorstep to the horizon and the best box hedge in Derbyshire was dug up for the ha-ha so that the fools could pretend they were living in God's countryside. And then Richard Noakes came in to bring God up to date. By the time he'd finished it looked like this (the sketch book). The decline from thinking to feeling, you see.
27
Bernard: {A judgement) That's awfully good.
(HANNAH looks at him in case of irony but he is professional.)
No, that'll stand up. hannah: Thank you.
BERNARD: Personally I like the ha-ha. Do you like hedges? hannah: I don't like sentimentality. Bernard: Yes, I see. Are you sure? You seem quite sentimental
over geometry. But the hermit is very very good. The
genius of the place. hannah: (Pleased) That's my title! Bernard: Of course. hannah: (Less pleased) Of course? Bernard: Of course. Who was he when he wasn't being a
symbol? hannah: I don't know.
BERNARD: Ah.
hannah: I mean, yet.
Bernard: Absolutely. What did they do with all the paper?
Does Peacock say? hannah: Made a bonfire. Bernard: Ah, well. hannah: I've still got Lady Croom's garden books to go
through. Bernard: Account books or journals? hannah: A bit of both. They're gappy but they span the
period. hannah: Really? Have you come across Byron at all? As a
matter of interest. hannah: A first edition of 'Childe Harold' in the library, and
English Bards, I think. Bernard: Inscribed? hannah: No.
BERNARD: And he doesn't pop up in the letters at all? hannah: Why should he? The Crooms don't pop up in his. BERNARD: (Casually) That's true, of course. But Newstead isn't
so far away. Would you mind terribly if I poked about a
bit? Only in the papers you've done with, of course.
(hannah twigs something.)
28
Hannah: Are you looking into Byron or Chater?
(chloE enters in stockinged feet through one of the side doors?
laden with an armful of generally similar leather-covered ledgers.
She detours to collect her shoes.) CHLOE: Sorry - just cutting through - there's tea in the pantry if
you don't mind mugs -Bernard: How kind. chloE: Hannah will show you. BERNARD: Let me help you. chloE: No, it's all right -
(BERNARD opens the opposite door for her.)
Thank you - I've been saving Val's game books. Thanks.
(BERNARD closes the door.) Bernard: Sweet girl. hannah: Mmm. Bernard: Oh, really? hannah: Oh really what?
(CHLOfi's door opens again and she puts her head round it.) chloE: Meant to say, don't worry if father makes remarks about
your car, Mr Nightingale, he's got a thing about - (and the
