Andersen's English

  What are you going to do, dear?

  Kate I am going to begin my life. Something is ending, and so I will begin.

  Dickens comes in.

  Dickens Begin what, Kate?

  But Kate starts to go out. He takes up the shawl to give it to her, but she ignores him, passes and goes.

  (To himself.) It is because of me – but how is that, how is that? Oh that I were a better father – a better person. (To Catherine.) How one loves one’s daughters. It is quite extraordinary.

  Catherine She is a wonderful girl.

  Dickens She is a marvel. Why did I come in to you? Aggie. She has managed to – you understand? The usual matter with young girls. It is a great pity.

  Catherine The poor child. Child is all she is. It will be in itself a desolating experience, God knows, and to lose her place on top of that.

  Dickens Of course, she must go. She cannot stay here.

  Catherine No, no, of course she cannot.

  Dickens I am trying to help her. I am – putting my mind to it. Hush now, hush …

  Aggie (off) Mr Dickens is just in here, miss.

  Georgie (off) Are you sure you had an appointmen?

  Georgie enters now with Aggie, leading Miss Ternan, a small pretty woman, about eighteen.

  Dickens Well, she comes, early.

  Georgie Charles, may I introduce Miss Ellen Ternan? She has an appointment I am assured.

  Ellen divesting herself of a nice coat and bonnet, giving the items to Aggie.

  Dickens She does. Most certainly. (Going to her.) Thank you so much for coming all this way.

  Ellen It is a wonder to me to meet the author of all my favourite and most loved books. Am I impossibly early? I am so sorry. I can wait, Mr Dickens. Just put me somewhere out of the way and I will be quiet as a mouse.

  Dickens Not at all, you will have luncheon with us, by my eyes. By your accent, I surmise – Yorkshire?

  Ellen Irish by birth, sir. I was in Yorkshire a good while as a child.

  Dickens Ah, Irish, the Irish, a noble race, a race of renown in the theatrical arts, Boucicault, yes?

  Ellen My father and mother both worked for Mr Boucicault. On one occasion she played Gertrude to Macready’s Hamlet. I am told Macready is your great friend?

  Dickens Wilkie Collins chooses wisely. That is wonderful. I am sure you will do very well. You will be required to do a great many things in your role, but chiefly, to weep. I hope you are a good weeper?

  Ellen I hope so. I hope your daughter Kate will not be angry with me?

  Dickens Why would she be angry, my dear?

  Ellen For taking her role?

  Dickens She cannot play it in a big theatre. She has not the voice for it.

  Dickens holds her by the shoulders quite fiercely.

  She weeps with genius, I will allow. Every night, when we play it, the whole house in a sort of stupor of grief, her tears pour down upon me, soaking my beard, her little face a moon above my own, as I die upon the ground. To die in such a way gives me a strange feeling afterwards, like freedom. I cannot explain it. It rests me, miraculously.

  He pulls her to him a little with a strange energy. Ellen pulls away slightly. A moment. Then Andersen clears his throat.

  And this is Mr Andersen, the great Danish author.

  Andersen smiling benignly.

  Ellen I have not advanced very far into Danish literature, forgive me.

  Andersen’s face.

  Andersen Most melancholy to hear.

  Ellen (to Dickens) I have just finished Little Dorrit, sir, and it is the most deeply affecting book I have ever read.

  Andersen Oh, oh …

  Dickens Charming. Let me introduce you to my wife, Catherine.

  Catherine You are very welcome here. The people of the theatre are welcome in this house.

  Ellen (to Catherine) My mother sends her best regards and asks that you forgive her for sending me without a chaperone – she intended to do that task herself, but has been snagged up in town.

  Dickens Snagged up’, how charming. We will look after you. Kent is horribly staid and safe.

  Catherine Please thank your mother for her regards.

  Dickens When you came in, I thought there was a trick of light, and that a white fire from the hall followed you in. Like a little ghost. Such a lovely, sincere face.

