Bedlam

MAN SCREAMS

Come, Poll, do you know my friend Lord Mortimer?

-Lord Mortimer.

-COCKATOO SQUAWKS

Lord Mortimer.

COCKATOO: Lord Mortimer's quite a pig. Brain small, his belly big.

THEY LAUGH

PEOPLE TALK EXCITEDLY

-What's this hubbub?

-One of the lunatics from the asylum, I expect.

-A prank? A jest?

-Go and see, John.

Bedlam?

-It does not look so merry a place, milord.

-Never been there?

You'll have to pay Master Sims tuppence to see all the loonies. Maybe they'll teach you new tricks.

I have no need of their wit to entertain YOU, milord.

-They say one of the poor devils fell from the roof trying to escape.

-Very regrettable. Drive on.

-Your Lordship, the man was known to you.

-Eh?

-I thought I saw him in your company not a week gone by.

Really? Well, let's have a look.

You, there, you with the light.

It is.

It's young Master Colby.

He fell trying to escape.

-Some of them have the sense to keep safe behind the bars.

-Where's Sims?

-Fetch him.

-He is dining out, milord.

-Dining out with Colby's blood on his hands. Do you know me?

-Yes, milord.

Then tell Master Sims to wait upon me in the morning. I have some few words I wish to say to him.

COCKATOO SQUAWS, FOLLOWED BY LAUGHTER

Will you remind Lord Mortimer that I am waiting?

LAUGHTER

Well, Pompey, are you a pretty boy this morning?

What are you trying to do, Pompey?

-Milord, I want to look like the visitor in the hallway.

-Sims!

I've forgotten Sims! You there, clear out.

Send in the good Sims, first course for milord's rage,

-to be eaten with a sauce of lightning, to the tune of thunder. Send him in, send him in.

-Sims!

Sims!

LORD MORTIMER SHOUTS

SHOUTING CONTINUES

I'll tell you why!

That you hated him, I knew. That you envied him was known to all.

But that you would dare! Dare to leave that murderous window open, to murder him from spite and envy!

Murder him? There was no murder.

Colby was my guest. He chose to leave by a window before I could open the door for him.

-And then, that monstrous accident.

-Accident?

Hmph! Master Sims is writing a new dictionary.

Are accidents contrived? Plotted? Executed?

Exactly, Mistress Bowen.

A misadventure, contrived by the victim and executed by nature's law

-that all who lose their grip on gutters must fall.

-You stick to that story, Master Sims?

I could never invent one half so droll.

The characters of the tale - two poets, Colby and myself,

but I am not only a poet, but also by your lordship's favour,

the Apothecary General of St Mary's of Bethlehem Hospital.

My friend comes to discuss poetry, I am absent,

my guards mistake him for a madman, he tries to escape and is killed.

-Like a romance, milord.

-It's a romance that cost me 20 guineas and a night of laughter.

-How so?

Lord Mortimer paid an advance for poetry promised in the future.

Colby was to write a masque for Lord Mortimer's fete.

-If I might offer my humble talents.

-Huh!

Even at the hospital, I deal in wit and laughter.

Are there any who have come to Bedlam and say the entertainment is not worth the tuppence they pay?

-You don't entertain me.

-You have a tender heart. Most people laugh at my ugliness.

-It offends me, sir.

To move a lady so beautiful in ANY way.

-He's gallant too.

-I am as you wish, milord.

-And I will make your fete a frolic you will remember.

-How?

Sometimes, the success of a play belongs to the players.

What if the masque were performed by my company of wits, the Bedlamites?

Have your loonies perform? HE LAUGHS

The opposition. Not John Wilkes or his whole party could think of anything as clever as that.

You didn't think of it either.

It's one and the same thing. My friend here thought of it.

-Let us say that you inspired the thought, milord.

-Do you hear that?

Let us say that you both inspire.

Milord and the beloved of milord.

I think you misunderstand, Master Sims. I am milord's protege.

I entertain him and he has no more freedom with me than any other man.

In any case, if milord would but give me the day an hour at the fete,

-I will prepare a masque of madness that will set you howling.

-One week from today at the Vauxhall.

-The company assembles at eight.

-Thank you. By your leave.

A merry notion.

-The Lord Mayor will roll in the soup with laughter.

-Capital fellow, this Sims.

-If you ask me, he's a stench in the nostrils and a gutter brimming with slob.

-But witty!

-So HE tells us.

-Even if his wit is wanting, his Bedlamites will set my guests roaring.

Everyone who goes to Bedlam expires with laughter. Why don't you go and see them, Nell?

-You'll see how funny they are.

-Perhaps I will.

Nice, fresh toddy!

WOMAN SINGS: # Ladies come and buy my lavender

# My sweet-scented lavender... #

WOMEN GIGGLE

SINGING CONTINUES

Good morning, Master Sims.

There is a Quaker waiting for you, sir, a master stonemason. Will you have him in?

Podge, where is my rhyming lexicon?

I need a rhyme for Mortimer.

-That Quaker, sir.

-Whatever are you rattling on about, Podge?

I have an important commission, a rhyme comedy for Milord Mortimer.

-You bother me about some snivelling Quaker.

-He's been waiting so long.

-Waiting?

-Three hours, sir.

-Huh!

I waited four hours before Milord Mortimer would give me a dog's worth. Let him wait some more.

But he will not wait, sir. He's a good workman and cheap, I'm told.

Cheap?

Let him in.

PODGE CLEARS HIS THROAT

You may leave us, Podge.

My man tells me you'll do the work cheaply.

With cut stone 1ft thick and good mortar, I'll do it for 15 guineas.

-What if I gave you 18 guineas?

-It would be too much.

-18 guineas and you will return to me two.

You'll have a better price and I'll have SOME reason to employ you.

I've forgotten what thee has said. If thee do not repeat it, I can believe no evil of thee.

What kind of cant is this? I've asked you for a bribe, man.

-Have you never been asked before? This is simple business between us two.

-About the stonemasonry...

I had not looked forward to the pleasure of seeing you again so soon.

