[INTRODUCTORY NOTE]
[THE CABINET MINISTER]
[ADVERTISEMENTS]
[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE]

THE CABINET MINISTER

THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO.

IN MONTHLY VOLUMES.

Price 1s. 6d., paper; 2s. 6d., cloth.

1. The Times. A Comedy in Four Acts.

2. The Profligate. A Play in Four Acts. With a Portrait, and a Preface by Malcolm C. Salaman.

3. The Cabinet Minister. A Farce in Four Acts. With an Introductory Note by Malcolm C. Salaman.

4. The Hobby Horse. [Ready February.

To be followed by "Lady Bountiful," "Dandy Dick," "The Magistrate," "The Schoolmistress," "The Weaker Sex," "Lords and Commons," "The Squire," and "Sweet Lavender."

THE CABINET MINISTER

A FARCE
In Four Acts
By ARTHUR W. PINERO
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MDCCCXCII

Copyright, January 1892.

All rights reserved.

Entered at Stationers’ Hall.

Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

It is well known that Mr. Pinero holds decided views of his own as to the nature and function of farce; indeed, he claims for it a wider scope and a more comprehensive purpose than have ever been associated with farce of the old Adelphi type, or the more modern genus of the Palais Royal. He has openly expressed his opinion that farce must gradually become the modern equivalent of comedy, since the present being an age of sentiment rather than of manners, the comic playwright must of necessity seek his humour in the exaggeration of sentiment. Thus Mr. Pinero holds that farce should treat of probable people placed in possible circumstances, but regarded from a point of view which exaggerates their sentiments and magnifies their foibles. In this light it is permitted to this class of play, not only to deal with ridiculous incongruities of incident and character, but to satirise society, and to wring laughter from those possible distresses of life which might trace their origin to fallacies of feeling and extravagances of motive.

"The Cabinet Minister" is the latest of Mr. Pinero’s series of farces, and it may be regarded as the direct development of ideas which he began to put into practice when he wrote "The Magistrate." Since then these ideas have undergone a process of gradual evolution, which may be clearly traced through the successive productions of "The Schoolmistress," "Dandy Dick," and "The Cabinet Minister," in each of which it will be seen that the author has aimed less at the exposition of a plot than at the satirising of particular types of character in a possible social atmosphere.

"The Cabinet Minister" was written early in 1889, and produced by Mrs. John Wood and Mr. Arthur Chudleigh at the Court Theatre, on April 23, 1890.

The following is a copy of the Programme:—

ROYAL COURT THEATRE.

Under the Management of Mrs. John Wood.

ON WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23rd,

At 8 o’clock,

WILL BE ACTED FOR THE FIRST TIME

AN ORIGINAL FARCE IN FOUR ACTS, CALLED

THE CABINET MINISTER,

BY

A. W. PINERO.

[ [A] Subsequently changed to Melton.

ACT I.

DEBT.

At Sir Julian Twombley’s, Chesterfield Gardens. May.

ACT II.

DIFFICULTIES.

At Sir Julian’s again. July.

ACT III.

DISASTER.

At Drumdurris Castle, Perthshire. August.

ACT IV.

DANCING.

The same place. The next day.

THE SCENERY IS DESIGNED AND PAINTED BY T. W. HALL.

The reception on the first night was of a half-hearted character, for the play had been described simply as a farce, and the audience found itself laughing at seemingly serious situations which it felt should properly provoke tears, feeling sympathetically interested in passages of sentiment one moment, only to mock at them the next, and, in fact, experiencing constant perplexity as to its emotional duties. The programme certainly said “farce” in black and white, and what could that mean but unmitigated nonsense and laughter? Yet, here was actual drama with a whimsical twist that was most surprising; here were bits of pathos which were positively comic. Could this be farce? But happily that kind of criticism is soon forgotten whose principle is, like that of Mr. Punch's navvy, “Here’s a stranger, let’s ’eave ’alf a brick at him.” The “mixed” greeting of “The Cabinet Minister” gave place to very enthusiastic receptions on succeeding nights, and, in spite of the perplexity confessed in many of the criticisms of the play, the theatre was crowded night after night, and the fashionable and political worlds flocked to the Court, many leading politicians being frequent visitors.

The season terminated on August 8, and the theatre re-opened on October 11, from which time the popularity of Mr. Pinero’s play continued as great as ever. But, after 197 performances, Mrs. John Wood decided to withdraw “The Cabinet Minister” on February 14, 1891, in the very zenith of its success, while a further long run was still to be reasonably expected. This play has not yet been seen in the provinces, but Mr. Augustin Daly has arranged to produce it, with his famous company, at his theatre in New York early in the present month.

