EGOTISM:

A Rebuke from Kitty Gordon

 

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Lord Byron

Reverend Becher

Hon. Catherine Byron

Anne Houson & Mama

Mary-Ann Bristoe & Mama

Julia Leacroft & Mama

Elizabeth & John Pigot

Susan the Laundress

Owen Mealey

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Scene 1

 

1807, Burgage Manor - after midnight, B is sprawled upon his venerable four-poster

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​B(musing and smoking): ​Begad (puffs) - I suspect that if fate should seal my death tomorrow - though much I hope she will postpone it - I've yet held my full share of Joy and Sorrow - enough for ten fellows! - and here I own it

S: My lord - apropos and going forward - thou shall need no other nymph than me - for once in thy polish'd mirror I glanced, and saw thee, I vowed forever to scrub your collars and sieve your green tea

B: And a fine collar it is, my fair Susan - however, I've lived as many others live - and yet - I think, with more enjoyment - for could I through my days again live, I'd pass them - with as many - in the same employment

S(mewls): My lord? - this book of poems under the pillow - see here (B is dozing off) - are you paying attention?! - where it says..

Your eye, for conquest beams prepar'de, - is that French?
The forge of love's resistless lightning

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S: What of it?

S: Is it me - your little Susan - that you write of?  Am I your forge of love?  

B: Most assuredly, my sweet - for you are indeed quite resistless

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A slamming of many doors is heard

 

B(hisses): May the Devil break that vixen's spine! - Susan, haul your glorious form under the bed! - my amiable Mama approaches!

S: Holy fires - where are my stays? gads - my Lord, I've only one stocking!!

B: Don't mind that - that you're here at all - e'en under the bed, is, in all respects, sufficiently shocking

 

B's door quakes under the thumping paw of CB 

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CB: Byronnne! 

B(opens door, is immaculately dressed and smoking a cigar): What, mother?

CB: What, indeed! (roams wildly) Where is she? - Which village floozy have you honoured with a turn on the bed-straw? Humph! - cavorting unwholesomely past midnight - do you intend to shame me with an indecorous daughter-in-law?!

​B: Madam, such are mere phantoms of thine own creation, and exist but in your perverted imagination (dogs bark at CB) If you desist in rousing my dogs, I shall explain the cacophonous tumult 

CB(is hurling soft furnishings with abandon): If she's not a golden dolly, e'en yet a wanton with a fortune intact, Newstead will be lost! - we shall have to rent the garden folly! (is eyeing fire implements) 

B: Cool your boots, mother - I was merely composing a particularly arduous stanza - declaiming all the leading parts - the loved, the lover, the outraged cuckold, the breaking hearts..

CB(reads loose papers): Pfft! - what silly girl with this piffle do you intend to woo? (continues scanning) Good god, child! - did you have to break the bed-posts in two?

B: ​Oops (grimaces) - you must understand, mother dear - I most assuredly own myself a child of Impulse, but not so wicked or so free - I soon must die of melancholy, if female smiles should e'er forsake me

CB: Here's the Court Schedule - pick a wife and not a village minx with but a full set of teeth and £500 to her name (shoves pamphlet into B's hand) - and leave your post-meridian poesy for a middle-age, mid-winter parlour game!

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CB slams door, S slithers out

 

S: So, her ladyship believes Miss Mary-Anne or is it Miss Julia or Miss Anne to be grasping strumpets (is triumphant) and I - without a penny, a pound or a sou - to be a washerwoman of unspotted virtue!
B: Sink me (bites nails) - 'twould appear - my love - these après-midnight trysts must end - if we're ever caught by Mrs. Byron, 'twil be the morgue for both of us - now, my humble Hebe - back to your washtub

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S gathers stocking and creeps onto the landing

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CB(pounces): Susan! (S screams) Byron - I am sending your frolicsome hussy to the Reverend Becher (drags S downstairs) - that'll teach her

S: My Lord! (weeps) - my lord - I shall love thee forever! (grapples with CB's elbows) - unhand me thou highland heifer!

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B snores

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Scene 2

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B has been summoned to Southwell's seat of Archiepiscopal Grandeur

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REV: Good morning, your Lordship - would you care for a drop of your “Chinese Nymph of Tears"- green tea? - heh - a daily requirement, so Susan informs me

B: Morning, Becher - don't mind the victuals - for what enormity have you dredged me thus?

REV: Erm, as it happens - your good mother - of virtue fiery - unless report does much belie her - has lately made a sharp enquiry - and much 'twould grieve me to deny her

B: Just so? What sharp enquiry, exactly?

