… passion?—It’s merely neurosis.
SOME OTHER MAN
It’s just the same with the higher qualities we hear so much about—in the comrade we hear so much about. I looked for modesty and found only fear; character and I found pigheadedness; intellect! It was short-hand lectures.
YOUTH
But why bother about all that when they laugh so delightfully?
THE IDEALIST
Woman for me is the maze of abortive experience deflecting me from the consummate nucleus—the unique affinity of whose existence no disappointments will ever be able to dissuade me. I went out to meet life open-handed with such good-will, without prejudice, without criticism—I scoured the streets—plunged into society—“touched pitch”—dissolved myself in amorous mysticism—yet, I have never been able to solve the problem of love. Woman!?! … Woman must exist—is it possible she belongs to somebody else?
ANOTHER MAN
You bet she does—to some bully who beats her—the ethereal type always gets beaten—every pore of her skin cries out for it—no healthy man could resist—if only for that dumb reproachful eye—it’s like hunting!
THE IDEALIST
If women are bad, you are worse—perhaps if there were more men like me, the women would improve.
A MAN
(
disdainfully) Improve on
you?
DON JUAN
I am said to be supremely cruel to women, but no man has ever loved them as I have—my intuitive solicitude avoided
restricting them by
over-valuation. I have not insulted femininity by singularising with biased selectivism—the individual for my favour—picking my way, with alert precaution, through the rose-garden of Love—I enticed those sleeping-beauties from their nests of illusion—and showed them themselves. It is no fault of mine if they gave those selves to me and if, with my passing, very little was left. I played with their prejudices—I never found a prejudice that took more than twenty minutes to overcome. I squandered hours chasing their silly souls into the corners of their propitious mouths. I was gentle with them—and they fought me with the deceptive weapons of premeditated surrender. I maltreated them and they begged for more—no brutality I could invent was ever drastic enough to make them leave me of their own accord.
A MAN
The only cruelty that woman refuses to submit to through man is any cruelty she may deserve.
DON JUAN
The man who is unkind to women is the man of calculable possibilities—women feed on anticipation, race with the intractable—and are totally extinguished by the—attainable!
TEA TABLE MAN
For sophistry—that beats all I’ve ever heard—our timid companion “racing with the intractable”—why her whole conception of man is as an escort on a crowded thoroughfare; “calculable possibilities” indeed—what is the reason for our organised society?—entirely for providing a safe radius within whose precincts
man exhibits only so much of his brute reality as these delicate organisms can stand—why, half my life is spent in so pruning my natural tendencies that I may arrive at the degree of self-abnegation required by the modern woman, and to that end I pass my time in places where one spends money (the things we hanker after not being on the market), where I hope, by the strictest attention to the superficial, to stifle the aboriginal that lives in the middle of me—so far, I confess, it results in a double personality. But I congratulate myself that the obverse I show to women lets nothing through of what’s on the other side.
DON JUAN
Fearing that her kitty-yawns should turn to a shriek?—of terror??
TEA TABLE MAN
Exactly. I am determined—cost me what it may—to keep her under the protection of her own innocence—
DON JUAN
Do you keep her long?
TEA TABLE MAN
There are a great many delightful women in my set, and I have the luck to be extremely popular. There isn’t a day passes that I haven’t half-a-dozen different shopping engagements. The things those women require! And they have such confidence in me. Why, I help them to buy their underclothes—all the intricacies of the feminine mind are woven into frills and there’s no limit— One day it’s cobwebs with patches of rosebuds three inches thick, plumped about on them—the next, something thick with unexpected interstices of netting you wouldn’t dare to breathe on—and through the lot, the palest ribbons chasing each other in and out, out and in. Only once, while I was absent-mindedly contemplating a vision of myself clubbing a naked woman over the head in a virgin forest on the counter, I asked my companion if this decoration wasn’t rather superfluous as no one was ever going to see it. Well, she turned quite white—I cursed myself for a clout, shocking her fragile sensibilities like that—
no, woman is not constituted for knowing the truth. At night, after the theatre which allows us to brush lightly up against other people’s passions, she leaves me for her blue-silk bedroom, where Veronal will put her to sleep.
