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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2914-h.zip b/2914-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..913f4c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/2914-h.zip diff --git a/2914-h/2914-h.htm b/2914-h/2914-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..94aff68 --- /dev/null +++ b/2914-h/2914-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4523 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Third Series Plays, THE MOB by John Galsworthy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Project Gutenberg's The Mob (Third Series Plays), by John Galsworthy + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with + almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or + re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included + with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + Title: The Mob (Third Series Plays) + + Author: John Galsworthy + + Release Date: September 26, 2004 [EBook #2914] + Last Updated: October 28, 2012 + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: ASCII + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOB (THIRD SERIES PLAYS) *** + + Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY PLAYS—SERIES 3</i> + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE MOB + </h1> + <h3> + A Play in Four Acts + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT. II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> AFTERMATH </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> PERSONS OF THE PLAY + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + STEPHEN MORE, Member of Parliament + KATHERINE, his wife + OLIVE, their little daughter + THE DEAN OF STOUR, Katherine's uncle + GENERAL SIR JOHN JULIAN, her father + CAPTAIN HUBERT JULIAN, her brother + HELEN, his wife + EDWARD MENDIP, editor of "The Parthenon" + ALAN STEEL, More's secretary + JAMES HOME, architect | + CHARLES SHELDER, Solicitor |A deputation of More's + MARK WACE, bookseller |constituents + WILLIAM BANNING, manufacturer | + NURSE WREFORD + WREFORD (her son), Hubert's orderly + HIS SWEETHEART + THE FOOTMAN HENRY + A DOORKEEPER + SOME BLACK-COATED GENTLEMEN + A STUDENT + A GIRL + + + + + A MOB + + ACT I. The dining-room of More's town house, evening. + + ACT II. The same, morning. + + ACT III. SCENE I. An alley at the back of a suburban theatre. + SCENE II. Katherine's bedroom. + + ACT IV. The dining-room of More's house, late afternoon. + + AFTERMATH. The corner of a square, at dawn. + + + + + Between ACTS I and II some days elapse. + Between ACTS II and III three months. + Between ACT III SCENE I and ACT III SCENE II no time. + Between ACTS III and IV a few hours. + Between ACTS IV and AFTERMATH an indefinite period. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + It is half-past nine of a July evening. In a dining-room lighted by + sconces, and apparelled in wall-paper, carpet, and curtains of deep + vivid blue, the large French windows between two columns are open on to + a wide terrace, beyond which are seen trees in darkness, and distant + shapes of lighted houses. On one side is a bay window, over which + curtains are partly drawn. Opposite to this window is a door leading + into the hall. At an oval rosewood table, set with silver, flowers, + fruit, and wine, six people are seated after dinner. Back to the bay + window is STEPHEN MORE, the host, a man of forty, with a fine-cut face, + a rather charming smile, and the eyes of an idealist; to his right, SIR, + JOHN JULIAN, an old soldier, with thin brown features, and grey + moustaches; to SIR JOHN's right, his brother, the DEAN OF STOUR, a tall, + dark, ascetic-looking Churchman: to his right KATHERINE is leaning + forward, her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands, staring + across at her husband; to her right sits EDWARD MENDIP, a pale man of + forty-five, very bald, with a fine forehead, and on his clear-cut lips a + smile that shows his teeth; between him and MORE is HELEN JULIAN, a + pretty dark-haired young woman, absorbed in thoughts of her own. The + voices are tuned to the pitch of heated discussion, as the curtain + rises. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE DEAN. I disagree with you, Stephen; absolutely, entirely disagree. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I can't help it. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Remember a certain war, Stephen! Were your chivalrous notions any + good, then? And, what was winked at in an obscure young Member is anathema + for an Under Secretary of State. You can't afford—— + </p> + <p> + MORE. To follow my conscience? That's new, Mendip. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Idealism can be out of place, my friend. + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. The Government is dealing here with a wild lawless race, on whom + I must say I think sentiment is rather wasted. + </p> + <p> + MORE. God made them, Dean. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. I have my doubts. + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. They have proved themselves faithless. We have the right to + chastise. + </p> + <p> + MORE. If I hit a little man in the eye, and he hits me back, have I the + right to chastise him? + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. We didn't begin this business. + </p> + <p> + MORE. What! With our missionaries and our trading? + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. It is news indeed that the work of civilization may be + justifiably met by murder. Have you forgotten Glaive and Morlinson? + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Yes. And that poor fellow Groome and his wife? + </p> + <p> + MORE. They went into a wild country, against the feeling of the tribes, on + their own business. What has the nation to do with the mishaps of + gamblers? + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. We can't stand by and see our own flesh and blood ill-treated! + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. Does our rule bring blessing—or does it not, Stephen? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Sometimes; but with all my soul I deny the fantastic superstition + that our rule can benefit a people like this, a nation of one race, as + different from ourselves as dark from light—in colour, religion, + every mortal thing. We can only pervert their natural instincts. + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. That to me is an unintelligible point of view. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Go into that philosophy of yours a little deeper, Stephen— + it spells stagnation. There are no fixed stars on this earth. Nations + can't let each other alone. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Big ones could let little ones alone. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. If they could there'd be no big ones. My dear fellow, we know + little nations are your hobby, but surely office should have toned you + down. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. I've served my country fifty years, and I say she is not in the + wrong. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I hope to serve her fifty, Sir John, and I say she is. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. There are moments when such things can't be said, More. + </p> + <p> + MORE. They'll be said by me to-night, Mendip. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. In the House? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE nods.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Stephen! + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Mrs. More, you mustn't let him. It's madness. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Rising] You can tell people that to-morrow, Mendip. Give it a + leader in 'The Parthenon'. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Political lunacy! No man in your position has a right to fly out + like this at the eleventh hour. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I've made no secret of my feelings all along. I'm against this war, + and against the annexation we all know it will lead to. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. My dear fellow! Don't be so Quixotic! We shall have war within the + next twenty-four hours, and nothing you can do will stop it. + </p> + <p> + HELEN. Oh! No! + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. I'm afraid so, Mrs. Hubert. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Not a doubt of it, Helen. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. [TO MORE] And you mean to charge the windmill? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE nods.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MENDIP. 'C'est magnifique'! + </p> + <p> + MORE. I'm not out for advertisement. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. You will get it! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Must speak the truth sometimes, even at that risk. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. It is not the truth. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. The greater the truth the greater the libel, and the greater the + resentment of the person libelled. + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. [Trying to bring matters to a blander level] My dear Stephen, + even if you were right—which I deny—about the initial merits, + there surely comes a point where the individual conscience must resign it + self to the country's feeling. This has become a question of national + honour. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Well said, James! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Nations are bad judges of their honour, Dean. + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. I shall not follow you there. + </p> + <p> + MORE. No. It's an awkward word. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Stopping THE DEAN] Uncle James! Please! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE looks at her intently.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. So you're going to put yourself at the head of the cranks, ruin + your career, and make me ashamed that you're my son-in-law? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Is a man only to hold beliefs when they're popular? You've stood up + to be shot at often enough, Sir John. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Never by my country! Your speech will be in all the foreign + press-trust 'em for seizing on anything against us. A show-up before other + countries——! + </p> + <p> + MORE. You admit the show-up? + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. I do not, sir. + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. The position has become impossible. The state of things out + there must be put an end to once for all! Come, Katherine, back us up! + </p> + <p> + MORE. My country, right or wrong! Guilty—still my country! + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. That begs the question. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [KATHERINE rises. THE DEAN, too, stands up.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE DEAN. [In a low voice] 'Quem Deus volt perdere'——! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Unpatriotic! + </p> + <p> + MORE. I'll have no truck with tyranny. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Father doesn't admit tyranny. Nor do any of us, Stephen. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT JULIAN, a tall Soldier-like man, has come in. + </p> + <p> + HELEN. Hubert! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She gets up and goes to him, and they talk together near the door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. What in God's name is your idea? We've forborne long enough, in + all conscience. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Sir John, we great Powers have got to change our ways in dealing + with weaker nations. The very dogs can give us lessons— watch a big + dog with a little one. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. No, no, these things are not so simple as all that. + </p> + <p> + MORE. There's no reason in the world, Mendip, why the rules of chivalry + should not apply to nations at least as well as to—-dogs. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. My dear friend, are you to become that hapless kind of outcast, a + champion of lost causes? + </p> + <p> + MORE. This cause is not lost. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Right or wrong, as lost as ever was cause in all this world. There + was never a time when the word "patriotism" stirred mob sentiment as it + does now. 'Ware "Mob," Stephen—-'ware "Mob"! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Because general sentiment's against me, I—a public man—am + to deny my faith? The point is not whether I'm right or wrong, Mendip, but + whether I'm to sneak out of my conviction because it's unpopular. + </p> + <p> + THE DEAN. I'm afraid I must go. [To KATHERINE] Good-night, my dear! Ah! + Hubert! [He greets HUBERT] Mr. Mendip, I go your way. Can I drop you? + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Thank you. Good-night, Mrs. More. Stop him! It's perdition. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He and THE DEAN go out. KATHERINE puts her arm in HELEN'S, and takes + her out of the room. HUBERT remains standing by the door] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. I knew your views were extreme in many ways, Stephen, but I + never thought the husband of my daughter would be a Peace-at-any-price + man! + </p> + <p> + MORE. I am not! But I prefer to fight some one my own size. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Well! I can only hope to God you'll come to your senses before + you commit the folly of this speech. I must get back to the War Office. + Good-night, Hubert. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Good-night, Father. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SIR JOHN goes out. HUBERT stands motionless, dejected.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HUBERT. We've got our orders. + </p> + <p> + MORE. What? When d'you sail? + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. At once. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Poor Helen! + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Not married a year; pretty bad luck! [MORE touches his arm in + sympathy] Well! We've got to put feelings in our pockets. Look here, + Stephen—don't make that speech! Think of Katherine—with the + Dad at the War Office, and me going out, and Ralph and old George out + there already! You can't trust your tongue when you're hot about a thing. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I must speak, Hubert. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. No, no! Bottle yourself up for to-night. The next few hours 'll + see it begin. [MORE turns from him] If you don't care whether you mess up + your own career—don't tear Katherine in two! + </p> + <p> + MORE. You're not shirking your duty because of your wife. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Well! You're riding for a fall, and a godless mucker it'll be. + This'll be no picnic. We shall get some nasty knocks out there. Wait and + see the feeling here when we've had a force or two cut up in those + mountains. It's awful country. Those fellows have got modern arms, and are + jolly good fighters. Do drop it, Stephen! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Must risk something, sometimes, Hubert—even in my profession! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As he speaks, KATHERINE comes in.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HUBERT. But it's hopeless, my dear chap—absolutely. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE turns to the window, HUBERT to his sister—then with a + gesture towards MORE, as though to leave the matter to her, he goes + out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Stephen! Are you really going to speak? [He nods] I ask you + not. + </p> + <p> + MORE. You know my feeling. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. But it's our own country. We can't stand apart from it. You + won't stop anything—only make people hate you. I can't bear that. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I tell you, Kit, some one must raise a voice. Two or three reverses—certain + to come—and the whole country will go wild. And one more little + nation will cease to live. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. If you believe in your country, you must believe that the more + land and power she has, the better for the world. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Is that your faith? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I respect it; I even understand it; but—I can't hold it. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. But, Stephen, your speech will be a rallying cry to all the + cranks, and every one who has a spite against the country. They'll make + you their figurehead. [MORE smiles] They will. Your chance of the Cabinet + will go—you may even have to resign your seat. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Dogs will bark. These things soon blow over. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. No, no! If you once begin a thing, you always go on; and what + earthly good? + </p> + <p> + MORE. History won't say: "And this they did without a single protest from + their public men!" + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. There are plenty who—— + </p> + <p> + MORE. Poets? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Do you remember that day on our honeymoon, going up Ben Lawers? + You were lying on your face in the heather; you said it was like kissing a + loved woman. There was a lark singing—you said that was the voice of + one's worship. The hills were very blue; that's why we had blue here, + because it was the best dress of our country. You do love her. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Love her! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. You'd have done this for me—then. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Would you have asked me—then, Kit? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. The country's our country! Oh! Stephen, think what it'll + be like for me—with Hubert and the other boys out there. And poor + Helen, and Father! I beg you not to make this speech. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Kit! This isn't fair. Do you want me to feel myself a cur? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Breathless] I—I—almost feel you'll be a cur to do + it [She looks at him, frightened by her own words. Then, as the footman + HENRY has come in to clear the table—very low] I ask you not! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He does not answer, and she goes out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE [To the servant] Later, please, Henry, later! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The servant retires. MORE still stands looking down at the dining-table; + then putting his hand to his throat, as if to free it from the grip of + his collar, he pours out a glass of water, and drinks it of. In the + street, outside the bay window, two street musicians, a harp and a + violin, have taken up their stand, and after some twangs and scrapes, + break into music. MORE goes towards the sound, and draws aside one + curtain. After a moment, he returns to the table, and takes up the notes + of the speech. He is in an agony of indecision. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. A cur! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He seems about to tear his notes across. Then, changing his mind, turns + them over and over, muttering. His voice gradually grows louder, till he + is declaiming to the empty room the peroration of his speech. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE.... We have arrogated to our land the title Champion of Freedom, Foe + of Oppression. Is that indeed a bygone glory? Is it not worth some + sacrifice of our pettier dignity, to avoid laying another stone upon its + grave; to avoid placing before the searchlight eyes of History the + spectacle of yet one more piece of national cynicism? We are about to + force our will and our dominion on a race that has always been free, that + loves its country, and its independence, as much as ever we love ours. I + cannot sit silent to-night and see this begin. As we are tender of our own + land, so we should be of the lands of others. I love my country. It is + because I love my country that I raise my voice. Warlike in spirit these + people may be—but they have no chance against ourselves. And war on + such, however agreeable to the blind moment, is odious to the future. The + great heart of mankind ever beats in sense and sympathy with the weaker. + It is against this great heart of mankind that we are going. In the name + of Justice and Civilization we pursue this policy; but by Justice we shall + hereafter be judged, and by Civilization—condemned. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + While he is speaking, a little figure has flown along the terrace + outside, in the direction of the music, but has stopped at the sound of + his voice, and stands in the open window, listening—a dark-haired, + dark-eyed child, in a blue dressing-gown caught up in her hand. The + street musicians, having reached the end of a tune, are silent. In the + intensity of MORES feeling, a wine-glass, gripped too strongly, breaks + and falls in pieces onto a finger-bowl. The child starts forward into + the room. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Olive! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Who were you speaking to, Daddy? + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Staring at her] The wind, sweetheart! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. There isn't any! + </p> + <p> + MORE. What blew you down, then? + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Mysteriously] The music. Did the wind break the wine-glass, or did + it come in two in your hand? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Now my sprite! Upstairs again, before Nurse catches you. Fly! Fly! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Oh! no, Daddy! [With confidential fervour] It feels like things + to-night! + </p> + <p> + MORE. You're right there! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Pulling him down to her, and whispering] I must get back again in + secret. H'sh! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She suddenly runs and wraps herself into one of the curtains of the bay + window. A young man enters, with a note in his hand. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Hello, Steel! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The street musicians have again begun to play.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. From Sir John—by special messenger from the War Office. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Reading the note] "The ball is opened." + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He stands brooding over the note, and STEEL looks at him anxiously. He + is a dark, sallow, thin-faced young man, with the eyes of one who can + attach himself to people, and suffer with them. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. I'm glad it's begun, sir. It would have been an awful pity to have + made that speech. + </p> + <p> + MORE. You too, Steel! + </p> + <p> + STEEL. I mean, if it's actually started—— + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Tearing tie note across] Yes. Keep that to yourself. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Do you want me any more? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MORE takes from his breast pocket some papers, and pitches them down on + the bureau. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Answer these. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. [Going to the bureau] Fetherby was simply sickening. [He begins to + write. Struggle has begun again in MORE] Not the faintest recognition that + there are two sides to it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MORE gives him a quick look, goes quietly to the dining-table and picks + up his sheaf of notes. Hiding them with his sleeve, he goes back to the + window, where he again stands hesitating. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. Chief gem: [Imitating] "We must show Impudence at last that Dignity + is not asleep!" + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Moving out on to the terrace] Nice quiet night! + </p> + <p> + STEEL. This to the Cottage Hospital—shall I say you will preside? + </p> + <p> + MORE. No. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + STEEL writes; then looking up and seeing that MORE is no longer there, + he goes to the window, looks to right and left, returns to the bureau, + and is about to sit down again when a thought seems to strike him with + consternation. He goes again to the window. Then snatching up his hat, + he passes hurriedly out along the terrace. As he vanishes, KATHERINE + comes in from the hall. After looking out on to the terrace she goes to + the bay window; stands there listening; then comes restlessly back into + the room. OLIVE, creeping quietly from behind the curtain, clasps her + round the waist. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. O my darling! How you startled me! What are you doing down + here, you wicked little sinner! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. I explained all that to Daddy. We needn't go into it again, need + we? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Where is Daddy? + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Gone. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. When? + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Oh! only just, and Mr. Steel went after him like a rabbit. [The + music stops] They haven't been paid, you know. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Now, go up at once. I can't think how you got down here. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. I can. [Wheedling] If you pay them, Mummy, they're sure to play + another. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Well, give them that! One more only. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She gives OLIVE a coin, who runs with it to the bay window, opens the + aide casement, and calls to the musicians. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Catch, please! And would you play just one more? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She returns from the window, and seeing her mother lost in thought, rubs + herself against her. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Have you got an ache? + </p> + <p> + KATHARINE. Right through me, darling! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Oh! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The musicians strike up a dance.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Oh! Mummy! I must just dance! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She kicks off her lisle blue shoes, and begins dancing. While she is + capering HUBERT comes in from the hall. He stands watching his little + niece for a minute, and KATHERINE looks at him. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HUBERT. Stephen gone! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes—stop, Olive! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Are you good at my sort of dancing, Uncle? + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Yes, chick—awfully! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Now, Olive! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The musicians have suddenly broken off in the middle of a bar. From the + street comes the noise of distant shouting. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Listen, Uncle! Isn't it a particular noise? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + HUBERT and KATHERINE listen with all their might, and OLIVE stares at + their faces. HUBERT goes to the window. The sound comes nearer. The + shouted words are faintly heard: "Pyper—— war——our + force crosses frontier—sharp fightin'——pyper." + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Breathless] Yes! It is. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The street cry is heard again in two distant voices coming from + different directions: "War—pyper—sharp fightin' on the + frontier—pyper." + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Shut out those ghouls! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + As HUBERT closes the window, NURSE WREFORD comes in from the hall. She + is an elderly woman endowed with a motherly grimness. She fixes OLIVE + with her eye, then suddenly becomes conscious of the street cry. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + NURSE. Oh! don't say it's begun. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HUBERT comes from the window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + NURSE. Is the regiment to go, Mr. Hubert? + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Yes, Nanny. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. Oh, dear! My boy! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Signing to where OLIVE stands with wide eyes] Nurse! + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. I'll look after him, Nurse. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. And him keepin' company. And you not married a year. Ah! Mr. + Hubert, now do 'ee take care; you and him's both so rash. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Not I, Nurse! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + NURSE looks long into his face, then lifts her finger, and beckons + OLIVE. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. [Perceiving new sensations before her, goes quietly] Good-night, + Uncle! Nanny, d'you know why I was obliged to come down? [In a fervent + whisper] It's a secret! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As she passes with NURSE out into the hall, her voice is heard saying, + "Do tell me all about the war."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HUBERT. [Smothering emotion under a blunt manner] We sail on Friday, Kit. + Be good to Helen, old girl. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Oh! I wish——! Why—can't—women—fight? + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Yes, it's bad for you, with Stephen taking it like this. But he'll + come round now it's once begun. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE shakes her head, then goes suddenly up to him, and throws her + arms round his neck. It is as if all the feeling pent up in her were + finding vent in this hug. The door from the hall is opened, and SIR + JOHN'S voice is heard outside: "All right, I'll find her." + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Father! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SIR JOHN comes in.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Stephen get my note? I sent it over the moment I got to the War + Office. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I expect so. [Seeing the torn note on the table] Yes. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. They're shouting the news now. Thank God, I stopped that crazy + speech of his in time. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Have you stopped it? + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. What! He wouldn't be such a sublime donkey? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I think that is just what he might be. [Going to the window] We + shall know soon. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SIR JOHN, after staring at her, goes up to HUBERT.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Keep a good heart, my boy. The country's first. [They exchange a + hand-squeeze.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE backs away from the window. STEEL has appeared there from the + terrace, breathless from running. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. Mr. More back? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. No. Has he spoken? + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Yes. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Against? + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Yes. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. What? After! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + SIR, JOHN stands rigid, then turns and marches straight out into the + hall. At a sign from KATHERINE, HUBERT follows him. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Steel? + </p> + <p> + STEEL. [Still breathless and agitated] We were here—he slipped away + from me somehow. He must have gone straight down to the House. I ran over, + but when I got in under the Gallery he was speaking already. They expected + something—I never heard it so still there. He gripped them from the + first word—deadly—every syllable. It got some of those + fellows. But all the time, under the silence you could feel a—sort + of—of—current going round. And then Sherratt—I think it + was—began it, and you saw the anger rising in them; but he kept them + down—his quietness! The feeling! I've never seen anything like it + there. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a whisper all over the House that fighting had begun. And + the whole thing broke out—regular riot—as if they could have + killed him. Some one tried to drag him down by the coat-tails, but he + shook him off, and went on. Then he stopped dead and walked out, and the + noise dropped like a stone. The whole thing didn't last five minutes. It + was fine, Mrs. More; like—like lava; he was the only cool person + there. I wouldn't have missed it for anything—it was grand! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MORE has appeared on the terrace, behind STEEL. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Good-night, Mr. Steel. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. [Startled] Oh!—Good-night! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He goes out into the hall. KATHERINE picks up OLIVE'S shoes, and stands + clasping them to her breast. MORE comes in. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. You've cleared your conscience, then! I didn't think you'd hurt + me so. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MORE does not answer, still living in the scene he has gone through, and + KATHERINE goes a little nearer to him. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. I'm with the country, heart and soul, Stephen. I warn you. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + While they stand in silence, facing each other, the footman, HENRY, + enters from the hall. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FOOTMAN. These notes, sir, from the House of Commons. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Taking them] You can have the room directly. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The FOOTMAN goes out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Open them! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE opens one after the other, and lets them fall on the table. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Well? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. What you might expect. Three of your best friends. It's begun. + </p> + <p> + MORE. 'Ware Mob! [He gives a laugh] I must write to the Chief. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE makes an impulsive movement towards him; then quietly goes to + the bureau, sits down and takes up a pen. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Let me make the rough draft. [She waits] Yes? + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Dictating] + </p> + <p> + "July 15th. + </p> + <p> + "DEAR SIR CHARLES, After my speech to-night, embodying my most unalterable + convictions [KATHERINE turns and looks up at him, but he is staring + straight before him, and with a little movement of despair she goes on + writing] I have no alternative but to place the resignation of my + Under-Secretaryship in your hands. My view, my faith in this matter may be + wrong—but I am surely right to keep the flag of my faith flying. I + imagine I need not enlarge on the reasons——" + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT. II + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + Before noon a few days later. The open windows of the dining-room let in + the sunlight. On the table a number of newspapers are littered. HELEN is + sitting there, staring straight before her. A newspaper boy runs by + outside calling out his wares. At the sound she gets up anti goes out on + to the terrace. HUBERT enters from the hall. He goes at once to the + terrace, and draws HELEN into the room. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HELEN. Is it true—what they're shouting? + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Yes. Worse than we thought. They got our men all crumpled up in + the Pass—guns helpless. Ghastly beginning. + </p> + <p> + HELEN. Oh, Hubert! + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. My dearest girl! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + HELEN puts her face up to his. He kisses her. Then she turns quickly + into the bay window. The door from the hall has been opened, and the + footman, HENRY, comes in, preceding WREFORD and his sweetheart. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HENRY. Just wait here, will you, while I let Mrs. More know. [Catching + sight of HUBERT] Beg pardon, sir! + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. All right, Henry. [Off-hand] Ah! Wreford! [The FOOTMAN withdraws] + So you've brought her round. That's good! My sister'll look after her—don't + you worry! Got everything packed? Three o'clock sharp. + </p> + <p> + WREFORD. [A broad faced soldier, dressed in khaki with a certain look of + dry humour, now dimmed-speaking with a West Country burr] That's right, + zurr; all's ready. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + HELEN has come out of the window, and is quietly looking at WREFORD and + the girl standing there so awkwardly. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HELEN. [Quietly] Take care of him, Wreford. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. We'll take care of each other, won't we, Wreford? + </p> + <p> + HELEN. How long have you been engaged? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. [A pretty, indeterminate young woman] Six months. [She sobs + suddenly.] + </p> + <p> + HELEN. Ah! He'll soon be safe back. + </p> + <p> + WREFORD. I'll owe 'em for this. [In a lacy voice to her] Don't 'ee now! + Don't 'ee! + </p> + <p> + HELEN. No! Don't cry, please! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She stands struggling with her own lips, then goes out on to the + terrace, HUBERT following. WREFORD and his girl remain where they were, + strange and awkward, she muffling her sobs. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WREFORD. Don't 'ee go on like that, Nance; I'll 'ave to take you 'ome. + That's silly, now we've a-come. I might be dead and buried by the fuss + you're makin'. You've a-drove the lady away. See! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She regains control of herself as the door is opened and KATHERINE + appears, accompanied by OLIVE, who regards WREFORD with awe and + curiosity, and by NURSE, whose eyes are red, but whose manner is + composed. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. My brother told me; so glad you've brought her. + </p> + <p> + WREFORD. Ye—as, M'. She feels me goin', a bit. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes, yes! Still, it's for the country, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. That's what Wreford keeps tellin' me. He've got to go—so + it's no use upsettin' 'im. And of course I keep tellin' him I shall be all + right. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. [Whose eyes never leave her son's face] And so you will. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Wreford thought it'd comfort him to know you were interested in + me. 'E's so 'ot-headed I'm sure somethin'll come to 'im. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. We've all got some one going. Are you coming to the docks? We + must send them off in good spirits, you know. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Perhaps he'll get a medal. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Olive! + </p> + <p> + NURSE. You wouldn't like for him to be hanging back, one of them + anti-patriot, stop-the-war ones. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Quickly] Let me see—I have your address. [Holding out + her hand to WREFORD] We'll look after her. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [In a loud whisper] Shall I lend him my toffee? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. If you like, dear. [To WREFORD] Now take care of my brother and + yourself, and we'll take care of her. + </p> + <p> + WREFORD. Ye—as, M'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He then looks rather wretchedly at his girl, as if the interview had not + done so much for him as he had hoped. She drops a little curtsey. + WREFORD salutes. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. [Who has taken from the bureau a packet, places it in his hand] + It's very nourishing! + </p> + <p> + WREFORD. Thank you, miss. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Then, nudging each other, and entangled in their feelings and the + conventions, they pass out, shepherded by NURSE. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Poor things! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. What is an anti-patriot, stop-the-war one, Mummy? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Taking up a newspaper] Just a stupid name, dear—don't + chatter! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. But tell me just one weeny thing! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Well? + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Is Daddy one? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Olive! How much do you know about this war? + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. They won't obey us properly. So we have to beat them, and take away + their country. We shall, shan't we? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. But Daddy doesn't want us to; he doesn't think it fair, + and he's been saying so. People are very angry with him. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Why isn't it fair? I suppose we're littler than them. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. No. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Oh! in history we always are. And we always win. That's why I like + history. Which are you for, Mummy—us or them? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Us. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Then I shall have to be. It's a pity we're not on the same side as + Daddy. [KATHERINE shudders] Will they hurt him for not taking our side? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I expect they will, Olive. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Then we shall have to be extra nice to him. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. If we can. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. I can; I feel like it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + HELEN and HUBERT have returned along the terrace. Seeing KATHERINE and + the child, HELEN passes on, but HUBERT comes in at the French window. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. [Catching sight of him-softly] Is Uncle Hubert going to the front + to-day? [KATHERINE nods] But not grandfather? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. No, dear. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. That's lucky for them, isn't it? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + HUBERT comes in. The presence of the child give him self-control. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HUBERT. Well, old girl, it's good-bye. [To OLIVE] What shall I bring you + back, chick? + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Are there shops at the front? I thought it was dangerous. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Not a bit. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Disillusioned] Oh! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Now, darling, give Uncle a good hug. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Under cover of OLIVE's hug, KATHERINE repairs her courage.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. The Dad and I'll be with you all in spirit. Good-bye, old boy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + They do not dare to kiss, and HUBERT goes out very stiff and straight, + in the doorway passing STEEL, of whom he takes no notice. STEEL + hesitates, and would go away. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Come in, Mr. Steel. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. The deputation from Toulmin ought to be here, Mrs. More. It's + twelve. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Having made a little ball of newspaper-slyly] Mr. Steel, catch! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She throws, and STEEL catches it in silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Go upstairs, won't you, darling? + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Mayn't I read in the window, Mummy? Then I shall see if any + soldiers pass. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. No. You can go out on the terrace a little, and then you must + go up. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [OLIVE goes reluctantly out on to the terrace.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. Awful news this morning of that Pass! And have you seen these? + [Reading from the newspaper] "We will have no truck with the jargon of the + degenerate who vilifies his country at such a moment. The Member for + Toulmin has earned for himself the contempt of all virile patriots." [He + takes up a second journal] "There is a certain type of public man who, + even at his own expense, cannot resist the itch to advertise himself. We + would, at moments of national crisis, muzzle such persons, as we muzzle + dogs that we suspect of incipient rabies...." They're in full cry after + him! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I mind much more all the creatures who are always flinging mud + at the country making him their hero suddenly! You know what's in his + mind? + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Oh! We must get him to give up that idea of lecturing everywhere + against the war, Mrs. More; we simply must. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Listening] The deputation's come. Go and fetch him, Mr. Steel. + He'll be in his room, at the House. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STEEL goes out, and KATHERINE Stands at bay. In a moment he opens the + door again, to usher in the deputation; then retires. The four gentlemen + have entered as if conscious of grave issues. The first and most + picturesque is JAMES HOME, a thin, tall, grey-bearded man, with + plentiful hair, contradictious eyebrows, and the half-shy, half-bold + manners, alternately rude and over polite, of one not accustomed to + Society, yet secretly much taken with himself. He is dressed in rough + tweeds, with a red silk tie slung through a ring, and is closely + followed by MARK WACE, a waxy, round-faced man of middle-age, with sleek + dark hair, traces of whisker, and a smooth way of continually rubbing + his hands together, as if selling something to an esteemed customer. He + is rather stout, wears dark clothes, with a large gold chain. Following + him comes CHARLES SHELDER, a lawyer of fifty, with a bald egg-shaped + head, and gold pince-nez. He has little side whiskers, a leathery, + yellowish skin, a rather kind but watchful and dubious face, and when he + speaks seems to have a plum in his mouth, which arises from the + preponderance of his shaven upper lip. Last of the deputation comes + WILLIAM BANNING, an energetic-looking, square-shouldered, self-made + country-man, between fifty and sixty, with grey moustaches, ruddy face, + and lively brown eyes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. How do you do, Mr. Home? + </p> + <p> + HOME. [Bowing rather extravagantly over her hand, as if to show his + independence of women's influence] Mrs. More! We hardly expected— + This is an honour. + </p> + <p> + WACE. How do you do, Ma'am? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. And you, Mr. Wace? + </p> + <p> + WACE. Thank you, Ma'am, well indeed! + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. How d'you do, Mrs. More? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Very well, thank you, Mr. Shelder. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. [Speaking with a rather broad country accent] This is but a poor + occasion, Ma'am. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Banning. Do sit down, gentlemen. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Seeing that they will not settle down while she is standing, she sits at + the table. They gradually take their seats. Each member of the + deputation in his own way is severely hanging back from any mention of + the subject in hand; and KATHERINE as intent on drawing them to it. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. My husband will be here in two minutes. He's only over at the + House. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. [Who is of higher standing and education than the others] + Charming position—this, Mrs. More! So near the—er—Centre + of— Gravity um? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I read the account of your second meeting at Toulmin. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. It's bad, Mrs. More—bad. There's no disguising it. That + speech was moon-summer madness—Ah! it was! Take a lot of explaining + away. Why did you let him, now? Why did you? Not your views, I'm sure! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks at her, but for answer she only compresses her lips.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. I tell you what hit me—what's hit the whole constituency— + and that's his knowing we were over the frontier, fighting already, when + he made it. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. What difference does it make if he did know? + </p> + <p> + HOME. Hitting below the belt—I should have thought—you'll + pardon me! + </p> + <p> + BANNING. Till war's begun, Mrs. More, you're entitled to say what you + like, no doubt—but after! That's going against your country. Ah! his + speech was strong, you know—his speech was strong. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. He had made up his mind to speak. It was just an accident the + news coming then. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. Well, that's true, I suppose. What we really want is to make sure + he won't break out again. + </p> + <p> + HOME. Very high-minded, his views of course—but, some consideration + for the common herd. You'll pardon me! + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. We've come with the friendliest feelings, Mrs. More—but, + you know, it won't do, this sort of thing! + </p> + <p> + WACE. We shall be able to smooth him down. Oh! surely. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. We'd be best perhaps not to mention about his knowing that + fighting had begun. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As he speaks, MORE enters through the French windows. They all rise.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Good-morning, gentlemen. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He comes down to the table, but does not offer to shake hands.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. Well, Mr. More? You've made a woeful mistake, sir; I tell you to + your face. + </p> + <p> + MORE. As everybody else does, Banning. Sit down again, please. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They gradually resume their seats, and MORE sits in KATHERINE's chair. + She alone remains standing leaning against the corner of the bay window, + watching their faces.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. You've seen the morning's telegrams? I tell you, Mr. More—another + reverse like that, and the flood will sweep you clean away. And I'll not + blame it. It's only flesh and blood. + </p> + <p> + MORE, Allow for the flesh and blood in me, too, please. When I spoke the + other night it was not without a certain feeling here. [He touches his + heart.] + </p> + <p> + BANNING. But your attitude's so sudden—you'd not been going that + length when you were down with us in May. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Do me the justice to remember that even then I was against our + policy. It cost me three weeks' hard struggle to make up my mind to that + speech. One comes slowly to these things, Banning. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. Case of conscience? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Such things have happened, Shelder, even in politics. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. You see, our ideals are naturally low—how different from + yours! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE smiles.] KATHERINE, who has drawn near her husband, moves back + again, as if relieved at this gleam of geniality. WACE rubs his hands. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. There's one thing you forget, sir. We send you to Parliament, + representing us; but you couldn't find six men in the whole constituency + that would have bidden you to make that speech. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I'm sorry; but I can't help my convictions, Banning. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. What was it the prophet was without in his own country? + </p> + <p> + BANNING. Ah! but we're not funning, Mr. More. I've never known feeling run + so high. The sentiment of both meetings was dead against you. We've had + showers of letters to headquarters. Some from very good men—very + warm friends of yours. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. Come now! It's not too late. Let's go back and tell them you + won't do it again. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Muzzling order? + </p> + <p> + BANNING. [Bluntly] That's about it. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Give up my principles to save my Parliamentary skin. Then, indeed, + they might call me a degenerate! [He touches the newspapers on the table.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE makes an abrupt and painful movement, then remains as still as + before, leaning against the corner of the window-seat. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. Well, Well! I know. But we don't ask you to take your words back—we + only want discretion in the future. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Conspiracy of silence! And have it said that a mob of newspapers + have hounded me to it. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. They won't say that of you. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. My dear More, aren't you rather dropping to our level? With your + principles you ought not to care two straws what people say. + </p> + <p> + MORE. But I do. I can't betray the dignity and courage of public men. If + popular opinion is to control the utterances of her politicians, then + good-bye indeed to this country! + </p> + <p> + BANNING. Come now! I won't say that your views weren't sound enough before + the fighting began. I've never liked our policy out there. But our blood's + being spilled; and that makes all the difference. I don't suppose they'd + want me exactly, but I'd be ready to go myself. We'd all of us be ready. + And we can't have the man that represents us talking wild, until we've + licked these fellows. That's it in a nutshell. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I understand your feeling, Banning. I tender you my resignation. I + can't and won't hold on where I'm not wanted. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. No, no, no! Don't do that! [His accent broader and broader] + You've 'ad your say, and there it is. Coom now! You've been our Member + nine years, in rain and shine. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. We want to keep you, More. Come! Give us your promise —that's + a good man! + </p> + <p> + MORE. I don't make cheap promises. You ask too much. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is silence, and they all look at MORE.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SHELDER. There are very excellent reasons for the Government's policy. + </p> + <p> + MORE. There are always excellent reasons for having your way with the + weak. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. My dear More, how can you get up any enthusiasm for those + cattle-lifting ruffians? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Better lift cattle than lift freedom. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. Well, all we'll ask is that you shouldn't go about the country, + saying so. + </p> + <p> + MORE. But that is just what I must do. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Again they all look at MORE in consternation.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOME. Not down our way, you'll pardon me. + </p> + <p> + WACE. Really—really, sir—— + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. The time of crusades is past, More. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Is it? + </p> + <p> + BANNING. Ah! no, but we don't want to part with you, Mr. More. It's a + bitter thing, this, after three elections. Look at the 'uman side of it! + To speak ill of your country when there's been a disaster like this + terrible business in the Pass. There's your own wife. I see her brother's + regiment's to start this very afternoon. Come now—how must she feel? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MORE breaks away to the bay window. The DEPUTATION exchange glances. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. [Turning] To try to muzzle me like this—is going too far. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. We just want to put you out of temptation. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I've held my seat with you in all weathers for nine years. You've + all been bricks to me. My heart's in my work, Banning; I'm not eager to + undergo political eclipse at forty. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. Just so—we don't want to see you in that quandary. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. It'd be no friendliness to give you a wrong impression of the + state of feeling. Silence—till the bitterness is overpast; there's + naught else for it, Mr. More, while you feel as you do. That tongue of + yours! Come! You owe us something. You're a big man; it's the big view you + ought to take. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I am trying to. + </p> + <p> + HOME. And what precisely is your view—you'll pardon my asking? + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Turning on him] Mr. Home a great country such as ours—is + trustee for the highest sentiments of mankind. Do these few outrages + justify us in stealing the freedom of this little people? + </p> + <p> + BANNING. Steal—their freedom! That's rather running before the + hounds. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Ah, Banning! now we come to it. In your hearts you're none of you + for that—neither by force nor fraud. And yet you all know that we've + gone in there to stay, as we've gone into other lands—as all we big + Powers go into other lands, when they're little and weak. The Prime + Minister's words the other night were these: "If we are forced to spend + this blood and money now, we must never again be forced." What does that + mean but swallowing this country? + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. Well, and quite frankly, it'd be no bad thing. + </p> + <p> + HOME. We don't want their wretched country—we're forced. + </p> + <p> + MORE. We are not forced. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. My dear More, what is civilization but the logical, inevitable + swallowing up of the lower by the higher types of man? And what else will + it be here? + </p> + <p> + MORE. We shall not agree there, Shelder; and we might argue it all day. + But the point is, not whether you or I are right—the point is: What + is a man who holds a faith with all his heart to do? Please tell me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is a silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. [Simply] I was just thinkin' of those poor fellows in the Pass. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I can see them, as well as you, Banning. But, imagine! Up in our own + country—the Black Valley—twelve hundred foreign devils dead + and dying—the crows busy over them—in our own country, our own + valley—ours—ours—violated. Would you care about "the + poor fellows" in that Pass?—Invading, stealing dogs! Kill them—kill + them! You would, and I would, too! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The passion of those words touches and grips as no arguments could; and + they are silent. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Well! What's the difference out there? I'm not so inhuman as not to + want to see this disaster in the Pass wiped out. But once that's done, in + spite of my affection for you; my ambitions, and they're not few; [Very + low] in spite of my own wife's feeling, I must be free to raise my voice + against this war. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. [Speaking slowly, consulting the others, as it were, with his + eyes] Mr. More, there's no man I respect more than yourself. I can't tell + what they'll say down there when we go back; but I, for one, don't feel it + in me to take a hand in pressing you farther against your faith. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. We don't deny that—that you have a case of sorts. + </p> + <p> + WACE. No—surely. + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. A—man should be free, I suppose, to hold his own opinions. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Thank you, Shelder. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. Well! well! We must take you as you are; but it's a rare pity; + there'll be a lot of trouble—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + His eyes light on Honk who is leaning forward with hand raised to his + ear, listening. Very faint, from far in the distance, there is heard a + skirling sound. All become conscious of it, all listen. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOME. [Suddenly] Bagpipes! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The figure of OLIVE flies past the window, out on the terrace. KATHERINE + turns, as if to follow her. