HELIOGABALUS
Talk? Talking is my trade, little icicle. Talk is the heart's blood of politics.... And of love. I used to have even greater skill than I have today. He had a smooth and slippery tongue, had Heliogabalus. Years ago, when I was a lieutenant in the army, I used to—[sighs] Well, they were all willing: my conscience is perfectly clear. As the lawyers say, Caveat emptor. When a girl has a taste for epigrams she must be careful: a man of my wit is dangerous. I'll never forget my poor dear first wife—good old Marcia. It was an epigram that made her fall in love with me. I remember the circumstances perfectly. She was complaining that love was beyond her comprehension—that it was ineffable, indescribable, transcendental. "Love," I replied, with droll perspicacity, "Love," I replied, "is the triumph of imagination over intelligence."
[He chuckles]
LUCIA
[Yawns audibly, and turns over]
HELIOGABALUS
You interrupt me, cold darling. What I was about to say is that poor old Marcia laughed so hard she rolled clear out of bed. An old joke—as old as the Babylonians. But fact! You should have heard the bump when she landed on her—[a sidelong glance]—her upholstery. I had to haul her back into bed. [He sips again] Ah, love, indeed! A short preface to a long book! [He pauses and waits for appreciation. No sound comes from LUCIA. He goes on in a slightly louder voice] Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop. [Another inquiring glance at LUCIA] When loves dies there is never any funeral: the corpse remains in the house. [Another] A woman in love is less modest than a man: she has less to be ashamed of. [A longish pause. He takes a deep draught] Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another. [LUCIA is still silent. He lifts himself to his elbow and regards her contemplatively. He calls her softly] Lucia! Sweet Lucia!... Asleep! [A sigh] Christianity is fatal to the—er—epigram. How Marcia used to giggle! And little Dacia! Dacia has a sense of humour. An intelligent girl, Dacia. And how her nose puckers when she is a bit—squiffed. Somehow, I—[He empties the goblet and composes himself. The regular breathing of LUCIA can be heard] This Christianity may be all right in the daytime, but at night—[Suddenly, from somewhere below the window there comes the soft, low sound of a girl's voice, raised in song. It is a song of love and passion, and HELIOGABALUS sits up in bed to listen. Toward the end he glances at LUCIA, scarcely concealing a rising aversion. The song ended, he settles himself, wets his lips, and smiles amorously]
HELIOGABALUS