What would she
do—if she only
knew that all I wanted was to keep her awake?
DON JUAN
Try the Veronal on the canary.
TEA TABLE MAN
Realising that no offering is noble enough to lay at the shrine of this unimpeachable femininity, I am easily adapting myself to civilization—this accommodating contrivance that relieves us of all the onus of individual action. Am I not in duty bound to be grateful for being born in an age when it is unnecessary for me to live—all I have to do is to listen—there are still a handful of irrepressible creative outsiders to sin my sins for me, to pray my prayers for me.
Some eccentric ass with a tune in his head can fill a
town with what should have been
my mating song—all I have to do is pay for a box and confess with a clap!
(With a loud report FUTURISM arrives on the scene.)
FUTURISM
Coward—pouah! Milksop! Poo-uuu-aaah! Tango Tout!
(TEA TABLE MAN hits him in the eye with a violent potato.)
FUTURISM
(
furiously) Blackguard! You nearly had my eye out! What man, I ask you, could look successfully at a woman with an only eye? (
pathetically to PROCURESS) Why nobody would ever love me again. (
martially mopping his eye with a wet handkerchief) I stand alone on the pinnacle of the passing moment, turning up my nose at the solar-system, hurling invective at the moon—chairs at the audience! (
calming down a little) Has any-body got an intellect or a dog handy? (
no response) I could have shown you a trick that proves the infallible superiority of animal instinct over human reason— There is nothing in life that is not best apprehended by the presentment of the nose! (
sniffs—like a GOD)
MAN
Who the devil are you—to sniff like that?
FUTURISM
(
staggered) You haven’t seen my name in the newspapers?
MAN
I don’t read the newspapers—I read Greek.
FUTURISM
(
boxing his ears) Pastist! Feel a little of what it means to be alive! (
to the others) Take that prurient cemetery and stand him in a draught. And
now. (
pulling up his cuffs and turning his hands round about for the audience to inspect) You are sure there is nothing there? (
catches at the air with a superb gesture and holds it invisible between an eloquent thumb and finger) Gentlemen —— The FUTURE.
(The MEN stare very attentively.)
ANOTHER MAN
In all its sublime invisibility!
A MAN
It looks exactly as it always did, so it must be what it always was.
ANOTHER MAN
Impossible! You mean, what it always will be.
SOME OTHER MAN
No—what it always is going to be.
FUTURISM
I offer you a magnificent Future—entirely constructed on speculation. To prove that it comes up to my expectations, I have only to shove it into the Past—any bids?
YOUTH
Coming—coming—coming—
when is it going to come?
FUTURISM
(
with an inimitable snap of the fingers back into the air) Going—going—gone.
MEN
A
prophet has come among us!
A MAN
And I mistook him for a conjuring commercial traveller.
PROCURESS
My word—the women ought to see this.
(The WOMEN are sent for and as usual flock round, FUTURISM “lascivating” them with his eyes.)
WOMEN
Only let us write our names with our life-blood in your autograph album!
(FUTURISM hands them a tome labelled “Women I have had.”)
WOMEN
But—?
FUTURISM
It’s all the same—I should have if I hadn’t been talking so much—But perhaps I had better read you the proto-poem
Tatatata ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta
plum plam plam pluff pluff frrrrrr
urrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaa
pluff plaff plaff gottgott gluglu
craaa craaa
cloc-cloc gluglu gluglu cloc-cloc gluglu
scscscsc——
Do you feel that you could get into a more intimate relationship with me than you are now?
WOMEN
(
inspired) No. (
they sigh)
(FUTURISM, whose every gesture propounds vulgarity intensified to Divinity, slaps his bowler hat onto his head, crooked, and struts magnificently.)
DOLORES
You seem to have successfully plumbed the feminine shallows. Could you tell us anything about this bare acquaintance of ours of hermaphroditic aspect—it calls itself Love.
(PROCURESS herds all the WOMEN off the stage in order to spare them disturbing recollections.)
(DOLORES draws LOVE forward.)
MEN
Just looking at it makes no deep impression—but it’s hardly seductive.
FUTURISM
Love is a feminine conception spelt “Greed” with a capital “G”—this is female, all right! (
drags off LOVE
’s roseate hood, dislodging a shower of golden curls)
(FUTURISM here declaims Futurist attack on love—most drastic.)
