The convolvulus: a comedy in three acts — Story, Setting & Ideas

The Art of the Epigram

Norton's dialogue is built on compact, paradoxical statements that reveal character through wit rather than exposition. Jack tells Dill, 'Never admit that you have a will. Where there's a will there's a conscience, you know. One must get over such things.' The line does more than amuse: it establishes Jack's cynical worldview and his view of servants as moral inferiors. Jane matches this style: 'One-half of strength is weakness' and 'the other half? That is weakness.' Such exchanges create a rhythm of one-upmanship, where characters score points off each other while advancing the plot. The butler Dill, however, often has the last word. When Jack claims Dill is the 'living picture' of his father, Dill replies, 'Oh, I just adore pictures, sir.' This deflection turns an insult into a compliment, showcasing Norton's skill at using the servant's apparent deference as a weapon.

Identity and the Absurd Family

The play's central confusion involves mistaken identities among fathers, brothers, and sons. Jack tells Jane that his father 'really came here looking for a brother,' and Dill is mistaken for that brother. Later, Kathryn learns that Dill is her father, not her adopted mother's husband. Norton treats these revelations with comic detachment: Kathryn says she is 'already half resigned to my parent,' and Jack consoles her by saying 'all fathers are terrible.' The convoluted family tree—Jane is not Kathryn's biological mother, Gloria is—is never explained in the excerpts, leaving the reader to infer that Norton uses genealogy as a source of absurdity rather than sentiment. The play's title, a flower that twists and climbs, may mirror these tangled relationships, but the text does not confirm this.

Setting as Social Commentary

The action moves between Jane's house on Gramercy Park and Peter Hargrave's apartment, locations that signal the characters' social standing. Gramercy Park was an exclusive address in 1914, and the stage directions specify an alcove 'which looks out on the Park.' This detail roots the comedy in a specific New York milieu, where appearances matter. Dill's obsession with serving tea at the correct London hour satirizes American social climbing, while Jack's green kid gloves and Alpine hat mark him as a dandy. Norton uses these visual cues to underscore the characters' preoccupation with status. The butler's dignity—he exits 'haughtily' when questioned—contrasts with his employers' casual rudeness, hinting at class tensions beneath the banter.

The Unseen Flower

The convolvulus itself appears only in dialogue. Peter recalls 'the Convolvulus, that little white flower that we picked and loved,' and calls Jane 'my Convolvulus.' Jane responds with a quip about birds and the Bible, deflecting the sentiment. The flower never appears on stage, making it a purely verbal symbol—a shared memory that may or may not be genuine. Peter's declaration 'You have always been my Convolvulus, Jane' is undercut by Jane's reply: 'in love one never doubts, and the loved one never tells the truth.' This skepticism pervades the play; characters constantly question each other's sincerity. The excerpts do not reveal whether the flower represents a lost idyll or a convenient fiction, leaving the reader to wonder how much of the characters' past is invention.

Readers approaching The Convolvulus should attend to the rhythm of its dialogue, where every line is a potential trap or revelation. Norton's characters rarely say what they mean, and the plot's twists depend on misdirection. The play rewards close attention to who knows what and when, and to the small gestures—a will crumpled in a pocket, a chair placed between two people—that speak louder than words. Because the excerpts are incomplete, the full resolution of the identity puzzles remains uncertain, but the comedy's strength lies in its moments, not its conclusions.

That afternoon, the rain kept time with Dill’s deadpan wit in The Convolvulus, and I found myself dwelling on how easily we mistake the obvious for the obscure. Afterwards, drifting through shelves, I paused on a worn spine—Egmont — Themes and Context—and its quiet insistence on fate versus freedom felt like the same flower, blooming elsewhere.