-I am curious to see the loonies in their cages.

-So you shall.

So you shall.

Your riding crop, Mistress Bowen, you must hang it here. The law of the institute, no weapons.

-In Heaven's name, why?

-In one of his plays, Dekker, a second-rate dramatist of the last century

wrote of those in there, "Fierce as wild bulls, untameable as flies,

"And these have oft from stranger's sides, snatched rapiers suddenly and done much harm."

Strangely, here one forgets you're a man of letters.

Our hospital is ancient and well-known, much written of.

I daresay no man or woman comes to London from the country who does not pay his tuppence.

WOMAN CRIES

SHOUTING AND RAUCOUS LAUGHTER

HULLABALOO

WOMAN SCREAMS

RACKET CONTINUES

WOMAN CRIES

Are they not witty, Mistress Bowen?

Look at the frolic this one treats himself to -

weaving nets to catch peacocks for the royal dinner.

They're all so lonely.

They're all in themselves and by themselves. They pay no heed to us.

You notice that? They have their world and we have ours.

-Like separate dreams.

-Ours is a human world, theirs a bestial world,

without reason, without soul, they're animals.

Some are dogs.

These I beat.

Some are pigs.

Those I let wallow in their own filth.

Some are tigers.

These I cage.

Some like this one...are doves.

-I've seen enough.

-You haven't seen the other cages!

-I've seen enough!

You have no idea how merry they can be, how much amusement they afford.

Amusement! From that mad girl with her staring eyes?

If I have offended you, Mistress Bowen...

Thank you, sir.

My valet can plait a tress quicker than a handy woman but he has no knack with horses.

I was glad to do help thee. I saw thee strike Sims, thee shouldn't have done that.

Do you think I'm afraid of him?

Thee are able enough. It is those poor ones in there I think of. Sims will make them suffer for that blow.

Are we lovers, that you "thee" and "thou" me?

-I've never seen your face before.

-He's a Quaker.

My name is William Hannay. I am one of the Society of Friends.

-I've heard of them. They turn the other cheek.

-There's more to being a Quaker than that.

It is feeling pity for those in there, as thee did.

-Do you think I struck him because I felt pity for the loonies?

-I saw it in thy face.

-Pity?

I had no such feelings, sir.

I struck him because I wanted to, he is an ugly thing in a pretty world.

-There are many ugly things if thee would but see them.

-I did not always wear velvet.

-I had guessed that.

But where there is one like thee to wrest comfort from a hard world

-with wit, there are ten thousand who cannot.

-I don't pity them.

-Let them do as I did.

-But those in there, can THEY help themselves?

And I have no pity for them, either. Animals without souls.

-That is not thy thought.

-Is it not?

Come to a week hence Vauxhall and you will see me laughing at these same loonies you think I pity.

Thee will not laugh at the poor and the afflicted. I've seen great ladies with hearts like stone, but thee...

My heart is a flint, sir. It may strike sparks, but they are not warm enough to burn.

I have no time to make a show of kindness before my fellow men. I've too much laughing to do.

THEY PLAY A WALTZ

Flanked by lunacy and speaking with the voice of youth,

our golden age of reason will tell you of its brightest adornment -

Lord Mortimer.

Come, Reason, you've wit enough to say a word or two.

What say you to this, Wilkes? A mad boy playing Reason.

-That's a Tory joke for you.

-And only the Tories will laugh at it.

The opposition wonders what the effect may be on that sick boy.

The Tories care only for the jest but we Whigs have some concern for the humanities.

Do you hear that, Nell?

Give them a jest and they answer with a political tirade.

He said something about the boy. The effect.

Go ask him. He'll make you a speech on the matter.

< To this...pretty world...

pretty world...

To this pretty world

there came...came...heaven sent

-divinely inspired...

-Good, good.

The great voice of Reason.

The...

blessing...

..blessing of...of our age...

Come on, come on, I spent all morning beating it into your head.

Milord, Reason is overcome with emotion when it must speak of you.

-Prod him on, Sims.

-Go on.

A few more of those golden words I taught you, lad.

-A...

-Somewhere I heard that the human body must breathe through its pores.

You shut those pores...

..man...set...like a jewel...

Another word, good, gentle Reason.

..this...prince of men...

..this...paragon...

Lord...

Lord Mortimer.

CHUCKLING

Duck him in the river. Canvas and a handful of coarse sand will get the gilt off.

Master Sims! Isn't that harsh treatment for a sick lad?

They have to get the gilt off if he's to be well again.

-So you know that?

-Know what, Mistress Bowen?

That anyone painted over as thick as that poor lad will die.

If I understand you properly, this boy is dying...

This boy is dead because his pores are clogged by the gilt.

Well, then, sweet Mistress Bowen, since you are such a stickler for the correct definition,

you will grant me the fact that this boy died by his own exhalations.

LAUGHTER

You might say he poisoned himself.

MORE LAUGHTER

-Milord, have we not had enough of this?

-Eh?

Enough of that boring, dull man and his cruelty?

-But we're all laughing, Nell.

-I am not, milord.

-He shall make you laugh.

-Spare me that.

-But Nell...

A boy died tonight. A boy who had no mind to guide his thoughts or deeds.

Maybe there'll be some concern about that among the Whigs.

-There's none among the Tories.

-They're laughing, too.

Liberty - that is a great word you Whigs found somewhere.

But just the same, you'll end either with the pox or on the gallows.

That, my lord, depends on whether I embrace your sweetheart or your politics.

THEY LAUGH

Here is Alfrieda, queen of the artichokes.

She will sing for you.

APPLAUSE

WITH A SHAKY VOICE # Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen

LAUGHTER # Here's to the widow of fifty

LAUGHTER CONTINUES # Here's to the flaunting extravagant queen

# And here's to the housewife that's thrifty. #

Master Hannay.

This is a strange place to see thee, Mistress Bowen.

A little dull, perhaps - but a good enough place to ask the questions I want to ask.

I've found thee more ready with answers than with questions.

