ODE on VENICE

or

a Hundred - nay, a Thousand Kisses

 

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Cast

Lord Byron

Annabella, Lady Byron

John Cam Hobhouse

Scrope Berdmore Davies

Mrs. Fletcher

Fletcher​

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​Scene 1

1815, an unaffordable mansion in Piccadilly

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B: Rain! Damned downpours! - Oh my seasonal depression of sprits!! (kicks fire) - Bell - let’s fly, in a rather large coach with fabulous accoutrements, to Venice!

A: Does it contain mathematical instruments?

B: The coach?! What!? Wife! - Venice! The Fairy Isle? The Greenest Isle of my Imagination?

A: Fairy Isle? pfft - the dull green ooze? The shipless sailors, crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets? - that Venice is it, Ducky?

B(somewhat cowed): Well, yes, but oh! - the cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds are but the overbeating of the heart!

A(snorts): No, Byron, we will stay in and doodle

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Knock on door - Hobhouse, returned from France, is shown in

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B(leaping up): My dear Hobby!

H(eyeing A): My dear Lady Byron (bows nervously) - how delightful to see you - my, is that his Lordship's fair copy?

A: mmm

B: Brandy? (pours with haste) How was our little Pagod? How was your French? Did you bring me back any stationery?

H: Oh fine - yes, I did - a double - er - may I say, your ladyship looks remarkably fine - still high on the nuptial cloud nine? (laughs, weakly) er -

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A coughs

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H(knocking back the white Brandy): Must be off - I have notes, sir - copious notes

B(sighing): Of course - I wish you hadn’t come at all, friend of my youth (whispers to H: perhaps edit any references to our wild oats) 

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H exits, B slumps and draws A onto his lap

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B: You married me to make me happy, didn’t you my little Pip-Pip-Pippin?

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A blushes, B kisses A to excess - both jump up when Fletcher enters room

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F: Mr. Davies to see you, My Lord

B(brightening): My dear Scrope!

SBD(eyeing A): My dear Lady Byron - how delightful to see you

A: mmm (breathes deeply, with intent)

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Scrope stutters and makes for the door

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B: Brandy, my dear facetious Scrope? Or a Boa Constrictor? ha - I’m sure I saw a serpent here somewhere (grinds teeth)

A: If you will permit me, Byron, Mr. Davies appears to have lost his tennis shoes - perhaps we are detaining him?

S(hastily towards the door): Tennis? - yes, yes wagers to fill, my lady (bows) - Byron, I shan't delay your trip to Venice!

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A glares sharply at B - Byron roasts his backside in front of the fire. Reaches for Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - commences to glare over the pages at Annabella, busy with her protractor.  As the Brandy and the Black Drop run low, the drawing room is suddenly spinning, as from the stroke of the enchanter's wand, and is festooned with motley crimson tapestries, squawking peacocks, and sumptuous, expectant sofas.

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​Scene 2

 

B: Oh, Bell! Bless you for granting me my wish to be free of that tight little Island

A: Fletcher!

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Fletcher arrives, tucking his shirt in, wiping pie from his face

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A: My Lord has lost his reason

B: Fletcher, order my gondola!

A: Fletcher, order a doctor

F: I obey only my Lord, my Lady - there's nowt to worry about, he is a veteran of that complaint, with some Pearson’s he’ll recover pronto

A: Are you a medic? What the hell do you know?

F: Ghondola - oh, quite common amongst our young Gentlemen

B: Fletcher! My staunch Yeoman! Make sure to keep the women apart, they are TIGRESSES! Ha!

A (shredding her graph paper into bits): Irredeemable Devil!! Abominable tradesman!! Versifier!! Manager!! Wavering Vegetarian!! MURDERER!!

F: Adulterer

A: Yes, ADULTERER!! Well done Fletcher

B: Dio Mio! (somewhat forlorn)

A: Cruel Blasphemer!! (weeps) It is no use (starts taking notes) - history will record I can go on no longer, Byron - also - we are still in Piccadilly - with your stuttering Italian, you sound like a highland ghillie

B: Och! - must we part? I promise many more embraces - and fine children - whom we shall raise as Italian Catholics, complete with their incomprehensible prayers and dinner-time graces(searches for brandy) - really now, Ducky, speak not thus! Both of us shall live, but every morrow will wake us from a widow’d bed!

A: Bed! How dare you speak of beds! Sly deceiver! Mama always told me so - when Newstead is sold - make the cheque out to Papa - Fletcher!!

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Fletcher enters, buttoning up trowsers

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F: What now?

A: Pack my things, tell my maid we’re leaving, perhaps in a fortnight/ten days - and remember the horrors I have suffered by his Lordship's way of life - oh, if you could write them down - dated and witnessed - I shall not fire your wife - thanks

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Byron is singing filthy Italian songs with the Bailiffs, inviting them to see his Casino

 

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​Scene 3

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Ten long days have passed

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B: Bell! Must you go? - All my faults perchance thou knowest, all my madness none can know

A: I nearly tripped over your dog - none shall know that precious piece of brutality - that’s all I can promise

B: Fletcher!!

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Fletcher appears, smoking a cigar

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F: Yes, my Lord

B(to Fletcher, distracted and panicking): Sear ‘d in heart, and lone, and blighted, more than this I scarce can die!

F: We’re out of brandy, my Lord

B: I will be ruined, I shall be unfit for England! But ’tis done - all words are idle­ (stirs fire)

A: You declared yourself most miserable when I was yours, Ducky - I cannot and will not return, I'd imagine (packs protractor) - I shall devote myself to good works, available at a minimum net/gross ratio to myself, and pray for world peace

B: Fare thee well Bell! Even though unforgiving, never ‘gainst thee shall my heart rebel (waves)

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Annabella and Mrs. Fletcher depart - Fletcher weeps

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B: Well, my Learnèd Man - our wives have left us - God knows why! (reaches for Murray's Patented Guide to Switzerland and Its Alpine Splendour) We shall have to battle our own way through the world, and perchance find peace under a bluer sky!

F: I’ll pack (passes brandy naggin) - my, lord - here's mud in your eye!

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​END