Malcolm C. Salaman.
January 1892.

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

Right Hon. Sir Julian Twombley, G.C.M.G., M.P., Secretary of State for the * * * Department

Lady Twombley

Brooke Twombley, their son

Imogen, their daughter

Dowager Countess of Drumdurris

Lady Euphemia Vibart, her daughter

Earl of Drumdurris

Countess of Drumdurris

Viscount Aberbrothock, their son

Lady Macphail

Macphail of Ballocheevin, her son

Valentine White, Lady Twombley’s nephew

Hon. Mrs. Gaylustre, trading as Mauricette et Cie., 17a Plunkett Street, Mayfair

Mr. Joseph Lebanon

Mr. Melton

The Munkittrick

Miss Munkittrick

Probyn

Angèle

[THE FIRST ACT]
DEBT
[THE SECOND ACT]
DIFFICULTIES
[THE THIRD ACT]
DISASTER
[THE FOURTH ACT]
DANCING

THE CABINET MINISTER

THE FIRST ACT.

Debt

The scene is a conservatory built and decorated in Moorish style, in the house of the Rt. Hon. Sir Julian Twombley, M.P., Chesterfield Gardens, London. A fountain is playing, and tall palms lend their simple elegance to the elaborate Algerian magnificence of the place. The drawing-rooms are just beyond the curtained entrances. It is a May afternoon.

Brooke Twombley, a good-looking but insipid young man of about two-and-twenty, faultlessly dressed for the afternoon, enters, and sits dejectedly, turning over some papers.

Brooke Twombley.

I’ve done it. Such an afternoon’s work—what! [Reading.] “Schedule of the Debts of Mr. Brooke Twombley. [Turning over sheet after sheet.] Tradesmen. Betting Transactions. Baccarat. Miscellaneous Amusements. Sundries. Extras.”

[Probyn, a servant in powder and livery, is crossing the conservatory, when he sees Brooke.]

Probyn.

Oh, Mr. Brooke.

Brooke Twombley.

[Slipping the schedule into his pocket.] Eh!

Probyn.

I didn’t know you were in, sir. Her ladyship told me to give you this, Mr. Brooke—quietly.

[He hands Brooke a letter which he has taken from his pocket.]

Brooke Twombley.

[Glancing at the envelope.] The Mater. Thank you. [A little cough is heard. He looks toward the drawing-room.] Is anyone there?

Probyn.

Mrs. Gaylustre, sir.

Brooke Twombley.

The dressmaker! What does she want?

Probyn.

She told Phipps, Miss Imogen’s maid, sir, that she was anxious to see the effect of her ladyship’s and Miss Imogen’s gowns when they get back from the Drawing-Room.

Brooke Twombley.

You should take her upstairs.

Probyn.

Beg your pardon, Mr. Brooke, but we’ve always understood that when Mrs. Gaylustre calls in the morning she’s a dressmaker, and when she calls in the afternoon she’s a lady.

Brooke Twombley.

Oh, very well; it’s awfully confusing. [Probyn goes out. Brooke reads the letter.] “My sweet child. For heaven’s sake let me have your skeddle, or whatever you call your list of debts, directly. I’ll do my best to get you out of your scrape, though how I can’t think. I’m desperately short of money, and altogether—as my poor dear father used to say—things are as blue as old Stilton. If your pa finds out what a muddle I’m in, I fear he’ll throw up public life and bury us in the country, and then good-by to my dear boy’s and girl’s prospects. So if I contrive to clear you once more, don’t do it again, my poppet, or you’ll break the heart of your loving mother, Kitty Twombley.” The Mater’s a brick—what! But I wonder if she has any notion how much it tots up to.

[He places the letter upon the back of a large saddle-bag arm-chair while he takes out the schedule.]

Brooke Twombley.

Three thousand seven hundred and fifty-six, nought, two. What!

[Probyn enters.]

Probyn.

A young man wants to see you, Mr. Brooke.

Brooke Twombley.

Who is it?

Probyn.

No card, sir—and rather queerly dressed. Says he has a wish to shake hands with you on the door-step.

Brooke Twombley.

Oh, I say! He mustn’t, you know—what!

Probyn.

I don’t quite like the look of him, sir; gives the name of White—Mr. Valentine White.

Brooke Twombley.

Why, that’s my cousin!

Probyn.

Cousin, sir! I beg pardon.

Brooke Twombley.

Where is he?