Don't worry. My questions are pert enough.

First...

Do you think me a woman of kind heart?

-I have told thee so.

-Why?

I saw thy face at Bedlam. It had kindness and compassion.

I've never seen that in my mirror.

But let's say I grant the fact, let's say I saw things that moved me to pity, what then, Master Quaker?

-Perhaps God sent thee here that thee might find guidance.

-From you?

-I have not said so.

-Well, from whom then?

Perhaps He sent thee here so we might speak together.

I've seen things tonight I have no liking for -

my friends laughing at sorry idiots brought out from Bedlam to amuse.

-A poor boy...

-Thee need not tell me.

It's a bad time for the poor and the people suffer. The ones with wit and the ones without.

-And if you feel sorry for them, what do you do?

-I do what I can.

-I'm a stone mason.

-How does that help people?

I build well. Let others build as well and soon this city will become a clean and decent habitation.

But what of me? What can I do? I'm only a jester to bring laughter to Lord Mortimer's dinner table.

Perhaps there's a way that thee can help the poor people in Bedlam.

Is not Mortimer a member of the council?

Good.

You're not such a fool as I thought you.

Why don't you take off your hat? Have you no liking for me?

It is a rule among the Friends to uncover only before God.

DOOR OPENS

Milord will see you now, Master Sims.

-Good morning, Mistress Bowen.

-Good morning.

Ah, there, Sims. Sit down and wait a bit, I've news for you.

-I trust you enjoyed the fete.

-You'll hear presently how much I enjoyed it.

Sims, you've no idea what we've decided. Nell has a splendid notion.

She wants to turn Bedlam upside down and make all the loonies happy as linnets.

Mistress Bowen is very kind.

Can't imagine what a clever vixen she is, Sims.

Thought it all out herself before she even spoke to me.

Beds, blankets, some to sew, some to bake, good food - a practical lass.

I can quite understand what Mistress Bowen wants. We've needed good beds, good food in Bedlam for a while.

You forgot to mention good treatment.

That, too, I'm sure we could afford that.

You can't imagine the gratitude I bear you, Mistress Bowen.

These reforms you propose will make my name stand out in the history of Bedlam.

-We knew you'd agree.

-I'm overjoyed, milord.

Good, good. You see, it's done, Nell. Not a bit of trouble.

There is but one small point - the trifling matter of money.

-Milord has already thought of that.

-The council will vote the funds.

-That's generous of you, milord, very generous.

-How so, Sims?

-What sort of generosity?

-Does not milord have property in Moorfields?

A dozen dwelling houses, a warehouse, two inns. You see, Sims, I know my accounts.

And I know your properties. They are taxable by the institute.

Therefore, milord, this reform will cost you not less than 500 guineas in additional taxes.

But what is that to you, milord? A mere bagatelle, a gift you gladly give to Mistress Bowen.

-I will relinquish that gift, Master Sims.

-I gave you no gift, Nell.

She's merely speaking of a gift she's not going to have.

Now, take Master Wilkes. He'd never be so generous. He would say "Loonies don't vote."

-That's true. There's nothing to be had from them.

-This is a good deed, milord.

-500 guineas...

-There would be so much I would have to do without.

-Nell, we'll have to forget this whim.

-It is not a whim, milord! It is the first thing I've ever asked of you.

But milord has to keep up appearances at court. You've no idea what an expense that is.

That's true. You've no idea what a great responsibility it is to be rich.

-What an expense!

-It's simply this, milord - I've asked you to do a good deed and you find it too expensive.

-You've no right to speak to me that way.

-I've all the rights of having put up with you for nearly a year.

Trying to make you laugh, listening to your fat laugh as it comes rumbling out of your fat throat.

-Put up with me!

-I said so.

-But look what I have done for you.

You'd be camping in the rain with the other strolling players if you hadn't caught my eye.

Do you call that weak and watery vessel your eye? I wouldn't want to look at the world through it.

I wouldn't want to be a dull man, for ever in need of amusement,

to bribe and be bribed, to fawn upon the king and kick the commoner.

In short, milord, I would not want to be Lord Mortimer.

-YOU would not want?

-Nor do I want to be with you, not for an instant longer.

Maybe being rich and powerful is infectious. It's a disease I don't want to catch. Goodbye, milord.

Such angry words(!)

-As I pointed out, milord, you have every right to take legal steps.

-You've been very helpful.

-It grieves me, milord, to have been the cause of this quarrel.

-It's not your fault.

She quarrelled with me. She insulted me.

May I guide you to the door, Master Sims?

You know Lord Mortimer's signature. Is this not it?

I can recognise a pig's tracks when I see them.

Then you know I have the right to remove the furniture he loaned you.

Loaned, does he call it? He and that loathsome Sims.

It's all legal, all by order.

Oh, take the things and get out.

-That's not Lord Mortimer's!

-Leave Poll alone! She's no present to be taken and given back.

She's been with Mistress Bowen since she played Aurora in The Rivals. We were very good in that.

NELL SIGHS

Serves me right, Varney.

-A kind heart butters no parsnips.

-But what shall we do?

We've nothing but the clothes we wear and poor Poll.

Poll?

Poll's enough.

Remember, if gin is offered, you must take wine. It's more genteel.

But I like gin.

-It makes me merry.

-You'll be merry enough on wine.

But you told me Lord Mortimer likes a witty girl.

You'd best leave the wit to me, I'll make you seem witty.

-I can crack a joke well enough.

-Not in good company, my dear niece. You're not accustomed to it.

-I've known some gentlemen.

-But this is a lord!

A man from whose largess many blessings can come to the family of Sims

and just for a little laughter. That's all he wants - to be amused.

A fine lord indeed! Mocked by a parrot.

But this parrot is our key to open Milord's friendship to you.

Now remember, you were offended, you offered money, you...

Milord, a dreadful thing...

Pardon, Milord, this is my niece Kitty.

A charming person. She does you honour, Sims.

But have you heard the latest news of my lady? Brave Mistress Nell?

-What a jest she's hit upon.

