[A knock is heard at the door.

  MARY. I told you they would come before you were dressed.

  A SERVANT [entering]. Captain Draper.

  [Enter CAPTAIN DRAPER, a rather stiff and dry-looking man, carefully dressed and bowing with ceremony.

  DRAPER. Madam, your humble servant. Your servant, Mr. Swift. I am distressed, Madam, to disturb you so early, especially as I promise myself the pleasure of waiting on you at a later hour. I ventured to look in in passing merely to ask you a favour. I am going on to the lodgings of a friend, Mr. Boswell of Auchinleck, and I should be much gratified if you would permit me to bring him along with me, supposing him to be at leisure. He is a very sociable gentleman, and may himself be entertaining friends.

  SWIFT. Most certainly, Captain Draper; let him come and bring his friends too if he likes.

  [DRAPER bows, and moves across the room towards a map hanging on the wall.

  DRAPER. I am vastly obliged, Sir. Mr. Boswell is a Scottish gentleman of very good family. [Stands looking at the map.] And what is perhaps more valuable to a visitor, is well acquainted with all the wits and scholars in England as well as Scotland. [lie swings round rather abruptly.] Were you ever in Scotland, Mr. Swift?

  SWIFT. I? No. As I think I told you, I came over recently from Paris, where I was educated.

  DRAPER. Yes, I remember you told me that. Well, Mr. Boswell himself has travelled a good deal in Scotland, even in the remote Highlands, where there are very strange people to be met with. But I must not detain you now; I shall have the pleasure of paying my respects later. [Bows, exit.]

  MARY. John, I am afraid of that man. He suspects something.

  SWIFT [who has resumed his reading]. What! Draper? Why should he suspect?

  MARY. Why should he ask you whether you had been in Scotland?

  SWIFT. An accident; wasn’t he looking at Scotland on the big map?

  MARY. NO; he was looking at Virginia.

  SWIFT [cheerfully]. Oh, I often talk about Virginia. You can say almost anything here, in a general way, about the case for the Colonies. Mr. Burke is openly supporting the Colonies. Mr. Wilkes goes even further, in private conversation.

  MARY. Mr. Wilkes’ conversation is at least amusing; but it does not make any difference to the danger from Mr. Draper. [Another knock at the door.] John, there is somebody else coming, and you must go and put on your coat instantly.

  SWIFT. Oh, very well. [Goes into the inner room, book in hand and still reading.]

  SERVANT. Mr. Wilkes.

  [Enter JOHN WILKES, a man dressed in the height of fashion with powder, ruffles and sword; with an ugly intelligent face and a squint.

  WILKES. Madam, your most humble servant. The formula is in this case sincere; though many would find it easier to believe in my service than in my humility. Your husband, I see, is still occupied with literature.

  MARY. SO that there is nowhere for you to put your hat down. I ought to have cleared the literature away.

  WILKES. Permit me to assist you. [Begins to sort out the books.] These, by the binding, should go in the upper shelf.

  MARY. YOU are evidently very neat in your ways.

  WILKES. I shine in the smaller virtues, Madam; I never could manage the greater ones. I expend all the qualities of a hero and a saint upon my toilet.

  MARY..You are certainly very neat in your dress to-day.

  WILKES. Madam, I was dressing for your reception.

  MARY. YOU are neat in your compliments as well. Is that one of your virtues?

  WILKES. An ugly fellow should always be beautifully dressed. Then the lady can find a momentary relief by looking at his stockings; or, by fixing her eye firmly on his waistcoat, avoid the risk of inadvertently noticing his face.

  MARY [laughing]. That is very magnanimous of him.

  WILKES. Some of our liberal friends favour divorce for drunkenness or cruelty. There is a far stronger case for divorcing a woman because her shoes creak, or a man for biting his nails or wearing his hat at an irritating angle. These, Madam, are the things that destroy happiness. I have never been presented to Dr. Johnson, but I have seen him in public places with his bands distressingly displaced; and great ladies listening to him with bright eyes as if they heard every syllable. And I knew they were sick and faint with the desire to seize that venerable sage by the throat, and put his neckcloth straight.

  MARY. SO your motive is entirely unselfish.