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SHELDER. Highlanders! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He rises. KATHERINE goes quickly out on to the terrace. One by one they + all follow to the window. One by one go out on to the terrace, till MORE + is left alone. He turns to the bay window. The music is swelling, coming + nearer. MORE leaves the window—his face distorted by the strafe of + his emotions. He paces the room, taking, in some sort, the rhythm of the + march.] [Slowly the music dies away in the distance to a drum-tap and + the tramp of a company. MORE stops at the table, covering his eyes with + his hands.] [The DEPUTATION troop back across the terrace, and come in + at the French windows. Their faces and manners have quite changed. + KATHERINE follows them as far as the window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOME. [In a strange, almost threatening voice] It won't do, Mr. More. Give + us your word, to hold your peace! + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. Come! More. + </p> + <p> + WACE. Yes, indeed—indeed! + </p> + <p> + BANNING. We must have it. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Without lifting his head] I—I—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The drum-tap of a regiment marching is heard. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BANNING. Can you hear that go by, man—when your country's just been + struck? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Now comes the scale and mutter of a following crowd. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. I give you—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Then, sharp and clear above all other sounds, the words: "Give the + beggars hell, boys!" "Wipe your feet on their dirty country!" "Don't + leave 'em a gory acre!" And a burst of hoarse cheering. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. [Flinging up his head] That's reality! By Heaven! No! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Oh! + </p> + <p> + SHELDER. In that case, we'll go. + </p> + <p> + BANNING. You mean it? You lose us, then! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE bows.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOME. Good riddance! [Venomously—his eyes darting between MORE and + KATHERINE] Go and stump the country! Find out what they think of you! + You'll pardon me! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + One by one, without a word, only BANNING looking back, they pass out + into the hall. MORE sits down at the table before the pile of + newspapers. KATHERINE, in the window, never moves. OLIVE comes along the + terrace to her mother. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. They were nice ones! Such a lot of dirty people following, and some + quite clean, Mummy. [Conscious from her mother's face that something is + very wrong, she looks at her father, and then steals up to his side] Uncle + Hubert's gone, Daddy; and Auntie Helen's crying. And—look at Mummy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE raises his head and looks.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Do be on our side! Do! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She rubs her cheek against his. Feeling that he does not rub his cheek + against hers, OLIVE stands away, and looks from him to her mother in + wonder. THE CURTAIN FALLS + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <h3> + SCENE I + </h3> + <blockquote> + <p> + A cobble-stoned alley, without pavement, behind a suburban theatre. The + tall, blind, dingy-yellowish wall of the building is plastered with the + tattered remnants of old entertainment bills, and the words: "To Let," + and with several torn, and one still virgin placard, containing this + announcement: "Stop-the- War Meeting, October 1st. Addresses by STEPHEN + MORE, Esq., and others." The alley is plentifully strewn with refuse and + scraps of paper. Three stone steps, inset, lead to the stage door. It is + a dark night, and a street lamp close to the wall throws all the light + there is. A faint, confused murmur, as of distant hooting is heard. + Suddenly a boy comes running, then two rough girls hurry past in the + direction of the sound; and the alley is again deserted. The stage door + opens, and a doorkeeper, poking his head out, looks up and down. He + withdraws, but in a second reappears, preceding three black-coated + gentlemen. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + DOORKEEPER. It's all clear. You can get away down here, gentlemen. Keep to + the left, then sharp to the right, round the corner. + </p> + <p> + THE THREE. [Dusting themselves, and settling their ties] Thanks, very + much! Thanks! + </p> + <p> + FIRST BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Where's More? Isn't he coming? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + They are joined by a fourth black-coated GENTLEMAN. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FOURTH BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Just behind. [TO the DOORKEEPER] Thanks. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + They hurry away. The DOORKEEPER retires. Another boy runs past. Then the + door opens again. STEEL and MORE come out. MORE stands hesitating on the + steps; then turns as if to go back. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. Come along, sir, come! + </p> + <p> + MORE. It sticks in my gizzard, Steel. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. [Running his arm through MORE'S, and almost dragging him down the + steps] You owe it to the theatre people. [MORE still hesitates] We might + be penned in there another hour; you told Mrs. More half-past ten; it'll + only make her anxious. And she hasn't seen you for six weeks. + </p> + <p> + MORE. All right; don't dislocate my arm. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + They move down the steps, and away to the left, as a boy comes running + down the alley. Sighting MORE, he stops dead, spins round, and crying + shrilly: "'Ere 'e is! That's 'im! 'Ere 'e is!" he bolts back in the + direction whence he came. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. Quick, Sir, quick! + </p> + <p> + MORE. That is the end of the limit, as the foreign ambassador remarked. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. [Pulling him back towards the door] Well! come inside again, + anyway! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + A number of men and boys, and a few young girls, are trooping quickly + from the left. A motley crew, out for excitement; loafers, artisans, + navvies; girls, rough or dubious. All in the mood of hunters, and having + tasted blood. They gather round the steps displaying the momentary + irresolution and curiosity that follows on a new development of any + chase. MORE, on the bottom step, turns and eyes them. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + A GIRL. [At the edge] Which is 'im! The old 'un or the young? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE turns, and mounts the remaining steps.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TALL YOUTH. [With lank black hair under a bowler hat] You blasted traitor! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MORE faces round at the volley of jeering that follows; the chorus of + booing swells, then gradually dies, as if they realized that they were + spoiling their own sport. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + A ROUGH GIRL. Don't frighten the poor feller! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A girl beside her utters a shrill laugh.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. [Tugging at MORE's arm] Come along, sir. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Shaking his arm free—to the crowd] Well, what do you want? + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. Speech. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Indeed! That's new. + </p> + <p> + ROUGH VOICE. [At the back of the crowd] Look at his white liver. You can + see it in his face. + </p> + <p> + A BIG NAVY. [In front] Shut it! Give 'im a chanst! + </p> + <p> + TALL YOUTH. Silence for the blasted traitor? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + A youth plays the concertina; there is laughter, then an abrupt silence. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. You shall have it in a nutshell! + </p> + <p> + A SHOPBOY. [Flinging a walnut-shell which strikes MORE on the shoulder] + Here y'are! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Go home, and think! If foreigners invaded us, wouldn't you be + fighting tooth and nail like those tribesmen, out there? + </p> + <p> + TALL YOUTH. Treacherous dogs! Why don't they come out in the open? + </p> + <p> + MORE. They fight the best way they can. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A burst of hooting is led by a soldier in khaki on the outskirt.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. My friend there in khaki led that hooting. I've never said a word + against our soldiers. It's the Government I condemn for putting them to + this, and the Press for hounding on the Government, and all of you for + being led by the nose to do what none of you would do, left to yourselves. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The TALL YOUTH leads a somewhat unspontaneous burst of execration. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. I say not one of you would go for a weaker man. + </p> + <p> + VOICES IN THE CROWD. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + ROUGH VOICE. Tork sense! GIRL'S VOICE. He's gittin' at you! TALL YOUTH'S + VOICE. Shiny skunk! + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + A NAVVY. [Suddenly shouldering forward] Look 'ere, Mister! Don't you come + gaflin' to those who've got mates out there, or it'll be the worse for + you-you go 'ome! + </p> + <p> + COCKNEY VOICE. And git your wife to put cottonwool in yer ears. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A spurt of laughter.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + A FRIENDLY VOICE. [From the outskirts] Shame! there! Bravo, More! Keep it + up! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A scuffle drowns this cry.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. [With vehemence] Stop that! Stop that! You—-! + </p> + <p> + TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + </p> + <p> + AN ARTISAN. Who black-legged? + </p> + <p> + MIDDLE-AGED MAN. Ought to be shot-backin' his country's enemies! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Those tribesmen are defending their homes. + </p> + <p> + TWO VOICES. Hear! hear! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They are hustled into silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TALL YOUTH. Wind-bag! + </p> + <p> + MORE. [With sudden passion] Defending their homes! Not mobbing unarmed + men! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STEEL again pulls at his arm.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ROUGH. Shut it, or we'll do you in! + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Recovering his coolness] Ah! Do me in by all means! You'd deal such + a blow at cowardly mobs as wouldn't be forgotten in your time. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. For God's sake, sir! + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Shaking off his touch] Well! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + There is an ugly rush, checked by the fall of the foremost figures, + thrown too suddenly against the bottom step. The crowd recoils. There is + a momentary lull, and MORE stares steadily down at them. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + COCKNEY VOICE. Don't 'e speak well! What eloquence! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Two or three nutshells and a piece of orange-peel strike MORE across the + face. He takes no notice. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ROUGH VOICE. That's it! Give 'im some encouragement. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The jeering laughter is changed to anger by the contemptuous smile on + MORE'S face. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + A TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. Don't stand there like a stuck pig. + </p> + <p> + A ROUGH. Let's 'ave 'im dahn off that! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Under cover of the applause that greets this, he strikes MORE across the + legs with a belt. STEEL starts forward. MORE, flinging out his arm, + turns him back, and resumes his tranquil staring at the crowd, in whom + the sense of being foiled by this silence is fast turning to rage. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE CROWD. Speak up, or get down! Get off! Get away, there—or we'll + make you! Go on! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE remains immovable.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + A YOUTH. [In a lull of disconcertion] I'll make 'im speak! See! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He darts forward and spits, defiling MORES hand. MORE jerks it up as if + it had been stung, then stands as still as ever. A spurt of laughter + dies into a shiver of repugnance at the action. The shame is fanned + again to fury by the sight of MORES scornful face. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TALL YOUTH. [Out of murmuring] Shift! or you'll get it! + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. Enough of your ugly mug! + </p> + <p> + A ROUGH. Give 'im one! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Two flung stones strike MORE. He staggers and nearly falls, then rights + himself. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + A GIRL'S VOICE. Shame! + </p> + <p> + FRIENDLY VOICE. Bravo, More! Stick to it! + </p> + <p> + A ROUGH. Give 'im another! + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. No! + </p> + <p> + A GIRL'S VOICE. Let 'im alone! Come on, Billy, this ain't no fun! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Still looking up at MORE, the whole crowd falls into an uneasy silence, + broken only by the shuffling of feet. Then the BIG NAVVY in the front + rank turns and elbows his way out to the edge of the crowd. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + THE NAVVY. Let 'im be! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + With half-sullen and half-shamefaced acquiescence the crowd breaks up + and drifts back whence it came, till the alley is nearly empty. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. [As if coming to, out of a trance-wiping his hand and dusting his + coat] Well, Steel! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + And followed by STEEL, he descends the steps and moves away. Two + policemen pass glancing up at the broken glass. One of them stops and + makes a note. THE CURTAIN FALLS. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SCENE II + </p> + <p> + The window-end of KATHERINE'S bedroom, panelled in cream-coloured wood. + The light from four candles is falling on KATHERINE, who is sitting before + the silver mirror of an old oak dressing-table, brushing her hair. A door, + on the left, stands ajar. An oak chair against the wall close to a + recessed window is all the other furniture. Through this window the blue + night is seen, where a mist is rolled out flat amongst trees, so that only + dark clumps of boughs show here and there, beneath a moonlit sky. As the + curtain rises, KATHERINE, with brush arrested, is listening. She begins + again brushing her hair, then stops, and taking a packet of letters from a + drawer of her dressing-table, reads. Through the just open door behind her + comes the voice of OLIVE. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Mummy! I'm awake! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + But KATHERINE goes on reading; and OLIVE steals into the room in her + nightgown. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. [At KATHERINE'S elbow—examining her watch on its stand] It's + fourteen minutes to eleven. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Olive, Olive! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. I just wanted to see the time. I never can go to sleep if I try—it's + quite helpless, you know. Is there a victory yet? [KATHERINE, shakes her + head] Oh! I prayed extra special for one in the evening papers. [Straying + round her mother] Hasn't Daddy come? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Not yet. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Are you waiting for him? [Burying her face in her mother's hair] + Your hair is nice, Mummy. It's particular to-night. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE lets fall her brush, and looks at her almost in alarm. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. How long has Daddy been away? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Six weeks. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. It seems about a hundred years, doesn't it? Has he been making + speeches all the time? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. To-night, too? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. The night that man was here whose head's too bald for anything—oh! + Mummy, you know—the one who cleans his teeth so termendously—I + heard Daddy making a speech to the wind. It broke a wine-glass. His + speeches must be good ones, mustn't they! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Very. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. It felt funny; you couldn't see any wind, you know. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Talking to the wind is an expression, Olive. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Does Daddy often? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes, nowadays. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. What does it mean? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Speaking to people who won't listen. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. What do they do, then? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Just a few people go to hear him, and then a great crowd comes + and breaks in; or they wait for him outside, and throw things, and hoot. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Poor Daddy! Is it people on our side who throw things? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes, but only rough people. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Why does he go on doing it? I shouldn't. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. He thinks it is his duty. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. To your neighbour, or only to God? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. To both. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Oh! Are those his letters? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Reading from the letter] "My dear Heart." Does he always call you + his dear heart, Mummy? It's rather jolly, isn't it? "I shall be home about + half-past ten to-morrow night. For a few hours the fires of + p-u-r-g-a-t-or-y will cease to burn—" What are the fires of + p-u-r-g-a-t-o-r-y? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Putting away the letters] Come, Olive! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. But what are they? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Daddy means that he's been very unhappy. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Have you, too? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Cheerfully] So have I. May I open the window? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. No; you'll let the mist in. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Isn't it a funny mist-all flat! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Now, come along, frog! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Making time] Mummy, when is Uncle Hubert coming back? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. We don't know, dear. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. I suppose Auntie Helen'll stay with us till he does. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. That's something, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Picking her up] Now then! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. [Deliciously limp] Had I better put in the duty to your neighbour + if there isn't a victory soon? [As they pass through the door] You're + tickling under my knee! [Little gurgles of pleasure follow. Then silence. + Then a drowsy voice] I must keep awake for Daddy. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE comes back. She is about to leave the door a little open, when + she hears a knock on the other door. It is opened a few inches, and + NURSE'S voice says: "Can I come in, Ma'am?" The NURSE comes in. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Shutting OLIVE's door, and going up to her] What is it, Nurse? + </p> + <p> + NURSE. [Speaking in a low voice] I've been meaning to—I'll never do + it in the daytime. I'm giving you notice. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Nurse! You too! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She looks towards OLIVE'S room with dismay. The NURSE smudges a slow + tear away from her cheek. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + NURSE. I want to go right away at once. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Leave Olive! That is the sins of the fathers with a vengeance. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. I've had another letter from my son. No, Miss Katherine, while the + master goes on upholdin' these murderin' outlandish creatures, I can't + live in this house, not now he's coming back. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. But, Nurse——! + </p> + <p> + NURSE. It's not like them [With an ineffable gesture] downstairs, because + I'm frightened of the mob, or of the window's bein' broke again, or mind + what the boys in the street say. I should think not— no! It's my + heart. I'm sore night and day thinkin' of my son, and him lying out there + at night without a rag of dry clothing, and water that the bullocks won't + drink, and maggots in the meat; and every day one of his friends laid out + stark and cold, and one day—'imself perhaps. If anything were to + 'appen to him. I'd never forgive meself—here. Ah! Miss Katherine, I + wonder how you bear it—bad news comin' every day—And Sir + John's face so sad—And all the time the master speaking against us, + as it might be Jonah 'imself. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. But, Nurse, how can you leave us, you? + </p> + <p> + NURSE. [Smudging at her cheeks] There's that tells me it's encouragin' + something to happen, if I stay here; and Mr. More coming back to-night. + You can't serve God and Mammon, the Bible says. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Don't you know what it's costing him? + </p> + <p> + NURSE. Ah! Cost him his seat, and his reputation; and more than that it'll + cost him, to go against the country. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. He's following his conscience. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. And others must follow theirs, too. No, Miss Katherine, for you to + let him—you, with your three brothers out there, and your father + fair wasting away with grief. Sufferin' too as you've been these three + months past. What'll you feel if anything happens to my three young + gentlemen out there, to my dear Mr. Hubert that I nursed myself, when your + precious mother couldn't? What would she have said —with you in the + camp of his enemies? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Nurse, Nurse! + </p> + <p> + NURSE. In my paper they say he's encouraging these heathens and makin' the + foreigners talk about us; and every day longer the war lasts, there's our + blood on this house. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Turning away] Nurse, I can't—I won't listen. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. [Looking at her intently] Ah! You'll move him to leave off! I see + your heart, my dear. But if you don't, then go I must! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She nods her head gravely, goes to the door of OLIVE'S room, opens it + gently, stands looking for a-moment, then with the words "My Lamb!" she + goes in noiselessly and closes the door. KATHERINE turns back to her + glass, puts back her hair, and smooths her lips and eyes. The door from + the corridor is opened, and HELEN's voice says: "Kit! You're not in + bed?" + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. No. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + HELEN too is in a wrapper, with a piece of lace thrown over her head. + Her face is scared and miserable, and she runs into KATHERINE's arms. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. My dear, what is it? + </p> + <p> + HELEN. I've seen—a vision! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Hssh! You'll wake Olive! + </p> + <p> + HELEN. [Staring before her] I'd just fallen asleep, and I saw a plain that + seemed to run into the sky—like—that fog. And on it there were—dark + things. One grew into a body without a head, and a gun by its side. And + one was a man sitting huddled up, nursing a wounded leg. He had the face + of Hubert's servant, Wreford. And then I saw—Hubert. His face was + all dark and thin; and he had—a wound, an awful wound here [She + touches her breast]. The blood was running from it, and he kept trying to + stop it—oh! Kit—by kissing it [She pauses, stifled by + emotion]. Then I heard Wreford laugh, and say vultures didn't touch live + bodies. And there came a voice, from somewhere, calling out: "Oh! God! I'm + dying!" And Wreford began to swear at it, and I heard Hubert say: "Don't, + Wreford; let the poor fellow be!" But the voice went on and on, moaning + and crying out: "I'll lie here all night dying—and then I'll die!" + And Wreford dragged himself along the ground; his face all devilish, like + a man who's going to kill. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. My dear! HOW ghastly! + </p> + <p> + HELEN. Still that voice went on, and I saw Wreford take up the dead man's + gun. Then Hubert got upon his feet, and went tottering along, so feebly, + so dreadfully—but before he could reach and stop him, Wreford fired + at the man who was crying. And Hubert called out: "You brute!" and fell + right down. And when Wreford saw him lying there, he began to moan and + sob, but Hubert never stirred. Then it all got black again—and I + could see a dark woman—thing creeping, first to the man without a + head; then to Wreford; then to Hubert, and it touched him, and sprang + away. And it cried out: "A-ai-ah!" [Pointing out at the mist] Look! Out + there! The dark things! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Putting her arms round her] Yes, dear, yes! You must have been + looking at the mist. + </p> + <p> + HELEN. [Strangely calm] He's dead! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. It was only a dream. + </p> + <p> + HELEN. You didn't hear that cry. [She listens] That's Stephen. Forgive me, + Kit; I oughtn't to have upset you, but I couldn't help coming. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She goes out, KATHERINE, into whom her emotion seems to have passed, + turns feverishly to the window, throws it open and leans out. MORE comes + in. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Kit! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Catching sight of her figure in the window, he goes quickly to her. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Ah! [She has mastered her emotion.] + </p> + <p> + MORE. Let me look at you! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He draws her from the window to the candle-light, and looks long at her. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. What have you done to your hair? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Nothing. + </p> + <p> + MORE. It's wonderful to-night. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He takes it greedily and buries his face in it.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Drawing her hair away] Well? + </p> + <p> + MORE. At last! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Pointing to OLIVE's room] Hssh! + </p> + <p> + MORE. How is she? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. All right. + </p> + <p> + MORE. And you? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [KATHERINE shrugs her shoulders.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Six weeks! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Why have you come? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Why! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. You begin again the day after tomorrow. Was it worth while? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Kit! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. It makes it harder for me, that's all. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Staring at her] What's come to you? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Six weeks is a long time to sit and read about your meetings. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Put that away to-night. [He touches her] This is what travellers + feel when they come out of the desert to-water. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Suddenly noticing the cut on his forehead] Your forehead! It's + cut. + </p> + <p> + MORE. It's nothing. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Oh! Let me bathe it! + </p> + <p> + MORE. No, dear! It's all right. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Turning away] Helen has just been telling me a dream she's had + of Hubert's death. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Poor child! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Dream bad dreams, and wait, and hide oneself—there's been + nothing else to do. Nothing, Stephen—nothing! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Hide? Because of me? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [KATHERINE nods.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. [With a movement of distress] I see. I thought from your letters you + were coming to feel——. Kit! You look so lovely! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Suddenly he sees that she is crying, and goes quickly to her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. My dear, don't cry! God knows I don't want to make things worse for + you. I'll go away. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She draws away from him a little, and after looking long at her, he sits + down at the dressing-table and begins turning over the brushes and + articles of toilet, trying to find words. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Never look forward. After the time I've had—I thought— + tonight—it would be summer—I thought it would be you—and + everything! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + While he is speaking KATHERINE has stolen closer. She suddenly drops on + her knees by his side and wraps his hand in her hair. He turns and + clasps her. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Kit! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Ah! yes! But-to-morrow it begins again. Oh! Stephen! How long—how + long am I to be torn in two? [Drawing back in his arms] I can't—can't + bear it. + </p> + <p> + MORE. My darling! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Give it up! For my sake! Give it up! [Pressing closer to him] + It shall be me—and everything—— + </p> + <p> + MORE. God! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. It shall be—if—if—— + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Aghast] You're not making terms? Bargaining? For God's sake, Kit! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. For God's sake, Stephen! + </p> + <p> + MORE. You!—of all people—you! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Stephen! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [For a moment MORE yields utterly, then shrinks back.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. A bargain! It's selling my soul! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He struggles out of her arms, gets up, and stands without speaking, + staring at her, and wiping the sweat from his forehead. KATHERINE + remains some seconds on her knees, gazing up at him, not realizing. Then + her head droops; she too gets up and stands apart, with her wrapper + drawn close round her. It is as if a cold and deadly shame had come to + them both. Quite suddenly MORE turns, and, without looking back, feebly + makes his way out of the room. When he is gone KATHERINE drops on her + knees and remains there motionless, huddled in her hair. THE CURTAIN + FALLS + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + It is between lights, the following day, in the dining-room of MORE's + house. The windows are closed, but curtains are not drawn. STEEL is + seated at the bureau, writing a letter from MORE's dictation. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. [Reading over the letter] "No doubt we shall have trouble. But, if + the town authorities at the last minute forbid the use of the hall, we'll + hold the meeting in the open. Let bills be got out, and an audience will + collect in any case." + </p> + <p> + MORE. They will. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. "Yours truly"; I've signed for you. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE nods.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STEEL. [Blotting and enveloping the letter] You know the servants have all + given notice—except Henry. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Poor Henry! + </p> + <p> + STEEL. It's partly nerves, of course—the windows have been broken + twice—but it's partly—— + </p> + <p> + MORE. Patriotism. Quite! they'll do the next smashing themselves. That + reminds me—to-morrow you begin holiday, Steel. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Oh, no! + </p> + <p> + MORE. My dear fellow—yes. Last night ended your sulphur cure. Truly + sorry ever to have let you in for it. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Some one must do the work. You're half dead as it is. + </p> + <p> + MORE. There's lots of kick in me. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Give it up, sir. The odds are too great. It isn't worth it. + </p> + <p> + MORE. To fight to a finish; knowing you must be beaten—is anything + better worth it? + </p> + <p> + STEEL. Well, then, I'm not going. + </p> + <p> + MORE. This is my private hell, Steel; you don't roast in it any longer. + Believe me, it's a great comfort to hurt no one but yourself. + </p> + <p> + STEEL. I can't leave you, sir. + </p> + <p> + MORE. My dear boy, you're a brick—but we've got off by a miracle so + far, and I can't have the responsibility of you any longer. Hand me over + that correspondence about to-morrow's meeting. + </p> + <p> + STEEL takes some papers from his pocket, but does not hand them. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Come! [He stretches out his hand for the papers. As STEEL still + draws back, he says more sharply] Give them to me, Steel! [STEEL hands + them over] Now, that ends it, d'you see? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + They stand looking at each other; then STEEL, very much upset, turns and + goes out of the room. MORE, who has watched him with a sorry smile, puts + the papers into a dispatch-case. As he is closing the bureau, the + footman HENRY enters, announcing: "Mr. Mendip, sir." MENDIP comes in, + and the FOOTMAN withdraws. MORE turns to his visitor, but does not hold + out his hand. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MENDIP. [Taking MORE'S hand] Give me credit for a little philosophy, my + friend. Mrs. More told me you'd be back to-day. Have you heard? + </p> + <p> + MORE. What? + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. There's been a victory. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Thank God! + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Ah! So you actually are flesh and blood. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Yes! + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Take off the martyr's shirt, Stephen. You're only flouting human + nature. + </p> + <p> + MORE. So—even you defend the mob! + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. My dear fellow, you're up against the strongest common instinct in + the world. What do you expect? That the man in the street should be a + Quixote? That his love of country should express itself in philosophic + altruism? What on earth do you expect? Men are very simple creatures; and + Mob is just conglomerate essence of simple men. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Conglomerate excrescence. Mud of street and market-place gathered in + a torrent—This blind howling "patriotism"—what each man feels + in here? [He touches his breast] No! + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. You think men go beyond instinct—they don't. All they know + is that something's hurting that image of themselves that they call + country. They just feel something big and religious, and go it blind. + </p> + <p> + MORE. This used to be the country of free speech. It used to be the + country where a man was expected to hold to his faith. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. There are limits to human nature, Stephen. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Let no man stand to his guns in face of popular attack. Still your + advice, is it? + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. My advice is: Get out of town at once. The torrent you speak of + will be let loose the moment this news is out. Come, my dear fellow, don't + stay here! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Thanks! I'll see that Katherine and Olive go. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. Go with them! If your cause is lost, that's no reason why you + should be. + </p> + <p> + MORE. There's the comfort of not running away. And—I want comfort. + </p> + <p> + MENDIP. This is bad, Stephen; bad, foolish—foolish. Well! I'm going + to the House. This way? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Down the steps, and through the gate. Good-bye? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE has come in followed by NURSE, hatted and cloaked, with a + small bag in her hand. KATHERINE takes from the bureau a cheque which + she hands to the NURSE. MORE comes in from the terrace. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. You're wise to go, Nurse. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. You've treated my poor dear badly, sir. Where's your heart? + </p> + <p> + MORE. In full use. + </p> + <p> + NURSE. On those heathens. Don't your own hearth and home come first? Your + wife, that was born in time of war, with her own father fighting, and her + grandfather killed for his country. A bitter thing, to have the windows of + her house broken, and be pointed at by the boys in the street. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE stands silent under this attack, looking at his wife.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Nurse! + </p> + <p> + NURSE. It's unnatural, sir—what you're doing! To think more of those + savages than of your own wife! Look at her! Did you ever see her look like + that? Take care, sir, before it's too late! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Enough, please! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + NURSE stands for a moment doubtful; looks long at KATHERINE; then goes. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. [Quietly] There has been a victory. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes out. KATHERINE is breathing fast, listening to the distant hum + and stir rising in the street. She runs to the window as the footman, + HENRY, entering, says: "Sir John Julian, Ma'am!" SIR JOHN comes in, a + newspaper in his hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. At last! A victory! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Thank God! [He hands her the paper.] + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Oh, Dad! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She tears the paper open, and feverishly reads.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. At last! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The distant hum in the street is rising steadily. But SIR JOHN, after + the one exultant moment when he handed her the paper, stares dumbly at + the floor. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Suddenly conscious of his gravity] Father! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. There is other news. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. One of the boys? Hubert? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SIR JOHN bows his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Killed? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SIR JOHN again bows his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. The dream! [She covers her face] Poor Helen! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + They stand for a few seconds silent, then SIR JOHN raises his head, and + putting up a hand, touches her wet cheek. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. [Huskily] Whom the gods love—— + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Hubert! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. And hulks like me go on living! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Dear Dad! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. But we shall drive the ruffians now! We shall break them. + Stephen back? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Last night. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Has he finished his blasphemous speech-making at last? + [KATHERINE shakes her head] Not? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Then, seeing that KATHERINE is quivering with emotion, he strokes her + hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. My dear! Death is in many houses! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I must go to Helen. Tell Stephen, Father. I can't. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. If you wish, child. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She goes out, leaving SIR JOHN to his grave, puzzled grief, and in a + few seconds MORE comes in.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Yes, Sir John. You wanted me? + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Hubert is killed. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Hubert! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. By these—whom you uphold. Katherine asked me to let you + know. She's gone to Helen. I understand you only came back last night from + your——No word I can use would give what I feel about that. I + don't know how things stand now between you and Katherine; but I tell you + this, Stephen: you've tried her these last two months beyond what any + woman ought to bear! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE makes a gesture of pain.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. When you chose your course—— + </p> + <p> + MORE. Chose! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. You placed yourself in opposition to every feeling in her. You + knew this might come. It may come again with another of my sons. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I would willingly change places with any one of them. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Yes—I can believe in your unhappiness. I cannot conceive + of greater misery than to be arrayed against your country. If I could have + Hubert back, I would not have him at such a price—no, nor all my + sons. 'Pro patri mori'—My boy, at all events, is happy! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Yes! + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Yet you can go on doing what you are! What devil of pride has + got into you, Stephen? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Do you imagine I think myself better than the humblest private + fighting out there? Not for a minute. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. I don't understand you. I always thought you devoted to + Katherine. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Sir John, you believe that country comes before wife and child? + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. I do. + </p> + <p> + MORE. So do I. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. [Bewildered] Whatever my country does or leaves undone, I no + more presume to judge her than I presume to judge my God. [With all the + exaltation of the suffering he has undergone for her] My country! + </p> + <p> + MORE. I would give all I have—for that creed. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. [Puzzled] Stephen, I've never looked on you as a crank; I always + believed you sane and honest. But this is—visionary mania. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Vision of what might be. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. Why can't you be content with what the grandest nation— + the grandest men on earth—have found good enough for them? I've + known them, I've seen what they could suffer, for our country. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Sir John, imagine what the last two months have been to me! To see + people turn away in the street—old friends pass me as if I were a + wall! To dread the post! To go to bed every night with the sound of + hooting in my ears! To know that my name is never referred to without + contempt—— + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. You have your new friends. Plenty of them, I understand. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Does that make up for being spat at as I was last night? Your + battles are fool's play to it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The stir and rustle of the crowd in the street grows louder. SIR JOHN + turns his head towards it. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SIR JOHN. You've heard there's been a victory. Do you carry your unnatural + feeling so far as to be sorry for that? [MORE shakes his head] That's + something! For God's sake, Stephen, stop before it's gone past mending. + Don't ruin your life with Katherine. Hubert was her favourite brother; you + are backing those who killed him. Think what that means to her! Drop this—mad + Quixotism—idealism—whatever you call it. Take Katherine away. + Leave the country till the thing's over—this country of yours that + you're opposing, and—and— traducing. Take her away! Come! What + good are you doing? What earthly good? Come, my boy! Before you're utterly + undone. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Sir John! Our men are dying out there for, the faith that's in them! + I believe my faith the higher, the better for mankind—Am I to slink + away? Since I began this campaign I've found hundreds who've thanked me + for taking this stand. They look on me now as their leader. Am I to desert + them? When you led your forlorn hope— did you ask yourself what good + you were doing, or, whether you'd come through alive? It's my forlorn hope + not to betray those who are following me; and not to help let die a fire—a + fire that's sacred— not only now in this country, but in all + countries, for all time. + </p> + <p> + SIR JOHN. [After a long stare] I give you credit for believing what you + say. But let me tell you whatever that fire you talk of—I'm too + old-fashioned to grasp—one fire you are letting die—your + wife's love. By God! This crew of your new friends, this crew of cranks + and jays, if they can make up to you for the loss of her love—of + your career, of all those who used to like and respect you—so much + the better for you. But if you find yourself bankrupt of affection— + alone as the last man on earth; if this business ends in your utter ruin + and destruction—as it must—I shall not pity—I cannot + pity you. Good-night! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He marches to the door, opens it, and goes out. MORE is left standing + perfectly still. The stir and murmur of the street is growing all the + time, and slowly forces itself on his consciousness. He goes to the bay + window and looks out; then rings the bell. It is not answered, and, + after turning up the lights, he rings again. KATHERINE comes in. She is + wearing a black hat, and black outdoor coat. She speaks coldly without + looking up. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. You rang! + </p> + <p> + MORE. For them to shut this room up. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. The servants have gone out. They're afraid of the house being + set on fire. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I see. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. They have not your ideals to sustain them. [MORE winces] I am + going with Helen and Olive to Father's. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Trying to take in the exact sense of her words] Good! You prefer + that to an hotel? [KATHERINE nods. Gently] Will you let me say, Kit, how + terribly I feel for you—Hubert's—— + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Don't. I ought to have made what I meant plainer. I am not + coming back. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Not? Not while the house—— + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Not—at all. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Kit! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I warned you from the first. You've gone too far! + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Terribly moved] Do you understand what this means? After ten years—and + all—our love! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Was it love? How could you ever have loved one so unheroic as + myself! + </p> + <p> + MORE. This is madness, Kit—Kit! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Last night I was ready. You couldn't. If you couldn't then, you + never can. You are very exalted, Stephen. I don't like living—I + won't live, with one whose equal I am not. This has been coming ever since + you made that speech. I told you that night what the end would be. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Trying to put his arms round her] Don't be so terribly cruel! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. No! Let's have the truth! People so wide apart don't love! Let + me go! + </p> + <p> + MORE. In God's name, how can I help the difference in our faiths? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. Last night you used the word—bargain. Quite right. I + meant to buy you. I meant to kill your faith. You showed me what I was + doing. I don't like to be shown up as a driver of bargains, Stephen. + </p> + <p> + MORE. God knows—I never meant—— + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. If I'm not yours in spirit—I don't choose to be your— + mistress. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MORE, as if lashed by a whip, has thrown up his hands in an attitude of + defence. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + KATHERINE. Yes, that's cruel! It shows the heights you live on. I won't + drag you down. + </p> + <p> + MORE. For God's sake, put your pride away, and see! I'm fighting for the + faith that's in me. What else can a man do? What else? Ah! Kit! Do see! + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I'm strangled here! Doing nothing—sitting silent—when + my brothers are fighting, and being killed. I shall try to go out nursing. + Helen will come with me. I have my faith, too; my poor common love of + country. I can't stay here with you. I spent last night on the floor—thinking—and + I know! + </p> + <p> + MORE. And Olive? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. I shall leave her at Father's, with Nurse; unless you forbid me + to take her. You can. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Icily] That I shall not do—you know very well. You are free + to go, and to take her. + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [Very low] Thank you! [Suddenly she turns to him, and draws his + eyes on her. Without a sound, she puts her whole strength into that look] + Stephen! Give it up! Come down to me! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The festive sounds from the street grow louder. There can be heard the + blowing of whistles, and bladders, and all the sounds of joy. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. And drown in—that? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE turns swiftly to the door. There she stands and again looks at + him. Her face is mysterious, from the conflicting currents of her + emotions. + </p> + <p> + MORE. So—you're going? + </p> + <p> + KATHERINE. [In a whisper] Yes. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + She bends her head, opens the door, and goes. MORE starts forward as if + to follow her, but OLIVE has appeared in the doorway. She has on a + straight little white coat and a round white cap. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Aren't you coming with us, Daddy? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE shakes his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Why not? + </p> + <p> + MORE. Never mind, my dicky bird. + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. The motor'll have to go very slow. There are such a lot of people + in the street. Are you staying to stop them setting the house on fire? + [MORE nods] May I stay a little, too? [MORE shakes his head] Why? + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Putting his hand on her head] Go along, my pretty! + </p> + <p> + OLIVE. Oh! love me up, Daddy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MORE takes and loves her up] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + OLIVE. Oo-o! + </p> + <p> + MORE. Trot, my soul! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She goes, looks back at him, turns suddenly, and vanishes.] MORE + follows her to the door, but stops there. Then, as full realization + begins to dawn on him, he runs to the bay window, craning his head to + catch sight of the front door. There is the sound of a vehicle starting, + and the continual hooting of its horn as it makes its way among the + crowd. He turns from the window. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Alone as the last man on earth! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Suddenly a voice rises clear out of the hurly-burly in the street.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE. There 'e is! That's 'im! More! Traitor! More! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + A shower of nutshells, orange-peel, and harmless missiles begins to + rattle against the glass of the window. Many voices take up the + groaning: "More! Traitor! Black-leg! More!" And through the window can + be seen waving flags and lighted Chinese lanterns, swinging high on long + bamboos. The din of execration swells. MORE stands unheeding, still + gazing after the cab. Then, with a sharp crack, a flung stone crashes + through one of the panes. It is followed by a hoarse shout of laughter, + and a hearty groan. A second stone crashes through the glass. MORE turns + for a moment, with a contemptuous look, towards the street, and the + flare of the Chinese lanterns lights up his face. Then, as if forgetting + all about the din outside, he moves back into the room, looks round him, + and lets his head droop. The din rises louder and louder; a third stone + crashes through. MORE raises his head again, and, clasping his hands, + looks straight before him. The footman, HENRY, entering, hastens to the + French windows. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. Ah! Henry, I thought you'd gone. + </p> + <p> + FOOTMAN. I came back, sir. + </p> + <p> + MORE. Good fellow! + </p> + <p> + FOOTMAN. They're trying to force the terrace gate, sir. They've no + business coming on to private property—no matter what! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + In the surging entrance of the mob the footman, HENRY, who shows fight, + is overwhelmed, hustled out into the crowd on the terrace, and no more + seen. The MOB is a mixed crowd of revellers of both sexes, medical + students, clerks, shop men and girls, and a Boy Scout or two. Many have + exchanged hats—Some wear masks, or false noses, some carry + feathers or tin whistles. Some, with bamboos and Chinese lanterns, swing + them up outside on the terrace. The medley of noises is very great. Such + ringleaders as exist in the confusion are a GROUP OF STUDENTS, the chief + of whom, conspicuous because unadorned, is an athletic, hatless young + man with a projecting underjaw, and heavy coal-black moustache, who + seems with the swing of his huge arms and shoulders to sway the currents + of motion. When the first surge of noise and movement subsides, he calls + out: "To him, boys! Chair the hero!" THE STUDENTS rush at the impassive + MORE, swing him roughly on to their shoulders and bear him round the + room. When they have twice circled the table to the music of their + confused singing, groans and whistling, THE CHIEF OF THE STUDENTS calls + out: "Put him down!" Obediently they set him down on the table which has + been forced into the bay window, and stand gaping up at him. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CHIEF STUDENT. Speech! Speech! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The noise ebbs, and MORE looks round him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CHIEF STUDENT. Now then, you, sir. + </p> + <p> + MORE. [In a quiet voice] Very well. You are here by the law that governs + the action of all mobs—the law of Force. By that law, you can do + what you like to this body of mine. + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. And we will, too. + </p> + <p> + MORE. I don't doubt it. But before that, I've a word to say. + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. You've always that. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANOTHER VOICE raises a donkey's braying.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORE. You—Mob—are the most contemptible thing under the sun. + When you walk the street—God goes in. + </p> + <p> + CHIEF STUDENT. Be careful, you—sir. + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Down him! Down with the beggar! + </p> + <p> + MORE. [Above the murmurs] My fine friends, I'm not afraid of you. You've + forced your way into my house, and you've asked me to speak. Put up with + the truth for once! [His words rush out] You are the thing that pelts the + weak; kicks women; howls down free speech. This to-day, and that + to-morrow. Brain—you have none. Spirit—not the ghost of it! If + you're not meanness, there's no such thing. If you're not cowardice, there + is no cowardice [Above the growing fierceness of the hubbub] Patriotism—there + are two kinds—that of our soldiers, and this of mine. You have + neither! + </p> + <p> + CHIEF STUDENT. [Checking a dangerous rush] Hold on! Hold on! [To MORE] + Swear to utter no more blasphemy against your country: Swear it! + </p> + <p> + CROWD. Ah! Ay! Ah! + </p> + <p> + MORE. My country is not yours. Mine is that great country which shall + never take toll from the weakness of others. [Above the groaning] Ah! you + can break my head and my windows; but don't think that you can break my + faith. You could never break or shake it, if you were a million to one. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + A girl with dark eyes and hair all wild, leaps out from the crowd and + shakes her fist at him. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GIRL. You're friends with them that killed my lad! [MORE smiles down at + her, and she swiftly plucks the knife from the belt of a Boy Scout beside + her] Smile, you—cur! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + A violent rush and heave from behind flings MORE forward on to the + steel. He reels, staggers back, and falls down amongst the crowd. A + scream, a sway, a rush, a hubbub of cries. The CHIEF STUDENT shouts + above the riot: "Steady!" Another: "My God! He's got it!" + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CHIEF STUDENT. Give him air! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The crowd falls back, and two STUDENTS, bending over MORE, lift his arms + and head, but they fall like lead. Desperately they test him for life. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CHIEF STUDENT. By the Lord, it's over! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + Then begins a scared swaying out towards the window. Some one turns out + the lights, and in the darkness the crowd fast melts away. The body of + MORE lies in the gleam from a single Chinese lantern. Muttering the + words: "Poor devil! He kept his end up anyway!" the CHIEF STUDENT picks + from the floor a little abandoned Union Jack and lays it on MORE's + breast. Then he, too, turns, and rushes out. And the body of MORE lies + in the streak of light; and flee noises in the street continue to rise. + THE CURTAIN FALLS, BUT RISES AGAIN ALMOST AT ONCE. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AFTERMATH + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + A late Spring dawn is just breaking. Against trees in leaf and blossom, + with the houses of a London Square beyond, suffused by the spreading + glow, is seen a dark life-size statue on a granite pedestal. In front is + the broad, dust-dim pavement. The light grows till the central words + around the pedestal can be clearly read: ERECTED To the Memory of + STEPHEN MORE "Faithful to his ideal" + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + High above, the face of MORE looks straight before him with a faint smile. + On one shoulder and on his bare head two sparrows have perched, and from + the gardens, behind, comes the twittering and singing of birds. + </p> + <p> + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + </p> + <p> + The End + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC_"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + End of Project Gutenberg's The Mob (Third Series Plays), by John Galsworthy + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOB (THIRD SERIES PLAYS) *** + + ***** This file should be named 2914-h.htm or 2914-h.