Dickens God’s eyes, I am not angry. Let him be happy in his life, odd as it may be. He is my friend. He is advising me. (A moment; then, too vigorously.) Don’t you see that that play is as real as real life? More real, more clear?
Catherine I love you, Charles.
Dickens What did you say?
Catherine says nothing.
I did not hear you. It doesn’t matter. Let us not discuss it.
Catherine What is Wilkie’s advice to you?
Dickens It was in confidence. To be told to no one.
Catherine Even to me?
Dickens Is there a licence in marriage to break the confidence of a friend? No. There is a licence, of course, to chain one wretched beast to another. (A moment.) Excuse me, Catherine. Unhappiness makes me rougher than I would like. He said that something would happen, and that when it did, I would know what to do. There would be clarity. (A moment.) I will make up my bed in the dressing room.
Catherine I thought for a moment when you praised the person I was of old that you were praising me in the present. I deluded myself. What joy there was in that delusion.
Catherine goes. Aggie emerges, gives Dickens a candle. Andersen listening.
Aggie Good night, sir.
Dickens (sighing) Aggie. Now, now, tell me, tell me plain – is what Dr Bill tells me true?
Aggie hangs her head.
Aggie Don’t, sir. Please.
Dickens Now, child. There is obviously a boy involved?
Aggie I suppose so, sir.
Dickens Evidently, unless you have emulated a certain young woman of Nazareth. Is it someone nearby?
Aggie says nothing.
Well? (No answer. Then, angrily despite himself.) Well, it either is or it isn’t. Oh, why do I have these misfortunes brought down on my head? (A moment.) Not Charlie, I do hope and trust? Not any of mine? Not Walter – he is only sixteen.
Aggie (terrorised, weeping) No, sir. No, sir, no one at all. It was a different boy, sir, a different boy. Oh, God help me.
Dickens How could you do this when you have such a good situation?
Aggie And I am happy here, sir.
Dickens How could you imperil all? Oh, I have seen this a thousand times. Why am I surprised? A ‘follower’, Aggie, would have required an immense – certification from your mistress. (A moment.) Will this lad stand by you?
Aggie No, sir, because we parted.
Dickens Then he is a scoundrel as well as a –
Aggie Or I should say, he was parted from me, by fate, sir.
Dickens Oh? And who is he, this fateful person?
Aggie He was – a young soldier, who got – a medal at Sebastopol, sir. A Victoria medal, sir, just like what you said at dinner. Which was the why it made me gasp, sir. To hear you say it, and it all an accident that you were saying it. And then he went to – Madagascar, two months since. And, and he was killed by a cannon shot, in the adventure of the war, I am told, sir.
Dickens Is that a story, Aggie?
Aggie No, sir.
Dickens That was a brave boy.
Aggie He was a brave child, yes, sir.
Dickens It is extraordinary. You have suffered. You lost both your good parents in the Irish hunger, I know. You are suffering now. (A few moments.) But I think you must prepare yourself to leave us, Agnes. Of course you must. You know that. I will try to make arrangements, of course.
Aggie I am so happy here, sir.
Her terrified face, weeping.
She goes.
Now Kate again, her face inserted into the light.
Kate I was looking for you, Papa. (After a moment.) Papa, why you are causing so much unhappiness to Mama?
Dickens Ah, well now, that is a matter for the parties involved.
Kate You are becoming almost brutal with her.
Dickens (shocked) What? Brutal?
Kate If you do not mend your ways, I shall never be kind to you again.
Dickens I believe you, Kate. How you flare up, little Lucifer.
Kate We are happy in this house. I am happy here. It is paradise.
Dickens Everyone is happy here, it is a great nuisance.
He holds her arms, shakes them gently.
Be my daughter. Be more like your sister Mamie, gentle and true. Do not torment me.
Kate I do not wish to be authored by you.
He starts to move away.
You are bringing away the light, Papa.
Dickens Then follow after me, child.
Darkness, music.
The marsh owl.
