So what was I trying to do in these plays? I
wanted to write a roller-coaster drama of hairpin bends;
a drama of expertise and ecstasy balanced on a tightrope
between the comic and the tragic with a multi-faceted
fly-like vision where every line was dramatic and every
scene a play in itself; a drama with a language so exact
it could describe what the flame of a candle looked like
after the candle had been blown out and so high-powered
it could fuse telephone wires and have a direct impact
on reality; a drama that made the surreal real, that went
to the limit, then further, with no dead time, but with
the speed of a seismograph recording an earthquake; a
drama of 'The Garden of Earthly Delights' where a lion,
a tinman and a Scarecrow are always looking for a girl
with ruby slippers; a drama glorifying differences,
condemning heirarchies, that would rouse the dead to
fight, always in the forefront of the struggle for the
happiness of all mankind; an anti-boss drama for the
shorn not the shearers.
BARNES PLAYS ONE, p. viii
EARL OF GURNEY: My heart rises with the sun. I'm purged
of doubts and negative innuendoes. Today I want to bless
everything! Bless the crawfish that has a scuttling walk,
bless the trout, the pilchard and periwinkle. Bless Ted
Smoothey of 22 East Hackney Road--with a name like that
he needs blessing. Bless the mealy-redpole, the black-gloved
wallaby and W.C. Fields who is dead but lives on. Bless
the skunk, bless the red-bellied lemur, bless 'Judo' Al
Hayes and Ski-Hi Lee. Bless the snotty-nosed giraffe, bless
the buffalo, bless the Society of Women Engineers, bless
the wild yak, bless the Picadilly Match King, bless the
pygmy hippo, bless the weasel, bless the mighty cockroach,
bless me. Today's my wedding day!
THE RULING CLASS, p. 51
Now, dressed in three-cornered hat, ballet skirt, long
underwear and sword, the 13th Earl of Gurney curtseys
and moves toward the steps, trembling slightly in
anticipation.
13TH EARL OF GURNEY: Close. I can feel her hot breath.
Wonderful. One slip. The worms have the best of it. They
dine off the tenderest joints. Juicy breasts, white thighs,
red hair colour of rust. . . the worms have the best of it.
(He climbs up the steps, stands under the noose and comes
to attention.) It is a far, far better thing I do now,
than I have ever done. (He slips the noose over his head,
trembling.) No, Sir. No bandage. Die my dear doctor? That is
the last thing I shall do. Is that you, my love? Now, come
darling. . . to me. . . ha!
(Stepping off the top of the steps, he dangles for a few
seconds and begins to twitch and jump. He puts his feet
back on the top of the steps. Gasping, he loosens the
noose.)
13TH EARL: Touched him, saw her, towers of death and
silence, angels of fire and ice. Saw Alexander covered
with honey and beeswax in his tomb and felt the flowers
growing over me. A man must have his visions. How else
could an English judge and peer of the realm take
moonlight trips to Marrakesh and Ponder's End? See six
vestal virgins smoking cigars? Moses in bedroom slippers?
Naked bosoms floating past Formosa? Desperate diseases
need desperate remedies. (Glancing towards the door.)
Just time for a quick one. (Places noose over his head.)
Be of good cheer, Master Ridley, and play the man. There's
plenty of time to win this game and thrash the Spaniards
too! (Draws his sword.) Form squares men! Smash the Mahdi,
and Binnie Barnes!
(With a lustful gurgle he steps off. But this time he
knocks over the steps. Dangling helpless for a brief
second he drops the sword and tries to tear the noose
free, gesturing frantically.)
THE RULING CLASS, pp. 6-7
Barnes very often concerns himself with death, as you'd expect
any self-respecting comic visionary to do. The 13th Earl's death is
easier than that of the 14th Earl, who has what's best in him killed by
a doctor and a social order concerned for his sanity, because what's
best in him is bound up inextricably with delusions of a world ruled by
gentleness and love. He lives on with the stink of his own death in his
nostrils, continuous and inescapable, a stink which he concludes,
uncharitably but in the circumstances not unreasonably, is not merely
personal but universal, and sets in to work making it personal and
literal for the circle of family and friends who've participated in his
killing cure. (He has not of course become sane. He believed he was God
in the first act; he believes the same in the second; but the cruelty
of the world as he finds it has persuaded him he was wrong in believing
himself a God of love; he trades the Shepherd's staff for the flick-
knife of Jack the Ripper.)