Arcadia

by Tom Stoppard

Septimus, what is carnal embrace?

THOMASINA Septimus, what is carnal embrace? SEPTIMUS Carnal embrace is the practice of throwing one’s arms around a side of beef. THOMASINA Is that all? SEPTIMUS No . . . a shoulder of mutton, a haunch of venison well hugged, an embrace of grouse . . . caro, carnis; feminine; flesh. THOMASINA Is it a sin? SEPTIMUS Not necessarily, my lady, but when carnal embrace is sinful it is a sin of the flesh,

The Britons live on milk and meat’—‘lacte et carne vivunt’.

When you stir your rice pudding, Septimus, the spoonful of jam spreads itself round making red trails like the picture of a meteor in my astronomical atlas. But if you stir backward, the jam will not come together again. Indeed, the pudding does not notice and continues to turn pink just as before. Do you think this is odd?

You dare to call me that. I demand satisfaction!

Mrs Chater demanded satisfaction and now you are demanding satisfaction. I cannot spend my time day and night satisfying the demands of the Chater family. As for your wife’s reputation, it stands where it ever stood.

CHATER You dare to call me that. I demand satisfaction! SEPTIMUS Mrs Chater demanded satisfaction and now you are demanding satisfaction. I cannot spend my time day and night satisfying the demands of the Chater family. As for your wife’s reputation, it stands where it ever stood.

There is nothing that woman would not do for me!

CHATER (Shrewdly) Did Mrs Chater know of this before she—before you— SEPTIMUS I think she very likely did. CHATER (Triumphantly) There is nothing that woman would not do for me! Now you have an insight to her character. Yes, by God, she is a wife to me, sir! SEPTIMUS For that alone, I would not make her a widow.

Is Sidley Park to be an Englishman’s garden or the haunt of Corsican brigands?

BRICE Is Sidley Park to be an Englishman’s garden or the haunt of Corsican brigands? SEPTIMUS Let us not hyperbolize, sir.

She speaks from innocence not from experience.

As her tutor you have a duty to keep her in ignorance.

BRICE As her tutor you have a duty to keep her in ignorance. LADY CROOM Do not dabble in paradox, Edward, it puts you in danger of fortuitous wit.

It is plain that there are some things a girl is allowed to understand, and these include the whole of algebra, but there are others, such as embracing a side of beef, that must be kept from her until she is old enough to have a carcass of her own.

THOMASINA (Retiring) Yes, Mama. I did not intend to get you into trouble, Septimus. I am very sorry for it. It is plain that there are some things a girl is allowed to understand, and these include the whole of algebra, but there are others, such as embracing a side of beef, that must be kept from her until she is old enough to have a carcass of her own.

‘Et in Arcadia ego!’ ‘Here I am in Arcadia,’

LADY CROOM But Sidley Park is already a picture, and a most amiable picture too. The slopes are green and gentle. The trees are companionably grouped at intervals that show them to advantage. The rill is a serpentine ribbon unwound from the lake peaceably contained by meadows on which the right amount of sheep are tastefully arranged—in short, it is nature as God intended, and I can say with the painter, ‘Et in Arcadia ego!’ ‘Here I am in Arcadia,’ Thomasina.

Mr Chater, you are a welcome guest at Sidley Park but while you are one, The Castle of Otranto was written by whomsoever I say it was, otherwise what is the point of being a guest or having one?

LADY CROOM You have been reading too many novels by Mrs Radcliffe, that is my opinion. This is a garden for The Castle of Otranto or The Mysteries of Udolpho— CHATER The Castle of Otranto, my lady, is by Horace Walpole. NOAKES (Thrilled) Mr Walpole the gardener?! LADY CROOM Mr Chater, you are a welcome guest at Sidley Park but while you are one, The Castle of Otranto was written by whomsoever I say it was, otherwise what is the point of being a guest or having one?

Oh, phooey to Death!

You must not be cleverer than your elders. It is not polite.

