Delmore Schwartz - Once and for All - The Best of Delmore Schwartz

“Perhaps he used a slide rule?” said Rudyard. “Or perhaps he made deductions for dependents, as when one computes the income tax?”

This analysis and commentary continued until Rudyard became aware that no attention whatever was being paid to the visitors who remained silent on the studio couch, looking uncomfortable and perplexed. He arose and went to his room to get the manuscript of a new play for his visitors to read, and when he returned, he placed himself next to Archer again and looked over his shoulder, the while he also cocked an ear to the conversation which remained concerned with the fraction reserved for God by Professor Adam.

“This passage is superb!” Rudyard said suddenly, after Archer had read for some time, and as he spoke, he grinned like a child who has just been given candy.

“Here, in this scene,” said Rudyard, after a time, “the ignorance and irony is such that I am supreme among the dramatists who write in the English tongue.” And as he spoke, he looked as if he licked an ice cream cone.

“This has not been equalled during the present century,” Rudyard said again. Pauline was annoyed by these declarations, but to Archer they seemed to be made with such certainty, such a lack of self-consciousness, such joy and aplomb, that they were delightful. It was clear that Rudyard did not expect his listener to make any comment. He enjoyed uttering such sentences for their own sake. Yet Archer thought also of how such remarks would sound to anyone who heard them apart from Rudyard’s gestures, smiles, and look of self-assurance.

“You must take this play with you,” said Rudyard, drawing forth a new manuscript, “it is to me the best play in the English language!” And then he giggled.

“To you,” said Laura, “and to no one else.” She had seen the new look of perplexity on the visitors’ faces at this fabulous superlative.

Archer looked at his wrist-watch and arose.

“He lives by the clock,” said Rudyard, as if he spoke of one who was absent. “Perhaps I will never see you again,” he giggled.

“I don’t like Rudyard Bell,” said Pauline, as the two strangers departed from the house.

“He is certainly difficult,” said Archer, “perhaps it is because he is gifted and has gained no recognition.”

But when Archer Price returned to California, he decided that he would not attempt to visit Rudyard Bell when he next came to New York. He felt in the end distressed and perplexed by the visit. It seemed to him that the human beings of this circle existed in a private realm which did not permit the visiting stranger such as himself a true view of what they were and their life. He never saw them again.

SEVEN: “THIS KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS WITHIN YOU; BUT ALSO THE KINGDOM OF HELL”

“What we need is an Ark,” said Rudyard to one and all, “not an island, not a colony, and not a city state, but an Ark.”

Once again a play to which he had devoted much thought and hope had been rejected. Silent and angry in the morning, he was full of the future by afternoon, and by night — this was a Saturday night and most of the circle had come to the apartment — he had bounced back to the attitudes he enjoyed amid the circle. But anger and disappointment remained in him like sores and were transformed and expressed by the idea of an Ark.

“It’s an ancient and classic expression,” said Rudyard, “it’s about time that we thought of it. We will get a houseboat or a barge, announcing that this society is evil and we are going to depart.”

Ferdinand, ever close to Rudyard, was delighted.

“We will say, ‘We’re through!’ ” he added in a curt tone. “We will have an enormous poster in huge capitals and on it will be printed: ‘We have had enough.’ ‘We do not like this age. ’” His voice became louder and stronger, “‘ We find it beneath contempt! ’”

“This is a governing and master idea,” said Edmund, equally pleased, “it is a conception so inclusive that by means of it we can make clear our judgment of the past and the future, of experience and possibility.”

It was almost midnight. They sat about the midnight supper, drinking more and more coffee, and the idea of the Ark took hold of them like the excitement before a holiday.

“What will we take with us?” Rudyard continued, “I mean to say, what and who will we permit to enter the Ark?”

“Precisely,” said Francis French, “discrimination is of the essence of this idea. There is no Ark unless we exercise the most pure, exact, and exacting discrimination.”

“This is far from a joke,” said Jacob, who had remained silent, although moved, “only an absolute fool would suppose that this is a laughing matter.”

“Who will be elected,” asked Francis, “to this elite?”

“And who will be rejected,” Marcus added, “we don’t want the riff-raff, the trash, the substitutes, the second-rate, the second best, and the second-hand.”

“The best is none too good for us,” said Rudyard, “I mean, for the Ark,” he smiled with mock humility.

“It is necessary to criticize and evaluate all things,” said Edmund.

“What else do you think you have been doing all these years?” said Laura, but she too was enthralled.

“Exactly, this is exactly what we have been doing,” Rudyard replied, “and this is the fulfillment which was inevitable.”

“And what makes you think,” said Laura, “that you’re the one to be the judge and the critic? You’re no Noah.”

“Just the fact,” answered Rudyard serenely, “that the conception of the Ark occurred to me. That such a conception should have been born among us shows that we are worthy of it. This is not true of any conception, but it is true of one so noble.”

“Maybe you’re just disgruntled,” said Laura in vain.

“Noah invented the gong,” said Edmund pensively, “and Noah was the first to make wine.”

“No wonder,” said Laura, “he needed a drink. Anyone would need a drink, after what he went through.”

“But for us,” said Rudyard, disregarding his sister, “it is not so much what we accept as what we reject that is important.”

“You can’t have everything,” said Jacob, “and you certainly can’t have too much.”

“We have had enough,” said Ferdinand, “and more than enough.”

“If you ask me,” said Laura, “none of you have what you want, and that’s what makes you mad.”

“Anger is the vice of gentlemen,” said Rudyard, “but the abounding strength of the truly noble. Let us begin with what we reject.” He took notebook and pencil in hand.

“We reject automobiles,” said Edmund, “I never liked them, anyway. Any boob thinks he is a king when he drives a car.”

“An automobile would be useless on a boat, anyway,” said Marcus.

“Too many human beings get killed in cars,” said Edmund. “A fine thing for a rational being: to die for an automobile!”

“And no more marriage,” said Rudyard. “Marriage is the chief cause of divorce and adultery. There are no marriages in heaven and if there are no marriages in heaven, why should we have them?”

“After all, there is something to be said for the family and family life,” said Jacob.

“We will have the family,” said Rudyard, “we will just not have any marriages.”

“How about the phonograph?” asked Jacob, already somewhat apart. “If you reject the automobile, then you can’t have the phonograph, and if we don’t have the phonograph, how will we be able to hear great music?”

“We don’t have to be consistent,” said Rudyard, “it is an overrated virtue used chiefly to defend the fearful from the beautiful possibilities with which their imaginations might become infatuated. We will reject the automobile and accept the phonograph.”