The Inca of Perusalem | Page 4

during the war that anyone who
breathed the slightest doubt of the absolute perfection of German
organization, the Machiavellian depth of German diplomacy, the
omniscience of German science, the equipment of every German with a
complete philosophy of history, and the consequent hopelessness of
overcoming so magnificently accomplished an enemy except by the
sacrifice of every recreative activity to incessant and vehement war
work, including a heartbreaking mass of fussing and cadging and
bluffing that did nothing but waste our energies and tire our resolution,
was called a pro-German.
Now that this is all over, and the upshot of the fighting has shown that
we could quite well have afforded to laugh at the doomed Inca, I am in
another difficulty. I may be supposed to be hitting Caesar when he is
down. That is why I preface the play with this reminder that when it
was written he was not down. To make quite sure, I have gone through
the proof sheets very carefully, and deleted everything that could
possibly be mistaken for a foul blow. I have of course maintained the
ancient privilege of comedy to chasten Caesar's foibles by laughing at
them, whilst introducing enough obvious and outrageous fiction to
relieve both myself and my model from the obligations and
responsibilities of sober history and biography. But I should certainly
put the play in the fire instead of publishing it if it contained a word
against our defeated enemy that I would not have written in 1913.
The Inca of Perusalem was performed for the first time in England by
the Pioneer Players at the Criterion Theatre, London, on 16th
December, 1917, with Gertrude Kingston as Ermyntrude, Helen Morris
as the Princess, Nigel Playfair as the waiter, Alfred Drayton as the hotel
manager, C. Wordley Hulse as the Archdeacon, and Randle Ayrton as
the Inca.

PROLOGUE
The tableau curtains are closed. An English archdeacon comes through
them in a condition of extreme irritation. He speaks through the
curtains to someone behind them.
THE ARCHDEACON. Once for all, Ermyntrude, I cannot afford to
maintain you in your present extravagance. [He goes to a flight of steps
leading to the stalls and sits down disconsolately on the top step. A
fashionably dressed lady comes through the curtains and contemplates
him with patient obstinacy. He continues, grumbling.] An English
clergyman's daughter should be able to live quite respectably and
comfortably on an allowance of œ150 a year, wrung with great
difficulty from the domestic budget.
ERMYNTRUDE. You are not a common clergyman: you are an
archdeacon.
THE ARCHDEACON [angrily]. That does not affect my emoluments
to the extent of enabling me to support a daughter whose extravagance
would disgrace a royal personage. [Scrambling to his feet and scolding
at her.] What do you mean by it, Miss?
ERMYNTRUDE. Oh really, father! Miss! Is that the way to talk to a
widow?
THE ARCHDEACON. Is that the way to talk to a father? Your
marriage was a most disastrous imprudence. It gave you habits that are
absolutely beyond your means--I mean beyond my means: you have no
means. Why did you not marry Matthews: the best curate I ever had?
ERMYNTRUDE. I wanted to; and you wouldn't let me. You insisted
on my marrying Roosenhonkers-Pipstein.
THE ARCHDEACON. I had to do the best for you, my child.
Roosenhonkers-Pipstein was a millionaire.
ERMYNTRUDE. How did you know he was a millionaire?
THE ARCHDEACON. He came from America. Of course he was a
millionaire. Besides, he proved to my solicitors that he had fifteen
million dollars when you married him.
ERYNTRUDE. His solicitors proved to me that he had sixteen millions
when he died. He was a millionaire to the last.
THE ARCHDEACON. O Mammon, Mammon! I am punished now for
bowing the knee to him. Is there nothing left of your settlement? Fifty

thousand dollars a year it secured to you, as we all thought. Only half
the securities could be called speculative. The other half were
gilt-edged. What has become of it all?
ERMYNTRUDE. The speculative ones were not paid up; and the
gilt-edged ones just paid the calls on them until the whole show burst
up.
THE ARCHDEACON. Ermyntrude: what expressions!
ERMYNTRUDE. Oh bother! If you had lost ten thousand a year what
expressions would you use, do you think? The long and the short of it
is that I can't live in the squalid way you are accustomed to.
THE ARCHDEACON. Squalid!
ERMYNTRUDE. I have formed habits of comfort.
THE ARCHDEACON. Comfort!!
ERMYNTRUDE. Well, elegance if you like. Luxury, if you insist. Call
it what you please. A house that costs less than a hundred thousand
dollars a year to run is intolerable to me.
THE ARCHDEACON. Then, my dear, you had better become lady's
maid to a princess until you