Light on Kate’s easel, with a half-finished portrait of Plorn in his Sunday hat, with the black ribbon.
The sound of the marsh owl’s wings.
Catherine stooping over the sleeping form of Plorn, to kiss him.
Catherine Good night, little boy. In your beautiful sleep. The guest of darkness is in the garden. The roses are tightly sleeping.
Dickens standing, singing ‘Oft in the Stilly Night’. A sort of storm of colour, dark greys and browns, blows against him. Music.
Darkness, music.
The marsh owl calling like a strange morse signal.
Act Two
Some days later. At a mirror, Catherine passing, actively trying not to look in it, a glance, pat of the stomach, then passing on much discomfited, then …
Aggie, Kate and Georgie are standing in a row, facing out, with a table before them with bowls of flour, jug of milk, rolling pins, bowl of meat etc. They wear white aprons. Kate sings ‘The Minstrel Boy’, taken up by Aggie. They are working now all the while, kneading pastry, rolling it out, egging it, putting in the meat, moulding it, trimming, sticking on lids etc.
Dickens and Andersen in chairs as if in a different room, drinking tea together.
Aggie I never thought I would see ladies making pork pies. If you live long enough you will see everything.
Georgie I think it is particularly right for women to work. And I despise a woman that knows nothing about it.
Kate Suppose the world were to come to an end, what would we eat at the End of Days, if we couldn’t make things for ourselves?
Aggie Well, miss, you mightn’t have pigs then, so you mightn’t have pork pies.
Georgie That is very true, Aggie.
Kate goes to the door.
Kate Mama, Mama, come and make pork pies with us!
Dickens You hear that? Caterwauling, and in a gentleman’s house.
Andersen laughing.
Georgie I don’t think she will come.
Kate I think she will come.
Working again.
And, Aggie, where were you before us, that you never saw ladies working?
Aggie Big place in London, miss. I was only eleven when I came there, straight from Ireland. Lady Wicklow’s house, ma’am. I didn’t know a pile of linen from a hayfield, miss.
Georgie laughs. They work on.
Georgie I do not know what we would look like to an outside eye.
Kate I tell you, Mr Charles Collins would be happy to paint us. He would be happy to paint you, Aggie. He would call it ‘The Little Maid’ or ‘The Innocent’.
Aggie Innocent, miss?
Georgie Or, ‘The Eve of St Agnes’. (Laughter.)
Kate He is a lovely painter.
Aggie Who, miss?
Kate Mr Collins. He has been down here, Aggie, you have met him – he is the brother of Mr Wilkie Collins.
Georgie Well. (A moment.) You have a big day looming, Kate. Your father all in a fluster, all in a knot. The Queen coming to a private showing of The Frozen Deep, he won’t meet her, because he will have all his make-up on still after the little comedy he will do with Wilkie Collins after, and he wrote to her equerry and said he could not appear to Her Majesty in character, and it takes him forty minutes to find his face again.
Aggie The Queen. Oh, miss. I would love to see the Queen.
Kate It is terrifying.
Georgie But it is wonderful also.
Catherine appears, putting on an apron.
Kate Mama. There now, Aunt, I knew she would come.
Catherine Did she doubt me?
Catherine sets to.
Georgie Speaking of linen and beds, Aggie, you watch Mrs Dickens now, there is no one on earth who can fold a pork pie like Catherine Dickens.
Catherine Nonsense.
Laughing. She certainly can beat out the pastry. They all work away.
Where is Plorn? He usually haunts the kitchens.
Kate When he saw me coming, he ran for it, dreading I was going to ask him to sit for me again. How he detests sitting still.
Georgie That is the first duty of a six-year-old boy, never to sit still.
Catherine Indeed. I was wanting to congratulate him on making friends with Mr Andersen. The first time he saw him, and Mr Dickens introduced them, Plorn said, ‘But he is a horrible, horrible man, Papa, throw him out the door.’ ‘Before we give him tea?’ says Papa. (Laughter.)