-You mean the parrot, Milord?

-It is because of that we've come here.

-A great bit of japery, Sims.

What a vixen!

I had hardly thought to find you in such humour.

But it's only a jest. Nell has the bird for sale in the market place,

letting it scream that silly ditty...

"Lord Mortimer is like a pig.

"His brain is small and his belly big."

-All London's come to laugh at the bird.

-So they have.

-It does you no good. That joke will make your proud name a mockery.

-The bird won't sing too long.

-I've sent Pompey to buy it.

-That girl holds the bird at a high enough price.

My niece, knowing of my affection for you, tried to buy the bird.

She offered 20 guineas and was refused.

Oh, Mistress Bowen wants more honey on her bread than that, Sims.

-Pompey has a purse with a hundred guineas in it.

-A hundred guineas for a bird?

-Will you have some wine, Mistress Sims?

-Wine is too French for me, Milord.

It is the way I feel about men.

I like men to be as big as beer and as strong as gin.

Beer has a head on it, you know. You can't say that for wine.

Gin has some muscle to it and you can't say that for wine either.

Bless me, I've never heard anyone put it that way.

There is much to be said for our national institutions.

-KNOCK ON DOOR

-Come in.

-She refused?

-She said it was not enough.

-What sort of game is this?

-Mistress Bowen told me to tell you the bird would remain for sale

and that you could sell every property you owned and not have money enough to buy it.

So that's the way the wind blows, Milord.

Malign me! The girl digs her spurs too deep.

Milord, we can always make her my guest.

At Bedlam?

No, no. She's as sane as you and I.

Was Colby mad? He was my guest.

We've been good comrades, Nell and I. I'll not do that.

As you wish, Milord.

Here, Milord. Confusion to your enemies.

It's a shrewd trick. You can't restrain a parrot from slander.

You can't exercise the right of privacy against a bird.

-But I think I have a way, Milord.

-Another drink, Milord.

-It will make you a lion.

-I'm an angry man.

There are laws against the depredations of livestock.

Is not a parrot live stock? Are you not suffering loss.

-You know that, "He who steals my purse steals trash, but he who..."

-I heard that at the playhouse.

-What do you suggest?

-We can swear out a writ of seizure -

send a bailiff for the parrot and have it here within the hour.

-We could do that.

-Indeed we can.

-Arrest a parrot?

I'll drink on that, Milord.

Come along! Come along!

-I said thee can not mock thy friends this way.

-Mock him?!

-He'll wish I'd only mocked him when I finish.

-Softly.

-Bah!

I swore I'd wring its neck. Give me that bird, Varney.

Your gifts you can take back, but the parrot was mine, is mine, and remains mine as long as I want.

Thee must be careful of other's property.

Curse you, man! You shall fight me for this.

-Draw, man, draw!

-As thee can see, I carry no weapon. I do not fight nor brawl with other men.

-You shall fight me.

-I cannot!

-Fight or I'll run you through.

-Will you fight?

-Milord...

-My friend, thee hast no quarrel with me.

-Let me go!

NELL LAUGHS, THEN THE PARROT LAUGHS

Thee must not mock thy friend.

LAUGHING CONTINUES

-PARROT:

-Lord Mortimer! Lord Mortimer! Lord Mortimer!

Thee can earn an honest living for thyself.

I had to sew my costumes when I was on the stage.

Two shillings a week for a seamstress.

One can live well on that if one is frugal.

What would I do with Varney? Who'd have him?

-Thee hast not strength enough for a mason, Varney.

-You see?

Just the same, I'll give Varney work.

He can sweep up the dust here. He has strength enough for that.

He sweeps and I sew - all very fine, but not very exciting.

-What do you think of it, Varney?

-I like a merry life, Mistress Bowen.

And so, by blazes, so do I!

Everyone makes his living with his own tricks.

My tricks are not yours, Master Stonemason.

If I may say a word, Mistress Bowen, you still have many friends.

That I have!

There's Captain Standing, but he's always talking about Fontenoy.

There's Armiston and Wilkes... There's Wilkes!

That devil Wilkes!

THEY LAUGH

So far as I'm concerned, dear Mistress Bowen,

you need not teach your parrot any special phrases for my benefit.

Am I to understand from that, Master Wilkes, that you're not interested?

-Not in Bedlam nor in me?

-I did not mean that.

I meant only that I am a different sort of a man from Lord Mortimer - I am not easily pleased.

-I think you expect too much, Master Wilkes.

-I offer more.

You want to fight the nastiness and the corruption of Bedlam

and I offer you political alliance with John Wilkes.

whom his gracious majesty has called "That devil."

Bring me the evidence and I'll be pleased to take it to court.

Let us say that puts a brighter face on matters, Master Wilkes.

One gives a girl a kiss to seal a certain kind of bargain, Nell.

This is a rather public place, Master Wilkes.

But one shakes hands with a comrade and a friend.

This is a real blow at Wilkes.

That is a blow I'll leave you to administer. I have one of his to ward away.

And and so you see, Mistress Bowen, Milord thought it would be best to make friends again.

-On your advice, I suppose, and for some purpose of your own.

-Milord, speak to the girl.

Every word he says is true and better put than I could say it.

Well, so we're friends again. You go your way and I go my way.

But friends aren't that off-handed with each other, Mistress Bowen.

-Milord would like to be kind to you.

-I'm duly warned. Go on.

Milord thinks you've been looking rather pale as of late.

perhaps the waters of Bath - a rest.

Milord... You know that I have a contempt for certain kinds of money.

How deep that contempt is I am about to show you.

The Bank of England thanks you for £300.

LORD MORTIMER LAUGHS

Tomorrow, after the Commission for Lunacy examines her, she'll strike no more blows -

not at you nor at me.

Here - you sign here.

Confound me, Sims, I can't sign this.

She's not mad. She's not a danger to herself and others as it says here.

Sign, Milord. She's a danger to my position and your properties.

Alone she means nothing. But with Wilkes behind her, she's more dangerous to us than any mad woman.

