Scene III. Nemaha, the Palace, a throne room.
[Enter Marcol, Cleonastra, Normalizovitch, and Parkerson.]
Normalizovitch. Now, I thought the Duke and his lady were
close behind us. Here are the regiments
of fashion laid out, but no customer
attends us in this room.
Cleonastra. Look, Marcol, how each station at court is 5
arrayed in elegant display of
good taste and gracious cut.
Normalizovitch. Worthy of your service, good woman, here
is the wardrobe for your office. The chief
attendant of any noble should have 10
a fine distinction to match or mirror
her mistress, as the Lady’s whim sees fit.
[Enter Constantine and Praetoria.]
I have here several sketches and one
mock-up of such a closet.
Marcol. You mock me, old man. There is no clownish 15
garb among these rags.
Normalizovitch. Now-a-days, our men of mirth wear double
breasted suites with silken scarves and over-
sized pocket handkerchiefs. Here, let me show you.
Praetoria. Did you inform him of our disengagement? 20
Parkerson. Alas, daughter, Eduard has had no
chance to prepare him for such a message.
It is hard to speak plainly when the hand
is upon your throat.
Praetoria. Surely this news would not engender so 25
mad a response.
Parkerson. And yet, it befeared me much to deliver
to him this news.
Constantine. Perhaps he can be appraised of the
message while hands are threaded through the arms 30
of a suit coat and unable to reach your neck.
Cleonastra. You give the Duke a vicious nature
that is not quite true. His intemperate
passion is purely protective of the
one he loves. 35
Constantine. I am only joking.
Marcol. My job. Union grievance a-coming.
Constantine. You are foursquare, Cleonastra, the Duke
is a just man. There is no injustice
in this news. It is blessing enough, disguised. 40
[Enter Eduard and Debrushka.]
Cleonastra. What is this sad news?
Praetoria. That I cannot marry Eduard.
Cleonastra. Oh. Good luck with that.
Debrushka. I hope the Duke finds pleasure in these clothes.
Eduard. Why should he not? No tweed, no worsted wool, 45
no double-knit could find displeasure if it
first passes your keen judgment.
Normalizovitch. Over here, young man, are the sketches of
my envision concerning your formal
wear at court. 50
Eduard. Lovely. I am more concerned of what to
wear as leisure suits me.
Normalizovitch. I do regret, young sir, that my plans with
respect to informal apparel are
incomplete pending the formal award 55
of a commission for my service.
Marcol. Wise. Most tailors would have seized the day wear.
Debrushka. May I have a word with you, Eduard.
Eduard. Of course.
Debrushka. I am chilled. Each time I enter a room 60
Mister Marcol spirals towards me.
He positively gravitates in my
direction. I wish desperately for
some repulsive force, but can offer no
polite rebuke. 65
Eduard. The clown was born with love-sick puppy eyes
and the heart of a dirty old man. Be
it fourteen or forty, he will fall for
any skirt in the room. The best advice
is to clear out and let his gaze fall on 70
some other fair figure. Have I shown you
the tire swing at the far end of the garden?
Debrushka. Why, no.
[Exeunt Eduard and Debrushka.]
Cleonastra. Is it fair to say, sir, that your daughter
and young Eduard both suffer a mild 75
but wholly natural rebellion to
their fathers’ whims? Such that they will look past
these days and rejoice in the good wisdom
of your natal wishes.
Marcol. What pretty gowns have you here for pretty 80
Praetoria?
Normalizovitch. I have not yet considered fiancées
that may not be nor daughters of petty
officials.
Parkerson. It is true, Cleonastra, that young women 85
and young men seldom recognize or much
appreciate the wise reasoning of
their elders. In the moment only do
they exist. If today gathered rosebuds
are not their want they spend all tomorrow 90
plucking from imagined wounds the thorns hurled
as insult to yesterday’s abandoned passions.
Praetoria. If by this you perceive that Eduard
deliberately conducts some guerrilla
campaign against my affections, then you 95
are mistaken. He is free, as I am
free, to gather rosebuds in whatever
garden our passion swings.
Uncomprehending parents!
Mistaken Cleonastra! Love hurts 100
naught but those who first have loved.
The hurt here is an caustic chafe against
the fetters and manacles imposed by
an older generation on the hearts
of the next. But, Father, the hurt is not 105
yet hatred. It can be salved with loving
recognition that we are of age and
free to exercise our own mind and will.
Marcol. Dry your eyes on this oversized hankie,
my dear Praetoria. Silk may soothe where 110
parents chafe.
Constantine. Leave her be, most foolish clown. Can’t you see
how lonely is the task of growing
up and out from under the most excellent
shade of an adoring parent. 115
[Exeunt Constantine and Praetoria.]
Marcol. I don’t want to grow up.
Cleonastra. Then to the kitchen for milk and cookies
and I will put you down for a nap.
Mister Parkerson, I apologize
for my first mistaken impression, but 120
now realize instead that, if we teach
our children well, we raise adults who can
reason for themselves and we can
only watch them leave, in love and trust.
[Exeunt Cleonastra and Marcol.]
Parkerson. The generations may branch off and grow 125
under another sun, yet her mother’s
stubborn will lives on embedded as a
seedling from the past. And for that I will
not disrespect her decision, Chaos
though it brings. 130
Normalizovitch. In good time, good sir, Chaos dissolves
itself most naturally into good order.
Parkerson. Yes, Sir Tailor, in due course all wounds are
healed, I do believe. Even such as
those inflicted by ghastly parenting. 135
[Enter Horatio and Eunomia.]
Normalizovitch. Sewed up, so to speak, without scab or scar
of all former distress. Such is the mind
that when resolution comes these previous
discomforts are simply the remembrance
of things past. 140
Horatio. What a boat load of robes. Eunomia,
select for me what fashion pleases you
and give Sir Tailor his commission.
What do you mean, ‘all things must pass?’
Parkerson. Praetoria and Eduard have just 145
now broken off our long planned engagement.
Horatio. Oh?
Eunomia. Oh, no!
Normalizovitch. Yes!
Horatio. At least I won’t have to try on wedding 150
clothes.
[Exeunt.]