GULLIVER: Thunder! This is hellish!
LADY SIBYL (Putting a hand delicately on her ear): Restrine your senile violence, Captain Gullibo.
GULLIVER: And you, your ladyship—are you going to drink that wine and go to sleep in that boat?
LADY SIBYL: When I am old—readily, gladly. I have four years to live. That is a very long time.
GULLIVER: And no one ever rebels? No one twenty-nine years old ever wishes to live longer?
LADY SIBYL: Captain Gullibo, you prate. You rive. You forget that you are old—very old. What I have told you is the custom of this island! Do you understand the word “custom”? . . . Would any of us wish to be . . .
GULLIVER (Hand to head): Your ladyship must permit me to sit down. (He does)
LADY SIBYL (Strolling about and fanning herself): It is understandable that the duke is occupied today. (Severely) Your arrival is most inopportune.
GULLIVER: The matter was beyond my control, Lady Sibyl. Little did I know that I was arriving on this happy island on the great day of the Hoop Dance. On future occasions I shall arrange it with greater propriety.
LADY SIBYL (Looks at him and raises her eyebrows): Future occasions, Captain Gullibo? At your age, Captain, you cannot speak with certainty of future occasions.
GULLIVER (Returning her glance; in a low voice): Lady Sibyl, I am thinking of your children. You will never know the joys of seeing them grow into young manhood and womanhood. You will never hold grandchildren on your knees.
LADY SIBYL: You are tedious, Captain Gullibo. I have read of those things in books.
GULLIVER: Ah, madam. —You have books, I see.
LADY SIBYL: We have one hundred and twenty-seven books, Captain.
GULLIVER (Lowers his head in admiration; after a pause, suddenly humble and earnest): Lady Sibyl, let me throw myself upon your mercy. You are a woman, and women in all times have tempered this rough world with mercy and compassion. I have arrived a stranger and an interloper here; I do not wish to intrude upon this happy existence. I can see that you have much influence on this island; graciously exert it on my behalf. I saw that there were boats drawn up along the shore. I am a seaman of experience. When I have been given some food to stay my hunger, be my advocate with this Duke of Cornwall—
LADY SIBYL (Purest amazement): Where would you go?
GULLIVER (Pointing): . . . That island or continent . . . those mountains . . .
LADY SIBYL (Harshly): I have nothing to do with such matters. Those fishing boats and their sails are fixed to the shore. They are locked with thongs that only a few nobles can undo. —You forget that you are old—very old. Your life is over. Anyone can see that. (She turns away)
GULLIVER: I have a wife and children. —You said you have children?
LADY SIBYL: Naturally I have children.
GULLIVER: Look in your heart. Enable me to—
LADY SIBYL: Be silent!
GULLIVER (Sinking onto the bench; to himself, in despair): Yes . . . yes . . . Humanity is the last thing that will be learned by man. (He puts his head on his arms and is about to fall asleep)
LADY SIBYL (Walking up and down, loftily): You may be certain that nothing will be done here that is not for the wisest and the best. We are enlightened here; and we are Christians. That strain of music you heard came from Westminster Abbey. The Archbishop of Canterbury is addressing the contestants in the games. If you were a young man we would be proud to show you how happy our existence is, and how perfect our institutions. This perfection is rendered possible by the fact that here we have no—
(Gulliver has fallen asleep.)
GULLIVER (Mumbling): . . . steep . . . the steep streets . . . Redriff, home! . . . Mary—Polly! . . . Polly, forgive me . . .
(He falls silent. Lady Sibyl gazes at him for a moment with repugnance, then draws nearer and scans his face intently—a long gaze. When he stirs and seems about to wake, she moves away and, opening her parasol, strolls off the stage.
In deep stupor Gulliver slips off the bench and rolls under the table.
Lady Sibyl returns hurriedly; there is a suggestion of walking backward as though royalty were approaching. Enter the Duke of Cornwall, twenty-eight, very splendid in festival dress. To the early eighteenth-century costume have been added feathers and colored shells, etc. He is followed by Simpson, twenty, a commoner, carrying a tray of food. The Duke gazes fixedly at Gulliver.)
LADY SIBYL: He has fallen into a swound, your grace.