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/2914/ + + Produced by David Widger + + Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions + will be renamed. + + Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no + one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation + (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without + permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or + re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included + with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + Title: The Mob (Third Series Plays) + + Author: John Galsworthy + + Last Updated: February 10, 2009 + Release Date: September 26, 2004 [EBook #2914] + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: ASCII + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOB (THIRD SERIES PLAYS) *** + + + + + Produced by David Widger + + + +GALSWORTHY PLAYS--SERIES 3 + + +THE MOB + +A Play in Four Acts + + +By John Galsworthy + + + +PERSONS OF THE PLAY + + STEPHEN MORE, Member of Parliament + KATHERINE, his wife + OLIVE, their little daughter + THE DEAN OF STOUR, Katherine's uncle + GENERAL SIR JOHN JULIAN, her father + CAPTAIN HUBERT JULIAN, her brother + HELEN, his wife + EDWARD MENDIP, editor of "The Parthenon" + ALAN STEEL, More's secretary + JAMES HOME, architect | + CHARLES SHELDER, Solicitor |A deputation of More's + MARK WACE, bookseller |constituents + WILLIAM BANNING, manufacturer | + NURSE WREFORD + WREFORD (her son), Hubert's orderly + HIS SWEETHEART + THE FOOTMAN HENRY + A DOORKEEPER + SOME BLACK-COATED GENTLEMEN + A STUDENT + A GIRL + + + + + A MOB + + ACT I. The dining-room of More's town house, evening. + + ACT II. The same, morning. + + ACT III. SCENE I. An alley at the back of a suburban theatre. + SCENE II. Katherine's bedroom. + + ACT IV. The dining-room of More's house, late afternoon. + + AFTERMATH. The corner of a square, at dawn. + + + + Between ACTS I and II some days elapse. + Between ACTS II and III three months. + Between ACT III SCENE I and ACT III SCENE II no time. + Between ACTS III and IV a few hours. + Between ACTS IV and AFTERMATH an indefinite period. + + + + +ACT I + + It is half-past nine of a July evening. In a dining-room + lighted by sconces, and apparelled in wall-paper, carpet, and + curtains of deep vivid blue, the large French windows between + two columns are open on to a wide terrace, beyond which are seen + trees in darkness, and distant shapes of lighted houses. On one + side is a bay window, over which curtains are partly drawn. + Opposite to this window is a door leading into the hall. At an + oval rosewood table, set with silver, flowers, fruit, and wine, + six people are seated after dinner. Back to the bay window is + STEPHEN MORE, the host, a man of forty, with a fine-cut face, a + rather charming smile, and the eyes of an idealist; to his + right, SIR, JOHN JULIAN, an old soldier, with thin brown + features, and grey moustaches; to SIR JOHN's right, his brother, + the DEAN OF STOUR, a tall, dark, ascetic-looking Churchman: to + his right KATHERINE is leaning forward, her elbows on the table, + and her chin on her hands, staring across at her husband; to her + right sits EDWARD MENDIP, a pale man of forty-five, very bald, + with a fine forehead, and on his clear-cut lips a smile that + shows his teeth; between him and MORE is HELEN JULIAN, a pretty + dark-haired young woman, absorbed in thoughts of her own. The + voices are tuned to the pitch of heated discussion, as the + curtain rises. + + +THE DEAN. I disagree with you, Stephen; absolutely, entirely +disagree. + +MORE. I can't help it. + +MENDIP. Remember a certain war, Stephen! Were your chivalrous +notions any good, then? And, what was winked at in an obscure young +Member is anathema for an Under Secretary of State. You can't +afford---- + +MORE. To follow my conscience? That's new, Mendip. + +MENDIP. Idealism can be out of place, my friend. + +THE DEAN. The Government is dealing here with a wild lawless race, +on whom I must say I think sentiment is rather wasted. + +MORE. God made them, Dean. + +MENDIP. I have my doubts. + +THE DEAN. They have proved themselves faithless. We have the right +to chastise. + +MORE. If I hit a little man in the eye, and he hits me back, have I +the right to chastise him? + +SIR JOHN. We didn't begin this business. + +MORE. What! With our missionaries and our trading? + +THE DEAN. It is news indeed that the work of civilization may be +justifiably met by murder. Have you forgotten Glaive and Morlinson? + +SIR JOHN. Yes. And that poor fellow Groome and his wife? + +MORE. They went into a wild country, against the feeling of the +tribes, on their own business. What has the nation to do with the +mishaps of gamblers? + +SIR JOHN. We can't stand by and see our own flesh and blood +ill-treated! + +THE DEAN. Does our rule bring blessing--or does it not, Stephen? + +MORE. Sometimes; but with all my soul I deny the fantastic +superstition that our rule can benefit a people like this, a nation +of one race, as different from ourselves as dark from light--in +colour, religion, every mortal thing. We can only pervert their +natural instincts. + +THE DEAN. That to me is an unintelligible point of view. + +MENDIP. Go into that philosophy of yours a little deeper, Stephen-- +it spells stagnation. There are no fixed stars on this earth. +Nations can't let each other alone. + +MORE. Big ones could let little ones alone. + +MENDIP. If they could there'd be no big ones. My dear fellow, we +know little nations are your hobby, but surely office should have +toned you down. + +SIR JOHN. I've served my country fifty years, and I say she is not +in the wrong. + +MORE. I hope to serve her fifty, Sir John, and I say she is. + +MENDIP. There are moments when such things can't be said, More. + +MORE. They'll be said by me to-night, Mendip. + +MENDIP. In the House? + + [MORE nods.] + +KATHERINE. Stephen! + +MENDIP. Mrs. More, you mustn't let him. It's madness. + +MORE. [Rising] You can tell people that to-morrow, Mendip. Give it +a leader in 'The Parthenon'. + +MENDIP. Political lunacy! No man in your position has a right to +fly out like this at the eleventh hour. + +MORE. I've made no secret of my feelings all along. I'm against +this war, and against the annexation we all know it will lead to. + +MENDIP. My dear fellow! Don't be so Quixotic! We shall have war +within the next twenty-four hours, and nothing you can do will stop +it. + +HELEN. Oh! No! + +MENDIP. I'm afraid so, Mrs. Hubert. + +SIR JOHN. Not a doubt of it, Helen. + +MENDIP. [TO MORE] And you mean to charge the windmill? + + [MORE nods.] + +MENDIP. 'C'est magnifique'! + +MORE. I'm not out for advertisement. + +MENDIP. You will get it! + +MORE. Must speak the truth sometimes, even at that risk. + +SIR JOHN. It is not the truth. + +MENDIP. The greater the truth the greater the libel, and the greater +the resentment of the person libelled. + +THE DEAN. [Trying to bring matters to a blander level] My dear +Stephen, even if you were right--which I deny--about the initial +merits, there surely comes a point where the individual conscience +must resign it self to the country's feeling. This has become a +question of national honour. + +SIR JOHN. Well said, James! + +MORE. Nations are bad judges of their honour, Dean. + +THE DEAN. I shall not follow you there. + +MORE. No. It's an awkward word. + +KATHERINE. [Stopping THE DEAN] Uncle James! Please! + + [MORE looks at her intently.] + +SIR JOHN. So you're going to put yourself at the head of the cranks, +ruin your career, and make me ashamed that you're my son-in-law? + +MORE. Is a man only to hold beliefs when they're popular? You've +stood up to be shot at often enough, Sir John. + +SIR JOHN. Never by my country! Your speech will be in all the +foreign press-trust 'em for seizing on anything against us. A +show-up before other countries----! + +MORE. You admit the show-up? + +SIR JOHN. I do not, sir. + +THE DEAN. The position has become impossible. The state of things +out there must be put an end to once for all! Come, Katherine, back +us up! + +MORE. My country, right or wrong! Guilty--still my country! + +MENDIP. That begs the question. + + [KATHERINE rises. THE DEAN, too, stands up.] + +THE DEAN. [In a low voice] 'Quem Deus volt perdere'----! + +SIR JOHN. Unpatriotic! + +MORE. I'll have no truck with tyranny. + +KATHERINE. Father doesn't admit tyranny. Nor do any of us, Stephen. + +HUBERT JULIAN, a tall Soldier-like man, has come in. + +HELEN. Hubert! + + [She gets up and goes to him, and they talk together near the + door.] + +SIR JOHN. What in God's name is your idea? We've forborne long +enough, in all conscience. + +MORE. Sir John, we great Powers have got to change our ways in +dealing with weaker nations. The very dogs can give us lessons-- +watch a big dog with a little one. + +MENDIP. No, no, these things are not so simple as all that. + +MORE. There's no reason in the world, Mendip, why the rules of +chivalry should not apply to nations at least as well as to---dogs. + +MENDIP. My dear friend, are you to become that hapless kind of +outcast, a champion of lost causes? + +MORE. This cause is not lost. + +MENDIP. Right or wrong, as lost as ever was cause in all this world. +There was never a time when the word "patriotism" stirred mob +sentiment as it does now. 'Ware "Mob," Stephen---'ware "Mob"! + +MORE. Because general sentiment's against me, I--a public man--am to +deny my faith? The point is not whether I'm right or wrong, Mendip, +but whether I'm to sneak out of my conviction because it's unpopular. + +THE DEAN. I'm afraid I must go. [To KATHERINE] Good-night, my +dear! Ah! Hubert! [He greets HUBERT] Mr. Mendip, I go your way. +Can I drop you? + +MENDIP. Thank you. Good-night, Mrs. More. Stop him! It's +perdition. + + [He and THE DEAN go out. KATHERINE puts her arm in HELEN'S, and + takes her out of the room. HUBERT remains standing by the door] + +SIR JOHN. I knew your views were extreme in many ways, Stephen, +but I never thought the husband of my daughter would be a +Peace-at-any-price man! + +MORE. I am not! But I prefer to fight some one my own size. + +SIR JOHN. Well! I can only hope to God you'll come to your senses +before you commit the folly of this speech. I must get back to the +War Office. Good-night, Hubert. + +HUBERT. Good-night, Father. + + [SIR JOHN goes out. HUBERT stands motionless, dejected.] + +HUBERT. We've got our orders. + +MORE. What? When d'you sail? + +HUBERT. At once. + +MORE. Poor Helen! + +HUBERT. Not married a year; pretty bad luck! [MORE touches his arm +in sympathy] Well! We've got to put feelings in our pockets. Look +here, Stephen--don't make that speech! Think of Katherine--with the +Dad at the War Office, and me going out, and Ralph and old George out +there already! You can't trust your tongue when you're hot about a +thing. + +MORE. I must speak, Hubert. + +HUBERT. No, no! Bottle yourself up for to-night. The next few +hours 'll see it begin. [MORE turns from him] If you don't care +whether you mess up your own career--don't tear Katherine in two! + +MORE. You're not shirking your duty because of your wife. + +HUBERT. Well! You're riding for a fall, and a godless mucker it'll +be. This'll be no picnic. We shall get some nasty knocks out there. +Wait and see the feeling here when we've had a force or two cut up in +those mountains. It's awful country. Those fellows have got modern +arms, and are jolly good fighters. Do drop it, Stephen! + +MORE. Must risk something, sometimes, Hubert--even in my profession! + + [As he speaks, KATHERINE comes in.] + +HUBERT. But it's hopeless, my dear chap--absolutely. + + [MORE turns to the window, HUBERT to his sister--then with a + gesture towards MORE, as though to leave the matter to her, he + goes out.] + +KATHERINE. Stephen! Are you really going to speak? [He nods] I ask +you not. + +MORE. You know my feeling. + +KATHERINE. But it's our own country. We can't stand apart from it. +You won't stop anything--only make people hate you. I can't bear +that. + +MORE. I tell you, Kit, some one must raise a voice. Two or three +reverses--certain to come--and the whole country will go wild. And +one more little nation will cease to live. + +KATHERINE. If you believe in your country, you must believe that the +more land and power she has, the better for the world. + +MORE. Is that your faith? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +MORE. I respect it; I even understand it; but--I can't hold it. + +KATHERINE. But, Stephen, your speech will be a rallying cry to all +the cranks, and every one who has a spite against the country. +They'll make you their figurehead. [MORE smiles] They will. Your +chance of the Cabinet will go--you may even have to resign your seat. + +MORE. Dogs will bark. These things soon blow over. + +KATHERINE. No, no! If you once begin a thing, you always go on; and +what earthly good? + +MORE. History won't say: "And this they did without a single protest +from their public men!" + +KATHERINE. There are plenty who---- + +MORE. Poets? + +KATHERINE. Do you remember that day on our honeymoon, going up Ben +Lawers? You were lying on your face in the heather; you said it was +like kissing a loved woman. There was a lark singing--you said that +was the voice of one's worship. The hills were very blue; that's why +we had blue here, because it was the best dress of our country. You +do love her. + +MORE. Love her! + +KATHERINE. You'd have done this for me--then. + +MORE. Would you have asked me--then, Kit? + +KATHERINE. Yes. The country's our country! Oh! Stephen, think +what it'll be like for me--with Hubert and the other boys out there. +And poor Helen, and Father! I beg you not to make this speech. + +MORE. Kit! This isn't fair. Do you want me to feel myself a cur? + +KATHERINE. [Breathless] I--I--almost feel you'll be a cur to do it +[She looks at him, frightened by her own words. Then, as the footman +HENRY has come in to clear the table--very low] I ask you not! + + [He does not answer, and she goes out.] + +MORE [To the servant] Later, please, Henry, later! + + The servant retires. MORE still stands looking down at the + dining-table; then putting his hand to his throat, as if to free + it from the grip of his collar, he pours out a glass of water, + and drinks it of. In the street, outside the bay window, two + street musicians, a harp and a violin, have taken up their + stand, and after some twangs and scrapes, break into music. + MORE goes towards the sound, and draws aside one curtain. After + a moment, he returns to the table, and takes up the notes of the + speech. He is in an agony of indecision. + +MORE. A cur! + + He seems about to tear his notes across. Then, changing his + mind, turns them over and over, muttering. His voice gradually + grows louder, till he is declaiming to the empty room the + peroration of his speech. + +MORE.... We have arrogated to our land the title Champion of +Freedom, Foe of Oppression. Is that indeed a bygone glory? Is it +not worth some sacrifice of our pettier dignity, to avoid laying +another stone upon its grave; to avoid placing before the searchlight +eyes of History the spectacle of yet one more piece of national +cynicism? We are about to force our will and our dominion on a race +that has always been free, that loves its country, and its +independence, as much as ever we love ours. I cannot sit silent +to-night and see this begin. As we are tender of our own land, so we +should be of the lands of others. I love my country. It is because +I love my country that I raise my voice. Warlike in spirit these +people may be--but they have no chance against ourselves. And war on +such, however agreeable to the blind moment, is odious to the future. +The great heart of mankind ever beats in sense and sympathy with the +weaker. It is against this great heart of mankind that we are going. +In the name of Justice and Civilization we pursue this policy; but by +Justice we shall hereafter be judged, and by Civilization--condemned. + + While he is speaking, a little figure has flown along the + terrace outside, in the direction of the music, but has stopped + at the sound of his voice, and stands in the open window, + listening--a dark-haired, dark-eyed child, in a blue + dressing-gown caught up in her hand. The street musicians, + having reached the end of a tune, are silent. + + In the intensity of MORES feeling, a wine-glass, gripped too + strongly, breaks and falls in pieces onto a finger-bowl. The + child starts forward into the room. + +MORE. Olive! + +OLIVE. Who were you speaking to, Daddy? + +MORE. [Staring at her] The wind, sweetheart! + +OLIVE. There isn't any! + +MORE. What blew you down, then? + +OLIVE. [Mysteriously] The music. Did the wind break the +wine-glass, or did it come in two in your hand? + +MORE. Now my sprite! Upstairs again, before Nurse catches you. +Fly! Fly! + +OLIVE. Oh! no, Daddy! [With confidential fervour] It feels like +things to-night! + +MORE. You're right there! + +OLIVE. [Pulling him down to her, and whispering] I must get back +again in secret. H'sh! + + She suddenly runs and wraps herself into one of the curtains of + the bay window. A young man enters, with a note in his hand. + +MORE. Hello, Steel! + + [The street musicians have again begun to play.] + +STEEL. From Sir John--by special messenger from the War Office. + +MORE. [Reading the note] "The ball is opened." + + He stands brooding over the note, and STEEL looks at him + anxiously. He is a dark, sallow, thin-faced young man, with the + eyes of one who can attach himself to people, and suffer with + them. + +STEEL. I'm glad it's begun, sir. It would have been an awful pity +to have made that speech. + +MORE. You too, Steel! + +STEEL. I mean, if it's actually started---- + +MORE. [Tearing tie note across] Yes. Keep that to yourself. + +STEEL. Do you want me any more? + + MORE takes from his breast pocket some papers, and pitches them + down on the bureau. + +MORE. Answer these. + +STEEL. [Going to the bureau] Fetherby was simply sickening. [He +begins to write. Struggle has begun again in MORE] Not the faintest +recognition that there are two sides to it. + + MORE gives him a quick look, goes quietly to the dining-table + and picks up his sheaf of notes. Hiding them with his sleeve, + he goes back to the window, where he again stands hesitating. + +STEEL. Chief gem: [Imitating] "We must show Impudence at last that +Dignity is not asleep!" + +MORE. [Moving out on to the terrace] Nice quiet night! + +STEEL. This to the Cottage Hospital--shall I say you will preside? + +MORE. No. + + STEEL writes; then looking up and seeing that MORE is no longer + there, he goes to the window, looks to right and left, returns + to the bureau, and is about to sit down again when a thought + seems to strike him with consternation. He goes again to the + window. Then snatching up his hat, he passes hurriedly out + along the terrace. As he vanishes, KATHERINE comes in from the + hall. After looking out on to the terrace she goes to the bay + window; stands there listening; then comes restlessly back into + the room. OLIVE, creeping quietly from behind the curtain, + clasps her round the waist. + +KATHERINE. O my darling! How you startled me! What are you doing +down here, you wicked little sinner! + +OLIVE. I explained all that to Daddy. We needn't go into it again, +need we? + +KATHERINE. Where is Daddy? + +OLIVE. Gone. + +KATHERINE. When? + +OLIVE. Oh! only just, and Mr. Steel went after him like a rabbit. +[The music stops] They haven't been paid, you know. + +KATHERINE. Now, go up at once. I can't think how you got down here. + +OLIVE. I can. [Wheedling] If you pay them, Mummy, they're sure to +play another. + +KATHERINE. Well, give them that! One more only. + + She gives OLIVE a coin, who runs with it to the bay window, + opens the aide casement, and calls to the musicians. + +OLIVE. Catch, please! And would you play just one more? + + She returns from the window, and seeing her mother lost in + thought, rubs herself against her. + +OLIVE. Have you got an ache? + +KATHARINE. Right through me, darling! + +OLIVE. Oh! + + [The musicians strike up a dance.] + +OLIVE. Oh! Mummy! I must just dance! + + She kicks off her lisle blue shoes, and begins dancing. While + she is capering HUBERT comes in from the hall. He stands + watching his little niece for a minute, and KATHERINE looks at + him. + +HUBERT. Stephen gone! + +KATHERINE. Yes--stop, Olive! + +OLIVE. Are you good at my sort of dancing, Uncle? + +HUBERT. Yes, chick--awfully! + +KATHERINE. Now, Olive! + + The musicians have suddenly broken off in the middle of a bar. + From the street comes the noise of distant shouting. + +OLIVE. Listen, Uncle! Isn't it a particular noise? + + HUBERT and KATHERINE listen with all their might, and OLIVE + stares at their faces. HUBERT goes to the window. The sound + comes nearer. The shouted words are faintly heard: "Pyper---- + war----our force crosses frontier--sharp fightin'----pyper." + +KATHERINE. [Breathless] Yes! It is. + + The street cry is heard again in two distant voices coming from + different directions: "War--pyper--sharp fightin' on the + frontier--pyper." + +KATHERINE. Shut out those ghouls! + + As HUBERT closes the window, NURSE WREFORD comes in from the + hall. She is an elderly woman endowed with a motherly grimness. + She fixes OLIVE with her eye, then suddenly becomes conscious of + the street cry. + +NURSE. Oh! don't say it's begun. + + [HUBERT comes from the window.] + +NURSE. Is the regiment to go, Mr. Hubert? + +HUBERT. Yes, Nanny. + +NURSE. Oh, dear! My boy! + +KATHERINE. [Signing to where OLIVE stands with wide eyes] Nurse! + +HUBERT. I'll look after him, Nurse. + +NURSE. And him keepin' company. And you not married a year. Ah! +Mr. Hubert, now do 'ee take care; you and him's both so rash. + +HUBERT. Not I, Nurse! + + NURSE looks long into his face, then lifts her finger, and + beckons OLIVE. + +OLIVE. [Perceiving new sensations before her, goes quietly] +Good-night, Uncle! Nanny, d'you know why I was obliged to come down? +[In a fervent whisper] It's a secret! + + [As she passes with NURSE out into the hall, her voice is heard + saying, "Do tell me all about the war."] + +HUBERT. [Smothering emotion under a blunt manner] We sail on +Friday, Kit. Be good to Helen, old girl. + +KATHERINE. Oh! I wish----! Why--can't--women--fight? + +HUBERT. Yes, it's bad for you, with Stephen taking it like this. +But he'll come round now it's once begun. + + KATHERINE shakes her head, then goes suddenly up to him, and + throws her arms round his neck. It is as if all the feeling + pent up in her were finding vent in this hug. + + The door from the hall is opened, and SIR JOHN'S voice is heard + outside: "All right, I'll find her." + +KATHERINE. Father! + + [SIR JOHN comes in.] + +SIR JOHN. Stephen get my note? I sent it over the moment I got to +the War Office. + +KATHERINE. I expect so. [Seeing the torn note on the table] Yes. + +SIR JOHN. They're shouting the news now. Thank God, I stopped that +crazy speech of his in time. + +KATHERINE. Have you stopped it? + +SIR JOHN. What! He wouldn't be such a sublime donkey? + +KATHERINE. I think that is just what he might be. [Going to the +window] We shall know soon. + + [SIR JOHN, after staring at her, goes up to HUBERT.] + +SIR JOHN. Keep a good heart, my boy. The country's first. [They +exchange a hand-squeeze.] + + KATHERINE backs away from the window. STEEL has appeared there + from the terrace, breathless from running. + +STEEL. Mr. More back? + +KATHERINE. No. Has he spoken? + +STEEL. Yes. + +KATHERINE. Against? + +STEEL. Yes. + +SIR JOHN. What? After! + + SIR, JOHN stands rigid, then turns and marches straight out into + the hall. At a sign from KATHERINE, HUBERT follows him. + +KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Steel? + +STEEL. [Still breathless and agitated] We were here--he slipped +away from me somehow. He must have gone straight down to the House. +I ran over, but when I got in under the Gallery he was speaking +already. They expected something--I never heard it so still there. +He gripped them from the first word--deadly--every syllable. It got +some of those fellows. But all the time, under the silence you could +feel a--sort of--of--current going round. And then Sherratt--I think +it was--began it, and you saw the anger rising in them; but he kept +them down--his quietness! The feeling! I've never seen anything +like it there. + +Then there was a whisper all over the House that fighting had begun. +And the whole thing broke out--regular riot--as if they could have +killed him. Some one tried to drag him down by the coat-tails, but +he shook him off, and went on. Then he stopped dead and walked out, +and the noise dropped like a stone. The whole thing didn't last five +minutes. It was fine, Mrs. More; like--like lava; he was the only +cool person there. I wouldn't have missed it for anything--it was +grand! + + MORE has appeared on the terrace, behind STEEL. + +KATHERINE. Good-night, Mr. Steel. + +STEEL. [Startled] Oh!--Good-night! + + He goes out into the hall. KATHERINE picks up OLIVE'S shoes, + and stands clasping them to her breast. MORE comes in. + +KATHERINE. You've cleared your conscience, then! I didn't think +you'd hurt me so. + + MORE does not answer, still living in the scene he has gone + through, and KATHERINE goes a little nearer to him. + +KATHERINE. I'm with the country, heart and soul, Stephen. I warn +you. + + While they stand in silence, facing each other, the footman, + HENRY, enters from the hall. + +FOOTMAN. These notes, sir, from the House of Commons. + +KATHERINE. [Taking them] You can have the room directly. + + [The FOOTMAN goes out.] + +MORE. Open them! + + KATHERINE opens one after the other, and lets them fall on the + table. + +MORE. Well? + +KATHERINE. What you might expect. Three of your best friends. It's +begun. + +MORE. 'Ware Mob! [He gives a laugh] I must write to the Chief. + + KATHERINE makes an impulsive movement towards him; then quietly + goes to the bureau, sits down and takes up a pen. + +KATHERINE. Let me make the rough draft. [She waits] Yes? + +MORE. [Dictating] + +"July 15th. + +"DEAR SIR CHARLES, After my speech to-night, embodying my most +unalterable convictions [KATHERINE turns and looks up at him, but he +is staring straight before him, and with a little movement of despair +she goes on writing] I have no alternative but to place the +resignation of my Under-Secretaryship in your hands. My view, my +faith in this matter may be wrong--but I am surely right to keep the +flag of my faith flying. I imagine I need not enlarge on the +reasons----" + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + + + + +ACT. II + + Before noon a few days later. The open windows of the + dining-room let in the sunlight. On the table a number of + newspapers are littered. HELEN is sitting there, staring + straight before her. A newspaper boy runs by outside calling out + his wares. At the sound she gets up anti goes out on to the + terrace. HUBERT enters from the hall. He goes at once to the + terrace, and draws HELEN into the room. + +HELEN. Is it true--what they're shouting? + +HUBERT. Yes. Worse than we thought. They got our men all crumpled +up in the Pass--guns helpless. Ghastly beginning. + +HELEN. Oh, Hubert! + +HUBERT. My dearest girl! + + HELEN puts her face up to his. He kisses her. Then she turns + quickly into the bay window. The door from the hall has been + opened, and the footman, HENRY, comes in, preceding WREFORD and + his sweetheart. + +HENRY. Just wait here, will you, while I let Mrs. More know. +[Catching sight of HUBERT] Beg pardon, sir! + +HUBERT. All right, Henry. [Off-hand] Ah! Wreford! [The FOOTMAN +withdraws] So you've brought her round. That's good! My sister'll +look after her--don't you worry! Got everything packed? Three +o'clock sharp. + +WREFORD. [A broad faced soldier, dressed in khaki with a certain +look of dry humour, now dimmed-speaking with a West Country burr] +That's right, zurr; all's ready. + + HELEN has come out of the window, and is quietly looking at + WREFORD and the girl standing there so awkwardly. + +HELEN. [Quietly] Take care of him, Wreford. + +HUBERT. We'll take care of each other, won't we, Wreford? + +HELEN. How long have you been engaged? + +THE GIRL. [A pretty, indeterminate young woman] Six months. [She +sobs suddenly.] + +HELEN. Ah! He'll soon be safe back. + +WREFORD. I'll owe 'em for this. [In a lacy voice to her] Don't 'ee +now! Don't 'ee! + +HELEN. No! Don't cry, please! + + She stands struggling with her own lips, then goes out on to the + terrace, HUBERT following. WREFORD and his girl remain where + they were, strange and awkward, she muffling her sobs. + +WREFORD. Don't 'ee go on like that, Nance; I'll 'ave to take you +'ome. That's silly, now we've a-come. I might be dead and buried by +the fuss you're makin'. You've a-drove the lady away. See! + + She regains control of herself as the door is opened and + KATHERINE appears, accompanied by OLIVE, who regards WREFORD + with awe and curiosity, and by NURSE, whose eyes are red, but + whose manner is composed. + +KATHERINE. My brother told me; so glad you've brought her. + +WREFORD. Ye--as, M'. She feels me goin', a bit. + +KATHERINE. Yes, yes! Still, it's for the country, isn't it? + +THE GIRL. That's what Wreford keeps tellin' me. He've got to go--so +it's no use upsettin' 'im. And of course I keep tellin' him I shall +be all right. + +NURSE. [Whose eyes never leave her son's face] And so you will. + +THE GIRL. Wreford thought it'd comfort him to know you were +interested in me. 