  WILKES. I will confess to a more selfish one also. Madam, I am an adventurer, and I am proud of it; for life to me is an adventure. You can form no notion of the ironic pleasure there is in being dressed like a gentleman among people who refuse to regard you as one. It has the thrill of a perpetual challenge. That is life; to be alone; to be against the world; to depend only on your own wits and courage; and always to know what to do.

  MARY [after a pause]. Do you use your wits only for yourself?

  WILKES. May I, dear lady, answer the question you have not asked? There are some whom it would be truly a privilege to help. When I came into this room it struck me that you were in trouble.

  MARY. Well, I am in trouble, or fear of trouble; but I must not tell you about it.

  WILKES. YOU need not tell me. I know.

  MARY. What do you mean?

  WILKES. TO take the words out of a lady’s mouth is never courteous, but I think it is sometimes chivalrous. I will speak, and you need say nothing. For some time I have suspected that you and your husband were more than you seemed. I mean that you are serving the cause of liberty at a greater risk than the world would approve. My approval will sound like a jest; but I do approve. You have nothing to fear from me, and perhaps something to hope. If ever there is need to do anything for you with tongue or pen or purse or pistol, count upon me; I will save you as I have always saved myself.

  MARY. Are you so devoted as that to the liberty of America?

  WILKES [hesitates a moment and then sits down]. Why there, dear lady, you touch me upon a point of honour. Yes, it is really true that Jack Wilkes has his own point of honour. And it is not to deceive himself. I often tell lies. I like telling lies. I do it so well. But I can tell the truth; and so many honourable and virtuous gentlemen can’t. I can tell the truth about myself. I know the truth about myself. When I write verses full of ribaldry I do not say, like your Popes and your Churchills, that I am lashing the vices of the age. When I serve as hanger-on to a rich nobleman I do not say, like Mr. Burke, that I am serving the great Whig Party and the cause of Constitutional Liberty. I know why I do things, and if necessary I can put it into words. [SWIFT comes in behind, wearing his full dress and sword. I am a rascal, but I am not a coward, and so far as you are concerned I am not a liar. I do not come here to serve the cause of American freedom. I come here to make love to you. I am at this moment making love to you. What else could I possibly do?

  MARY [rising. Why, you are talking nonsense, and spoiling everything. [Goes out at the back.]

  SWIFT. Mr. Wilkes, I heard you remark that you were not a coward. I am very willing to believe it; but I may have occasion to ask you to prove it.

  WILKES [standing up]. Sir, I am firm as Regulus. Do you propose to read me one of your own pamphlets? Atqui sciebat quod sibi barbarus — Well though he knew of what an American is capable —

  SWIFT [with sudden violence]. You sniggering monkey, you shall prove it now. You have a sword. [Draws.]

  WILKES. Why, Sir, I have drawn it before now; but I do not especially desire to fight you in your own house.

  SWIFT. Sir, I am well acquainted with your respect for my house.

  WILKES. Oh, very well. [Draws, and they cross swords. A knock is heard at the door.]

  SERVANT [entering]. The Marquise de Montmarat.

  [Enter the MARQUISE DE MONTMARAT; she is a beautiful lady with a rather far-away, almost hypnotic expression in her bright eyes, and a slight smile of permanent composure. The two men lower their swords, but have not time to sheathe them.

  MARQUISE. Why, Mr. Swift, this is a very war-like demonstration.

  WILKES. Nay, Madam, it is but a salute. The arch of swords for the Queen of Beauty. [He raises his sword on high, and SWIFT more slowly crosses his own with it, making an arch under which the lady passes with a regal expression.]

  MARQUISE. Mr. Wilkes, I acknowledge your politeness; and, let me add, your presence of mind. And now put away your triumphal arch, for it is a little too military for a mere attaché’s wife. You forget that we diplomatic ladies are supposed to promote the friendship of nations. And you forget that France is at peace with your country.

  WILKES. I rather fancy that France will soon forget it too.