DUKE: Simpson—throw some water on his face.
(Simpson scoops some water from the mirror pool and throws it on Gulliver’s face. Gulliver recovers consciousness, stirs and cumbrously extricates himself from under the table. Finally, he grasps the situation and, standing erect, confronts the Duke, eye to eye.)
Who are you?
GULLIVER: Lemuel Gulliver, your grace, captain of the fourmaster Arcturus, Port of London.
DUKE: How old are you?
GULLIVER: I am in my middle years; I am forty-six.
DUKE: They tell me you have been three days without food—Simpson, place the food on the table. Eat!
GULLIVER: I thank your grace. Commoners do not sit in the presence of the nobility. I shall eat when you have left to take part in the festival.
(Pause.)
Sir, I have visited many countries and have been shipwrecked on the shores of several. In all of them, save one, I have been treated with courtesy as a citizen of England and a subject of our gracious sovereign, Queen Anne. I am indebted to you for this relief from my hunger. I trust that hereafter I may see your cities and learn of your customs. In return I shall gladly tell you of other parts of the world that I have visited; and above all of the country whose language you speak and from which your ancestors came.
DUKE (Again a short contemptuous pause; then with a curt gesture of the hand): You are tedious, old man. —Simpson!
SIMPSON: Yes, your grace?
DUKE: Withdraw to a distance. It is not suitable that a commoner hear this nonsense. I shall call you when it is time for you to stand watch over the captain.
(Simpson bows and goes out. Gulliver begins to laugh to himself and, turning away, sits down.)
LADY SIBYL (Revolted): He is laughing!!
GULLIVER: To be young, and yet ask no questions about the country from which your ancestors came! To be young, and yet have no curiosity concerning the shore that lies upon the horizon! To be young, and yet—oh, ye immortal Gods!—to be without adventure of mind or generosity of spirit! Now it is clear to me why you so gladly bring your lives to a close at the age of twenty-nine—gladly was Lady Sibyl’s word.
DUKE (Bitingly): That should not be difficult for you to understand—you, with this decay of mind and body—
GULLIVER (Interrupting): No! No, it is not the advance of age that frightens you on this island. (With a sardonic smile) A greater enemy threatens you. (Abruptly changing the subject) I do not wish to detain your grace from the festival and from your trophies.
DUKE: Come, Lady Sibyl.
GULLIVER: Permit me, however, one question. (The Duke nods) What is the name of this island and this country?
DUKE: Name? Why should it have a name?
GULLIVER: I have visited twenty countries. Each has borne a name in which it takes pride.
DUKE: Proud? All of them were proud?
GULLIVER: They were. They are.
DUKE: Among those twenty countries was there one that was not governed by old men—governed, misgoverned, burdened, oppressed by old men? By the pride and avarice, and the lust for power of old men? One which did not constantly war at the instigation of old men like yourself, to enlarge its boundaries; to enslave others; to enrich itself? We know of the War of the Roses. Or by the religious bigotry of old men—we know of the Saint Bartholomew Massacre, [the] murder of Charles, king and martyr. And when these prides of yours have obtained their lands, whose bodies are those lying upon the field of battle? —They are the bodies of men under thirty. We need no n
ame to distinguish this country from others. Say that you are in the Country of the Young.
GULLIVER: So be it! —Since you do not wish me to encumber you longer, I request some boat with which I may rid you of my presence. (In amazement) How did you come here? Who brought you here?
DUKE: God!
GULLIVER: God! —Where did you acquire this distrust and hatred of the old?
DUKE: We have no boats for that purpose.
GULLIVER: The smallest would serve me.
DUKE: No boat of ours has ever made that journey and never will.
GULLIVER: Perhaps your grace will let me purchase a boat. This ring was given to me by the King of Laputa. It is of pure alchemist’s gold.
DUKE: You have been here a few hours. Lady Sibyl has told me that already you have offered us insult and have spoken of our customs with contempt; and now you wish to introduce barter and trafficking, and gold!—gold, which is above all the instrument by which old men keep the younger in subjection. There is no gold and no trading here. You shall never leave this island and you shall not long envenom it. We shall make you a present for which we ask no return. We shall give you the only happiness that still lies open to you.