Well, gentlemen, here is your lunatic.

You're Nell Bowen?

I'm 23 years of age, born at Rye,

my parents are dead, and I have no husband nor child.

-What more would you wish to know?

-The Commission of Lunacy will frame the questions for you.

-Ask away.

-Do you know your alphabet?

-I know A from Z

and I can read and write as readily as any man here. Perhaps a little better.

-Do you know the difference between right and wrong?

-What is right for me is wrong for you.

That much I know and vice versa.

Oh, don't fool yourselves.

A merry answer does not make me a fool, gentlemen.

Ask me a sensible question and you shall have a sensible answer.

Mistress Bowen, is it true that some days past

you refused the sum of 100 gold guineas for a parrot not worth five shillings?

-I had my reasons. It was a jest.

-You know your sums?

-If two and two make four, I do.

-Knowing that one number added to another makes a greater number,

I presume you know a large sum of money from a small sum.

I only know that I like large sums better than I like small sums.

Then why did you refuse 100 guineas for a parrot worth five shillings?

-I have told you - it was a jest.

-Knowing the value of money, Mistress Bowen,

-can you explain why it was you ate a bank note?

-For a jest!

Master Sims knows why I ate the money - to show my contempt for it.

Is that how one shows contempt?

No. But at that moment, it was the only way to show contempt!

I was angry and it was the first thing that occurred to me.

-Do thoughts like that always occur to you when you're angry?

-Everyone does foolish things sometimes!

-At a whim, for a prank.

-Is it wise to eat money?

-But it was a jest!

-SIMS LAUGHS

Gentlemen...

Would you permit me to communicate with Master John Wilkes? He would speak for me.

This is not a court. You are not in need of any witnesses but your own sanity

and we shall judge the worth of that.

INAUDIBLE SPEECH

Mistress Bowen, you have asked for voluntary commitment

to enter St Mary of Bethlehem's Asylum,

the charges for your care and keep to be borne by Milord Mortimer.

I have here the commission's approval of your request.

The commission has adjudged you insane.

But I made no petition to enter Bedlam!

Perhaps you did it as a jest, Mistress Bowen.

You're not going to put me in Bedlam!

Not for a little joke, not for playing a trick!

Milords! Gentlemen!

Please listen!

I am of sound mind! I know what I do!

I know what I say!

I did not ask for admission to Bedlam!

Please! Please!

PEOPLE MUMBLE IN THEIR SLEEP

DOOR LOCK RATTLES

Here in Bedlam, my dear, we can't feed you bank notes.

Try chewing on this.

-PARROT: Polly want a biscuit!

-Polly want a biscuit?

-See, Varney? Now that he is mine, I've already taught him a new and original trick,

-Yes, Milord.

But Mistress Bowen must've been here.

Ah, my love, and how did you spend the night?

-Going on a voyage, Milord?

-Voyage? Oh, no, not a voyage.

Just a trip to the country, to ride.

To smell the innocent air.

To listen to the twitter of the birds. To rusticate.

-I see - to rusticate.

-I would invite you, my dear,

but it's a bachelor affair - sport, you know.

Manly things.

I see.

Well, all good things must end, Milord. I'll have a bit of the gin.

And another little sip, to get rid of the dry taste of piety.

Piety? I thought there was precious little of that in this house.

There's a Quaker out there who wants to see you. Pompey is sending him about his business.

Such a person has never been known in this household.

Come now. Thou must know that to be an untruth.

Mistress Bowen had tea with Milord only yesterday.

Your young lady was the one who was telling tales.

There's been no woman in this household but Mistress Sims since I can remember - so they tell me.

Well, never mind.

-Where is the Quaker?

-He's been and gone.

-He must have just left.

-That's likely.

# Apples! Apples! Apples a penny! Apples... #

Master Hannay! Master Hannay! I'll tell you where she is!

-I'll tell you where she is! They put her in Bedlam.

-Bedlam?

Yesterday, they summoned her. She's there now.

-Well, thee must come with me. We shall go to Bedlam.

-No.

I can't go with you. I'm employed by Milord.

You see, Master Stonemason, I have to live.

And you said I didn't have enough muscle for honest work.

It is enough that thee is an honest man, Varney.

That thee ran all this way to tell me where she is.

VARIOUS VOICES SHOUT: Nell Bowen! Nell Bowen!

VOICES CONTINUE, THEY GROW LOUDER

-Is that your name they call?

-How do they know I am here?

They don't know. Some of our poor companions spend their days looking out the window.

If they hear a new cry, they repeat it,

then others take it up and so it goes.

But my name - how do they know it?

Someone must've shouted it in the street.

-Perhaps someone trying to reach you.

-Thank you! Thank you!

You can't come in.

-By George Sims' order, I suppose.

-Even so.

-May I see Sims?

-And quickly too.

-I've been refused admittance.

-That is unfortunate. A new ruling. You understand.

I understand only that I am a free man - that I have money in my hand.

-Thee has no legal right to deny me entry to a place where others have been admitted.

-Quite true.

-Well?

-The warder will take your tuppence.

-And if you will leave your arms at the arms rack.

-I have no arms. I am of the Society of Friends.

-Then I'm afraid we must return your tuppence.

-But why?

Did you not quote the law to me? Let me then quote law to you.

It is a rule of our institute that any who go into the main hall must hang their arms upon that rack.

-But I have no arms.

-Since you have none, I cannot let you enter.

-Thee cannot deny me entry for such cause.

-I must.

Save yourself a walk, Quaker! It's locked!

It is a rule, Master Quaker, and I break no rules.

Blast me! Brother Hannay, sauntering as if it were a holiday.

On my own business, friend Smith, and without profanity.

-And without this good job of work that we have, Hannay.

-I bid on it.

And found Master Sims' way of doing business a little strange, eh?

We've the work, we've the will, let's at it boys!

But thee hasn't the knack of it.

-Thanks, Hannay.

-Maybe you'd give us a hand.

-There are but three of us.

-I'd just as leave.

-You call.

One, two... Heave, all.