That is enough education for today.

I often sit with my eyes closed and it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m awake.

he was a botanist who described a dwarf dahlia in Martinique and died there after being bitten by a monkey.

HANNAH Family? BERNARD Zilch. There’s only one other Chater in the British Library database. HANNAH Same period? BERNARD Yes, but he wasn’t a poet like our Ezra, he was a botanist who described a dwarf dahlia in Martinique and died there after being bitten by a monkey.

HANNAH Valentine. He’s at Oxford, technically. BERNARD Yes, I met him. Brideshead Regurgitated.

I’ll take a chance. You’re lying.

HANNAH Valentine. He’s at Oxford, technically. BERNARD Yes, I met him. Brideshead Regurgitated. HANNAH My fiancé. She holds his look. BERNARD (Pause) I’ll take a chance. You’re lying. HANNAH (Pause) Well done, Bernard. BERNARD Christ. HANNAH He calls me his fiancée. BERNARD Why? HANNAH It’s a joke.

You have a way with you, Bernard. I’m not sure I like it.

HANNAH Oh. Yes. You have a way with you, Bernard. I’m not sure I like it.

The house had a formal Italian garden until about 1740. Lady Croom is interested in garden history. I sent her my book—it contains, as you know if you’ve read it—which I’m not assuming, by the way—a rather good description of Caroline’s garden at Brocket Hall.

I’m beginning to admire you.

BERNARD I’m beginning to admire you. HANNAH Before was bullshit? BERNARD Completely. Your photograph does you justice, I’m not sure the book does.

Septimus lived in the house: the pay book specifies allowances for wine and candles. So, not quite a guest but rather more than a steward.

I’ve been very thorough in your period because, of course, it’s my period too.

He’s my peg for the nervous breakdown of the Romantic Imagination.

BERNARD What about the letters? No mention? HANNAH I’m afraid not. I’ve been very thorough in your period because, of course, it’s my period too. BERNARD Is it? Actually, I don’t quite know what it is you’re . . . HANNAH The Sidley hermit. BERNARD Ah. Who’s he? HANNAH He’s my peg for the nervous breakdown of the Romantic Imagination. I’m doing landscape and literature 1750 to 1834.

What happened in 1834?

BERNARD What happened in 1834? HANNAH My hermit died. BERNARD Of course. HANNAH What do you mean, of course? BERNARD Nothing. HANNAH Yes, you do. BERNARD No, no . . . However, Coleridge also died in 1834. HANNAH So he did. What a stroke of luck. (Softening.) Thank you, Bernard. She goes to the reading stand and opens Noakes’s sketch book. . . .

The only known likeness of the Sidley hermit.

HANNAH . . . Look—there he is. Bernard goes to look. BERNARD Mmm. HANNAH The only known likeness of the Sidley hermit. BERNARD Very biblical.

English landscape was invented by gardeners imitating foreign painters who were evoking classical authors.

HANNAH You can stop being silly now, Bernard. English landscape was invented by gardeners imitating foreign painters who were evoking classical authors. The whole thing was brought home in the luggage from the grand tour. Here, look—Capability Brown doing Claude, who was doing Virgil. Arcadia! And here, superimposed by Richard Noakes, untamed nature in the style of Salvator Rosa. It’s the Gothic novel expressed in landscape. Everything but vampires. There’s an account of my hermit in a letter by your illustrious namesake.

An oxy-moron, so to speak.

Only, Thackeray edited the Cornhill until ’63 when, as you know, he died. His father had been with the East India Company where Peacock, of course, had held the position of Examiner, so it’s quite possible that if the essay were by Thackeray, the letter . . . Sorry. Go on. Of course, the East India Library in Blackfriars has most of Peacock’s letters, so it would be quite easy to . . . Sorry. Can I look?