  MARQUISE. YOU must not say that to me; but of course you always say what you ought not to say to those to whom you ought not to say it. It is your only heroic quality, Mr. Wilkes.. But for my part, I wish as a woman, and not as an official lady, that all quarrels should end, public and private. But it will come, the time of peace and wisdom and the brotherhood of nations. There are times when I yearn for it so much as to condescend to that old weakness of being impatient. But those who know are never impatient. It will come; perhaps the very impatience of the less enlightened brings it a little nearer. Perhaps it will be through all these wars and revolutions that unity will come at last.

  WILKES. The goddess, after all, will enter under an arch of swords.

  MARQUISE. I sometimes think that when the two swords clash, they are only the two blades of the shears of Fate. Perhaps each blade of a pair of scissors fancies it is fighting the other to the death; but in truth, they are in a greater hand, used together to a single end.

  WILKES. Fair Atropos, the simile is adorable. Nothing could so far reconcile me to religion as the image of a divine and omniscient tailor cutting out a divine and perfect coat.

  MARQUISE. GO, monster! you think far too much about coats and all other trifles. [Turning to SWIFT.] YOU agree with me, at least, that freedom, when it comes, must be freedom from all such frippery and foppery. A natural life, that is the thing beyond; that is the one thing more civilised than civilisation.

  SWIFT [brooding and in a low tone]. That was strange and striking; what you said about the swords and the shears.

  [While the two begin to talk more intimately, WILKES withdraws carelessly, studies them cynically from a distance, and disappears into the inner room.

  MARQUISE. Oh, I know that the wise should also be calm; but sometimes I grow a little weary of these jealousies and competitions. [Looking at him more earnestly.] Mr. Wilkes is Mr. Wilkes; he is of the world and can look after himself. But why should you, with a mind and soul, play with suicide about such trinkets? Do not tell me what you were fighting for; what does it matter? You were competing for something, like schoolboys struggling for an apple. When will men leave off competing for things, and learn how easy it is to share them?

  SWIFT. There are some things one cannot share.

  MARQUISE. Are there? I wonder! Tell me, would you not think it strange if two men were butchering each other with clubs because they both admired the same sunset?

  SWIFT. Your figures of speech are always so fascinating. But you open up rather large and alarming views.

  MARQUISE. Large views are always alarming. My dear friend, I hate all these small views and small rules that restrict a woman in speaking. I am going to violate one of them now. Let us go out and sit on that seat, where we can talk comfortably.

  SWIFT. I beg a thousand pardons. [Leads her to the seat in the alcove behind, where they sit down still talking. The servant knocks again and enters.]

  SERVANT. Mr. Boswell. Dr. Johnson.

  [Enter DR. JOHNSON and BOSWELL. They advance to the centre of the room, supposing it empty; as SWIFT and the MARQUISE are in deep conversation behind and do not hear them.

  BOSWELL. Captain Draper, Sir, should properly have been here before us; but I believe he is following immediately with Mr. Burke. I do not imagine Mr. Swift will be disturbed, for I am told he is a most hospitable gentleman and issued a most cordial invitation.

  JOHNSON. Sir, I am very glad to wait on him.

  BOSWELL [in an airy manner]. Provided, I suppose, that the company is to your liking.

  JOHNSON. HOW, Sir? What do you mean, Sir? Do you suppose me so ill-acquainted with the customs of society as to dictate to a gentleman what guests he should entertain in his own house?

  BOSWELL. Nay, Sir, but I feared your disapproval if some of our liberal friends should be present here.

  JOHNSON [with rising annoyance]. Well, Sir, and suppose they were? Am I to dictate to a gentleman the politics of his own friends? Am I to tell him to tell them what political opinion to profess?

  BOSWELL [laughing exuberantly]. Nay, nay, you are joking, Dr. Johnson; you are certainly joking. Why, for a fancy example — suppose Jack Wilkes were here! Ha, ha, ha!

  JOHNSON [beÏÏowing]. And suppose Jack Wilkes were here, Sir? Am I not capable of meeting him with propriety? Am I so devoid of decorum and delicacy as to be unfit for the society of my fellow-creatures?

  [SWIFT, who has been roused by the roar of JOHNSON, starts up.

  SWIFT. Lord! My visitors are arriving. Where is my wife?

  MARQUISE. Go and fetch her. I will take her place for the moment. [She advances as SWIFT goes out at the back.] Good-day, Dr. Johnson; we met at Mrs. Thrale’s; she is a dear friend of mine. I am Madam de Montmarat, you know; my husband is in the French Embassy.