GULLIVER: Duke of Cornwall—Duke of Palm Trees and Sand! I wish you a happy twenty-ninth birthday. I can understand that you will gladly drink the wine and welcome the long sleep. Twenty-nine years of jumping through hoops and flying kites will have been enough. Already you are advancing toward a decay worse than age—yes, toward boredom, infinite boredom. Youth left to itself is a cork upon the waves. As we say of the young: they do not know what to do with themselves. It is only under the severity—the well-wishing severity—of your elders that you can shake from yourselves the misery of your aimless state. You elect yourselves into societies and call yourselves dukes and earls; did I hear correctly that each man on this island has several wives? You play games. What more can you ask of a thirtieth birthday than a deep slumber!
LADY SIBYL (Ablaze): Your grace! How can you let him speak to you so?!
DUKE: (With a smile): But this is what we knew; foul and embittered age! Envy and jealousy! Despising those things of which he is no longer capable. (Whimsically to Lady Sibyl) Perhaps we should take this man and exhibit him for all to see.
LADY SIBYL (Covering her face): Your grace!
GULLIVER: Yes, and for all to hear, your grace.
DUKE: And to hear. —What would you say to them?
GULLIVER: Why, I should tell them that if a man is not civilized between the ages of twelve and twenty—civilized by his elders—he will never be civilized at all.
(Lady Sibyl covers her ears.)
And oh, it is not an easy task. To educate young men is like rolling boulders up to the tops of mountains; the whole community is engaged in the work and with what doubtful success! For every one Isaac Newton or Christopher Wren there are thousands who roll to the bottom of the mountain and occupy themselves with jumping through hoops.
(He sways from weakness, his hand to his head and heart.)
Go to your dances and garlands. I can see that your happiness has begun to stale already. You are weary of life. Old age has marked you already.
DUKE (With supreme complaisance): Oh, I’m young enough! (He calls) Mr. Simpson! Mr. Simpson!!
(The sound of music has been rising from the distance. Enter Simpson.)
SIMPSON: Yes, your grace?
DUKE: Simpson, you are in charge of this man. See that he does not leave this clearing. Do not enter into conversation with him. It would suffocate you. Later I shall send someone to replace you—Lady Sibyl!
(Lady Sibyl’s hand has gone to her forehead; her parasol and reticule fall. She is about to faint.)
LADY SIBYL: Oh, your grace . . . this sight . . . has sickened me.
DUKE (Cold fury): Take command of yourself!
(With a gesture he orders Simpson to pick up the fallen objects. Simpson does so and holds them ready for Lady Sibyl.)
LADY SIBYL (Swaying; with closed eyes): I must breathe a moment.
DUKE: Fool! (He strikes her sharply on both cheeks) Go to the city!
GULLIVER (Taking two steps forward): You strike her!! You strike her!
DUKE: We permit no weakness here—neither ours nor yours.
GULLIVER (Turns and seats himself on the bench by the table): Humanity is the last thing that will be learned by man; it will not be learned from the young.
(Lady Sibyl has taken her parasol and reticule. She collects her dignity, but is scarcely able to leave the stage.)
DUKE: Simpson!
SIMPSON: Your grice!
DUKE: If you fail at any point in your guard over this man, you will be put to the press—and you know what press I mean. And you will be removed from your hoffice as builder and constructor. (He looks appraisingly at Gulliver) If he tries to leave the clearing, kick him strongly at the shinbones.
(He goes out. Simpson takes his stand at a distance from Gulliver whom he watches intently. Gulliver returns to his meal, but seems to have lost his appetite. Again there is a sound of music from the city. Gulliver rises and listens.)
GULLIVER: Is there no way, Mr. Simpson, that I may view the games from a distance? (Simpson shakes his head) I am sorry. (He eats a little) They must be a wonderful sight . . . wonderful. Hoops and kites. (Pause) You strike women . . . is that often, Mr. Simpson? . . . Do you strike women frequently, Mr. Simpson? (No reply) . . . You are very proud of your civilization . . . when you are angry you strike and you torture . . .
(Simpson mutters something.)
I did not hear what you said, Mr. Simpson.
SIMPSON: He is old. Strikes and tortures because ’e is old. ’E will die next year.