[Brooke goes out quickly, followed by Probyn. The Hon. Mrs. Gaylustre, an attractive, self-possessed, mischievous-looking woman, of not more than thirty, very fashionably dressed, enters from the drawing-room.]

Mrs. Gaylustre.

How very charming! Lady Twombley’s latest fad, the Algerian conservatory. And there was a time when a sprig of geranium on the window-sill would have contented her. [Looking at a photograph of Lady Twombley upon the table.] There she is—Kitty Twombley. In one of my gowns too. Kitty Twombley, once Kitty White, the daughter of a poor farmer down in Cleverton. Ah, when young Mr. Julian Twombley came canvassing Farmer White’s vote he found you innocently scrubbing the bricks, I suppose! And now! [With a courtesy.] Lady Twombley, wife of a Cabinet Minister and Patroness Extraordinary of that deserving young widow, Fanny Gaylustre! [She sits surveying the portraits upon the table.] Ha, ha! I’ll turn you all to account some fine day. Why shouldn’t I finish as well as the dairy-fed daughter of a Devonshire yokel? What on earth is wrong with my bonnet? [She puts her hand up behind her head and finds Lady Twombley’s letter which Brooke had left on the back of the chair.] Lady Twombley’s writing. [Reading.] “My sweet child. For heaven’s sake let me have your skeddle——” [She sits up suddenly and devours the contents of the letter.] Oh! [Reading aloud.] “I’m desperately short of money! Things are as blue as old Stilton! If your pa finds out——!” My word!

Brooke Twombley.

[Heard speaking outside.] My dear Valentine, why shouldn’t you come in—what?

[Mrs. Gaylustre creeps round in front of the table and disappears with the letter in her hand as Brooke enters, dragging in Valentine White, a roughly-dressed, handsome young fellow of about six-and-twenty, bronzed and bearded.]

Valentine White.

Now, Brooke, you know I cut away from England years ago because I couldn’t endure ceremony of any kind.

Brooke Twombley.

I’m not treating you with ceremony—what!

Valentine White.

[Looking about him.] Phew! the atmosphere’s charged with it. That fellow with his hair powdered nearly sent me running down the street like a mad dog.

Brooke Twombley.

Where the deuce have you been for the last six or eight years?

Valentine White.

Where? Oh, buy a geography; call it, “Explorations of Valentine White in Search of Freedom,” and there you have it.

Brooke Twombley.

Freedom!

Valentine White.

Blessed freedom from forms, shams, and ceremonies of all sorts and descriptions.

Brooke Twombley.

Why, you left us for South Africa. Didn’t South Africa satisfy you?

Valentine White.

Satisfy me! I joined the expedition to Bangwaketsi. What were the consequences?

Brooke Twombley.

Fever?

Valentine White.

Worse. There’s no ceremony about fever. No, Brooke, I was snubbed by a major in the Kalahari Desert, because I didn’t dress for dinner.

Brooke Twombley.

Then we heard of you herding filthy cattle in Mexico.

Valentine White.

Yes, at Durango. I enjoyed that, till some younger sons of the nobility came out and left cards at my hut. I afterwards drove a railway engine in Bolivia.

Brooke Twombley.

By Jove, how awful—what! Wasn’t that sufficiently beastly rough?

Valentine White.

My dear fellow, would you believe it—I got hold of a stoker who was a decayed British baronet! The affected way in which that man shovelled on coals was unendurable. So I’ve come back, hopelessly wise.

Brooke Twombley.

Serve you right for kicking at refinement and good form and all that sort of thing. What!

Valentine White.

[Mimicking Brooke.] Varnish, and veneer, and all that sort of thing—what!

Brooke Twombley.

Oh, confound you! Well, you’ll dine here at a quarter to eight, Val, won’t you?

Valentine White.

Dine in Chesterfield Gardens! Thirteen courses and eight wines! Heaven forgive you, Brooke.

Brooke Twombley.

Look here, you shall eat on the floor with a wooden spoon.

Valentine White.

Thank you—even your floors are too highly polished. Tell Aunt Kitty and little Imogen that I shall walk in Kensington Gardens to-morrow morning at ten.

Brooke Twombley.

Little Imogen! Haw, haw!

Valentine White.

Well?

Brooke Twombley.

I think it will pretty considerably wound your susceptibilities to hear that my sister Imogen is being presented by the Mater this afternoon.

Valentine White.

[In horror.] Presented!

Brooke Twombley.

Presented at Court—Drawing-Room, you know.

Valentine White.

How dare they! poor little child!

Brooke Twombley.

Haw, haw! If you’ll wait a few minutes you’ll see an imposing display of trains and feathers. Some of them are coming on here after the ceremony to drink tea, I believe.