-Call!

-One, then two, down we go!

-Thanks, Hannay.

-Thee is welcome.

-Now you're here, Hannay,

-you can see all of Bedlam without paying your tuppence. Can't he?

-Yes.

-All the wonders of Bedlam and for nothing.

-That I would like to see.

This corridor leads to the main room.

It's dark, but if you get to the end of it,

-you'll get an eyeful.

-If thee don't mind, I'll go and look.

MANIACAL LAUGHTER

PATIENTS SHOUT, MANIACAL LAUGHTER CONTINUES

Nell.

Nell Bowen!

PEOPLE SHOUT: Nell Bowen! Nell Bowen!

-THEIR VOICES FADE

-Nell Bowen!

THE PATIENTS SHOUT HER NAME AGAIN

THEIR VOICES FADE

Nell Bowen!

VOICES BEGIN AGAIN

-<

-Nell Bowen!

Over here, Nell!

< CRASH!

Come, Nell. Nell...

-You've come to take me away.

-No. There is no way.

-Find Wilkes. He'll get me out of here.

-I had thought of that.

I'll seek him out, but until he can free thee, thee must be patient.

Patient? How can I be patient?

I'm terrified! These people are like beasts.

So thee has that same thought - the same thought as Sims.

No. But they frighten me.

They're dirty, savage...

mindless, disgusting...

Thee wanted to help them. That's why they put thee here - for trying to aid them.

I still want to aid them, but I can not here!

Not here, where they are all about me.

All I want is release or a weapon to defend myself.

Thee has thy kindness and thy courage - they can be sword and buckler in this place.

I want better weapons!

I want something more than my naked hands to help me if there should be trouble.

-Give me a weapon.

-Thee knows that I carry no sword.

-Anything!

-I carry nothing that could harm my fellow creatures.

-Your trowel.

That is to build with.

It has a point! It has a handle.

Would you have me maimed, scratched, scarred?

My face?

The Lord will not let it happen.

Give me the trowel and I'll not let it happen.

Look at my face again.

Look close. Shall it be scarred?

-God forgive me for what I do.

-Forgiven or not, at least I can defend myself.

Now get to Master Wilkes. Wilkes will have me out of here like that.

-I haven't seen Wilkes for the last week.

-He's never at home.

-He's electioneering.

-Where?

-Anywhere in the Kingdom.

But it's a matter of import - grave import!

-A woman's reason hangs on it! I must see him!

-He has ordered pamphlets and posters.

-He must come here. When he does, I'll tell him.

-I'll come back tomorrow.

BELL TOLLS

We might ask her, Master Todd.

She seems quite lady-like, quite sane.

Or, as I might express myself before the bar, "compos mentis en lex".

Then I shall ask her.

We can have Dan and the four of us can play paroli.

Madame, would you care to join us? We are going to play paroli.

-That's kind of you, but I have no money.

-Money? We play on our word.

I have a wealth of words.

I don't cheat, but I warn you I'm not above amending the mistakes of fortune.

This, Mistress Bowen, is Oliver Todd.

He won't speak to you, nor to me, but there is no harm in him and he writes and reasons well.

And this is Dan. Sometimes he fancies himself a dog.

But he has no malice in him and he remembers how to play cards.

I am Long - Sidney Long, the Crown Solicitor,

whose enemies will not let him practise at the bar!

I, the most skilled of them all, I have many enemies.

-Many, many enemies.

-I understand.

I shouldn't have told you that.

But believe me, we who are near this pillar are the safe ones - the good ones, the wisest.

That is why they let us have the candle,

but the rest - you must be careful of the rest.

I am careful.

Well, let's begin the playing.

Now, I will hold the bank - £20,000.

£5 for a card.

£5.

Five whippets, ten bassets, one gaze hound.

Anyone wish another card?

£5.

Anyone else?

Banko.

-Paroli!

-Ah... Fortune smiles at your first play.

-What card?

-Knave of Spades.

You win. GROANING >

GROANING CONTINUES

-Eight bulldogs.

-What's that?

A poor wretch. Sims gave him a dose of iron this morning.

-The chains are scruffing his flesh.

-Will the warders not help him?

They've heard too many groans to bother.

But what about you? Don't you ever help the others?

Why should we help? We are the people of the pillar.

A card?

Wait. I can't play with that going on.

-May I have the candle?

-Be careful of the straw.

GROANING

CHAINS RATTLE

(Do your chains hurt you?)

Where does it hurt?

Here?

Would it help if I put a bit of cloth there to ease your arm?

Better?

He's quiet now. That was kind of you.

It's just that I don't care for sad music with my game of paroli.

-A card?

-£5.

Ten whippets.

Any others?

£15.

Anyone else? ..Banko.

A very pleasant group you make, dear people.

So nice to find you here amongst the upper classes, Mistress Bowen.

That's exactly where I expected you to be. It's a law of physics -

the lighter elements, like scum, rise to the top.

Thank you, Master Sims - a delicate compliment.

I see you have joined our society - the group around the pillar.

Is this the brotherhood your Quaker friend preaches?

-Or perhaps you're afraid amongst the others...

-I'm not afraid.

-Then you've forgotten.

-What?

-You were going to reform Bedlam.

Cleanliness, soft beds for the delight of the patients, good treatment.

Well, you've been here a week, Mistress Bowen, and your friends are these - our nobility.

-The brotherhood of man(!)

-Give me clean straw, I'll make beds for them.

Bandages - I'll bind their wounds. Water and soap...

That I would delight to see. You shall have water and soap, you shall have straw enough.

-I hope you make good use of them.

-I will. Never fear.

I leave you to dream of these Augean labours and may your dreams be sweet and cleanly.

But where is it? You promised a chapter for today.

I appeal to you, Master Long, is it fair?

I support his family, feed his children,

even pay my tuppence to come in and get my script and it is not ready.

We've been busy. We've been helping Mistress Bowen.

Mistress Bowen - who is she?

Oh, a new female warder. Now about a next chapter...

Not a warder, Master Gray.