GULLIVER: He will be killed next year. That is not quite the same thing as merely dying. He will be killed. No wonder he is excitable, Mr. Simpson. In the normal way of life we grow of a more mild and kindly disposition with the years. (He eats) So you are a builder and constructor, Mr. Simpson. You are an architect. Lady Sibyl spoke of a Westminster Abbey. I would like to see it. Did you build this Westminster Abbey, sir? (No answer) You have great storms in this part of the world—far greater than London has. You must build very—solidly. Have you rock here? (Simpson points off. Gulliver rises and peers in the direction) Coral limestone, I presume. Not easy. Arches and a vaulted roof. Ah, you should see the dome of St. Paul’s. There’s a sight, Mr. Simpson . . . (He eats) I am glad that you feel no disposition to talk, sir. I was afraid that you might ask me questions about the life led by young men like yourself in my country. (Pause) It would fill me with shame to describe it to you. (He lowers his voice as though imparting a discreditable secret) Imagine it! You would be working all the time to acquire more knowledge: from morning to night—and at night by lamplight. Think: to be a better doctor, to govern the people more wisely, to be a better builder, Mr. Simpson. Go down on your knees, sir, and thank your Maker that you live on this happy island where learning never penetrates, where young men are not encouraged by old men to extend their knowledge and their skill.
SIMPSON (Loudly): The old men drive them like slaves; the old men take the credit and the profit.
GULLIVER: The young men succeed them. They are not killed at twenty-nine. They become master builders themselves and may decide whether they will be just or unjust. However, I do not wish to talk about it. I reproach myself that I am preventing you from taking part in the games.
SIMPSON: Commoners do not take part in the games.
GULLIVER: Ah! (He eats)
(Simpson gazes at him, brooding.)
SIMPSON: I’m a builder.
GULLIVER (Looking up at the summerhouse): Ah!—you made this?
SIMPSON: Aye—and the new Westminster Abbey.
GULLIVER: Westminster Abbey! Then you are the chief builder.
SIMPSON: The chief builder is an earl. He has no time to build.
GULLIVER: The new Abbey is of stone—of sandstone or coral?
SIMPSON:
The pillars at the corners are.
GULLIVER: And the roof? (Simpson shakes his head. Gulliver points to the thatch) Of thatch?—of palm boughs?
(Simpson nods.)
But, man, you have severe storms here. Ah! (He looks up) Mr. Simpson, the storm that cast me on your shores has damaged this charming . . . shelter, this pagoda. Was your Westminster Abbey able to sustain the fury of that wind and rain? (Simpson stares straight before him) You will not answer me, man! Your Abbey seats—what?—four hundred. Of what is your roof? Of palm fronds? (Simpson, without moving his eyes, nods) I see! When storm destroys your Westminster Abbey you build another. I see! I see! You don’t know how to make an arch or a buttress. Oh, Mr. Simpson, do not ask me the secrets of the arch, the buttress and the dome. You are happy. Remain happy. Do not let us think of all the labor that went into those discoveries.
SIMPSON (Taking steps toward Gulliver; in a low voice): Sir . . . Mr. Captain . . . (His hands describe an arch) Do you know how to pile stone . . . so they will not fall?
GULLIVER: Believe me. Mr. Simpson, I did not arrive in this paradise in order to poison it with thoughts of progress and industry.
SIMPSON: But you do know?
GULLIVER: Perhaps in a hundred years some unhappy youth will be born with talent—with genius. He will light upon the laws of the arch. He will prove that youth stands in no need of its elders, no need of the accumulated wisdom of its ancestors. He will make a roof . . . Bring your ear nearer, young man: the dome of St. Paul’s . . . (His hand describes a high dome)
SIMPSON: How high is it?
GULLIVER: How high? Sixty men standing on one another’s shoulders could not touch the top of it.
SIMPSON (Back three yards): You are lying! All old men lie. Eat your food. Go to sleep. I ask you a question and you give me a lie. (Simpson has raised his head)
GULLIVER: What I said is true, but your rebuke is justified. There is no greater unkindness than to arouse ambition in a young man. —But you are to blame. You asked me a question. (With assumed indignation) A few more questions like that and you’ll be proposing that we take a boat and cross to that shore. No I’ll not go, I tell you.