Hugo in Londonby Marina J. Neary |
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| Scene 15 |
In 1854, at the height of Crimean War, Victor Hugo, the legendary French romantic, comes to London in search of inspiration for his next novel. He meets Jocelyn Stuart, a delusional young benefactress, who promises to show him “the real England.”
Hugo disguises himself as a sailor and enters Bermondsey, where he immerses himself in a world of boxing matches, circus performances and gang wars. Roaming London’s most notorious slum, he encounters Dr. Grant, a Cambridge-educated opium dealer; Wynfield, a charismatic bandit; and Diana, a sickly servant girl who bears a disturbing resemblance to Hugo’s dead daughter. Their surreal adventures become the basis for Hugo’s subsequent novels.
When danger befalls Hugo’s new friends, he vows to protect them, even if it means turning against his old friends and risking his own safety. How far will a grieving father go for the memory of his child?
Infused with dark humor and melancholic folk ballads, Hugo in London is a tribute to one of France’s most prolific literary icons.
An empty wharf at Greenland Dock. Diana is sitting on the ground, her back against a cargo box. Her blouse is wrinkled and torn off the shoulder. Dr. Grant stands over her, his jacket thrown over his arm. There are traces of soot on his face.
DR. GRANT: I tell you, the wind spread the fire. The wood inside was dry and hollow. It was time for that old dump to go up in flames. A part of me is relieved to be rid it. Now I need not worry about paying taxes. Ah, for God’s sake, Diana, say something.
DIANA (rolls her head aside and whistles): It’s the wind, the wind... Blame the wind...
DR. GRANT (removes his jacket and covers Diana): You’re shivering.
DIANA (shakes the jacket off): Keep your rags, Papa Bear. I’m not cold. I’m heading to a much warmer place.
DR. GRANT: You’re delirious.
DIANA: No, my mind is as clear as distilled scotch. (Reaches out into space) I can dip my fingers into ev’rlast. It’s tepid, like the city puddles. Now that Wyn is punished, I can go in peace. I swore to myself that the treacherous whoreson won’t outlive me.
DR. GRANT (bewildered): What... what on earth are you mumbling?
DIANA (chuckles maliciously): He didn’t even foresee it. He must’ve been mighty shaken when the Peelers dragged him away. I’d pay a whole shilling to know what was passing through his head just before the hangman knocked the barrel from under his feet.
DR. GRANT (with disbelief): Don’t even joke like that. It’s not in your heart.
DIANA: If you knew what was in my heart, Papa Bear, you’d wrap your coat around my head and push me off the bridge. It was I who turned Wynfield over to the police. And it was I who burned down your sorry old tavern where I was imprisoned for fifteen years. Wynfield taught me how to set fires. Together we torched the bailiff’s house. There was a time when I would’ve burned the whole damned city for him.
DR. GRANT: Miserable girl!
DIANA: Hush! Don’t cut me off. Here’s a cheerful little ditty for you. I made it up in honor of my victory. Listen to this, while I still breathe.
She detaches herself from the box, sits with her legs to one side, straightens her back, lifts her chin and sings:
Don’t grieve, Papa Bear, everything’s well.
The grinning bastard is tumbling in hell.
Watch the crows gather, gnashing their claws.
The freak show is over — it’s time for applause.
With open arms, on bended knee
My native darkness is calling me.
In this Nordic winter my home shall be.
Keep my ragged shawl...
Farewell to all!
Wynfield applauds and comes out of the shadow.
WYNFIELD: Bravo, wolf-cub. You’ve out-sung yourself.
DR. GRANT (starts making a sign of cross; his hand stops half-way): I haven’t crossed myself in forty years.
DIANA (grabs the edge of the box and struggles to her feet): Like Spring-Heeled Jack, he falls from the sky...
WYNFIELD (steps forward and opens his arms): Or emerges from a hell-gate.
DIANA: I know, you came back to rip off my head. Hurry, while I’m still alive. There’s no sport in beheading a corpse.
She wavers, her knees give in; Wynfield catches her. They subside on the ground, clutching each other. Dr. Grant sits on one of the boxes, dumbfounded.
WYNFIELD: I have a flask of excellent morphine from Westminster, like you’ve never tasted before. One drop will cure your illness.
DIANA (pushes fists into his chest and struggles to straighten up): God, you’re pitiable. You can’t settle scores with a woman, even if she took a stab at your life. You’re good at betrayal but not at revenge. (After a brief pause) Still, you’re here, and... that’s revenge in its own right. And I believed that I got rid of you. But no, you had to return and snatch even that meager joy from me. You’ll never let me win. Even in my last hour, you’ll make a fool of me. Well, if you aren’t going to rip off my head, then prop it.
She rests her head on his shoulder
WYNFIELD: Your hair smells like smoke.
DIANA: If I had a knife, I’d plunge it into your back.
WYNFIELD (rocks her and strokes her hair): You’ve done it already. We’re both no good at revenge. We’ll laugh about it. Consider all scores settled. Listen: I have a thousand pounds on me. Don’t ask how I procured the money. We can live anywhere we please — in France, Holland, Scotland, America! We can spend another fifty years writing curse words on walls. The world is but a giant brick wall waiting to be splattered.
DIANA (lifts her head): A thousand pounds? You know how much opium you can buy? Enough to keep half of London merry! You’ll find a new drinking mate, no worries. Let’s hope she dies before you grow bored with her.
WYNFIELD (kisses her): I want no other drinking mate. Every window I smash, every gun I steal — it’s all for you. When you hear about my last prank... For a moment I held all of England’s nobility in the palm of my hand.
DIANA (slips onto the ground, arms spread): Graveyard is your circus. (To Dr. Grant): Your claw, Papa Bear...
DR. GRANT (kneels and takes her hand): I’m here. My wicked, miserable child...
DIANA (looks up): Where are my knives? How I’d love to slash London fog and spill the northern lights. Recall the Dutch legend? I always knew it would end this way — I, between two foes... Stay true to your piggish ways. As long as you live, I’ll be that... snake on the bottom of your whiskey jar. (She dies)
Dr. Grant presses Diana’s hand to his forehead.
WYNFIELD (bows over Diana): No, this isn’t how it ends. I’ll follow you around for eternity. I’ll pester you until you surrender, laugh and say: “Burn in hell, Wyn.” And I’ll reply: “We are in hell, wolf-cub. This is our home.” Things will be right again.
While Dr. Grant is not looking, Wynfield drinks the morphine and lies down next to Diana.
Copyright © 2008 by Marina J. Neary