Valentine White.

Trains and feathers! Good gracious, Brooke, Imogen must have grown up!

Brooke Twombley.

Here’s her portrait—what?

Valentine White.

[Staring at the portrait.] I am right, Brooke—she has grown up!

Brooke Twombley.

Haw!

Valentine White.

Eight years ago she was a romp, with a frock that always had a tear in it, and a head like a cornfield in the wind. Just look at this! While I’ve been away they’ve given her a new frock and brushed her hair. What an awful change!

[Probyn appears at the conservatory entrance.]

Probyn.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

[Lady Euphemia Vibart, a handsome, distinguished-looking, and elegantly dressed girl of about twenty, enters. She scarcely notices Valentine, who bows formally.]

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

No one has returned yet, Brooke?

Brooke Twombley.

Effie, don’t you recollect Mr. White?

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Oh! how do you do? [She shakes hands with him in an affected manner.] We are distantly related, I remember.

Valentine White.

Lady Euphemia, I join you in remembering the relationship—and the distance.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Oh, I don’t mean that, Mr. White. At any rate, we were excellent friends many years ago when our cousin Imogen used to give us tea in her school-room. She will be too rejoiced at your return.

Brooke Twombley.

[At the window.] Hullo, I think pa has come home.

Valentine White.

Good-by, Lady Euphemia.

Brooke Twombley.

I say, Effie, Mr. White won’t stay.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

[Indifferently.] What a pity!

Brooke Twombley.

He has turned against civilization, you know, and has become a sort of pleasant cannibal.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

A cannibal! That is too interesting. Pray remain, Mr. White. My brother, Lord Drumdurris, is on duty at the Palace to-day and is coming on here. We all knew each other as children. He will be too delighted.

Valentine White.

I recollect Lord Vibart, as he then was, very well. He once burnt me with a red-hot poker.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Good-humouredly, I am sure. Perhaps you have not heard that he married Lady Egidia Cardelloe, Lord Struddock’s second daughter, about two years ago. If you stay you will meet her also.

Valentine White.

Ah, I am afraid I—I——

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

You will find her too enchanting.

Brooke Twombley.

No, he won’t. She’s not tattooed or anything.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

They have a little son, just five months old, who is too divine.

Brooke Twombley.

Ah, now, if you boiled the baby it might be to Val’s taste.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

As they have been constantly travelling, Egidia is only just presented to-day by my mother. You recollect Lady Drumdurris, my mother?

Valentine White.

Perfectly.

Brooke Twombley.

[Poking Valentine in the side.] Old Lady Drum!

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

My mother will be too charmed to meet you again.

[Probyn enters.]

Probyn.

[To Brooke.] Sir Julian is coming into the conservatory, sir.

Brooke Twombley.

Pa! [Probyn goes out.]

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Oh, dear Sir Julian! [She runs out.]

Valentine White.

Look sharp, Brooke. Let me out.

Brooke Twombley.

Val, I’ll tell you what. Come upstairs and smoke a cigarette in my room, and I’ll bring the Mater and Imogen to you on the quiet when the people are gone.

Valentine White.

Why, Brooke, do you think that Aunt Kitty and Imogen want a roving relative on the premises who isn’t worth tuppence!

Brooke Twombley.

Bosh! Look out, here’s pa! He seems awfully mumpish. Come on.

[He takes Valentine out. Directly they are gone Lady Euphemia re-enters with Sir Julian Twombley, an aristocratic but rather weak-looking man of about fifty-five, wearing his Ministerial uniform.]

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Are you pleased to get back, uncle?

Sir Julian Twombley.

[Emphatically.] Yes.

[She places him in the arm-chair. He sinks into it with a sigh.]

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

How is your neuralgia?

Sir Julian Twombley.

Intense. It has been so ever since——

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

[Putting her smelling-bottle to his nose.] Ever since?

Sir Julian Twombley.

Ever since I took Office. Thank you.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Was it a very brilliant Drawing-Room?

Sir Julian Twombley.

I think it must have been. I have been more than usually trodden upon.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Did you catch a glimpse of Aunt Kitty or of any of our people?

Sir Julian Twombley.

I heard Lady Twombley. What inexhaustible spirit she has! Euphemia, my dear, I confide in you. But for Lady Twombley I could never endure the badgering, the browbeating, the hackling, for which I seem especially selected.

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

It’s too unjust.

Sir Julian Twombley.

Oh, I know I am going to have a bad time in the House to-night!

Lady Euphemia Vibart.

Don’t dwell upon it, uncle.