An inmate like ourselves, who does all she can to help her fellow sufferers.

-What can she do?

-Look, I'll show you.

What can she do, you ask? She can feed those who haven't wit enough to feed themselves,

she can wash the helpless, cheer the despondent, she can be...

-She IS an angel in this darkness.

-Very interesting.

But this book you have - those drawings!

Oh, the pictures - you don't know half their wonder, Master Gray.

If I could only get a light behind these pages,

I could throw them large as life upon the wall.

Aye, that's not a bad notion! One could charge admission.

You could even tell the story Todd's writing that way.

But you forget. It's because of these pictures that I'm here.

That and because I'm the best lawyer in England!

-I, the most skilled of them all.

-Ahem... Yes, of course.

And you, Oliver, you'd best finish that chapter by tomorrow

or I'll withdraw my support from your family. Understand?

Dan, did you chance to see a trowel?

A trowel?

I'll build you a wall - a wall that high.

Master Long, have you seen a trowel?

I beg your pardon?

A trowel - a mason's instrument.

I mislaid it some days ago. I'd like it back.

Oh, yes, yes - a trowel.

I'm not mad, Master Long. I had a trowel.

Oh, certainly, Mistress Bowen. We'll help you find it.

You think I'm mad.

Sometimes, I think I've gone mad myself,

scrubbing and making beds and all for people who don't even know I'm trying to help them.

They know. DOOR OPENS

Good morning, Mistress Bowen. What a happy place this has become. Everything is so much cleaner.

The idiots even have their faces washed.

Such a little time and this wonderful change in Bedlam!

What wonders will you not accomplish in a lifetime?

-Madame, you are to be congratulated.

-What do you want?

I want only to reward you. Didn't you ask for a separate sleeping apartment?

I'd like to sleep in peace. The main room is noisy at night.

And I have a room for you, a pretty chamber.

If you will come with me.

Unfortunately, you will have to share this comfortable apartment with one other.

-But I'm sure you won't mind that.

-Better one than a hundred.

This is your new chamber, my dear lady.

HAMMERING CONTINUES

Won't you enter?

You've not driven me mad yet, Sims. I would not go in there.

I wanted so much to please you.

Wait. This was to show you that all those mawkish theories you've learned from the Quaker are lies.

Men are not brothers! Men are not born good and kind!

-Even the mindless ones are savage and must be ruled with force.

-I know your thoughts on the matter.

-They do not interest me.

-With the others, yes,

you can prove the little value of gentleness.

But look at this man! Look at him and tell me that kind words and tender deeds can rule him!

-Look!

-I am looking! It proves nothing.

You don't dare enter the cage - that proves much.

-That proves the falseness of all that you believe.

-It does not.

Then enter the cage, gentle him with a word,

conquer him with kindness, or admit that your Quaker lies.

You would enter?

My friend, you do not wish to hurt me, nor I you.

I...

-Perhaps you would like to talk. I will listen to you.

-I...

I know - you're trying to remember.

Some day you will.

-HE STUTTERS

-You will remember.

-I...

-You will remember.

-Some day, you will remember.

-I... Oh... I...

..and the bailiff came and she went with him to Bedlam.

Apparently, Sims fears an investigation.

Men have rid themselves of unwanted wives by that sweet expedient,

but it takes Sims to forestall criticism with imprisonment.

I will not believe such ill, even of him.

But she is there. I have spoken with her. She's as sane as thee or me.

Mistress Nell with that bright, quick mind of hers -

saner than either a politician or a Quaker.

This is still England, Hannay, and we have laws here - laws of right and justice.

I shall see that Sims feels their full weight.

We'll have Nell out of Bedlam in a twinkle, never fear.

"Let Hull, house of Hull rejoice with Subis.

-"A bird called the Sprite breaks the eagle's eggs..."

-That's not right!

"..rejoice with fig wine - palmi pimarium vinum."

-That's not so - palma pinum is the word.

-That's not right!

HE CONTINUES READING

..praise the name of the Lord, September 1762.

That's not the word of truth! The word of truth is peace.

-Wallace, Betty! Stop!

-We were fighting over truth!

-Wiser people than you have fought about it, Betty.

-DOOR OPENS

Oh, Mistress Bowen...

A word with you. I have good news.

-You are to have a new hearing before the commission.

-When?!

-When it pleases the Commission.

It will please them to hold your hearing tomorrow afternoon. I'm delighted for your sake.

Indeed, I am so pleased, I want to do everything possible to make sure your hearing is a success.

-That you will be released.

-Thank you.

In fact, I have ordered my most beneficent remedy for you.

-A remedy, Master Sims?

-Have they not told you?!

It is my own invention - a cure.

A specific for the lax and wandering mind. Look at him.

When he came here, he had but one concern - to remember something he had forgotten.

I tried to help him with my remedy, but...

-Perhaps I was not drastic enough.

-I need no cure!

-Just to be sure, Mistress Bowen.

-No!

I've given you an invitation. Now I speak as your physician.

-Come with me.

-I'll take my chances with the Commissioners. I need no cure!

-As the Apothecary General of Bedlam, I order you.

-No!

If you insist upon it, I must force you.

-Force me? Here? Look around you.

-Do you think your friends will help?

-I have helped them.

You expect them to band together and overwhelm me?

If they could reason so, they wouldn't be here.

I warn you, Sims. They know me.

-They know I've helped them, been kind...

-So they love you and will aid you!

Again that Quaker nonsense!

-Let go of me!

-Hold him!

-Warders! Help! Warders!

Shout away, Master Sims. Your men are used to Bedlam and its noises!

They've heard too many cries to pay attention to one.

As for me, I'll just borrow your keys, Master Sims.

Not that way. There's a warder in the hall and another at the front door.

You heard him threaten me with the treatment. I can't stay here.

-There is a little window that is left unbarred.

-I know that window!

You must be mad if you think I'll climb through that as Colby did and others before him!

I'm not mad, Mistress Bowen, I'm not like the others.

I've been placed here by my family to keep me from drink, so that I may write and support them.