(When LOVE has had enough she runs away, FUTURISM after her, saying, “My God, she has run away—I must just ‘finish her off.’”)
(FUTURISM returns dragging LOVE across the floor by the hair.)
FUTURISM
(
demonstrating to MEN) I just take them like this—tac-tac.
MEN
That’s all very well, but it’s no consolation watching the other man doing it—good night! (
they go off)
FUTURISM
(
looking carefully around to see if they have all gone—lets go of LOVE
’s hair) Excuse me, I hope I didn’t hurt you. I have to do that for the sake of my reputation. (LOVE
looks shaken but intensely interested. FUTURISM
places her with gentlest care on the divan and kisses the nape of her neck.)
Never believe anything a man says about women, when there is another man present! (
looking unutterably sentimental) I suppose you think I am a man made of iron, of absolute self sufficiency—
so hard—
LOVE
I don’t think anything of the kind.
FUTURISM
Too hard to want to be loved—while in reality, I have an infinite need of tenderness. Will you be
very tender to me?
LOVE
(
smiling whimsically and folding her hands in resignation) Yes, dear.
FUTURISM
(
quickly—afraid of being bored) But love is not an emotion of vague sentimentality! Love
must be atrociously carnal—will you be atrociously carnal—?
LOVE
(
calmly) Yes, dear.
(Something in her tone makes FUTURISM look critically at her and then he starts again.)
FUTURISM
You are accustomed to the pastist man who talks to you about your soul—I shall not talk to you like that, but I shall reach your soul through the medium of your body.
LOVE
Yes, dear?
FUTURISM
Whereas the pastist man would have shaken hands and gone home, leaving you inconsummate—for women are only animals, they have no souls.
LOVE
Yes, dear?
FUTURISM
But you have just the sort of body I like—suave.
LOVE
(
smoothing down her formless roseate garment) How do you know?
FUTURISM
The Futurist has x-ray eyes, and ears of steel— He can see everything without looking at it, and stand any amount of noise—the evening breeze no longer reaches me, but the gentle vibrations of the
mitrailleuses are still audible. (
loudly) DARLING! (
gives her a thumping whack on the thigh—LOVE
jumps) A-a-a-a-a-a-h! You are just my type, for I have never seen anything like you before! (
very rapidly) Will-you-love-me-will-you-love-me-will-you-love-me-love-me-love-me-love-me-me-ME—??? I
must have you— You see I have never had you before.
LOVE
(
laughing) But I don’t want this sort of love—it’s too quick. I only want love that lasts for ever and ever.
FUTURISM
Do you know—
I am a type like that—I could love for ever. In me there is everything—take out what you can. (
takes her in his arms and kisses her frantically, crying in between each half-dozen kisses) Do-you-like-it? Do-you-like-it? Do-you-like-it?
LOVE
(
passively) Yes, dear.
FUTURISM
(
flinging her away from him) You are
fearfully sensual!
LOVE
Yes, dear.
FUTURISM
You-deny-it!?
LOVE
I
didn’t deny it.
FUTURISM
Ah—I thought you would, and so I have no answer ready—dear, beautiful and divine little woman—you are the unique pleasure the warm gulf of intoxication from which one emerges—replenished—vital—like a formidable addition of Hannibal and the Alps—I need the brilliant chastity of your eyes to counteract the occasional sombreness of my nerves—I
must have your soul.
LOVE
But if I haven’t got it—what is it?
FUTURISM
Your soul is the ultimate profundity of your body—give it to me—and I will give you your little smile—I have seen you smile in my dreams. I have loved you so long, and I shall love you forever—I
wish you would respond a little—I demand of the women I love to surround me with an atmosphere of
intense sensuality.
LOVE
You go too quick.
FUTURISM
Too quick—! I’ve never spent so long on a woman in my life! Too quick! When my love is eternal and my train leaves in fifteen minutes— Hurry up! And love me! (
distractedly) There is no time to waste—life has got to be
lived— There’s no time to stop to enjoy it!
LOVE
(
relieved) How did you find out that I’m really a woman?