  Ellen I am moved by your words.

  Andersen I am poet, poet of Denmark.

  Dickens Let us go in and eat. We will refresh you after your long journey. And I think you must say something nice to Mr Andersen later. I will school you up on his stories. You will be an expert on Danish literature by the time I have finished with you.

  Ellen laughing. Her laughter brings Catherine’s gaze.

  Music. They go off together, Dickens deep in talk with Miss Ternan.

  Catherine and Aggie. Aggie goes to the other door. Walter enters, in his East India cadet uniform.

  Aggie My goodness, Master Walter.

  Catherine goes to him, brushes the lapels slowly, smooths his hair, face nearly expressionless.

  Walter Mama, if before I went I had something to tell you, something that might be considered in some light as – as shameful?

  Catherine My child, you are not capable of a shameful act. You are sixteen.

  Walter Boys go to be midshipmen at fourteen, Mama, and they are accounted men.

  They embrace. A darkening picture.

  Then noise of trains, steam.

  The shadows of great ironworks rising to the skies.

  Dickens and Walter, in his cadet uniform, stand opposite each other. Andersen near them, but at a respectful distance.

  In the shadows, Catherine in the sitting room beyond. Georgie comes in and comforts her.

  Dickens I am sending you out, Walter, to a fine and dutiful life in Bengal.

  Walter Yes, Papa.

  Dickens And thinking of you as a little boy, and that you are the first to go. (A moment.) We must not be unmanned by the task of saying goodbye.

  Andersen (to himself) These are eternal sorrows.

  Dickens Your going so far away is naturally distressing.

  Walter Yes, Papa.

  Dickens Soon your heart will lighten, and your road will seem to stretch out in front of you brightly, and you will be glad to be on it.

  Walter Yes, Papa.

  Dickens Goodbye, my son.

  An embrace, a moment, then Walter turns to go. Before he is quite gone, he turns and salutes, and goes.

  You see, Andersen, what distress you saved yourself by going about the world on your own.

  Andersen Dear Dickens, dear, dear Dickens.

  Dickens goes forcefully to Catherine. Andersen looking thoughtfully after him.

  Dickens Catherine, you must be brave.

  Catherine I will never be brave again.

  Dickens There is always sorrow in the management of children. Childhood closes like an iron door, it cannot be opened again.

  Catherine Call him back, Charles, call him back – why do we need to send our child so far?

  Dickens Catherine, Catherine, poor Andersen will be affrighted. The whole house will be affrighted. Georgie …

  Georgie brings salts to Catherine.

  Catherine You defeat me. I am like one of those old cities in the Bible. One city builded upon another. You are building your own city on top of me.

  Georgie Because you have dragged a boulder onto your own breast, and it is crushing you, does not license you to say that I put it there.

  Catherine Oh, Charles, I pray you, send her away, send her away.

  Dickens Enough of sending away, enough.

  Dickens appears to be going, but he does not go. He says nothing for a few moments. Then suddenly:

  And I do think in all honesty this is the time to communicate to you my decision vis-à-vis our future arrangements.

  Catherine What, Charles?

  Georgie Charles …

  Dickens Wilkie could explain it better,
were he here. It is a very good, simple plan. You will live in London and I will live here.

  Catherine This is your plan, that you made with Wilkie? But how could such a plan be made, and your love for me be still included? Such a plan does not include love.

  Dickens It may be, in the natural way of these things, that such a thing as love may be discounted here. A person, in order convincingly to live, must breathe, and I cannot breathe.

  Catherine In my company, you cannot breathe? I could not agree to such a plan. The boys will be home soon from school and I must be thinking about that. There is so much to do.

  Dickens There will be no need for that. You will not see them, Catherine. You will not see any of them, do you understand? My mind is quite made up.

  Catherine Could God kill me now, do you think He might, of His great mercy?

  She looks to Georgie, but there is no help there.