I know that window is dangerous, designed for a death trap,

-but those who tried before were men of small strength.

-I'm no Hercules!

Tom could lift you through that window.

You have more reason than the rest, I expect more of you!

You know what I can do, don't you?

Then go to the door. Call the warders for me.

-Do as I say!

-But the rest - what will they do to me?!

Don't be afraid of their vengeance! They can't think far enough ahead!

They are lunatics. They have been tried and found incompetent by fair trial.

Trial? Trial! "Quo qarranto corpus delicti cum grano salis."

Ah yes, I'd forgotten! You were a lawyer.

A lawyer, sir? I am a Judge.

I am a judge! I, the most skilled of them all!

And you shall be judged!

Judged, I say. Bailiffs, hold that man!

Go through that door.

-Try him! Try him!

-A fair trial for Master Sims!

Mistress Bowen, speak to them! Please speak to them! I beseech you.

Give Master Sims a fair trial.

(Tom, you must get up on the roof.

(You are to go first, then you must pull me up.

(Up! You understand?)

(Tom!)

Tom!

Tom... Tom!

Tom!

Tom! Tom!

Tom...

Tom!

PEOPLE CHATTER, THEY GRADUALLY QUIETEN

I am Solomon the Wise!

Split him in two! Split him in two!

And so, we have brought this man before you to answer for those crimes!

These crimes, which I shall number for you - neglect...

-PEOPLE CHEER

-..cruelty, whippings,

-beatings, dirty straw to lie upon...

-CHEERING

..chains, starvation, stealing our food!

For all these crimes, milord and gentlemen of the jury, I ask justice.

CROWD: Kill him!

I beg you! Let me speak! Let me speak!

Let me speak! My friends, I beg of you!

Let me speak! Let me speak!

-William...

-Hush! This is God's house.

-I broke free from Bedlam.

-Thee should not have run from there.

-Thee were to have a new hearing tomorrow.

-If I'd lived until then.

He had some treatment he was to give me -

a treatment that made even the maddest of them shudder to hear! I ran, and they have him now.

-Who has him?

-The loonies! They have seized him and are trying him in mockery!

-They will kill him. It is what he deserves.

-Ssh!

-Thee shouldn't speak that way of any man.

-They will kill him!

Then thee must go to him. Thee must speak to the poor afflicted ones and save him.

-Save him?!

-Can one know what is in his mind?

Can one know what sickness lies in it?

As thee were kind to those in Bedlam, so thee must be kind

-to those whose sickness forces them to hurt their fellow man.

-But Sims?!

Has not Sims a madness that thee can pity?

Come. We'll get Wilkes. He will help us.

-But why, Sims? Why?

-I did not want to hurt you.

-I did not want to put chains on you, to steal from you, to starve you!

-But you did. And now it is our turn.

You will not dare harm me.

They'll load you with chains, scourge you with the cat.

Then you shall really know what cruelty can be. I warn you.

Your vengeance isn't our present concern. What you've done concerns us - why you did it.

I've told you - because I had to!

Even as you do things because you have to do them. Even as you drink!

But why? Why?!

I was frightened.

Did you beat us out of fright? Did you starve us out of fear?

Split him in two.

Is that why you still threaten us if harm comes to you?

-The rods, chains! I warn you!

-You spoke of your fear...

-Fear of what? Speak quickly!

-Of the great world.

The great world of this age that gave me my place.

The comforts and the authority. What little I have of riches.

What that world thinks I must think! What they do, I must do!

-But you know better! You're a scholar! A man of letters!

-What I know means nothing!

I've had to fawn and toady and make a mock of myself till all I could hear was the world laughing at me!

But once I had what I wanted.

-This, my place here.

-You were afraid to lose it!

I could not!

I had to please those to whose favour I owed everything!

I was afraid.

-You had to strike us?

-Yes, yes! Can't you understand?

-I understand.

-And our punishment?

-Let me go and there will be no punishment.

He is sane. There is a fear within him.

A fear that strikes out, that claws and tears at the world like a singed cat. He is sane.

-He will not punish us. He IS sane.

-This man is sane.

-Split him in two.

No, wait! Wait, I say!

This man has been judged sane! He has no place here!

He must leave! You cannot harm him! No!

It is the order of the court that he is sane and that he shall be free!

Bailiffs, release the prisoner!

They will punish us for this! All of us!

The Apothecary General is dead. We must hide him somewhere!

We must hide him, so that they will never know.

And when we got here, Master Wilkes, he'd gone.

Long said he just left, disappeared.

Yes, that is all I can get out of Long, but I know they must have killed him.

It's so preposterous, Master Wilkes!

A man like Sims doesn't just disappear.

..and that's precisely why he disappeared.

They tried him, found him guilty of sanity, then let him go.

Can you imagine what was in his mind?

The mind of this man, who had sworn by all that was holy to aid and protect these people.

-Can you imagine his feeling of guilt? I think that is what drove him to run away.

-No!

They killed him. Killed him and hid his body somewhere!

-You can't prove that without finding his body.

-We'll find it and punish them.

Yes, I know - the chains, the beatings.

I tell you it's no good. What you need here is a better man to fill the post that Sims has fled from.

And after him a better man and so on until things here are as they should be -

all kindness and care for these poor sick people.

You're not going to tell them.

You must know what it'll mean to those people in there.

Is it not worth a little silence to save them suffering?

-I must tell the truth.

-But no-one has asked you.

I have heard there was much rejoicing in Heaven

for the lost lamb that returned to the fold.

-Silence can win you a lost lamb, Master Hannay.

-That's a fundamentalist theory.

I do not care what it is!

I'm only asking you not to add to the burden of those poor people.

-You, who professed to love them!

-Do thee think that I would tell?

These people are not guilty under the law, not answerable.

Why should I add to their burden?

I should never have thought that of thee.

I should've known thy hand would not add to the weight they must bear.

Thee has too much heart for that.

Are we lovers, that you "thee" and "thou" me?

Subtitles by BBC Broadcast 2005

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