FUTURISM
How did I find out? Don’t you realize I’ve dominated all the women of two generations who were worthwhile—except a
few, who got off the train at the next station—I can tell women when I see them—beastly nuisances. You’re the most feminine thing I’ve ever found—that’s why I love you so—I don’t believe
I’m anything special to you, whereas if you were a Futurist you would be down on your knees before me. As you are, any ordinary man would do just as well.
LOVE
Adopting your theories—I’ve begun to think they would. But as the value of sex is entirely fictitious, I find it makes it more precious to avoid promiscuity.
FUTURISM
You take too long saying things. If you left out all the adverbs and adjectives and used the verb in the infinitive, I might have a chance to get what I want—before my train leaves. Why can’t you love-me-love-me-love-me? I only want to make the little women happy— They
always love me. All my mistresses are in lunatic asylums,—that’s love if you like! Can’t I make
you happy?
LOVE
What! In this atmosphere—you litter our couch with corpses.
(Pause)
(FUTURISM sits fixing her with theatrically amative eyes—LOVE smiles and wails like a cat on the tiles—her criticism.)
FUTURISM
We men always carry woman in the back of our minds—when it isn’t one woman, it’s a hundred! But you are not one woman— You are
the woman. (
strokes her face with infinite tenderness, gazing) Little one—
(LOVE throws her arms round his neck with a gesture of surrender.)
FUTURISM
Sweetheart—
darling—loveling—STOP. You see, directly I begin to get sentimental you begin to like me—pou-ah!
LOVE
This game of love is too bewildering for me—any possible move
I make is bound to be in the wrong direction—it’s not fair play.
FUTURISM
This is not a game for fair play—it’s a game of advantages.
LOVE
In which the woman starts with a handicap of “vantage out”!
FUTURISM
Women are so illogical.
LOVE
So are you.
FUTURISM
Futurism is diametrically opposed to logic.
LOVE
But can’t you see that you are being inconsecutive?
FUTURISM
(
rapturously) Ah—that’s it—in-con-secu-tive, check-mate!
(FUTURISM picks up LOVE and a handful of newspapers and stuffs them altogether into his pocket—which he slaps with a bang. INMATES and MEN gradually filter back.)
MEN
What have you done with her?
FUTURISM
(
absent-mindedly) Oh, everything—and nothing.
PROCURESS
We are just going to have some amateur theatricals—if you care to stop?
FUTURISM
I—dynamic—plastic—velocity—stop—!
PROCURESS
The play is “Man and Woman.”
FUTURISM
Try putting glue on the seats.
(The audience sit circle-wise on the outskirts of the hall to watch the performance.)
DON JUAN
(
confidentially laying his arm across FUTURISM
’s shoulder) My dear old chap, you have introduced a new tactic since my time. I must confess, I am surprised—you interest me! How is it worked?
FUTURISM
New? I only wish it was. I am sacrificing my life to make things new—and only succeeding in making them
louder. As for this, it’s only the eternal axiom in waging the sex war—that “Man and Woman” are enemies. But that woman has one greater enemy than man—
woman!
DON JUAN
Ah, now it’s recognisable—insult the sex, to catch the demonstrated exception?
FUTURISM
Precisely. This dodge covers the whole field—hitherto you stopped short at maternity—we annihilate woman completely!
DON JUAN
(
interested) My dear Futurism, you know this
is new—
FUTURISM
Yes—if it were more than a bluff— But Nature is so uncompromising.
DON JUAN
(
calls) Mammy!
(NATURE comes on, looking enquiring.)
DON JUAN
Oh, Mammy, you must help us. Futurism has invented a new game—we want to make our own children, evolve them from our own indomitable intellects.
NATURE
Then do it— You can’t expect me to help you with your intellects, they’ve raced far beyond my control.
FUTURISM
Never mind the intellects—they’re our business. Your affair is the children—you’re the only person who understands them.
DON JUAN
(
coaxing) You always do what
we want, dear, are we not your favourite offspring? In fact, you would be the perfect mother, if only you had restricted your family to
us—we
don’t want a little sister—she’s remained a child too long!
NATURE
I have been looking into the feminist propaganda—and I am already seriously considering allowing her to grow up!