Aggie Janey!
Catherine (laughing) Luckily, I don’t think Mr Andersen understood the word ‘horrible’. At any rate, just this morning I saw them, Mr Andersen doing those wonderful cut-outs for him, Plorn’s face transfixed, windmills, clowns and Lord knows what else, those elegant long fingers working with the scissors, very wonderful, very. And just then Papa comes in, and Plorn looks up at him, innocent as a foal, and cries, ‘Oh Papa, let us throw him in the door.’ (Laughter.)
Aggie Throw him in the door … That’s very droll, ma’am.
Kate Oh, Mama, you are the funniest woman alive. You are.
Georgie Throw him in the door. The dote. Fancy. Little fellow of six.
They work on. Soon they have a pork pie in front of each of them. Catherine’s is adjudged the neatest and the best. Much laughter. The scene fading.
Dickens Well, great laughter, great laughter. But we are peaceful here.
Andersen Great peace, Dicken.
Dickens What fascinates me, Andersen, about the tradition of folk tales in Denmark, in Germany, is the sense that they come from the oldest places, the darkest places. And yet are subtle, and true, like your own stories.
Andersen I thank you, dear Dicken.
Dickens Yes. And the appetite everywhere for such depictions. The brothers Grimm. And the like.
Andersen Ah, I meet brothers Grimm. Two time. First time, they pay me no heed. ‘He is nobody,’ they say in silent. Second time, I have made books, I am famous, I am the famous man in all Europe, they say, ‘Hello, hello, Andersen.’
Dickens (laughter) Well, you are the most famous writer on earth now. You eclipse me. I should take umbrage. I should object.
Andersen Oh Dicken, Dicken …
Dickens You are a great sun, and little suns like myself must struggle to show our light.
Andersen But I am not great. Small, small. Every word of censure hurt me. Newspaper. Torture.
Dickens (rising to leave) Andersen, I bid you henceforth live by my own precept, which I follow religiously or try to. That is, a man should read nothing in the newspapers that he has not written himself.
Andersen laughing. Dickens laughing. Dickens goes.
Andersen alone, blatantly happy.
Andersen (doing Dickens) ‘What fascinate me of tradition folk tale Denmark …’ ‘I thank you, dear Dicken …’ (Laughing.) Such friendship. What joy, what joy.
Then this clearing, and …
Some days later again, Dickens with a cane, and Andersen, walking together.
Dickens (calling to the others) Come along, come along, you must keep up.
Georgie and Walter following, carrying rackets, Aggie carrying a basket, Catherine with parasol. Kate with her easel. They are walking up Telegraph Hill. Kate catches up to Walter.
Kate Walt, I envy you going away. What an adventure. All that way to go and all those sights to see.
Walter Well, I am glad you envy me. But I would rather stay.
Kate You’re young, it’s good to venture out into the great world.
Walter Then you go out into it.
Kate Ah, but I am a woman. They have things arranged quite differently for us, you know. I set out on my adventures inwardly, into my pictures. I think you have it better than Charlie, helping Papa in cold, dank London.
Walter I would love to help Papa. I would love it. I would be near the things I love.
Kate And you will help Papa, by going, Walt.
Walter Is that what he said?
Kate No, or not the way you think it.
They move on, then:
Dickens Yesterday I endured the black tedium of a London funeral. Now, we are climbing this hill. The sun is shining, the birds are singing.
Dickens glances at Catherine, who is going along sadly. He turns his head away.
I have never climbed this hill before, and I do so now, on your recommendation, Andersen.
Catherine (calling) Charles!
Dickens Henceforth, let it be known as Andersen’s Hill.
Andersen (looking about) Paradise, paradise.
Dickens Ah yes, ah yes.
Walter with Aggie.
Walter Can I carry that for you?
Aggie You cannot carry it.
Walter I went up to your door last night, you would not answer my whistle.
Aggie You need to stop mooning over me, Master Walter.
Walter I am not mooning over you. I am going away soon.