'E's so 'ot-headed I'm sure somethin'll come to +'im. + +KATHERINE. We've all got some one going. Are you coming to the +docks? We must send them off in good spirits, you know. + +OLIVE. Perhaps he'll get a medal. + +KATHERINE. Olive! + +NURSE. You wouldn't like for him to be hanging back, one of them +anti-patriot, stop-the-war ones. + +KATHERINE. [Quickly] Let me see--I have your address. [Holding out +her hand to WREFORD] We'll look after her. + +OLIVE. [In a loud whisper] Shall I lend him my toffee? + +KATHERINE. If you like, dear. [To WREFORD] Now take care of my +brother and yourself, and we'll take care of her. + +WREFORD. Ye--as, M'. + + He then looks rather wretchedly at his girl, as if the interview + had not done so much for him as he had hoped. She drops a + little curtsey. WREFORD salutes. + +OLIVE. [Who has taken from the bureau a packet, places it in his +hand] It's very nourishing! + +WREFORD. Thank you, miss. + + Then, nudging each other, and entangled in their feelings and + the conventions, they pass out, shepherded by NURSE. + +KATHERINE. Poor things! + +OLIVE. What is an anti-patriot, stop-the-war one, Mummy? + +KATHERINE. [Taking up a newspaper] Just a stupid name, dear--don't +chatter! + +OLIVE. But tell me just one weeny thing! + +KATHERINE. Well? + +OLIVE. Is Daddy one? + +KATHERINE. Olive! How much do you know about this war? + +OLIVE. They won't obey us properly. So we have to beat them, and +take away their country. We shall, shan't we? + +KATHERINE. Yes. But Daddy doesn't want us to; he doesn't think it +fair, and he's been saying so. People are very angry with him. + +OLIVE. Why isn't it fair? I suppose we're littler than them. + +KATHERINE. No. + +OLIVE. Oh! in history we always are. And we always win. That's why +I like history. Which are you for, Mummy--us or them? + +KATHERINE. Us. + +OLIVE. Then I shall have to be. It's a pity we're not on the same +side as Daddy. [KATHERINE shudders] Will they hurt him for not +taking our side? + +KATHERINE. I expect they will, Olive. + +OLIVE. Then we shall have to be extra nice to him. + +KATHERINE. If we can. + +OLIVE. I can; I feel like it. + + HELEN and HUBERT have returned along the terrace. Seeing + KATHERINE and the child, HELEN passes on, but HUBERT comes in at + the French window. + +OLIVE. [Catching sight of him-softly] Is Uncle Hubert going to the +front to-day? [KATHERINE nods] But not grandfather? + +KATHERINE. No, dear. + +OLIVE. That's lucky for them, isn't it? + + HUBERT comes in. The presence of the child give him self-control. + +HUBERT. Well, old girl, it's good-bye. [To OLIVE] What shall I +bring you back, chick? + +OLIVE. Are there shops at the front? I thought it was dangerous. + +HUBERT. Not a bit. + +OLIVE. [Disillusioned] Oh! + +KATHERINE. Now, darling, give Uncle a good hug. + + [Under cover of OLIVE's hug, KATHERINE repairs her courage.] + +KATHERINE. The Dad and I'll be with you all in spirit. Good-bye, +old boy! + + They do not dare to kiss, and HUBERT goes out very stiff and + straight, in the doorway passing STEEL, of whom he takes no + notice. STEEL hesitates, and would go away. + +KATHERINE. Come in, Mr. Steel. + +STEEL. The deputation from Toulmin ought to be here, Mrs. More. +It's twelve. + +OLIVE. [Having made a little ball of newspaper-slyly] Mr. Steel, +catch! + + [She throws, and STEEL catches it in silence.] + +KATHERINE. Go upstairs, won't you, darling? + +OLIVE. Mayn't I read in the window, Mummy? Then I shall see if any +soldiers pass. + +KATHERINE. No. You can go out on the terrace a little, and then you +must go up. + + [OLIVE goes reluctantly out on to the terrace.] + +STEEL. Awful news this morning of that Pass! And have you seen +these? [Reading from the newspaper] "We will have no truck with the +jargon of the degenerate who vilifies his country at such a moment. +The Member for Toulmin has earned for himself the contempt of all +virile patriots." [He takes up a second journal] "There is a +certain type of public man who, even at his own expense, cannot +resist the itch to advertise himself. We would, at moments of +national crisis, muzzle such persons, as we muzzle dogs that we +suspect of incipient rabies...." They're in full cry after +him! + +KATHERINE. I mind much more all the creatures who are always +flinging mud at the country making him their hero suddenly! You know +what's in his mind? + +STEEL. Oh! We must get him to give up that idea of lecturing +everywhere against the war, Mrs. More; we simply must. + +KATHERINE. [Listening] The deputation's come. Go and fetch him, +Mr. Steel. He'll be in his room, at the House. + + [STEEL goes out, and KATHERINE Stands at bay. In a moment he + opens the door again, to usher in the deputation; then retires. + The four gentlemen have entered as if conscious of grave issues. + The first and most picturesque is JAMES HOME, a thin, tall, + grey-bearded man, with plentiful hair, contradictious eyebrows, + and the half-shy, half-bold manners, alternately rude and over + polite, of one not accustomed to Society, yet secretly much + taken with himself. He is dressed in rough tweeds, with a red + silk tie slung through a ring, and is closely followed by MARK + WACE, a waxy, round-faced man of middle-age, with sleek dark + hair, traces of whisker, and a smooth way of continually rubbing + his hands together, as if selling something to an esteemed + customer. He is rather stout, wears dark clothes, with a large + gold chain. Following him comes CHARLES SHELDER, a lawyer of + fifty, with a bald egg-shaped head, and gold pince-nez. He has + little side whiskers, a leathery, yellowish skin, a rather kind + but watchful and dubious face, and when he speaks seems to have + a plum in his mouth, which arises from the preponderance of his + shaven upper lip. Last of the deputation comes WILLIAM BANNING, + an energetic-looking, square-shouldered, self-made country-man, + between fifty and sixty, with grey moustaches, ruddy face, and + lively brown eyes.] + +KATHERINE. How do you do, Mr. Home? + +HOME. [Bowing rather extravagantly over her hand, as if to show his +independence of women's influence] Mrs. More! We hardly expected-- +This is an honour. + +WACE. How do you do, Ma'am? + +KATHERINE. And you, Mr. Wace? + +WACE. Thank you, Ma'am, well indeed! + +SHELDER. How d'you do, Mrs. More? + +KATHERINE. Very well, thank you, Mr. Shelder. + +BANNING. [Speaking with a rather broad country accent] This is but +a poor occasion, Ma'am. + +KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Banning. Do sit down, gentlemen. + + Seeing that they will not settle down while she is standing, she + sits at the table. They gradually take their seats. Each + member of the deputation in his own way is severely hanging back + from any mention of the subject in hand; and KATHERINE as intent + on drawing them to it. + +KATHERINE. My husband will be here in two minutes. He's only over +at the House. + +SHELDER. [Who is of higher standing and education than the others] +Charming position--this, Mrs. More! So near the--er--Centre of-- +Gravity um? + +KATHERINE. I read the account of your second meeting at Toulmin. + +BANNING. It's bad, Mrs. More--bad. There's no disguising it. That +speech was moon-summer madness--Ah! it was! Take a lot of explaining +away. Why did you let him, now? Why did you? Not your views, I'm +sure! + + [He looks at her, but for answer she only compresses her lips.] + +BANNING. I tell you what hit me--what's hit the whole constituency-- +and that's his knowing we were over the frontier, fighting already, +when he made it. + +KATHERINE. What difference does it make if he did know? + +HOME. Hitting below the belt--I should have thought--you'll pardon +me! + +BANNING. Till war's begun, Mrs. More, you're entitled to say what +you like, no doubt--but after! That's going against your country. +Ah! his speech was strong, you know--his speech was strong. + +KATHERINE. He had made up his mind to speak. It was just an +accident the news coming then. + + [A silence.] + +BANNING. Well, that's true, I suppose. What we really want is to +make sure he won't break out again. + +HOME. Very high-minded, his views of course--but, some consideration +for the common herd. You'll pardon me! + +SHELDER. We've come with the friendliest feelings, Mrs. More--but, +you know, it won't do, this sort of thing! + +WACE. We shall be able to smooth him down. Oh! surely. + +BANNING. We'd be best perhaps not to mention about his knowing that +fighting had begun. + + [As he speaks, MORE enters through the French windows. They all + rise.] + +MORE. Good-morning, gentlemen. + + [He comes down to the table, but does not offer to shake hands.] + +BANNING. Well, Mr. More? You've made a woeful mistake, sir; I tell +you to your face. + +MORE. As everybody else does, Banning. Sit down again, please. + + [They gradually resume their seats, and MORE sits in KATHERINE's + chair. She alone remains standing leaning against the corner of + the bay window, watching their faces.] + +BANNING. You've seen the morning's telegrams? I tell you, Mr. +More--another reverse like that, and the flood will sweep you clean +away. And I'll not blame it. It's only flesh and blood. + +MORE, Allow for the flesh and blood in me, too, please. When I spoke +the other night it was not without a certain feeling here. [He +touches his heart.] + +BANNING. But your attitude's so sudden--you'd not been going that +length when you were down with us in May. + +MORE. Do me the justice to remember that even then I was against our +policy. It cost me three weeks' hard struggle to make up my mind to +that speech. One comes slowly to these things, Banning. + +SHELDER. Case of conscience? + +MORE. Such things have happened, Shelder, even in politics. + +SHELDER. You see, our ideals are naturally low--how different from +yours! + + [MORE smiles.] + + KATHERINE, who has drawn near her husband, moves back again, as + if relieved at this gleam of geniality. WACE rubs his hands. + +BANNING. There's one thing you forget, sir. We send you to +Parliament, representing us; but you couldn't find six men in the +whole constituency that would have bidden you to make that speech. + +MORE. I'm sorry; but I can't help my convictions, Banning. + +SHELDER. What was it the prophet was without in his own country? + +BANNING. Ah! but we're not funning, Mr. More. I've never known +feeling run so high. The sentiment of both meetings was dead against +you. We've had showers of letters to headquarters. Some from very +good men--very warm friends of yours. + +SHELDER. Come now! It's not too late. Let's go back and tell them +you won't do it again. + +MORE. Muzzling order? + +BANNING. [Bluntly] That's about it. + +MORE. Give up my principles to save my Parliamentary skin. Then, +indeed, they might call me a degenerate! [He touches the newspapers +on the table.] + + KATHERINE makes an abrupt and painful movement, then remains as + still as before, leaning against the corner of the window-seat. + +BANNING. Well, Well! I know. But we don't ask you to take your +words back--we only want discretion in the future. + +MORE. Conspiracy of silence! And have it said that a mob of +newspapers have hounded me to it. + +BANNING. They won't say that of you. + +SHELDER. My dear More, aren't you rather dropping to our level? +With your principles you ought not to care two straws what people +say. + +MORE. But I do. I can't betray the dignity and courage of public +men. If popular opinion is to control the utterances of her +politicians, then good-bye indeed to this country! + +BANNING. Come now! I won't say that your views weren't sound enough +before the fighting began. I've never liked our policy out there. +But our blood's being spilled; and that makes all the difference. +I don't suppose they'd want me exactly, but I'd be ready to go +myself. We'd all of us be ready. And we can't have the man that +represents us talking wild, until we've licked these fellows. That's +it in a nutshell. + +MORE. I understand your feeling, Banning. I tender you my +resignation. I can't and won't hold on where I'm not wanted. + +BANNING. No, no, no! Don't do that! [His accent broader and +broader] You've 'ad your say, and there it is. Coom now! You've +been our Member nine years, in rain and shine. + +SHELDER. We want to keep you, More. Come! Give us your promise +--that's a good man! + +MORE. I don't make cheap promises. You ask too much. + + [There is silence, and they all look at MORE.] + +SHELDER. There are very excellent reasons for the Government's +policy. + +MORE. There are always excellent reasons for having your way with +the weak. + +SHELDER. My dear More, how can you get up any enthusiasm for those +cattle-lifting ruffians? + +MORE. Better lift cattle than lift freedom. + +SHELDER. Well, all we'll ask is that you shouldn't go about the +country, saying so. + +MORE. But that is just what I must do. + + [Again they all look at MORE in consternation.] + +HOME. Not down our way, you'll pardon me. + +WACE. Really--really, sir---- + +SHELDER. The time of crusades is past, More. + +MORE. Is it? + +BANNING. Ah! no, but we don't want to part with you, Mr. More. +It's a bitter thing, this, after three elections. Look at the 'uman +side of it! To speak ill of your country when there's been a +disaster like this terrible business in the Pass. There's your own +wife. I see her brother's regiment's to start this very afternoon. +Come now--how must she feel? + + MORE breaks away to the bay window. The DEPUTATION exchange + glances. + +MORE. [Turning] To try to muzzle me like this--is going too far. + +BANNING. We just want to put you out of temptation. + +MORE. I've held my seat with you in all weathers for nine years. +You've all been bricks to me. My heart's in my work, Banning; I'm +not eager to undergo political eclipse at forty. + +SHELDER. Just so--we don't want to see you in that quandary. + +BANNING. It'd be no friendliness to give you a wrong impression of +the state of feeling. Silence--till the bitterness is overpast; +there's naught else for it, Mr. More, while you feel as you do. That +tongue of yours! Come! You owe us something. You're a big man; +it's the big view you ought to take. + +MORE. I am trying to. + +HOME. And what precisely is your view--you'll pardon my asking? + +MORE. [Turning on him] Mr. Home a great country such as ours--is +trustee for the highest sentiments of mankind. Do these few outrages +justify us in stealing the freedom of this little people? + +BANNING. Steal--their freedom! That's rather running before the +hounds. + +MORE. Ah, Banning! now we come to it. In your hearts you're none of +you for that--neither by force nor fraud. And yet you all know that +we've gone in there to stay, as we've gone into other lands--as all +we big Powers go into other lands, when they're little and weak. The +Prime Minister's words the other night were these: "If we are forced +to spend this blood and money now, we must never again be forced." +What does that mean but swallowing this country? + +SHELDER. Well, and quite frankly, it'd be no bad thing. + +HOME. We don't want their wretched country--we're forced. + +MORE. We are not forced. + +SHELDER. My dear More, what is civilization but the logical, +inevitable swallowing up of the lower by the higher types of man? +And what else will it be here? + +MORE. We shall not agree there, Shelder; and we might argue it all +day. But the point is, not whether you or I are right--the point is: +What is a man who holds a faith with all his heart to do? Please +tell me. + + [There is a silence.] + +BANNING. [Simply] I was just thinkin' of those poor fellows in the +Pass. + +MORE. I can see them, as well as you, Banning. But, imagine! Up in +our own country--the Black Valley--twelve hundred foreign devils dead +and dying--the crows busy over them--in our own country, our own +valley--ours--ours--violated. Would you care about "the poor +fellows" in that Pass?--Invading, stealing dogs! Kill them--kill +them! You would, and I would, too! + + The passion of those words touches and grips as no arguments + could; and they are silent. + +MORE. Well! What's the difference out there? I'm not so inhuman as +not to want to see this disaster in the Pass wiped out. But once +that's done, in spite of my affection for you; my ambitions, and +they're not few; [Very low] in spite of my own wife's feeling, I +must be free to raise my voice against this war. + +BANNING. [Speaking slowly, consulting the others, as it were, with +his eyes] Mr. More, there's no man I respect more than yourself. I +can't tell what they'll say down there when we go back; but I, for +one, don't feel it in me to take a hand in pressing you farther +against your faith. + +SHELDER. We don't deny that--that you have a case of sorts. + +WACE. No--surely. + +SHELDER. A--man should be free, I suppose, to hold his own opinions. + +MORE. Thank you, Shelder. + +BANNING. Well! well! We must take you as you are; but it's a rare +pity; there'll be a lot of trouble---- + + His eyes light on Honk who is leaning forward with hand raised + to his ear, listening. Very faint, from far in the distance, + there is heard a skirling sound. All become conscious of it, + all listen. + +HOME. [Suddenly] Bagpipes! + + The figure of OLIVE flies past the window, out on the terrace. + KATHERINE turns, as if to follow her. + +SHELDER. Highlanders! + + [He rises. KATHERINE goes quickly out on to the terrace. One + by one they all follow to the window. One by one go out on to + the terrace, till MORE is left alone. He turns to the bay + window. The music is swelling, coming nearer. MORE leaves the + window--his face distorted by the strafe of his emotions. He + paces the room, taking, in some sort, the rhythm of the march.] + + [Slowly the music dies away in the distance to a drum-tap and the + tramp of a company. MORE stops at the table, covering his eyes + with his hands.] + + [The DEPUTATION troop back across the terrace, and come in at the + French windows. Their faces and manners have quite changed. + KATHERINE follows them as far as the window.] + +HOME. [In a strange, almost threatening voice] It won't do, Mr. +More. Give us your word, to hold your peace! + +SHELDER. Come! More. + +WACE. Yes, indeed--indeed! + +BANNING. We must have it. + +MORE. [Without lifting his head] I--I---- + + The drum-tap of a regiment marching is heard. + +BANNING. Can you hear that go by, man--when your country's just been +struck? + + Now comes the scale and mutter of a following crowd. + +MORE. I give you---- + + Then, sharp and clear above all other sounds, the words: "Give + the beggars hell, boys!" "Wipe your feet on their dirty + country!" "Don't leave 'em a gory acre!" And a burst of hoarse + cheering. + +MORE. [Flinging up his head] That's reality! By Heaven! No! + +KATHERINE. Oh! + +SHELDER. In that case, we'll go. + +BANNING. You mean it? You lose us, then! + + [MORE bows.] + +HOME. Good riddance! [Venomously--his eyes darting between MORE and +KATHERINE] Go and stump the country! Find out what they think of +you! You'll pardon me! + + One by one, without a word, only BANNING looking back, they pass + out into the hall. MORE sits down at the table before the pile + of newspapers. KATHERINE, in the window, never moves. OLIVE + comes along the terrace to her mother. + +OLIVE. They were nice ones! Such a lot of dirty people following, +and some quite clean, Mummy. [Conscious from her mother's face that +something is very wrong, she looks at her father, and then steals up +to his side] Uncle Hubert's gone, Daddy; and Auntie Helen's crying. +And--look at Mummy! + + [MORE raises his head and looks.] + +OLIVE. Do be on our side! Do! + + She rubs her cheek against his. Feeling that he does not rub + his cheek against hers, OLIVE stands away, and looks from him to + her mother in wonder. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS + + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I + + A cobble-stoned alley, without pavement, behind a suburban + theatre. The tall, blind, dingy-yellowish wall of the building + is plastered with the tattered remnants of old entertainment + bills, and the words: "To Let," and with several torn, and one + still virgin placard, containing this announcement: "Stop-the- + War Meeting, October 1st. Addresses by STEPHEN MORE, Esq., and + others." The alley is plentifully strewn with refuse and scraps + of paper. Three stone steps, inset, lead to the stage door. It + is a dark night, and a street lamp close to the wall throws all + the light there is. A faint, confused murmur, as of distant + hooting is heard. Suddenly a boy comes running, then two rough + girls hurry past in the direction of the sound; and the alley is + again deserted. The stage door opens, and a doorkeeper, poking + his head out, looks up and down. He withdraws, but in a second + reappears, preceding three black-coated gentlemen. + +DOORKEEPER. It's all clear. You can get away down here, gentlemen. +Keep to the left, then sharp to the right, round the corner. + +THE THREE. [Dusting themselves, and settling their ties] Thanks, +very much! Thanks! + +FIRST BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Where's More? Isn't he coming? + + They are joined by a fourth black-coated GENTLEMAN. + +FOURTH BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Just behind. [TO the DOORKEEPER] +Thanks. + + They hurry away. The DOORKEEPER retires. Another boy runs + past. Then the door opens again. STEEL and MORE come out. + + MORE stands hesitating on the steps; then turns as if to go + back. + +STEEL. Come along, sir, come! + +MORE. It sticks in my gizzard, Steel. + +STEEL. [Running his arm through MORE'S, and almost dragging him down +the steps] You owe it to the theatre people. [MORE still hesitates] +We might be penned in there another hour; you told Mrs. More +half-past ten; it'll only make her anxious. And she hasn't seen +you for six weeks. + +MORE. All right; don't dislocate my arm. + + They move down the steps, and away to the left, as a boy comes + running down the alley. Sighting MORE, he stops dead, spins + round, and crying shrilly: "'Ere 'e is! That's 'im! 'Ere 'e + is!" he bolts back in the direction whence he came. + +STEEL. Quick, Sir, quick! + +MORE. That is the end of the limit, as the foreign ambassador +remarked. + +STEEL. [Pulling him back towards the door] Well! come inside again, +anyway! + + A number of men and boys, and a few young girls, are trooping + quickly from the left. A motley crew, out for excitement; + loafers, artisans, navvies; girls, rough or dubious. All in + the mood of hunters, and having tasted blood. They gather round + the steps displaying the momentary irresolution and curiosity + that follows on a new development of any chase. MORE, on the + bottom step, turns and eyes them. + +A GIRL. [At the edge] Which is 'im! The old 'un or the young? + + [MORE turns, and mounts the remaining steps.] + +TALL YOUTH. [With lank black hair under a bowler hat] You blasted +traitor! + + MORE faces round at the volley of jeering that follows; the + chorus of booing swells, then gradually dies, as if they + realized that they were spoiling their own sport. + +A ROUGH GIRL. Don't frighten the poor feller! + + [A girl beside her utters a shrill laugh.] + +STEEL. [Tugging at MORE's arm] Come along, sir. + +MORE. [Shaking his arm free--to the crowd] Well, what do you want? + +A VOICE. Speech. + +MORE. Indeed! That's new. + +ROUGH VOICE. [At the back of the crowd] Look at his white liver. +You can see it in his face. + +A BIG NAVY. [In front] Shut it! Give 'im a chanst! + +TALL YOUTH. Silence for the blasted traitor? + + A youth plays the concertina; there is laughter, then an abrupt + silence. + +MORE. You shall have it in a nutshell! + +A SHOPBOY. [Flinging a walnut-shell which strikes MORE on the +shoulder] Here y'are! + +MORE. Go home, and think! If foreigners invaded us, wouldn't you be +fighting tooth and nail like those tribesmen, out there? + +TALL YOUTH. Treacherous dogs! Why don't they come out in the open? + +MORE. They fight the best way they can. + + [A burst of hooting is led by a soldier in khaki on the + outskirt.] + +MORE. My friend there in khaki led that hooting. I've never said a +word against our soldiers. It's the Government I condemn for putting +them to this, and the Press for hounding on the Government, and all +of you for being led by the nose to do what none of you would do, +left to yourselves. + + The TALL YOUTH leads a somewhat unspontaneous burst of + execration. + +MORE. I say not one of you would go for a weaker man. + +VOICES IN THE CROWD. + + ROUGH VOICE. Tork sense! + + GIRL'S VOICE. He's gittin' at you! + + TALL YOUTH'S VOICE. Shiny skunk! + +A NAVVY. [Suddenly shouldering forward] Look 'ere, Mister! Don't +you come gaflin' to those who've got mates out there, or it'll be the +worse for you-you go 'ome! + +COCKNEY VOICE. And git your wife to put cottonwool in yer ears. + + [A spurt of laughter.] + +A FRIENDLY VOICE. [From the outskirts] Shame! there! Bravo, More! +Keep it up! + + [A scuffle drowns this cry.] + +MORE. [With vehemence] Stop that! Stop that! You---! + +TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + +AN ARTISAN. Who black-legged? + +MIDDLE-AGED MAN. Ought to be shot-backin' his country's enemies! + +MORE. Those tribesmen are defending their homes. + +TWO VOICES. Hear! hear! + + [They are hustled into silence.] + +TALL YOUTH. Wind-bag! + +MORE. [With sudden passion] Defending their homes! Not mobbing +unarmed men! + + [STEEL again pulls at his arm.] + +ROUGH. Shut it, or we'll do you in! + +MORE. [Recovering his coolness] Ah! Do me in by all means! You'd +deal such a blow at cowardly mobs as wouldn't be forgotten in your +time. + +STEEL. For God's sake, sir! + +MORE. [Shaking off his touch] Well! + + There is an ugly rush, checked by the fall of the foremost + figures, thrown too suddenly against the bottom step. The crowd + recoils. + + There is a momentary lull, and MORE stares steadily down at + them. + +COCKNEY VOICE. Don't 'e speak well! What eloquence! + + Two or three nutshells and a piece of orange-peel strike MORE + across the face. He takes no notice. + +ROUGH VOICE. That's it! Give 'im some encouragement. + + The jeering laughter is changed to anger by the contemptuous + smile on MORE'S face. + +A TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + +A VOICE. Don't stand there like a stuck pig. + +A ROUGH. Let's 'ave 'im dahn off that! + + Under cover of the applause that greets this, he strikes MORE + across the legs with a belt. STEEL starts forward. MORE, + flinging out his arm, turns him back, and resumes his tranquil + staring at the crowd, in whom the sense of being foiled by this + silence is fast turning to rage. + +THE CROWD. Speak up, or get down! Get off! Get away, there--or +we'll make you! Go on! + + [MORE remains immovable.] + +A YOUTH. [In a lull of disconcertion] I'll make 'im speak! See! + + He darts forward and spits, defiling MORES hand. MORE jerks it + up as if it had been stung, then stands as still as ever. A + spurt of laughter dies into a shiver of repugnance at the + action. The shame is fanned again to fury by the sight of MORES + scornful face. + +TALL YOUTH. [Out of murmuring] Shift! or you'll get it! + +A VOICE. Enough of your ugly mug! + +A ROUGH. Give 'im one! + + Two flung stones strike MORE. He staggers and nearly falls, + then rights himself. + +A GIRL'S VOICE. Shame! + +FRIENDLY VOICE. Bravo, More! Stick to it! + +A ROUGH. Give 'im another! + +A VOICE. No! + +A GIRL'S VOICE. Let 'im alone! Come on, Billy, this ain't no fun! + + Still looking up at MORE, the whole crowd falls into an uneasy + silence, broken only by the shuffling of feet. Then the BIG + NAVVY in the front rank turns and elbows his way out to the edge + of the crowd. + +THE NAVVY. Let 'im be! + + With half-sullen and half-shamefaced acquiescence the crowd + breaks up and drifts back whence it came, till the alley is + nearly empty. + +MORE. [As if coming to, out of a trance-wiping his hand and dusting +his coat] Well, Steel! + + And followed by STEEL, he descends the steps and moves away. + Two policemen pass glancing up at the broken glass. One of them + stops and makes a note. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + + +SCENE II + +The window-end of KATHERINE'S bedroom, panelled in cream-coloured +wood. The light from four candles is falling on KATHERINE, who is +sitting before the silver mirror of an old oak dressing-table, +brushing her hair. A door, on the left, stands ajar. An oak chair +against the wall close to a recessed window is all the other +furniture. Through this window the blue night is seen, where a mist +is rolled out flat amongst trees, so that only dark clumps of boughs +show here and there, beneath a moonlit sky. As the curtain rises, +KATHERINE, with brush arrested, is listening. She begins again +brushing her hair, then stops, and taking a packet of letters from a +drawer of her dressing-table, reads. Through the just open door +behind her comes the voice of OLIVE. + +OLIVE. Mummy! I'm awake! + + But KATHERINE goes on reading; and OLIVE steals into the room in + her nightgown. + +OLIVE. [At KATHERINE'S elbow--examining her watch on its stand] It's +fourteen minutes to eleven. + +KATHERINE. Olive, Olive! + +OLIVE. I just wanted to see the time. I never can go to sleep if I +try--it's quite helpless, you know. Is there a victory yet? +[KATHERINE, shakes her head] Oh! I prayed extra special for one in +the evening papers. [Straying round her mother] Hasn't Daddy come? + +KATHERINE. Not yet. + +OLIVE. Are you waiting for him? [Burying her face in her mother's +hair] Your hair is nice, Mummy. It's particular to-night. + + KATHERINE lets fall her brush, and looks at her almost in alarm. + +OLIVE. How long has Daddy been away? + +KATHERINE. Six weeks. + +OLIVE. It seems about a hundred years, doesn't it? Has he been +making speeches all the time? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. To-night, too? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. The night that man was here whose head's too bald for +anything--oh! Mummy, you know--the one who cleans his teeth so +termendously--I heard Daddy making a speech to the wind. It broke a +wine-glass. His speeches must be good ones, mustn't they! + +KATHERINE. Very. + +OLIVE. It felt funny; you couldn't see any wind, you know. + +KATHERINE. Talking to the wind is an expression, Olive. + +OLIVE. Does Daddy often? + +KATHERINE. Yes, nowadays. + +OLIVE. What does it mean? + +KATHERINE. Speaking to people who won't listen. + +OLIVE. What do they do, then? + +KATHERINE. Just a few people go to hear him, and then a great crowd +comes and breaks in; or they wait for him outside, and throw things, +and hoot. + +OLIVE. Poor Daddy! Is it people on our side who throw things? + +KATHERINE. Yes, but only rough people. + +OLIVE. Why does he go on doing it? I shouldn't. + +KATHERINE. He thinks it is his duty. + +OLIVE. To your neighbour, or only to God? + +KATHERINE. To both. + +OLIVE. Oh! Are those his letters? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. [Reading from the letter] "My dear Heart." Does he always +call you his dear heart, Mummy? It's rather jolly, isn't it? +"I shall be home about half-past ten to-morrow night. For a few +hours the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-or-y will cease to burn--" What are +the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-o-r-y? + +KATHERINE. [Putting away the letters] Come, Olive! + +OLIVE. But what are they? + +KATHERINE. Daddy means that he's been very unhappy. + +OLIVE. Have you, too? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. [Cheerfully] So have I. May I open the window? + +KATHERINE. No; you'll let the mist in. + +OLIVE. Isn't it a funny mist-all flat! + +KATHERINE. Now, come along, frog! + +OLIVE. [Making time] Mummy, when is Uncle Hubert coming back? + +KATHERINE. We don't know, dear. + +OLIVE. I suppose Auntie Helen'll stay with us till he does. + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. That's something, isn't it? + +KATHERINE. [Picking her up] Now then! + +OLIVE. [Deliciously limp] Had I better put in the duty to your +neighbour if there isn't a victory soon? [As they pass through the +door] You're tickling under my knee! [Little gurgles of pleasure +follow. Then silence. Then a drowsy voice] I must keep awake for +Daddy. + + KATHERINE comes back. She is about to leave the door a little + open, when she hears a knock on the other door. It is opened a + few inches, and NURSE'S voice says: "Can I come in, Ma'am?" The + NURSE comes in. + +KATHERINE. [Shutting OLIVE's door, and going up to her] What is it, +Nurse? + +NURSE. [Speaking in a low voice] I've been meaning to--I'll never do +it in the daytime. I'm giving you notice. + +KATHERINE. Nurse! You too! + + She looks towards OLIVE'S room with dismay. The NURSE smudges a + slow tear away from her cheek. + +NURSE. I want to go right away at once. + +KATHERINE. Leave Olive! That is the sins of the fathers with a +vengeance. + +NURSE. I've had another letter from my son. No, Miss Katherine, +while the master goes on upholdin' these murderin' outlandish +creatures, I can't live in this house, not now he's coming back. + +KATHERINE. But, Nurse----! + +NURSE. It's not like them [With an ineffable gesture] downstairs, +because I'm frightened of the mob, or of the window's bein' broke +again, or mind what the boys in the street say. I should think not-- +no! It's my heart. I'm sore night and day thinkin' of my son, and +him lying out there at night without a rag of dry clothing, and water +that the bullocks won't drink, and maggots in the meat; and every day +one of his friends laid out stark and cold, and one day--'imself +perhaps. If anything were to 'appen to him. I'd never forgive +meself--here. Ah! Miss Katherine, I wonder how you bear it--bad +news comin' every day--And Sir John's face so sad--And all the time +the master speaking against us, as it might be Jonah 'imself. + +KATHERINE. But, Nurse, how can you leave us, you? + +NURSE. [Smudging at her cheeks] There's that tells me it's +encouragin' something to happen, if I stay here; and Mr. More coming +back to-night. You can't serve God and Mammon, the Bible says. + +KATHERINE. Don't you know what it's costing him? + +NURSE. Ah! Cost him his seat, and his reputation; and more than +that it'll cost him, to go against the country. + +KATHERINE. He's following his conscience. + +NURSE. And others must follow theirs, too. No, Miss Katherine, for +you to let him--you, with your three brothers out there, and your +father fair wasting away with grief. Sufferin' too as you've been +these three months past. What'll you feel if anything happens to my +three young gentlemen out there, to my dear Mr. Hubert that I nursed +myself, when your precious mother couldn't? What would she have said +--with you in the camp of his enemies? + +KATHERINE. Nurse, Nurse! + +NURSE. In my paper they say he's encouraging these heathens and +makin' the foreigners talk about us; and every day longer the war +lasts, there's our blood on this house. + +KATHERINE. [Turning away] Nurse, I can't--I won't listen. + +NURSE. [Looking at her intently] Ah! You'll move him to leave off! +I see your heart, my dear. But if you don't, then go I must! + + She nods her head gravely, goes to the door of OLIVE'S room, + opens it gently, stands looking for a-moment, then with the + words "My Lamb!" she goes in noiselessly and closes the door. + + KATHERINE turns back to her glass, puts back her hair, and + smooths her lips and eyes. The door from the corridor is + opened, and HELEN's voice says: "Kit! You're not in bed?" + +KATHERINE. No. + + HELEN too is in a wrapper, with a piece of lace thrown over her + head. Her face is scared and miserable, and she runs into + KATHERINE's arms. + +KATHERINE. My dear, what is it? + +HELEN. I've seen--a vision! + +KATHERINE. Hssh! You'll wake Olive! + +HELEN. [Staring before her] I'd just fallen asleep, and I saw a +plain that seemed to run into the sky--like--that fog. And on it +there were--dark things. One grew into a body without a head, and a +gun by its side. And one was a man sitting huddled up, nursing a +wounded leg. He had the face of Hubert's servant, Wreford. And then +I saw--Hubert. His face was all dark and thin; and he had--a wound, +an awful wound here [She touches her breast]. The blood was running +from it, and he kept trying to stop it--oh! Kit--by kissing it [She +pauses, stifled by emotion]. Then I heard Wreford laugh, and say +vultures didn't touch live bodies. And there came a voice, from +somewhere, calling out: "Oh! God! I'm dying!" And Wreford began to +swear at it, and I heard Hubert say: "Don't, Wreford; let the poor +fellow be!" But the voice went on and on, moaning and crying out: +"I'll lie here all night dying--and then I'll die!" And Wreford +dragged himself along the ground; his face all devilish, like a man +who's going to kill. + +KATHERINE. My dear! HOW ghastly! + +HELEN. Still that voice went on, and I saw Wreford take up the dead +man's gun. Then Hubert got upon his feet, and went tottering along, +so feebly, so dreadfully--but before he could reach and stop him, +Wreford fired at the man who was crying. And Hubert called out: "You +brute!" and fell right down. And when Wreford saw him lying there, +he began to moan and sob, but Hubert never stirred. Then it all got +black again--and I could see a dark woman--thing creeping, first to +the man without a head; then to Wreford; then to Hubert, and it +touched him, and sprang away. And it cried out: "A-ai-ah!" [Pointing +out at the mist] Look! Out there! The dark things! + +KATHERINE. [Putting her arms round her] Yes, dear, yes! You must +have been looking at the mist. + +HELEN. [Strangely calm] He's dead! + +KATHERINE. It was only a dream. + +HELEN. You didn't hear that cry. [She listens] That's Stephen. +Forgive me, Kit; I oughtn't to have upset you, but I couldn't help +coming. + + She goes out, KATHERINE, into whom her emotion seems to have + passed, turns feverishly to the window, throws it open and leans + out. MORE comes in. + +MORE. Kit! + + Catching sight of her figure in the window, he goes quickly to + her. + +KATHERINE. Ah! [She has mastered her emotion.] + +MORE. Let me look at you! + + He draws her from the window to the candle-light, and looks long + at her. + +MORE. What have you done to your hair? + +KATHERINE. Nothing. + +MORE. It's wonderful to-night. + + [He takes it greedily and buries his face in it.] + +KATHERINE. [Drawing her hair away] Well? + +MORE. At last! + +KATHERINE. [Pointing to OLIVE's room] Hssh! + +MORE. How is she? + +KATHERINE. All right. + +MORE. And you? + + [KATHERINE shrugs her shoulders.] + +MORE. Six weeks! + +KATHERINE. Why have you come? + +MORE. Why! + +KATHERINE. You begin again the day after tomorrow. Was it worth +while? + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. It makes it harder for me, that's all. + +MORE. [Staring at her] What's come to you? + +KATHERINE. Six weeks is a long time to sit and read about your +meetings. + +MORE. Put that away to-night. [He touches her] This is what +travellers feel when they come out of the desert to-water. + +KATHERINE. [Suddenly noticing the cut on his forehead] Your +forehead! It's cut. + +MORE. It's nothing. + +KATHERINE. Oh! Let me bathe it! + +MORE. No, dear! It's all right. + +KATHERINE. [Turning away] Helen has just been telling me a dream +she's had of Hubert's death. + +MORE. Poor child! + +KATHERINE. Dream bad dreams, and wait, and hide oneself--there's +been nothing else to do. Nothing, Stephen--nothing! + +MORE. Hide? Because of me? + + [KATHERINE nods.] + +MORE. [With a movement of distress] I see. I thought from your +letters you were coming to feel----. Kit! You look so lovely! + + [Suddenly he sees that she is crying, and goes quickly to her.] + +MORE. My dear, don't cry! God knows I don't want to make things +worse for you. I'll go away. + + She draws away from him a little, and after looking long at her, + he sits down at the dressing-table and begins turning over the + brushes and articles of toilet, trying to find words. + +MORE. Never look forward. After the time I've had--I thought-- +tonight--it would be summer--I thought it would be you--and +everything! + + While he is speaking KATHERINE has stolen closer. She suddenly + drops on her knees by his side and wraps his hand in her hair. + He turns and clasps her. + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. Ah! yes! But-to-morrow it begins again. Oh! Stephen! +How long--how long am I to be torn in two? [Drawing back in his +arms] I can't--can't bear it. + +MORE. My darling! + +KATHERINE. Give it up! For my sake! Give it up! [Pressing closer +to him] It shall be me--and everything---- + +MORE. God! + +KATHERINE. It shall be--if--if---- + +MORE. [Aghast] You're not making terms? Bargaining? For God's +sake, Kit! + +KATHERINE. For God's sake, Stephen! + +MORE. You!--of all people--you! + +KATHERINE. Stephen! + + [For a moment MORE yields utterly, then shrinks back.] + +MORE. A bargain! It's selling my soul! + + He struggles out of her arms, gets up, and stands without + speaking, staring at her, and wiping the sweat from his + forehead. KATHERINE remains some seconds on her knees, gazing + up at him, not realizing. Then her head droops; she too gets up + and stands apart, with her wrapper drawn close round her. It is + as if a cold and deadly shame had come to them both. Quite + suddenly MORE turns, and, without looking back, feebly makes his + way out of the room. When he is gone KATHERINE drops on her + knees and remains there motionless, huddled in her hair. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS + + + + + +ACT IV + + It is between lights, the following day, in the dining-room of + MORE's house. The windows are closed, but curtains are not + drawn. STEEL is seated at the bureau, writing a letter from + MORE's dictation. + +STEEL. [Reading over the letter] "No doubt we shall have trouble. +But, if the town authorities at the last minute forbid the use of the +hall, we'll hold the meeting in the open. Let bills be got out, and +an audience will collect in any case." + +MORE. They will. + +STEEL. "Yours truly"; I've signed for you. + + [MORE nods.] + +STEEL. [Blotting and enveloping the letter] You know the servants +have all given notice--except Henry. + +MORE. Poor Henry! + +STEEL. It's partly nerves, of course--the windows have been broken +twice--but it's partly---- + +MORE. Patriotism. Quite! they'll do the next smashing themselves. +That reminds me--to-morrow you begin holiday, Steel. + +STEEL. Oh, no! + +MORE. My dear fellow--yes. Last night ended your sulphur cure. +Truly sorry ever to have let you in for it. + +STEEL. Some one must do the work. You're half dead as it is. + +MORE. There's lots of kick in me. + +STEEL. Give it up, sir. The odds are too great. It isn't worth it. + +MORE. To fight to a finish; knowing you must be beaten--is anything +better worth it? + +STEEL. Well, then, I'm not going. + +MORE. This is my private hell, Steel; you don't roast in it any +longer. Believe me, it's a great comfort to hurt no one but +yourself. + +STEEL. I can't leave you, sir. + +MORE. My dear boy, you're a brick--but we've got off by a miracle so +far, and I can't have the responsibility of you any longer. Hand me +over that correspondence about to-morrow's meeting. + +STEEL takes some papers from his pocket, but does not hand them. + +MORE. Come! [He stretches out his hand for the papers. As STEEL +still draws back, he says more sharply] Give them to me, Steel! +[STEEL hands them over] Now, that ends it, d'you see? + + They stand looking at each other; then STEEL, very much upset, + turns and goes out of the room. MORE, who has watched him with + a sorry smile, puts the papers into a dispatch-case. As he is + closing the bureau, the footman HENRY enters, announcing: "Mr. + Mendip, sir." MENDIP comes in, and the FOOTMAN withdraws. MORE + turns to his visitor, but does not hold out his hand. + +MENDIP. [Taking MORE'S hand] Give me credit for a little philosophy, +my friend. Mrs. More told me you'd be back to-day. Have you heard? + +MORE. What? + +MENDIP. There's been a victory. + +MORE. Thank God! + +MENDIP. Ah! So you actually are flesh and blood. + +MORE. Yes! + +MENDIP. Take off the martyr's shirt, Stephen. You're only flouting +human nature. + +MORE. So--even you defend the mob! + +MENDIP. My dear fellow, you're up against the strongest common +instinct in the world. What do you expect? That the man in the +street should be a Quixote? That his love of country should express +itself in philosophic altruism? What on earth do you expect? Men +are very simple creatures; and Mob is just conglomerate essence of +simple men. + +MORE. Conglomerate excrescence. Mud of street and market-place +gathered in a torrent--This blind howling "patriotism"--what each man +feels in here? [He touches his breast] No! + +MENDIP. You think men go beyond instinct--they don't. All they know +is that something's hurting that image of themselves that they call +country. They just feel something big and religious, and go it +blind. + +MORE. This used to be the country of free speech. It used to be the +country where a man was expected to hold to his faith. + +MENDIP. There are limits to human nature, Stephen. + +MORE. Let no man stand to his guns in face of popular attack. Still +your advice, is it? + +MENDIP. My advice is: Get out of town at once. The torrent you +speak of will be let loose the moment this news is out. Come, my +dear fellow, don't stay here! + +MORE. Thanks! I'll see that Katherine and Olive go. + +MENDIP. Go with them! If your cause is lost, that's no reason why +you should be. + +MORE. There's the comfort of not running away. And--I want comfort. + +MENDIP. This is bad, Stephen; bad, foolish--foolish. Well! I'm +going to the House. This way? + +MORE. Down the steps, and through the gate. Good-bye? + + KATHERINE has come in followed by NURSE, hatted and cloaked, + with a small bag in her hand. KATHERINE takes from the bureau a + cheque which she hands to the NURSE. MORE comes in from the + terrace. + +MORE. You're wise to go, Nurse. + +NURSE. You've treated my poor dear badly, sir. Where's your heart? + +MORE. In full use. + +NURSE. On those heathens. Don't your own hearth and home come +first? Your wife, that was born in time of war, with her own father +fighting, and her grandfather killed for his country. A bitter +thing, to have the windows of her house broken, and be pointed at by +the boys in the street. + + [MORE stands silent under this attack, looking at his wife.] + +KATHERINE. Nurse! + +NURSE. It's unnatural, sir--what you're doing! To think more of +those savages than of your own wife! Look at her! Did you ever see +her look like that? Take care, sir, before it's too late! + +MORE. Enough, please! + + NURSE stands for a moment doubtful; looks long at KATHERINE; + then goes. + +MORE. [Quietly] There has been a victory. + + [He goes out. KATHERINE is breathing fast, listening to the + distant hum and stir rising in the street. She runs to the + window as the footman, HENRY, entering, says: "Sir John Julian, + Ma'am!" SIR JOHN comes in, a newspaper in his hand.] + +KATHERINE. At last! A victory! + +SIR JOHN. Thank God! [He hands her the paper.] + +KATHERINE. Oh, Dad! + + [She tears the paper open, and feverishly reads.] + +KATHERINE. At last! + + The distant hum in the street is rising steadily. But SIR JOHN, + after the one exultant moment when he handed her the paper, + stares dumbly at the floor. + +KATHERINE. [Suddenly conscious of his gravity] Father! + +SIR JOHN. There is other news. + +KATHERINE. One of the boys? Hubert? + + [SIR JOHN bows his head.] + +KATHERINE. Killed? + + [SIR JOHN again bows his head.] + +KATHERINE. The dream! [She covers her face] Poor Helen! + + They stand for a few seconds silent, then SIR JOHN raises his + head, and putting up a hand, touches her wet cheek. + +SIR JOHN. [Huskily] Whom the gods love---- + +KATHERINE. Hubert! + +SIR JOHN. And hulks like me go on living! + +KATHERINE. Dear Dad! + +SIR JOHN. But we shall drive the ruffians now! We shall break them. +Stephen back? + +KATHERINE. Last night. + +SIR JOHN. Has he finished his blasphemous speech-making at last? +[KATHERINE shakes her head] Not? + + [Then, seeing that KATHERINE is quivering with emotion, he + strokes her hand.] + +SIR JOHN. My dear! Death is in many houses! + +KATHERINE. I must go to Helen. Tell Stephen, Father. I can't. + +SIR JOHN. If you wish, child. + + [She goes out, leaving SIR JOHN to his grave, puzzled grief, and + in a few seconds MORE comes in.] + +MORE. Yes, Sir John. You wanted me? + +SIR JOHN. Hubert is killed. + +MORE. Hubert! + +SIR JOHN. By these--whom you uphold. Katherine asked me to let you +know. She's gone to Helen. I understand you only came back last +night from your----No word I can use would give what I feel about +that. I don't know how things stand now between you and Katherine; +but I tell you this, Stephen: you've tried her these last two months +beyond what any woman ought to bear! + + [MORE makes a gesture of pain.] + +SIR JOHN. When you chose your course---- + +MORE. Chose! + +SIR JOHN. You placed yourself in opposition to every feeling in her. +You knew this might come. It may come again with another of my sons. + +MORE. I would willingly change places with any one of them. + +SIR JOHN. Yes--I can believe in your unhappiness. I cannot conceive +of greater misery than to be arrayed against your country. If I +could have Hubert back, I would not have him at such a price--no, nor +all my sons. 'Pro patri mori'--My boy, at all events, is happy! + +MORE. Yes! + +SIR JOHN. Yet you can go on doing what you are! What devil of pride +has got into you, Stephen? + +MORE. Do you imagine I think myself better than the humblest private +fighting out there? Not for a minute. + +SIR JOHN. I don't understand you. I always thought you devoted to +Katherine. + +MORE. Sir John, you believe that country comes before wife and +child? + +SIR JOHN. I do. + +MORE. So do I. + +SIR JOHN. [Bewildered] Whatever my country does or leaves undone, I +no more presume to judge her than I presume to judge my God. [With +all the exaltation of the suffering he has undergone for her] My +country! + +MORE. I would give all I have--for that creed. + +SIR JOHN. [Puzzled] Stephen, I've never looked on you as a crank; +I always believed you sane and honest. But this is--visionary mania. + +MORE. Vision of what might be. + +SIR JOHN. Why can't you be content with what the grandest nation-- +the grandest men on earth--have found good enough for them? I've +known them, I've seen what they could suffer, for our country. + +MORE. Sir John, imagine what the last two months have been to me! +To see people turn away in the street--old friends pass me as if I +were a wall! To dread the post! To go to bed every night with the +sound of hooting in my ears! To know that my name is never referred +to without contempt---- + +SIR JOHN. You have your new friends. Plenty of them, I understand. + +MORE. Does that make up for being spat at as I was last night? Your +battles are fool's play to it. + + The stir and rustle of the crowd in the street grows louder. + SIR JOHN turns his head towards it. + +SIR JOHN. You've heard there's been a victory. Do you carry your +unnatural feeling so far as to be sorry for that? [MORE shakes his +head] That's something! For God's sake, Stephen, stop before it's +gone past mending. Don't ruin your life with Katherine. Hubert was +her favourite brother; you are backing those who killed him. Think +what that means to her! Drop this--mad Quixotism--idealism--whatever +you call it. Take Katherine away. Leave the country till the +thing's over--this country of yours that you're opposing, and--and-- +traducing. Take her away! Come! What good are you doing? What +earthly good? Come, my boy! Before you're utterly undone. + +MORE. Sir John! Our men are dying out there for, the faith that's +in them! I believe my faith the higher, the better for mankind--Am +I to slink away? Since I began this campaign I've found hundreds +who've thanked me for taking this stand. They look on me now as +their leader. Am I to desert them? When you led your forlorn hope-- +did you ask yourself what good you were doing, or, whether you'd come +through alive? It's my forlorn hope not to betray those who are +following me; and not to help let die a fire--a fire that's sacred-- +not only now in this country, but in all countries, for all time. + +SIR JOHN. [After a long stare] I give you credit for believing what +you say. But let me tell you whatever that fire you talk of--I'm too +old-fashioned to grasp--one fire you are letting die--your wife's +love. By God! This crew of your new friends, this crew of cranks +and jays, if they can make up to you for the loss of her love--of +your career, of all those who used to like and respect you--so much +the better for you. But if you find yourself bankrupt of affection-- +alone as the last man on earth; if this business ends in your utter +ruin and destruction--as it must--I shall not pity--I cannot pity +you. Good-night! + + He marches to the door, opens it, and goes out. MORE is left + standing perfectly still. The stir and murmur of the street is + growing all the time, and slowly forces itself on his + consciousness. He goes to the bay window and looks out; then + rings the bell. It is not answered, and, after turning up the + lights, he rings again. KATHERINE comes in. She is wearing a + black hat, and black outdoor coat. She speaks coldly without + looking up. + +KATHERINE. You rang! + +MORE. For them to shut this room up. + +KATHERINE. The servants have gone out. They're afraid of the house +being set on fire. + +MORE. I see. + +KATHERINE. They have not your ideals to sustain them. [MORE winces] +I am going with Helen and Olive to Father's. + +MORE. [Trying to take in the exact sense of her words] Good! You +prefer that to an hotel? [KATHERINE nods. Gently] Will you let me +say, Kit, how terribly I feel for you--Hubert's---- + +KATHERINE. Don't. I ought to have made what I meant plainer. I am +not coming back. + +MORE. Not? Not while the house---- + +KATHERINE. Not--at all. + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. I warned you from the first. You've gone too far! + +MORE. [Terribly moved] Do you understand what this means? After +ten years--and all--our love! + +KATHERINE. Was it love? How could you ever have loved one so +unheroic as myself! + +MORE. This is madness, Kit--Kit! + +KATHERINE. Last night I was ready. You couldn't. If you couldn't +then, you never can. You are very exalted, Stephen. I don't like +living--I won't live, with one whose equal I am not. This has been +coming ever since you made that speech. I told you that night what +the end would be. + +MORE. [Trying to put his arms round her] Don't be so terribly +cruel! + +KATHERINE. No! Let's have the truth! People so wide apart don't +love! Let me go! + +MORE. In God's name, how can I help the difference in our faiths? + +KATHERINE. Last night you used the word--bargain. Quite right. I +meant to buy you. I meant to kill your faith. You showed me what I +was doing. I don't like to be shown up as a driver of bargains, +Stephen. + +MORE. God knows--I never meant---- + +KATHERINE. If I'm not yours in spirit--I don't choose to be your-- +mistress. + + MORE, as if lashed by a whip, has thrown up his hands in an + attitude of defence. + +KATHERINE. Yes, that's cruel! It shows the heights you live on. I +won't drag you down. + +MORE. For God's sake, put your pride away, and see! I'm fighting +for the faith that's in me. What else can a man do? What else? Ah! +Kit! Do see! + +KATHERINE. I'm strangled here! Doing nothing--sitting silent--when +my brothers are fighting, and being killed. I shall try to go out +nursing. Helen will come with me. I have my faith, too; my poor +common love of country. I can't stay here with you. I spent last +night on the floor--thinking--and I know! + +MORE. And Olive? + +KATHERINE. I shall leave her at Father's, with Nurse; unless you +forbid me to take her. You can. + +MORE. [Icily] That I shall not do--you know very well. You are +free to go, and to take her. + +KATHERINE. [Very low] Thank you! [Suddenly she turns to him, and +draws his eyes on her. Without a sound, she puts her whole strength +into that look] Stephen! Give it up! Come down to me! + + The festive sounds from the street grow louder. There can be + heard the blowing of whistles, and bladders, and all the sounds + of joy. + +MORE. And drown in--that? + +KATHERINE turns swiftly to the door. There she stands and again +looks at him. Her face is mysterious, from the conflicting currents +of her emotions. + +MORE. So--you're going? + +KATHERINE. [In a whisper] Yes. + + She bends her head, opens the door, and goes. MORE starts + forward as if to follow her, but OLIVE has appeared in the + doorway. She has on a straight little white coat and a round + white cap. + +OLIVE. Aren't you coming with us, Daddy? + + [MORE shakes his head.] + +OLIVE. Why not? + +MORE. Never mind, my dicky bird. + +OLIVE. The motor'll have to go very slow. There are such a lot of +people in the street. Are you staying to stop them setting the house +on fire? [MORE nods] May I stay a little, too? [MORE shakes his +head] Why? + +MORE. [Putting his hand on her head] Go along, my pretty! + +OLIVE. Oh! love me up, Daddy! + + [MORE takes and loves her up] + +OLIVE. Oo-o! + +MORE. Trot, my soul! + + [She goes, looks back at him, turns suddenly, and vanishes.] + + MORE follows her to the door, but stops there. Then, as full + realization begins to dawn on him, he runs to the bay window, + craning his head to catch sight of the front door. There is the + sound of a vehicle starting, and the continual hooting of its + horn as it makes its way among the crowd. He turns from the + window. + +MORE. Alone as the last man on earth! + + [Suddenly a voice rises clear out of the hurly-burly in the + street.] + +VOICE. There 'e is! That's 'im! More! Traitor! More! + + A shower of nutshells, orange-peel, and harmless missiles begins + to rattle against the glass of the window. Many voices take up + the groaning: "More! Traitor! Black-leg! More!" And through + the window can be seen waving flags and lighted Chinese + lanterns, swinging high on long bamboos. The din of execration + swells. MORE stands unheeding, still gazing after the cab. + Then, with a sharp crack, a flung stone crashes through one of + the panes. It is followed by a hoarse shout of laughter, and a + hearty groan. A second stone crashes through the glass. MORE + turns for a moment, with a contemptuous look, towards the + street, and the flare of the Chinese lanterns lights up his + face. Then, as if forgetting all about the din outside, he + moves back into the room, looks round him, and lets his head + droop. The din rises louder and louder; a third stone crashes + through. MORE raises his head again, and, clasping his hands, + looks straight before him. The footman, HENRY, entering, + hastens to the French windows. + +MORE. Ah! Henry, I thought you'd gone. + +FOOTMAN. I came back, sir. + +MORE. Good fellow! + +FOOTMAN. They're trying to force the terrace gate, sir. They've no +business coming on to private property--no matter what! + + In the surging entrance of the mob the footman, HENRY, who shows + fight, is overwhelmed, hustled out into the crowd on the + terrace, and no more seen. The MOB is a mixed crowd of + revellers of both sexes, medical students, clerks, shop men and + girls, and a Boy Scout or two. Many have exchanged hats--Some + wear masks, or false noses, some carry feathers or tin whistles. + Some, with bamboos and Chinese lanterns, swing them up outside + on the terrace. The medley of noises is very great. Such + ringleaders as exist in the confusion are a GROUP OF STUDENTS, + the chief of whom, conspicuous because unadorned, is an + athletic, hatless young man with a projecting underjaw, and + heavy coal-black moustache, who seems with the swing of his huge + arms and shoulders to sway the currents of motion. When the + first surge of noise and movement subsides, he calls out: "To + him, boys! Chair the hero!" THE STUDENTS rush at the impassive + MORE, swing him roughly on to their shoulders and bear him round + the room. When they have twice circled the table to the music + of their confused singing, groans and whistling, THE CHIEF OF + THE STUDENTS calls out: "Put him down!" Obediently they set him + down on the table which has been forced into the bay window, and + stand gaping up at him. + +CHIEF STUDENT. Speech! Speech! + + [The noise ebbs, and MORE looks round him.] + +CHIEF STUDENT. Now then, you, sir. + +MORE. [In a quiet voice] Very well. You are here by the law that +governs the action of all mobs--the law of Force. By that law, you +can do what you like to this body of mine. + +A VOICE. And we will, too. + +MORE. I don't doubt it. But before that, I've a word to say. + +A VOICE. You've always that. + + [ANOTHER VOICE raises a donkey's braying.] + +MORE. You--Mob--are the most contemptible thing under the sun. When +you walk the street--God goes in. + +CHIEF STUDENT. Be careful, you--sir. + +VOICES. Down him! Down with the beggar! + +MORE. [Above the murmurs] My fine friends, I'm not afraid of you. +You've forced your way into my house, and you've asked me to speak. +Put up with the truth for once! [His words rush out] You are the +thing that pelts the weak; kicks women; howls down free speech. This +to-day, and that to-morrow. Brain--you have none. Spirit--not the +ghost of it! If you're not meanness, there's no such thing. If +you're not cowardice, there is no cowardice [Above the growing +fierceness of the hubbub] Patriotism--there are two kinds--that of +our soldiers, and this of mine. You have neither! + +CHIEF STUDENT. [Checking a dangerous rush] Hold on! Hold on! [To +MORE] Swear to utter no more blasphemy against your country: Swear +it! + +CROWD. Ah! Ay! Ah! + +MORE. My country is not yours. Mine is that great country which +shall never take toll from the weakness of others. [Above the +groaning] Ah! you can break my head and my windows; but don't think +that you can break my faith. You could never break or shake it, if +you were a million to one. + + A girl with dark eyes and hair all wild, leaps out from the + crowd and shakes her fist at him. + +GIRL. You're friends with them that killed my lad! [MORE smiles +down at her, and she swiftly plucks the knife from the belt of a Boy +Scout beside her] Smile, you--cur! + + A violent rush and heave from behind flings MORE forward on to + the steel. He reels, staggers back, and falls down amongst the + crowd. A scream, a sway, a rush, a hubbub of cries. The CHIEF + STUDENT shouts above the riot: "Steady!" Another: "My God! + He's got it!" + +CHIEF STUDENT. Give him air! + + The crowd falls back, and two STUDENTS, bending over MORE, lift + his arms and head, but they fall like lead. Desperately they + test him for life. + +CHIEF STUDENT. By the Lord, it's over! + + Then begins a scared swaying out towards the window. Some one + turns out the lights, and in the darkness the crowd fast melts + away. The body of MORE lies in the gleam from a single Chinese + lantern. Muttering the words: "Poor devil! He kept his end up + anyway!" the CHIEF STUDENT picks from the floor a little + abandoned Union Jack and lays it on MORE's breast. Then he, + too, turns, and rushes out. + + And the body of MORE lies in the streak of light; and flee + noises in the street continue to rise. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS, BUT RISES AGAIN ALMOST AT ONCE. + + + + +AFTERMATH + + A late Spring dawn is just breaking. Against trees in leaf and + blossom, with the houses of a London Square beyond, suffused by + the spreading glow, is seen a dark life-size statue on a granite + pedestal. In front is the broad, dust-dim pavement. The light + grows till the central words around the pedestal can be clearly + read: + + ERECTED + To the Memory + of + STEPHEN MORE + "Faithful to his ideal" + +High above, the face of MORE looks straight before him with a faint +smile. On one shoulder and on his bare head two sparrows have +perched, and from the gardens, behind, comes the twittering and +singing of birds. + + +THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + +The End + + + + + + End of Project Gutenberg's The Mob (Third Series Plays), by John Galsworthy + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOB (THIRD SERIES PLAYS) *** + + ***** This file should be named 2914.txt or 2914.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/2914/ + + Produced by David Widger + + Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions + will be renamed. + + Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no + one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation + (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without + permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.07.