BERNARD Was the letter to Thackeray? HANNAH (Brought up short) I don’t know. Does it matter? BERNARD No. Sorry. But the gaps he leaves for her are false promises—and she is not quick enough. That’s how it goes. Only, Thackeray edited the Cornhill until ’63 when, as you know, he died. His father had been with the East India Company where Peacock, of course, had held the position of Examiner, so it’s quite possible that if the essay were by Thackeray, the letter . . . Sorry. Go on. Of course, the East India Library in Blackfriars has most of Peacock’s letters, so it would be quite easy to . . . Sorry. Can I look? Silently she hands him the Cornhill. Yes, it’s been topped and tailed, of course. It might be worth . . . Go on. I’m listening . . . (Leafing through the essay, he suddenly chuckles.) Oh yes, it’s Thackeray all right . . . (He slaps the book shut.) Unbearable . . . (He hands it back to her.) What were you saying?

Are you always like this?

HANNAH Are you always like this? BERNARD Like what?

it was one of those moments that tell you what your next book is going to be.

The hermit was placed in the landscape exactly as one might place a pottery gnome. And there he lived out his life as a garden ornament.

He’d covered every sheet with cabalistic proofs that the world was coming to an end.

BERNARD Did he do anything? HANNAH Oh, he was very busy. When he died, the cottage was stacked solid with paper. Hundreds of pages. Thousands. Peacock says he was suspected of genius. It turned out, of course, he was off his head. He’d covered every sheet with cabalistic proofs that the world was coming to an end. . . .

The whole Romantic sham, Bernard! It’s what happened to the Enlightenment, isn’t it?

HANNAH . . . It’s perfect, isn’t it? A perfect symbol, I mean. BERNARD Oh, yes. Of what? HANNAH The whole Romantic sham, Bernard! It’s what happened to the Enlightenment, isn’t it? A century of intellectual rigour turned in on itself. A mind in chaos suspected of genius. In a setting of cheap thrills and false emotion. The history of the garden says it all, beautifully. There’s an engraving of Sidley Park in 1730 that makes you want to weep. Paradise in the age of reason. By 1760 everything had gone—the topiary, pools and terraces, fountains, an avenue of limes—the whole sublime geometry was ploughed under by Capability Brown.

You seem quite sentimental over geometry.

ooh—ah, how was the surprise?—not yet, eh? Oh, well—sorry—tea,

The thing is, there’s a Byron connection too.

Plautus (the tortoise) is the paperweight.

With a pocket knife he cuts a slice of apple, and while he eats it, cuts another slice which he offers to Plautus.

He takes Thomasina’s lesson book from underneath Plautus and tosses it down the table to her.

the enemy who burned the great library of Alexandria without so much as a fine for all that is overdue. Oh, Septimus!—can

THOMASINA But instead, the Egyptian noodle made carnal embrace with the enemy who burned the great library of Alexandria without so much as a fine for all that is overdue. Oh, Septimus!—can you bear it? All the lost plays of the Athenians! Two hundred at least by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides—thousands of poems—Aristotle’s own library brought to Egypt by the noodle’s ancestors! How can we sleep for grief? SEPTIMUS By counting our stock. Seven plays from Aeschylus, seven from Sophocles, nineteen from Euripides, my lady! You should no more grieve for the rest than for a buckle lost from your first shoe, or for your lesson book which will be lost when you are old.

We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew?

what are a friend’s books for if not to be borrowed?

He says his aim is poetry. One does not aim at poetry with pistols. At poets, perhaps.

What is that noise?

LADY CROOM . . . What is that noise? The noise is a badly played piano in the next room. It has been going on for some time since Thomasina left. SEPTIMUS The new Broadwood pianoforte, madam. Our music lessons are at an early stage.

restrict your lessons to the piano side of the instrument and let her loose on the forte when she has learned something.

Lightning, the tortoise, is on the table and is not readily distinguishable from Plautus.

it’s an algorithm that’s been . . . iterated.

every time she works out a value for y, she’s using that as her next value for x. And so on. Like a feedback. She’s feeding the solution back into the equation, and then solving it again. Iteration, you see.