REV: If the village matrons have been slandering that strident lady re. your conduct - nocturnal and/or weather permitting - with the chaste maidens of scant fortune in this very parish

B: Blast her eyes! - that rampaging female is unfailingly garish!! - However, you need have no fear, Becher - although my worldly affairs are not over-flourishing, I shall ne'er put a girl on the Parish Funds. Your silver plate - and communion wine - and velvet kneelers - are all quite safe

REV: That is a consolation, my Lord (pacing) - but vastly besides the point (glares, politely) As your honourable matron concedes, natural children are to be expected, but fears that in such a circumstance, er, my Lord - d'you know, not meaning to disparage - our native Mamas would most assuredly be indifferent to the state of our velvet kneelers, and insist upon marriage

B: Marriage? Oh, that shan't be - why, Mother swore she had a spry dowager plucked from the Court Schedule most especially for me! (paces, contemplates Becher's good-will) - However, I shall provide - in such an unlikely occurrence - a level acre of land, a well-maintained cottage, a cow - erm - and a goose and new galoshes every Christmas! - oh, and £50 a year in the 4 percents for the lady - and £50 in bonds for any offspring

REV: Well - from our star pupil of pleasure - that is a most generous measure!

B: One caveat, Becher - as you're our reverend pastor, take it in consideration, whether for probable penance of such deeds,  I should fast, or pray for such sins in expiation?

REV: Considering your current dietary regime - I suggest the praying for your sins scenario would be more effectatious

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​​The rattle of an empty brandy bottle precedes an interruption by Owen Mealey, the corrput estate manager of Newstead

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REV: Mr. Mealey, I am currently engaged!

M: 'Tis not you I want a word with - 'tis him - his Lordship

B: What is it, Mealey?

M: I've just come from repairing the 14th cottage on the estate - my lord - 'tis draining my - er, your - pockets - they're disarrayed and disgraced with mouldy toast, torn stockings, and feathers and stays and chopped bits of golden ringlets and broken bed posts..

B: And how does any of this inconvenience you, Mealey?

M: In the beastly state they're in?! - your mother boxed my ears, yowling that no tenant will rent them! - aye & ouch! (rubs ear) - that honourable Hoyden is in a ferocious mood

B: Rent? Were they ever rented? - and what revenue issued?

M: Never mind that - 'tis a disgrace to the estate - why (leers at Becher) - they're nowt but brothels! Brothels - here, at Newstead!!

REV: Holy god!

B: Don't be utterly ridiculous, Mealey - I, like my ancestors before me, am merely acknowledging the fine old tradition of the Droit de Seigneur 

M: You'll have my notice if you don't keep your signewers confined to Burgage Manor

B: Excellent - I'll have Mr. Spooney, my solicitor, take your accounting books immediately in hand - and leave you, Mealey, to enjoy an instructive respite in Van Diemans Land

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Mealey reddens and scampers, cursing violently in a Gaelic fashion

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B(rises to leave): Becher, - philosophers have never doubted that ladies' lips were made for kisses - and as for love, I could not live without it (Rev struggles to counter) - in such a cursed place as Southwell is 

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Scene 3

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B fancies he'll find respite from amatory confrontations at the Pigot residence

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JP(nervously): Good day t'ye, Byron (bows)

B: How do, Pigot (bows) - I've just come from a most amusing ear-blasting from Becher re. my many admirers and their plans to ensnare a coronet via congress (is startled by a variety of matrons clenched on perches around the drawing room) So! - my domestic tyrant - the Hon. Kitty Gordon - is deviling my path where'er I go (grinds teeth)

JP: Oh, Byron - please excuse these marauding matrons, for, quite unannounced, they determined to enter and pronounce you quite the youthful Sinner

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Matrons ogle B and his coroneted walking cane anew

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Mama 1: And yet my Mary-Ann says, “Although he's naughty, you must not check a Young Beginner"

Mama 2: And my own simple, dear Julia believes her leg of mutton soup can salvage him 'ere he becomes much thinner

Mama 3: The frail female heart of my Anne (grins) - is of a more honest cast - a well-repaired roof and a coat of arms would win her

JP: Perchance, ye matrons should take a clue from his Lordship's latest volume..

 

“More constant they may prove, indeed;

Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be loved!"

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B(is riled): Ah, but I have loved! (gasps all round) - two had eyes of blue - to which I hope you've no objection - the rest had eyes of darker hue - each Nymph, of course, was all perfection - none of whom I intend to mention, for they are - as yet - undeserving of  your reprehension

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Relieved sighs from the competing Matrons 

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JP: My good women, here we'll close his Lordship's chaste description - nor say the deeds of animosity, for silence is the best prescription to physic idle curiosity

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B storms off - contemplates returning Newstead to the Augustinians and taking a vow of chastity

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Scene 4

 

Evening, Burgage Manor - Mrs. Byron is archly stabbing her embroidery

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CB: My dear son, where have you been all day? Measuring fields and counting sheep, I dare say

B(stretches on sopha): ​Mother? (CB jumps slightly) - At school, I thought like other children, did I not? Instead of brains - a fine ingredient - did romance instead set my youthful head bewildering, and to sense make me vastly disobedient?