Aggie And why are you going away, do you even know why?
Walter I am going away to help my father.
Aggie Help your father. You leave me be now and don’t be coming whistling at my door. Creeping into the garrets at night, and you are lucky your Aunt Georgina hasn’t spied you yet. How can you think to invade my little room, when it is the only place I have to myself in the house?
Walter I want to kiss you, Aggie.
Aggie Oh, kissing, now. I’ve had enough of kissing, thank you.
Walter Are there pork pies in the basket, Aggie, do you know?
Aggie Of course I know. I packed it, you goose. We women made them.
Walter Young cousin Hogarth went out last year to India, Aggie, to the very same place I am going, and he is dead now. I go out to fill a dead man’s shoes.
Aggie That makes no blessed odds to me. I am an Irish girl. The land of the dead. My mam and daddy died in a ditch, and four brothers and sisters were thrun in after. I survived all that, only to be tormented by you.
Now Andersen and Dickens. Kate briefly with her father.
Kate Please go to Mama, Papa, she is very disturbed, and I cannot find the words to comfort her.
Dickens I will go to her in a moment.
Kate Then you do feel it too?
Dickens What, Kate? What am I to feel?
Kate You are disturbed also? Mama is disturbed, I am disturbed, and you are disturbed. (A moment.) What is the matter with everyone? What is amiss with everyone?
Dickens Kate. We are having a picnic at the top of this hill – that is the theory, though this hill appears to have no top.
Kate moves away.
Andersen And, dear Dicken, this play, this Frozing Deep? What is?
Dickens The Frozen Deep. What is, indeed. I wrote it with – no, I am lying already, Wilkie wrote it, and I pushed it about, for certain purposes of my own, having an evil intent by it.
Andersen Evil?
Dickens To make the audience cry! Do you remember, Andersen, that scandalous story about Franklin at the Pole, that his men had been forced by extremity to cannibalise each other? It was a tale told to a newspaperman of poor ability by an Esquimaux. I have written extensively on this calumny. An Esquimaux. A savage, sir, worse than an Irishman. My friend Carlisle has written, if the Irish cannot be improved a little, perhaps they ought to be exterminated. He might have spoken of the Esquimaux.
Andersen (trying hard to follow) Hmm, hmm?
Dickens We can imagine an Esquimaux, at the edge of the frozen lands, telling such lies to whoms
oever might ask – with the meat of Franklin’s men in his belly. Of course. Guilty. For someone ate those men. The gnawed bones were found. Teeth marks, Andersen … But I say it was not Englishmen that did such a deed. There is something noble and essential in the English character, in the English soul, that cannot drop to such depths. Even forced into the very pit of suffering, like my character Wardour, something at last rises up, and forbids dark conduct, and so such a man is redeemed by his – Englishness.
Andersen Englishness? (Distressed at not quite understanding – but nearly.)
Dickens Was there ever a landscape as beautiful as this? How I wish I could have shown Jerrold this beauty.
Catherine hurries to catch up and holds Charles by the arm, panting.
Andersen, will you ever so kindly?
Andersen understands and moves away a little.
Catherine I am quite out of breath.
Dickens I am exhausted, trying to make myself understood to Andersen. His English comes and goes, like a little season all of itself. Catherine, you must steady yourself.
Catherine I am not to be steadied with a word.
Dickens I did not sleep in that little room last night. I went out and walked under the pine trees like a ghost. Then over the dark earth to Higham, like a homeless soul, the trees breathing along the white road, and rounded the sleeping village with my dogs, and came back – none the wiser, none the calmer. There was an owl that called the whole night over the marshes.
Catherine I heard it too.
Dickens It was like an echoing phrase, but what it was saying I cannot tell.
Catherine It is saying perhaps, love your wife.
Dickens Catherine, Catherine.
Catherine I love you still, Charles. I will always love you.
Dickens Catherine, Catherine, Kate and Georgie are just there, and Walter, and poor Andersen, he frightens so easily, let us not burden them with our difficulties.