  Dickens You are to be happy, on your own terms, in your own house.

  Catherine And quite alone.

  Dickens I have written to your family’s attorney, we have conducted ourselves with perfect propriety, and you are to be provided for, and you are to be free in so far as you are a married woman living apart from her husband.

  Catherine If you had devised a series of tortures for me, if you had hanged me in Tyburn and drawn out my entrails, wherewith I made my children, you could not hurt me more.

  Georgie and Dickens disperse.

  Catherine alone.

  Dickens encounters Aggie in the garden.

  Dickens I have made arrangements for you, Aggie, you will be happy to hear. My friend, Miss Angela Burdett-Coutts, and I have set up a house called Urania Cottage, as a refuge for fallen women. You will go there, and when all is done, we will find a place for your baby, and I will arrange for you to go on to Canada, so you may start again afresh.

  Aggie (after a moment) I will not go to the place you mention, sir.

  Dickens Oh?

  Aggie I am not a fallen woman. I am an Irish girl of sixteen years and I will go back to Ireland, sir, and see what my people can do for me.

  Dickens That is brave, Aggie, of course. But if they cannot do anything? The world will be against you.

  Aggie I will do something for myself, and damn the world, if you will excuse me saying so, Mr Dickens.

  Dickens I think you may be excused the word. I think you may be justified in choosing it.

  Aggie goes on to Andersen, packing in his bedroom.

  Sunlight sparkling everywhere.

  Aggie The weather has picked up at last, sir. And is it very far to go, Denmark, sir? Here is your rope, sir, you must not forget that.

  Andersen It is far. It is journey of – transformation. Train, carriage, ship, walking, new looking, great noises, England falls away, this hard language, and then I am at home, and speaking Danish again.

  Aggie I think you like it, sir, that travelling?

  Andersen Ah, maybe so, little maid.

  Aggie I like it too. Well, sir, be sure and have your pocket handkerchiefs handy to yourself when you need them. Just in case, sir. I have washed and folded them.

  Andersen Thank you, thank you.

  Aggie I hope you will not forget Gad’s Hill, sir?

  Andersen Memory everything. Thank you, little maid. Thank you for drying my eye when first I come.

  Aggie Oh, sir, yes, I remember. It does seem a long, long time ago.

  Andersen (handing her a note of money) Yes.

  Aggie (the money) That is a great sum of money, sir.

  Andersen I, what is word, surmise, you will need it.

  Aggie Oh.

  Andersen I am not blind in the eyes. I cannot say English, but I see, I see. (Differently.) But not everything. I think there is trouble somewhere, but what trouble I do not know.

  Aggie Every family has trouble, sir, it comes from trouble, and goes to trouble, and just maybe is trouble, sir, plain and simple.

  Andersen You are wise, little maid.

  Aggie Not so much. Safe journey to your home place.

  Andersen God bless and keep you.

  Andersen goes in to Catherine in the sitting room.

  Andersen Dear, dear lady. Thank you, thank you.

  Catherine (with great effort) My dear Mr Andersen, so sorry to see you go, infinitely sorry.

  Andersen kisses her hand.

  Andersen Ah, yes. I wish you all happiness, in your life, Mrs Dickens, and in your perfect and holy marriage.

  Catherine Now, truly, your English is perfected.

  Andersen I thank you.

  Dickens and Andersen at the dock.

  Noise of ship, passengers, ordinary turmoil.

  Dickens You have everything you need?

  Andersen Oh, sir, the love I have for you. By my eyes.

  Dickens My dear man. My dear man.

  Andersen steps up to Dickens and kisses him on the mouth. Dickens quite still.

  The ship calls to the passengers.

  It is time to go up the gangway. Here is a little book. I wrote in it for you?

  Andersen goes off, speechless, waving, Dickens waving.

  Goodbye, Andersen. (Then quietly.) Goodbye, Andersen.

  Then Gad’s Hill again, Catherine seated, and Georgie, Dickens returns into the scene.