FUTURISM and DON JUAN
Great Heavens! Anything but that!
NATURE
I made you entirely independent, except for this question of reproduction—and you have shown no filial gratitude whatever—and to tell the truth, I’m beginning to feel rather out of touch with you—you’re much too tricky and inventive—nothing ever satisfies you! I provided you with plenty of good stodgy bread and butter and you’ve been making jam while the fire burns—and now you’ve overeaten yourselves, you want me to make you a perfect world—with no temptations. Well, I shan’t—you’ll just go on the best way you can—until you’ve learnt a little self-control.
(She goes off in a huff.)
FUTURISM
There’s nothing more to be got out of
her!— Let’s identify ourselves with machinery!
DON JUAN
I shouldn’t care about that—comparing myself to a machine, I feel extremely weak, to a woman, exceedingly strong—I must hang on to my cheaply bought self-respect. Let’s hear some more about the latest amorous strategics.
FUTURISM
Oh very well— Just hide behind the sofa. (
with an off-hand gesture he draws LOVE
out of his pocket, scattering the newspapers, shakes LOVE
out and stands her on the floor in front of him, taking her measure with a masterful eye as she pulls herself together)
This is the sex war.
LOVE
I suppose that means me—well, here I am— But I don’t want to fight— It’s silly— You are already victorious in being born a man.
FUTURISM
Come along—you must pretend, anyway. Somebody’s probably looking.
(LOVE hands him a pair of boxing-gloves—red flannel hearts—and puts on a pair herself with which every point made is emphasised by a psychological blow.)
FUTURISM
Don’t mention anything I said to you last time— You wouldn’t look half so silly in the end.
(LOVE stands perfectly still with her hands hanging down at her sides.)
FUTURISM
Mind (
bang) it’s you who are attacking me. I’m a perfectly peaceful person playing with cannons—until you come and worry me away from manly pursuits.
LOVE
(
smiling) All right—you protect yourself against yourself with any lies you like.
FUTURISM
Thanks—I take cover behind you.
LOVE
(
presenting herself with a bow) The FIB of the Universe.
FUTURISM
Then what are you telling the truth for— You
must pretend to be real or I can’t hit you—won’t you kiss me?
LOVE
Certainly
not.
FUTURISM
Certainly why not?
LOVE
Because you would not be contented with a kiss, but reproach me for leading you on—to—nowhere.
FUTURISM
I
promise never to ask for more— Just one, if you don’t I’ll bother you to death till you do.
(LOVE shrugs her shoulders—and kisses him.)
FUTURISM
(
hitting her) It’s all right— This is not cruelty, merely nervous reaction. (
with an intimate caress) And now that you have given yourself to me—
LOVE
What do you mean?
FUTURISM
I mean that no true woman is immodest enough to kiss a man who is not her chosen lover! (
addressing the sofa) That’s the first round.
(A yawn from the sofa.)
(LOVE and FUTURISM glare at each other amicably while adjusting their boxing-gloves.)
FUTURISM
I should get on much better if only you would come near enough for me to whisper to you.
(LOVE approaches. He whispers into her ear for some minutes, while a pleased and furtive smile plays about her lips.)
LOVE
Old as time. You catch your little women with antique methods, reserving Futurism for “later on.” All
those rules were compiled by a defunct civilization—after all I can read! I assure you every time woman gives herself to man, it means a struggle between her pride and her desire. It’s so stupid this appearing to succumb to diplomacy— I know you’re going to win— You’re too fundamentally dishonest not to, and I’m quite willing to be vanquished. But do fight me with new weapons—I do want to be amused.
FUTURISM
(
volcanically throwing aside the red-flannel hearts) Use your
Instinct. You a woman and
can’t tell that all this sex war fake is
bunkum. Can’t you just
know that I love you? Don’t you
feel that you are torturing me—that
all I want is to make you happy and for you to believe in me? Why can’t you believe in me? I know, it’s my bombastic voice that has a meretricious ring in it? My meridional manners? And you
don’t love me because I am not handsome.
LOVE
Oh, I don’t mind
what you look like— Let that confound the critics.
FUTURISM
Dearest, I want to reduce you to a state of maudlin imbecility— Love
must be swallowed whole. (
the electric light goes out) Thank heaven.