CB: That is most certainly the case (is flabbergasted at her success) - I do hope this day has restored you to sense - and the Court Guide - and ended all notions of taking an unprofitable bride​

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​A sudden torrent of gravel dashes against the windows of Burgage Manor - three maids, armed with copies of  ‘Poems on Various Occasions', hiss from amongst the hydrangeas

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Mary-Ann(opens window): My lord! Pay no heed to my Mama - her meddlings did not issue from me - for I have written proof of your intentions - oh, good eve, Mrs. Byron - do listen and say then I if err...

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“Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone
Could bid me from fond admiration refrain
Till smiles should restore me to rapture again!"

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Byron slowly peels his last egg of the day

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B: Nice try, my dear - however, that particular ode ends thus-aways..

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Then say not, sweet Mary-Ann, that the Fates have decreed
Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu!

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CB: Och, the persistence! - Be off with you, Mary-Ann, for shame! - with your £500 a year, a faulty carriage and but one broach of brilliants to your name​

Julia: 'Tis I have the better claim, you see (waves book) - Mrs. Byron, your son exposed all of Southwell to his compromising protestations of desire - nay lust - towards me..

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“And when at night, I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form I view"

 

B: In dreams, Miss Leacroft - I never intended - in waking - for us to occupy any Manor, cottage or hayloft... 

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​“You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my Julia, you do not love."

 

CB: Julia Leacroft! Humph! - your family have had their eye on my son since he was but a stripling - (reaches for carpet beater) 
Anne: Aye, dear Mrs. Byron - these two are but coronet-hunters - I know the value of your son - for I have - oft at midnight, wandered the cloisters of Newstead - and am aware I would be marrying into a ruin (gazes at B) - yet, e'en you must admit 'tis I who am a shoo-in..

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“But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine.."

 

B: Anne, my dear girl, your lips to mine were hardly the first exercise in occlusion (A gasps)  - in sooth, ladies - I doubt any of ye ever read my poesy to conclusion...

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“Again, thou best belov'd, adieu!
Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret
Our only hope is, to forget!"

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CB: Anne Houson! (sneers) - who has but pin money and a talent for stripping grouse to offer any future spouse

B's dogs leap and bark as Rev Becher drags Susan into the parlour

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REV: Apologies, Mrs. Byron - Byron - er - ah -Ladies? - Miss Susan here will not be a suitable maid at the parochial house by any means

CB: But your collar is white as snow!

REV: The maid seems to be in some confusion re. her duties to myself - a priest, and not a London beau!

B: Why Susan! (laughs, and leers) - she of that witching grace, that perfect form, that lovely face - oh! with eyes admiring - believe me, Becher - there is no shame in desiring

​S(eagerly gasps): How I have pined for you these last seven hours my lord! These wenches (girls start) - who tell thee of thy beauty - believe me, only do their duty - it is not flattery, 'tis truth! (swoons)

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CB, at her wits end, accepts deceit is the only option that remains

 

CB: Ladies, Susan, Becher - our man-at-law, John Spooney, recently informed myself, and my sought-after son, that a grave error occurred when he was a boy.  'Twould seem amidst his ill-appointed filing system, a superior claim existed to the Byron title, estates, toll bridges, mines etc. - that of a Horace Byron, spawn of what would appear to a legal covenant betwixt his cricket-mad great uncle and his housekeeper, Lady Betty (girls don hats and gloves) - and as Lord Horace is currently yoked - ye and your Mamas shall have to set your caps at closer quarters -(smirks) mayhap, one of the cottages Mealey rents? - or a gentleman with five fattening sheep and capital in the one percents?

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The striving maidens depart, swapping ‘Poems on Various Occasions' for the Court Schedule

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​​B(is mortified): ​Bah! - so much for egotism, mother - perchance my new-born laurels turned my brain - for the cooling acids of your matrimonial machinations have restored me to modesty once again (bows, low) - 'ere yet, my heart knew well the worth of maidens' praise - for our fair Susan (ogles same) is the sole subject of all my lays​ (S faints)​​​

CB: Aye, son - today - 'tis true, you have been a victim to very precious scheming - yet the recollections of this day will cure your boyish soul of dreaming (notices collapsed washerwoman) - Susan! - up and back to the laundry - those bed-curtains are in want of steaming!

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​B opens the ‘Guide to Bawds of Covent Garden'  - CB and Becher compose a sermon demanding the Matrons sue for pardon​

 

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​END

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