  JOHNSON [still rather surly]. Madam, your servant.

  MARQUISE. Mr. and Mrs. Swift will be here in a moment; we should have saluted you before, but I fear we were too deep in one of those philosophical conversations in which you shine so much yourself, Doctor. Surely we ought to call you in to adjudicate.

  BOSWELL [eagerly]. Madam, I never knew any subject on which Dr. Johnson could not adjudicate.

  MARQUISE. It is rather a large subject. It began with the possibility of preventing quarrels, and the tragedy of all these wars and revolutions.

  SERVANT [enters and announces]. Captain Draper. Mr. Burke.

  [Enter DRAPER and BURKE; BURKE looks round for his host, then seeing JOHNSON the centre of a disputing group, smiles and sits down. DRAPER remains standing and watching the group keenly.

  MARQUISE. And then I said that quarrels arose more from little things than from great, and that we are tripped up with a network of all this etiquette, especially all this etiquette about ladies. I am sure ladies are tired of being put on pedestals or in glass cases. Surely what we all need is simplicity. All the sages of east and west have been in favour of a simple life. You are yourself one of the great sages, Dr. Johnson; I am sure you are in favour of a simple life.

  JOHNSON. Madam, a cow lives a simple life. A cow needs nothing but grass. The intercourse of oxen with cows is not entangled with etiquette. But I never heard that oxen were philosophers.

  MARQUISE. Surely, Dr. Johnson, you will not be so unkind as to compare a lady to a cow.

  JOHNSON. NO, Madam, I shall compare her to a donkey, if she dislikes being treated with civility. A punctilious politeness to ladies is one of the signs which distinguishes us from the brutes, whether they be cows or donkeys.

  [SWIFT and MARY enter from behind; JOHNSON has his back to them and continues the dispute for some time without seeing them.

  MARY [in a low voice to SWIFT]. Who are these people? I have seen that man’s back before.

  SWIFT. That must be Dr. Johnson, I suppose. They say he is here.

  [She advances to JOHNSON’S elbow and greets him, but he remains facing the MARQUISE and concentrated on controversy. The SERVANT brings in tea-things on a tray and puts them down. JOHNSON manages to knock a tea-cup over without noticing it.

  MARY. I am delighted to see you, Sir. It was very good of you to come.

  JOHNSON [to the MARQUISE]. The advocates of simplicity, Madam, talk a great deal of the natural relation of men and women; but the last thing that all you learned ladies would like would be to be treated naturally. Why, Madam, how would you like it if I were to say that you were a flock of silly geese?

  MARY [obstinately]. How do you do, Dr. Johnson?

  JOHNSON [continuing]. Convention is civilisation, Madam, and we cannot dispense with courtesy without losing humanity.

  MARQUISE. I do not know that I would make away with courtesy, but only with all these small points of politeness, all these little things which —

  JOHNSON [interrupting with a roar]. Madam, that is all stuff. Reason will tell anyone but a fool to attend to little things. The bullet that kills a man is a little thing. The pill that saves his life is a little thing. It is by his consciousness of little things that a man proves himself to be properly alive. He who is proud of being unaware of his surroundings, be he a sage of the east or of the west, is proud of being a stock or a stone. A turnip is unconscious of its surroundings.

  MARY. HOW do you do?

  BOSWELL [having enjoyed this scene like an artist, and now thinking it had gone jar enough]. Sir, may I present you to our hostess; this, I think, is Mrs. Swift.

  JOHNSON [turning slowly round and knocking over another tea-cup]. Madam, I ask your pardon. [After a silence.] I believe, Madam, that we have met before.

  DRAPER. That is very interesting.

  JOHNSON [turning again slowly and bowing to SWIFT], Mr. Swift, also, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting.

  DRAPER. That is curious; I wonder where you can have met?

  JOHNSON. Why, Sir, it was in the Hebrides, unless my memory misleads me.

  SWIFT. I fear it does mislead you, Sir. There must be some mistake.

  MARY [to the MARQUISE in a low voice]. Where is Mr. Wilkes?

  MARQUISE. He went into the other room. He had quarrelled with your husband.