Short Plays

And do not be afraid. Ermyntrude Whatever on earth can you be going to tell me, Captain? The Inca Madam, I am no captain. I⁠— Ermyntrude You are the Inca in disguise. The Inca Good heavens! how do you know that? Who has betrayed me? Ermyntrude How could I help divining it, Sir? Who is there in the world like you? Your magnetism⁠— The Inca True: I had forgotten my magnetism. But you know now that beneath the trappings of Imperial Majesty there is a Man: simple, frank, modest, unaffected, colloquial: a sincere friend, a natural human being, a genial comrade, one eminently calculated to make a woman happy. You, on the other hand, are the most charming woman I have ever met. Your conversation is wonderful. I have sat here almost in silence, listening to your shrewd and penetrating account of my character, my motives, if I may say so, my talents. Never has such justice been done me: never have I experienced such perfect sympathy. Will you⁠—I hardly know how to put this⁠—will you be mine? Ermyntrude Oh, Sir, you are married. The Inca I am prepared to embrace the Muhammadan faith, which allows a man four wives, if you will consent. It will please the Turks. But I had rather you did not mention it to the Inca-ess. If you don’t mind. Ermyntrude This is really charming of you. But the time has come for me to make a revelation. It is your Imperial Majesty’s turn now to brace yourself. To steel yourself. I am not the princess. I am⁠— The Inca The daughter of my old friend Archdeacon Daffodil Donkin, whose sermons are read to me every evening after dinner. I never forget a face. Ermyntrude You knew all along! The Inca Bitterly, throwing himself into his chair. And you supposed that I, who have been condemned to the society of princesses all my wretched life, believed for a moment that any princess that ever walked could have your intelligence! Ermyntrude How clever of you, Sir! But you cannot afford to marry me. The Inca Springing up. Why not? Ermyntrude You are too poor. You have to eat war bread. Kings nowadays belong to the poorer classes. The King of England does not even allow himself wine at dinner. The Inca Delighted. Haw! Ha ha! Haw! haw! He is convulsed with laughter, and, finally has to relieve his feelings by waltzing half round the room. Ermyntrude You may laugh, Sir; but I really could not live in that style. I am the widow of a millionaire, ruined by your little war. The Inca A millionaire! What are millionaires now, with the world crumbling? Ermyntrude Excuse me: mine was a hyphenated millionaire. The Inca A highfalutin millionaire, you mean. Chuckling. Haw! ha ha! really very nearly a pun, that. He sits down in her chair. Ermyntrude Revolted, sinking into his chair. I think it quite the worst pun I ever heard. The Inca The best puns have all been made years ago: nothing remained but to achieve the worst. However, madam he rises majestically; and she is about to rise also. No: I prefer a seated audience. She falls back into her seat at the imperious wave of his hand. So. He clicks his heels. Madam, I recognize my presumption in having sought the honor of your hand. As you say, I cannot afford it. Victorious as I am, I am hopelessly bankrupt; and the worst of it is, I am intelligent enough to know it. And I shall be beaten in consequence, because my most implacable enemy, though only a few months further away from bankruptcy than myself, has not a ray of intelligence, and will go on fighting until civilization is destroyed, unless I, out of sheer pity for the world, condescend to capitulate. Ermyntrude The sooner the better, Sir. Many fine young men are dying while you wait. The Inca Flinching painfully. Why? Why do they do it? Ermyntrude Because you make them. The Inca Stuff! How can I? I am only one man; and they are millions. Do you suppose they would really kill each other if they didn’t want to, merely for the sake of my beautiful eyes? Do not be deceived by newspaper claptrap, madam. I was swept away by a passion not my own, which imposed itself on me. By myself I am nothing. I dare not walk down the principal street of my own capital in a coat two years old, though the sweeper of that street can wear one ten years old. You talk of death as an unpopular thing. You are wrong: for years I gave them art, literature, science, prosperity, that they might live more abundantly; and they hated me, ridiculed me, caricatured me. Now that I give them death in its frightfullest forms, they are devoted to me. If you doubt me, ask those who for years have begged our taxpayers in vain for a few paltry thousands to spend on Life: on the bodies and minds of the nation’s children, on the beauty and healthfulness of its cities, on the honor and comfort of its worn-out workers. They refused; and because they refused, death is let loose on them. They grudged a few hundreds a year for their salvation: they now pay millions a day for their own destruction and damnation. And this they call my doing! Let them say it, if they dare, before the judgment-seat at which they and I shall answer at last for what we have left undone no less than for what we have done. Pulling himself together suddenly. Madam, I have the honor to be your most obedient. He clicks his heels and bows. Ermyntrude Sir! She curtsies. The Inca Turning at the door. Oh, by the way, there is a princess, isn’t there, somewhere on the premises? Ermyntrude There is. Shall I fetch her? The Inca Dubious. Pretty awful, I suppose, eh? Ermyntrude About the usual thing. The Inca Sighing. Ah well! What can one expect? I don’t think I need trouble