(They carry on the conversation in the low, sustained and intense tones of two people who are very much in love, of which only the following fragments are audible.)
FUTURISM
To be faithful to me—while I am never there – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – (
Silence) – – – – – – – – Now do you believe me?
LOVE
Nearly.
FUTURISM
(
with passionate sincerity) You can – – – – you can – – – – you do – – – – you
LOVE
(
transfigured) “Lord now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.”
FUTURISM
– – – – do!
LOVE
Good God. What am I doing— What am I saying?— Who am I talking to? (
quotes FUTURIST
tirade against women)
FUTURISM
(
imploringly) You can’t hold me responsible for anything I said last week – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –– – – – – – – Believe in me – – –
LOVE
I ask nothing better than to believe in something—You – – – – – or myself.
FUTURISM
(
briefly, his eyes blazing through her) Do you – – – – – – – in yourself?
LOVE
Ssssssssssh – – – – – – – if anybody’s listening, this will end in a draw.
FUTURISM
Still—there is a perfectly straightforward way of finishing this up.
LOVE
Oh, come on.
FUTURISM
It’s very simple— You won’t like it. Perhaps, after all it’s the only way to make you believe in me—
LOVE
What’s it called—?
FUTURISM
Just – – – BEING. (
taking fresh measurements with a thoughtful eye) Do you feel much like a woman?
LOVE
Not much—I don’t think I could. I’m so well watered down with civilization.
FUTURISM
Ah—you have never been galvanized by the force of undiluted masculinity— There isn’t any left in the world except in me. Come here. (LOVE
approaches) Do you want to know what it’s like?
LOVE
Awfully.
(He puts his arm round her shoulders and they go and sit on the table—very close to each other—and for purposes of communication with their temples pressed together.)
(Silence)
LOVE
I never knew how wonderful it is that hearts can beat.
(Silence)
FUTURISM
What do you feel?
LOVE
Very young—very foolish—very warm—very soft—in fact it’s becoming a physical discomfort—the not knowing how to purr.
FUTURISM
Can you remember anything?
LOVE
Nothing whatever.
FUTURISM
Can you realize anything?
LOVE
Nothing but you—
FUTURISM
Now what about the future?
LOVE
The kitten’s growing to be a panther—I’m sure she’s dangerous—Oh,
do shut me up in a harem, it’s the only thing I’m fit for—I shall be jealous. But at least when you die, I shall be burnt alive on your corpse.
FUTURISM
Bravo! (
playing with her finger tips) And here?
LOVE
Claws. (
she tears herself away)
FUTURISM
Where to?
LOVE
I
must just go and kill
all the other women. Until I do, I can’t feel safe.
FUTURISM
You
touch the other women, and I’ll strangle you!
LOVE
Any one of them might become the mother of your children.
FUTURISM
You’re OUT! (
slapping his knee triumphantly) It’s infallible—infallible— Did you hear that? (
he drags DON JUAN
from behind the sofa, half asleep)
DON JUAN
(
rubbing his eyes) Of all the elementary old-fashioned fool’s games!
LOVE
(
blinking her eyes) It takes you a long way back!
(FUTURISM rushes off.)
DON JUAN
He’s disappointing—too primitive.
LOVE
(
enthusiastically) Oh, one of the most amusing creatures I’ve met.
(PROCURESS comes on with DIRECTORS OF THE WORLD BROTHEL.)
NATURE
REALITY
(a composite person called) WORLD-FLESH-
AND-DEVIL
(They are accompanied by two inspectors)
PURITY
JOY
(The inhabitants of the World Brothel flock round them.)
PURITY
(
inspecting) What a mess!
JOY
(
inspecting) How very sad!
PROCURESS
(
to directors) We haven’t succeeded in balancing accounts yet— You see, it is not yet decided whether the demand creates the supply, or the supply the demand.
REALITY
Cut that! As long as you have them both, they will total up the same.
PROCURESS
There’s been a lot of fuss lately over the pathological and hygienic side.
WORLD-FLESH-AND-DEVIL
Leave it to me to gloss that over—all we have to bear in mind is to keep the surface glittering.