  Well, although we may say we suffered a great deal from Andersen, the poor man is gone.

  Georgie You are certain, Charles? You saw him on to the ship?

  Dickens He kissed me, we parted.

  Catherine stays severely alone, her face in pain. Aggie comes in with kindling etc.

  Catherine (with effort) He was a good, kind, dear man.

  Georgie He was a terrible old bore, that is the truth.

  Catherine What will happen to us now?

  Dickens Only splendid things.

  Aggie Will I light the fire now, ma’am?

  Dickens No need, Aggie.

  Aggie goes.

  I do believe the month is quickening at last, and we will have the proper summer soon. I will sit out in the garden with my book, and Mamie will sit near me, quietly talking. We will be English folk in England – the happiest people on earth in the happiest country.

  Music, and the scene acquires the aspect of a genre painting. The faces picked out by light. A moment.

  Then Aggie, in her coat and carrying her scant possessions, comes out of the house, goes to the edge of the stage, stops there, looks back.

  Music.

  Now it’s twelve years later again, Andersen in his room in Copenhagen, talking to Stefan, the clink and knock of boats in the harbour below.

  The figures of the others still visible behind.

  Andersen And that is how all stories end. Soon Mrs Dickens was ejected, for no fault of her own, exiled from all she knew and loved.

  Stefan And is the poor woman still living, Andersen?

  Andersen She is, I believe. Her grief will be very great, for I tell you, Stefan, by every word of her mind and gesture of her body, it was so clear she loved him. Perhaps great genius must always be tied by the heel to unhappiness. I have often thought that. The world delights in us, we delight in ourselves not at all.

  Stefan My dear Andersen.

  Light on Catherine.

  Catherine I lived for twenty years in the house in Gloucester Crescent that Charles provided for me. My son Charlie chose to live with me, but for many years I saw none of the other children. My beloved Walter was dead within five years, not of the wars and rebellions that he so feared, but an aneurism in his poor head. He lies in some lonely graveyard in India. All my sons were sent out into the world, Plorn the last at sixteen, away out to Australia, never to come home. I never saw Charles again. Kate married Wilkie’s brother, and was widowed young. Of course I could not attend the wedding, nor could she come to me. Then, some years after Charles died, Georgie came to see me. She gripped my hands and asked for my forgiveness. I gave it. I begged her to be sure that, when I was dead, Charles’s letters to me as
a young woman would go to the British Museum, so that the whole nation would know that he loved me once.

  Light on Georgie.

  Georgie I stayed, and minded the house with Mamie and all the children. I weathered as best I might the foul intimations of that dark aftertime, namely that Charles had preferred my own person to my sister’s. Even that I was the true mother of the children. At Charles’s request I was examined by the doctor, and found to be virgo intacta. Eventually that wretched storm subsided. I did what I could to understand Miss Ternan. Nothing was ever truly the same again.

  Ellen Ternan comes on and stands in the shadows near to Dickens.

  When Charles died I edited his letters and looked after his sacred legacy. I was the dog with saucers for eyes guarding the treasure, like in the Andersen story. I lived to be an old woman, into a century I did not understand. But I understood Charles, heart and soul.

  She moves to Catherine and touches her shoulder, Catherine slowly puts a hand on hers.

  Andersen What is the world but a great empire of sadnesses? (The newspaper.) Here is another. No more stories will flow from him.

  Stefan By your own grace of mind, you might have counselled him.

  Andersen My dear child. I wore myself out trying to show myself to him, and perhaps wore him out also.

  Stefan And yet you speak so well of him.

  Andersen Stefan, you see, I loved him. My reverence for him has been unaltered by the stray bits of news that have reached me here these last years. Poor Dickens, fearing to grow old, rushed age upon himself. Did he take comfort from his little actress? I do hope so. Have his daughters and sons forgiven him? But you see, but you see, dear Stefan, I include all that and still the sum comes out the same. I loved him.