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Widger, <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +PLAYS OF JOHN GALSWORTHY--SERIES 3 + + + +THE MOB +A Play in Four Acts + + + + +PERSONS OF THE PLAY + +STEPHEN MORE, Member of Parliament +KATHERINE, his wife +OLIVE, their little daughter +THE DEAN OF STOUR, Katherine's uncle +GENERAL SIR JOHN JULIAN, her father +CAPTAIN HUBERT JULIAN, her brother +HELEN, his wife +EDWARD MENDIP, editor of "The Parthenon" +ALAN STEEL, More's secretary +JAMES HOME, architect | +CHARLES SHELDER, Solicitor |A deputation of More's +MARK WACE, bookseller |constituents +WILLIAM BANNING, manufacturer | +NURSE WREFORD +WREFORD (her son), Hubert's orderly +HIS SWEETHEART +THE FOOTMAN HENRY +A DOORKEEPER +SOME BLACK-COATED GENTLEMEN +A STUDENT +A GIRL + + + + + A MOB + +ACT I. The dining-room of More's town house, evening. + +ACT II. The same, morning. + +ACT III. SCENE I. An alley at the back of a suburban theatre. + SCENE II. Katherine's bedroom. + +ACT IV. The dining-room of More's house, late afternoon. + +AFTERMATH. The corner of a square, at dawn. + + + +Between ACTS I and II some days elapse. +Between ACTS II and III three months. +Between ACT III SCENE I and ACT III SCENE II no time. +Between ACTS III and IV a few hours. +Between ACTS IV and AFTERMATH an indefinite period. + + + + +ACT I + + It is half-past nine of a July evening. In a dining-room + lighted by sconces, and apparelled in wall-paper, carpet, and + curtains of deep vivid blue, the large French windows between + two columns are open on to a wide terrace, beyond which are seen + trees in darkness, and distant shapes of lighted houses. On one + side is a bay window, over which curtains are partly drawn. + Opposite to this window is a door leading into the hall. At an + oval rosewood table, set with silver, flowers, fruit, and wine, + six people are seated after dinner. Back to the bay window is + STEPHEN MORE, the host, a man of forty, with a fine-cut face, a + rather charming smile, and the eyes of an idealist; to his + right, SIR, JOHN JULIAN, an old soldier, with thin brown + features, and grey moustaches; to SIR JOHN's right, his brother, + the DEAN OF STOUR, a tall, dark, ascetic-looking Churchman: to + his right KATHERINE is leaning forward, her elbows on the table, + and her chin on her hands, staring across at her husband; to her + right sits EDWARD MENDIP, a pale man of forty-five, very bald, + with a fine forehead, and on his clear-cut lips a smile that + shows his teeth; between him and MORE is HELEN JULIAN, a pretty + dark-haired young woman, absorbed in thoughts of her own. The + voices are tuned to the pitch of heated discussion, as the + curtain rises. + + +THE DEAN. I disagree with you, Stephen; absolutely, entirely +disagree. + +MORE. I can't help it. + +MENDIP. Remember a certain war, Stephen! Were your chivalrous +notions any good, then? And, what was winked at in an obscure young +Member is anathema for an Under Secretary of State. You can't +afford---- + +MORE. To follow my conscience? That's new, Mendip. + +MENDIP. Idealism can be out of place, my friend. + +THE DEAN. The Government is dealing here with a wild lawless race, +on whom I must say I think sentiment is rather wasted. + +MORE. God made them, Dean. + +MENDIP. I have my doubts. + +THE DEAN. They have proved themselves faithless. We have the right +to chastise. + +MORE. If I hit a little man in the eye, and he hits me back, have I +the right to chastise him? + +SIR JOHN. We didn't begin this business. + +MORE. What! With our missionaries and our trading? + +THE DEAN. It is news indeed that the work of civilization may be +justifiably met by murder. Have you forgotten Glaive and Morlinson? + +SIR JOHN. Yes. And that poor fellow Groome and his wife? + +MORE. They went into a wild country, against the feeling of the +tribes, on their own business. What has the nation to do with the +mishaps of gamblers? + +SIR JOHN. We can't stand by and see our own flesh and blood +ill-treated! + +THE DEAN. Does our rule bring blessing--or does it not, Stephen? + +MORE. Sometimes; but with all my soul I deny the fantastic +superstition that our rule can benefit a people like this, a nation +of one race, as different from ourselves as dark from light--in +colour, religion, every mortal thing. We can only pervert their +natural instincts. + +THE DEAN. That to me is an unintelligible point of view. + +MENDIP. Go into that philosophy of yours a little deeper, Stephen-- +it spells stagnation. There are no fixed stars on this earth. +Nations can't let each other alone. + +MORE. Big ones could let little ones alone. + +MENDIP. If they could there'd be no big ones. My dear fellow, we +know little nations are your hobby, but surely office should have +toned you down. + +SIR JOHN. I've served my country fifty years, and I say she is not +in the wrong. + +MORE. I hope to serve her fifty, Sir John, and I say she is. + +MENDIP. There are moments when such things can't be said, More. + +MORE. They'll be said by me to-night, Mendip. + +MENDIP. In the House? + + [MORE nods.] + +KATHERINE. Stephen! + +MENDIP. Mrs. More, you mustn't let him. It's madness. + +MORE. [Rising] You can tell people that to-morrow, Mendip. Give it +a leader in 'The Parthenon'. + +MENDIP. Political lunacy! No man in your position has a right to +fly out like this at the eleventh hour. + +MORE. I've made no secret of my feelings all along. I'm against +this war, and against the annexation we all know it will lead to. + +MENDIP. My dear fellow! Don't be so Quixotic! We shall have war +within the next twenty-four hours, and nothing you can do will stop +it. + +HELEN. Oh! No! + +MENDIP. I'm afraid so, Mrs. Hubert. + +SIR JOHN. Not a doubt of it, Helen. + +MENDIP. [TO MORE] And you mean to charge the windmill? + + [MORE nods.] + +MENDIP. 'C'est magnifique'! + +MORE. I'm not out for advertisement. + +MENDIP. You will get it! + +MORE. Must speak the truth sometimes, even at that risk. + +SIR JOHN. It is not the truth. + +MENDIP. The greater the truth the greater the libel, and the greater +the resentment of the person libelled. + +THE DEAN. [Trying to bring matters to a blander level] My dear +Stephen, even if you were right--which I deny--about the initial +merits, there surely comes a point where the individual conscience +must resign it self to the country's feeling. This has become a +question of national honour. + +SIR JOHN. Well said, James! + +MORE. Nations are bad judges of their honour, Dean. + +THE DEAN. I shall not follow you there. + +MORE. No. It's an awkward word. + +KATHERINE. [Stopping THE DEAN] Uncle James! Please! + + [MORE looks at her intently.] + +SIR JOHN. So you're going to put yourself at the head of the cranks, +ruin your career, and make me ashamed that you're my son-in-law? + +MORE. Is a man only to hold beliefs when they're popular? You've +stood up to be shot at often enough, Sir John. + +SIR JOHN. Never by my country! Your speech will be in all the +foreign press-trust 'em for seizing on anything against us. A +show-up before other countries----! + +MORE. You admit the show-up? + +SIR JOHN. I do not, sir. + +THE DEAN. The position has become impossible. The state of things +out there must be put an end to once for all! Come, Katherine, back +us up! + +MORE. My country, right or wrong! Guilty--still my country! + +MENDIP. That begs the question. + + [KATHERINE rises. THE DEAN, too, stands up.] + +THE DEAN. [In a low voice] 'Quem Deus volt perdere'----! + +SIR JOHN. Unpatriotic! + +MORE. I'll have no truck with tyranny. + +KATHERINE. Father doesn't admit tyranny. Nor do any of us, Stephen. + +HUBERT JULIAN, a tall Soldier-like man, has come in. + +HELEN. Hubert! + + [She gets up and goes to him, and they talk together near the + door.] + +SIR JOHN. What in God's name is your idea? We've forborne long +enough, in all conscience. + +MORE. Sir John, we great Powers have got to change our ways in +dealing with weaker nations. The very dogs can give us lessons-- +watch a big dog with a little one. + +MENDIP. No, no, these things are not so simple as all that. + +MORE. There's no reason in the world, Mendip, why the rules of +chivalry should not apply to nations at least as well as to---dogs. + +MENDIP. My dear friend, are you to become that hapless kind of +outcast, a champion of lost causes? + +MORE. This cause is not lost. + +MENDIP. Right or wrong, as lost as ever was cause in all this world. +There was never a time when the word "patriotism" stirred mob +sentiment as it does now. 'Ware "Mob," Stephen---'ware "Mob"! + +MORE. Because general sentiment's against me, I--a public man--am to +deny my faith? The point is not whether I'm right or wrong, Mendip, +but whether I'm to sneak out of my conviction because it's unpopular. + +THE DEAN. I'm afraid I must go. [To KATHERINE] Good-night, my +dear! Ah! Hubert! [He greets HUBERT] Mr. Mendip, I go your way. +Can I drop you? + +MENDIP. Thank you. Good-night, Mrs. More. Stop him! It's +perdition. + + [He and THE DEAN go out. KATHERINE puts her arm in HELEN'S, and + takes her out of the room. HUBERT remains standing by the door] + +SIR JOHN. I knew your views were extreme in many ways, Stephen, but +I never thought the husband of my daughter would be a Peace-at-any- +price man! + +MORE. I am not! But I prefer to fight some one my own size. + +SIR JOHN. Well! I can only hope to God you'll come to your senses +before you commit the folly of this speech. I must get back to the +War Office. Good-night, Hubert. + +HUBERT. Good-night, Father. + + [SIR JOHN goes out. HUBERT stands motionless, dejected.] + +HUBERT. We've got our orders. + +MORE. What? When d'you sail? + +HUBERT. At once. + +MORE. Poor Helen! + +HUBERT. Not married a year; pretty bad luck! [MORE touches his arm +in sympathy] Well! We've got to put feelings in our pockets. Look +here, Stephen--don't make that speech! Think of Katherine--with the +Dad at the War Office, and me going out, and Ralph and old George out +there already! You can't trust your tongue when you're hot about a +thing. + +MORE. I must speak, Hubert. + +HUBERT. No, no! Bottle yourself up for to-night. The next few +hours 'll see it begin. [MORE turns from him] If you don't care +whether you mess up your own career--don't tear Katherine in two! + +MORE. You're not shirking your duty because of your wife. + +HUBERT. Well! You're riding for a fall, and a godless mucker it'll +be. This'll be no picnic. We shall get some nasty knocks out there. +Wait and see the feeling here when we've had a force or two cut up in +those mountains. It's awful country. Those fellows have got modern +arms, and are jolly good fighters. Do drop it, Stephen! + +MORE. Must risk something, sometimes, Hubert--even in my profession! + + [As he speaks, KATHERINE comes in.] + +HUBERT. But it's hopeless, my dear chap--absolutely. + + [MORE turns to the window, HUBERT to his sister--then with a + gesture towards MORE, as though to leave the matter to her, he + goes out.] + +KATHERINE. Stephen! Are you really going to speak? [He nods] I ask +you not. + +MORE. You know my feeling. + +KATHERINE. But it's our own country. We can't stand apart from it. +You won't stop anything--only make people hate you. I can't bear +that. + +MORE. I tell you, Kit, some one must raise a voice. Two or three +reverses--certain to come--and the whole country will go wild. And +one more little nation will cease to live. + +KATHERINE. If you believe in your country, you must believe that the +more land and power she has, the better for the world. + +MORE. Is that your faith? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +MORE. I respect it; I even understand it; but--I can't hold it. + +KATHERINE. But, Stephen, your speech will be a rallying cry to all +the cranks, and every one who has a spite against the country. +They'll make you their figurehead. [MORE smiles] They will. Your +chance of the Cabinet will go--you may even have to resign your seat. + +MORE. Dogs will bark. These things soon blow over. + +KATHERINE. No, no! If you once begin a thing, you always go on; and +what earthly good? + +MORE. History won't say: "And this they did without a single protest +from their public men!" + +KATHERINE. There are plenty who---- + +MORE. Poets? + +KATHERINE. Do you remember that day on our honeymoon, going up Ben +Lawers? You were lying on your face in the heather; you said it was +like kissing a loved woman. There was a lark singing--you said that +was the voice of one's worship. The hills were very blue; that's why +we had blue here, because it was the best dress of our country. You +do love her. + +MORE. Love her! + +KATHERINE. You'd have done this for me--then. + +MORE. Would you have asked me--then, Kit? + +KATHERINE. Yes. The country's our country! Oh! Stephen, think +what it'll be like for me--with Hubert and the other boys out there. +And poor Helen, and Father! I beg you not to make this speech. + +MORE. Kit! This isn't fair. Do you want me to feel myself a cur? + +KATHERINE. [Breathless] I--I--almost feel you'll be a cur to do it +[She looks at him, frightened by her own words. Then, as the footman +HENRY has come in to clear the table--very low] I ask you not! + + [He does not answer, and she goes out.] + +MORE [To the servant] Later, please, Henry, later! + + The servant retires. MORE still stands looking down at the + dining-table; then putting his hand to his throat, as if to free + it from the grip of his collar, he pours out a glass of water, + and drinks it of. In the street, outside the bay window, two + street musicians, a harp and a violin, have taken up their + stand, and after some twangs and scrapes, break into music. + MORE goes towards the sound, and draws aside one curtain. After + a moment, he returns to the table, and takes up the notes of the + speech. He is in an agony of indecision. + +MORE. A cur! + + He seems about to tear his notes across. Then, changing his + mind, turns them over and over, muttering. His voice gradually + grows louder, till he is declaiming to the empty room the + peroration of his speech. + +MORE. . . . We have arrogated to our land the title Champion of +Freedom, Foe of Oppression. Is that indeed a bygone glory? Is it +not worth some sacrifice of our pettier dignity, to avoid laying +another stone upon its grave; to avoid placing before the searchlight +eyes of History the spectacle of yet one more piece of national +cynicism? We are about to force our will and our dominion on a race +that has always been free, that loves its country, and its +independence, as much as ever we love ours. I cannot sit silent +to-night and see this begin. As we are tender of our own land, so we +should be of the lands of others. I love my country. It is because +I love my country that I raise my voice. Warlike in spirit these +people may be--but they have no chance against ourselves. And war on +such, however agreeable to the blind moment, is odious to the future. +The great heart of mankind ever beats in sense and sympathy with the +weaker. It is against this great heart of mankind that we are going. +In the name of Justice and Civilization we pursue this policy; but by +Justice we shall hereafter be judged, and by Civilization--condemned. + + While he is speaking, a little figure has flown along the + terrace outside, in the direction of the music, but has stopped + at the sound of his voice, and stands in the open window, + listening--a dark-haired, dark-eyed child, in a blue dressing- + gown caught up in her hand. The street musicians, having + reached the end of a tune, are silent. + + In the intensity of MORES feeling, a wine-glass, gripped too + strongly, breaks and falls in pieces onto a finger-bowl. The + child starts forward into the room. + +MORE. Olive! + +OLIVE. Who were you speaking to, Daddy? + +MORE. [Staring at her] The wind, sweetheart! + +OLIVE. There isn't any! + +MORE. What blew you down, then? + +OLIVE. [Mysteriously] The music. Did the wind break the wine- +glass, or did it come in two in your hand? + +MORE. Now my sprite! Upstairs again, before Nurse catches you. +Fly! Fly! + +OLIVE. Oh! no, Daddy! [With confidential fervour] It feels like +things to-night! + +MORE. You're right there! + +OLIVE. [Pulling him down to her, and whispering] I must get back +again in secret. H'sh! + + She suddenly runs and wraps herself into one of the curtains of + the bay window. A young man enters, with a note in his hand. + +MORE. Hello, Steel! + + [The street musicians have again begun to play.] + +STEEL. From Sir John--by special messenger from the War Office. + +MORE. [Reading the note] "The ball is opened." + + He stands brooding over the note, and STEEL looks at him + anxiously. He is a dark, sallow, thin-faced young man, with the + eyes of one who can attach himself to people, and suffer with + them. + +STEEL. I'm glad it's begun, sir. It would have been an awful pity +to have made that speech. + +MORE. You too, Steel! + +STEEL. I mean, if it's actually started---- + +MORE. [Tearing tie note across] Yes. Keep that to yourself. + +STEEL. Do you want me any more? + + MORE takes from his breast pocket some papers, and pitches them + down on the bureau. + +MORE. Answer these. + +STEEL. [Going to the bureau] Fetherby was simply sickening. [He +begins to write. Struggle has begun again in MORE] Not the faintest +recognition that there are two sides to it. + + MORE gives him a quick look, goes quietly to the dining-table + and picks up his sheaf of notes. Hiding them with his sleeve, + he goes back to the window, where he again stands hesitating. + +STEEL. Chief gem: [Imitating] "We must show Impudence at last that +Dignity is not asleep!" + +MORE. [Moving out on to the terrace] Nice quiet night! + +STEEL. This to the Cottage Hospital--shall I say you will preside? + +MORE. No. + + STEEL writes; then looking up and seeing that MORE is no longer + there, he goes to the window, looks to right and left, returns + to the bureau, and is about to sit down again when a thought + seems to strike him with consternation. He goes again to the + window. Then snatching up his hat, he passes hurriedly out + along the terrace. As he vanishes, KATHERINE comes in from the + hall. After looking out on to the terrace she goes to the bay + window; stands there listening; then comes restlessly back into + the room. OLIVE, creeping quietly from behind the curtain, + clasps her round the waist. + +KATHERINE. O my darling! How you startled me! What are you doing +down here, you wicked little sinner! + +OLIVE. I explained all that to Daddy. We needn't go into it again, +need we? + +KATHERINE. Where is Daddy? + +OLIVE. Gone. + +KATHERINE. When? + +OLIVE. Oh! only just, and Mr. Steel went after him like a rabbit. +[The music stops] They haven't been paid, you know. + +KATHERINE. Now, go up at once. I can't think how you got down here. + +OLIVE. I can. [Wheedling] If you pay them, Mummy, they're sure to +play another. + +KATHERINE. Well, give them that! One more only. + + She gives OLIVE a coin, who runs with it to the bay window, + opens the aide casement, and calls to the musicians. + +OLIVE. Catch, please! And would you play just one more? + + She returns from the window, and seeing her mother lost in + thought, rubs herself against her. + +OLIVE. Have you got an ache? + +KATHARINE. Right through me, darling! + +OLIVE. Oh! + + [The musicians strike up a dance.] + +OLIVE. Oh! Mummy! I must just dance! + + She kicks off her lisle blue shoes, and begins dancing. While + she is capering HUBERT comes in from the hall. He stands + watching his little niece for a minute, and KATHERINE looks at + him. + +HUBERT. Stephen gone! + +KATHERINE. Yes--stop, Olive! + +OLIVE. Are you good at my sort of dancing, Uncle? + +HUBERT. Yes, chick--awfully! + +KATHERINE. Now, Olive! + + The musicians have suddenly broken off in the middle of a bar. + From the street comes the noise of distant shouting. + +OLIVE. Listen, Uncle! Isn't it a particular noise? + + HUBERT and KATHERINE listen with all their might, and OLIVE + stares at their faces. HUBERT goes to the window. The sound + comes nearer. The shouted words are faintly heard: "Pyper---- + war----our force crosses frontier--sharp fightin'----pyper." + +KATHERINE. [Breathless] Yes! It is. + + The street cry is heard again in two distant voices coming from + different directions: "War--pyper--sharp fightin' on the + frontier--pyper." + +KATHERINE. Shut out those ghouls! + + As HUBERT closes the window, NURSE WREFORD comes in from the + hall. She is an elderly woman endowed with a motherly grimness. + She fixes OLIVE with her eye, then suddenly becomes conscious of + the street cry. + +NURSE. Oh! don't say it's begun. + + [HUBERT comes from the window.] + +NURSE. Is the regiment to go, Mr. Hubert? + +HUBERT. Yes, Nanny. + +NURSE. Oh, dear! My boy! + +KATHERINE. [Signing to where OLIVE stands with wide eyes] Nurse! + +HUBERT. I'll look after him, Nurse. + +NURSE. And him keepin' company. And you not married a year. Ah! +Mr. Hubert, now do 'ee take care; you and him's both so rash. + +HUBERT. Not I, Nurse! + + NURSE looks long into his face, then lifts her finger, and + beckons OLIVE. + +OLIVE. [Perceiving new sensations before her, goes quietly] Good- +night, Uncle! Nanny, d'you know why I was obliged to come down? [In +a fervent whisper] It's a secret! + + [As she passes with NURSE out into the hall, her voice is heard + saying, "Do tell me all about the war."] + +HUBERT. [Smothering emotion under a blunt manner] We sail on +Friday, Kit. Be good to Helen, old girl. + +KATHERINE. Oh! I wish----! Why--can't--women--fight? + +HUBERT. Yes, it's bad for you, with Stephen taking it like this. +But he'll come round now it's once begun. + + KATHERINE shakes her head, then goes suddenly up to him, and + throws her arms round his neck. It is as if all the feeling + pent up in her were finding vent in this hug. + + The door from the hall is opened, and SIR JOHN'S voice is heard + outside: "All right, I'll find her." + +KATHERINE. Father! + + [SIR JOHN comes in.] + +SIR JOHN. Stephen get my note? I sent it over the moment I got to +the War Office. + +KATHERINE. I expect so. [Seeing the torn note on the table] Yes. + +SIR JOHN. They're shouting the news now. Thank God, I stopped that +crazy speech of his in time. + +KATHERINE. Have you stopped it? + +SIR JOHN. What! He wouldn't be such a sublime donkey? + +KATHERINE. I think that is just what he might be. [Going to the +window] We shall know soon. + + [SIR JOHN, after staring at her, goes up to HUBERT.] + +SIR JOHN. Keep a good heart, my boy. The country's first. [They +exchange a hand-squeeze.] + + KATHERINE backs away from the window. STEEL has appeared there + from the terrace, breathless from running. + +STEEL. Mr. More back? + +KATHERINE. No. Has he spoken? + +STEEL. Yes. + +KATHERINE. Against? + +STEEL. Yes. + +SIR JOHN. What? After! + + SIR, JOHN stands rigid, then turns and marches straight out into + the hall. At a sign from KATHERINE, HUBERT follows him. + +KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Steel? + +STEEL. [Still breathless and agitated] We were here--he slipped +away from me somehow. He must have gone straight down to the House. +I ran over, but when I got in under the Gallery he was speaking +already. They expected something--I never heard it so still there. +He gripped them from the first word--deadly--every syllable. It got +some of those fellows. But all the time, under the silence you could +feel a--sort of--of--current going round. And then Sherratt--I think +it was--began it, and you saw the anger rising in them; but he kept +them down--his quietness! The feeling! I've never seen anything +like it there. + +Then there was a whisper all over the House that fighting had begun. +And the whole thing broke out--regular riot--as if they could have +killed him. Some one tried to drag him down by the coat-tails, but +he shook him off, and went on. Then he stopped dead and walked out, +and the noise dropped like a stone. The whole thing didn't last five +minutes. It was fine, Mrs. More; like--like lava; he was the only +cool person there. I wouldn't have missed it for anything--it was +grand! + + MORE has appeared on the terrace, behind STEEL. + +KATHERINE. Good-night, Mr. Steel. + +STEEL. [Startled] Oh!--Good-night! + + He goes out into the hall. KATHERINE picks up OLIVE'S shoes, + and stands clasping them to her breast. MORE comes in. + +KATHERINE. You've cleared your conscience, then! I didn't think +you'd hurt me so. + + MORE does not answer, still living in the scene he has gone + through, and KATHERINE goes a little nearer to him. + +KATHERINE. I'm with the country, heart and soul, Stephen. I warn +you. + + While they stand in silence, facing each other, the footman, + HENRY, enters from the hall. + +FOOTMAN. These notes, sir, from the House of Commons. + +KATHERINE. [Taking them] You can have the room directly. + + [The FOOTMAN goes out.] + +MORE. Open them! + + KATHERINE opens one after the other, and lets them fall on the + table. + +MORE. Well? + +KATHERINE. What you might expect. Three of your best friends. It's +begun. + +MORE. 'Ware Mob! [He gives a laugh] I must write to the Chief. + + KATHERINE makes an impulsive movement towards him; then quietly + goes to the bureau, sits down and takes up a pen. + +KATHERINE. Let me make the rough draft. [She waits] Yes? + +MORE. [Dictating] + +"July 15th. + +"DEAR SIR CHARLES, After my speech to-night, embodying my most +unalterable convictions [KATHERINE turns and looks up at him, but he +is staring straight before him, and with a little movement of despair +she goes on writing] I have no alternative but to place the +resignation of my Under-Secretaryship in your hands. My view, my +faith in this matter may be wrong--but I am surely right to keep the +flag of my faith flying. I imagine I need not enlarge on the +reasons----" + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + + + + +ACT. II + + Before noon a few days later. The open windows of the dining- + room let in the sunlight. On the table a number of newspapers + are littered. HELEN is sitting there, staring straight before + her. A newspaper boy runs by outside calling out his wares. At + the sound she gets up anti goes out on to the terrace. HUBERT + enters from the hall. He goes at once to the terrace, and draws + HELEN into the room. + +HELEN. Is it true--what they're shouting? + +HUBERT. Yes. Worse than we thought. They got our men all crumpled +up in the Pass--guns helpless. Ghastly beginning. + +HELEN. Oh, Hubert! + +HUBERT. My dearest girl! + + HELEN puts her face up to his. He kisses her. Then she turns + quickly into the bay window. The door from the hall has been + opened, and the footman, HENRY, comes in, preceding WREFORD and + his sweetheart. + +HENRY. Just wait here, will you, while I let Mrs. More know. +[Catching sight of HUBERT] Beg pardon, sir! + +HUBERT. All right, Henry. [Off-hand] Ah! Wreford! [The FOOTMAN +withdraws] So you've brought her round. That's good! My sister'll +look after her--don't you worry! Got everything packed? Three +o'clock sharp. + +WREFORD. [A broad faced soldier, dressed in khaki with a certain +look of dry humour, now dimmed-speaking with a West Country burr] +That's right, zurr; all's ready. + + HELEN has come out of the window, and is quietly looking at + WREFORD and the girl standing there so awkwardly. + +HELEN. [Quietly] Take care of him, Wreford. + +HUBERT. We'll take care of each other, won't we, Wreford? + +HELEN. How long have you been engaged? + +THE GIRL. [A pretty, indeterminate young woman] Six months. [She +sobs suddenly.] + +HELEN. Ah! He'll soon be safe back. + +WREFORD. I'll owe 'em for this. [In a lacy voice to her] Don't 'ee +now! Don't 'ee! + +HELEN. No! Don't cry, please! + + She stands struggling with her own lips, then goes out on to the + terrace, HUBERT following. WREFORD and his girl remain where + they were, strange and awkward, she muffling her sobs. + +WREFORD. Don't 'ee go on like that, Nance; I'll 'ave to take you +'ome. That's silly, now we've a-come. I might be dead and buried by +the fuss you're makin'. You've a-drove the lady away. See! + + She regains control of herself as the door is opened and + KATHERINE appears, accompanied by OLIVE, who regards WREFORD + with awe and curiosity, and by NURSE, whose eyes are red, but + whose manner is composed. + +KATHERINE. My brother told me; so glad you've brought her. + +WREFORD. Ye--as, M'. She feels me goin', a bit. + +KATHERINE. Yes, yes! Still, it's for the country, isn't it? + +THE GIRL. That's what Wreford keeps tellin' me. He've got to go--so +it's no use upsettin' 'im. And of course I keep tellin' him I shall +be all right. + +NURSE. [Whose eyes never leave her son's face] And so you will. + +THE GIRL. Wreford thought it'd comfort him to know you were +interested in me. 'E's so 'ot-headed I'm sure somethin'll come to +'im. + +KATHERINE. We've all got some one going. Are you coming to the +docks? We must send them off in good spirits, you know. + +OLIVE. Perhaps he'll get a medal. + +KATHERINE. Olive! + +NURSE. You wouldn't like for him to be hanging back, one of them +anti-patriot, stop-the-war ones. + +KATHERINE. [Quickly] Let me see--I have your address. [Holding out +her hand to WREFORD] We'll look after her. + +OLIVE. [In a loud whisper] Shall I lend him my toffee? + +KATHERINE. If you like, dear. [To WREFORD] Now take care of my +brother and yourself, and we'll take care of her. + +WREFORD. Ye--as, M'. + + He then looks rather wretchedly at his girl, as if the interview + had not done so much for him as he had hoped. She drops a + little curtsey. WREFORD salutes. + +OLIVE. [Who has taken from the bureau a packet, places it in his +hand] It's very nourishing! + +WREFORD. Thank you, miss. + + Then, nudging each other, and entangled in their feelings and + the conventions, they pass out, shepherded by NURSE. + +KATHERINE. Poor things! + +OLIVE. What is an anti-patriot, stop-the-war one, Mummy? + +KATHERINE. [Taking up a newspaper] Just a stupid name, dear--don't +chatter! + +OLIVE. But tell me just one weeny thing! + +KATHERINE. Well? + +OLIVE. Is Daddy one? + +KATHERINE. Olive! How much do you know about this war? + +OLIVE. They won't obey us properly. So we have to beat them, and +take away their country. We shall, shan't we? + +KATHERINE. Yes. But Daddy doesn't want us to; he doesn't think it +fair, and he's been saying so. People are very angry with him. + +OLIVE. Why isn't it fair? I suppose we're littler than them. + +KATHERINE. No. + +OLIVE. Oh! in history we always are. And we always win. That's why +I like history. Which are you for, Mummy--us or them? + +KATHERINE. Us. + +OLIVE. Then I shall have to be. It's a pity we're not on the same +side as Daddy. [KATHERINE shudders] Will they hurt him for not +taking our side? + +KATHERINE. I expect they will, Olive. + +OLIVE. Then we shall have to be extra nice to him. + +KATHERINE. If we can. + +OLIVE. I can; I feel like it. + + HELEN and HUBERT have returned along the terrace. Seeing + KATHERINE and the child, HELEN passes on, but HUBERT comes in at + the French window. + +OLIVE. [Catching sight of him-softly] Is Uncle Hubert going to the +front to-day? [KATHERINE nods] But not grandfather? + +KATHERINE. No, dear. + +OLIVE. That's lucky for them, isn't it? + + HUBERT comes in. The presence of the child give him self- + control. + +HUBERT. Well, old girl, it's good-bye. [To OLIVE] What shall I +bring you back, chick? + +OLIVE. Are there shops at the front? I thought it was dangerous. + +HUBERT. Not a bit. + +OLIVE. [Disillusioned] Oh! + +KATHERINE. Now, darling, give Uncle a good hug. + + [Under cover of OLIVE's hug, KATHERINE repairs her courage.] + +KATHERINE. The Dad and I'll be with you all in spirit. Good-bye, +old boy! + + They do not dare to kiss, and HUBERT goes out very stiff and + straight, in the doorway passing STEEL, of whom he takes no + notice. STEEL hesitates, and would go away. + +KATHERINE. Come in, Mr. Steel. + +STEEL. The deputation from Toulmin ought to be here, Mrs. More. +It's twelve. + +OLIVE. [Having made a little ball of newspaper-slyly] Mr. Steel, +catch! + + [She throws, and STEEL catches it in silence.] + +KATHERINE. Go upstairs, won't you, darling? + +OLIVE. Mayn't I read in the window, Mummy? Then I shall see if any +soldiers pass. + +KATHERINE. No. You can go out on the terrace a little, and then you +must go up. + + [OLIVE goes reluctantly out on to the terrace.] + +STEEL. Awful news this morning of that Pass! And have you seen +these? [Reading from the newspaper] "We will have no truck with the +jargon of the degenerate who vilifies his country at such a moment. +The Member for Toulmin has earned for himself the contempt of all +virile patriots." [He takes up a second journal] "There is a +certain type of public man who, even at his own expense, cannot +resist the itch to advertise himself. We would, at moments of +national crisis, muzzle such persons, as we muzzle dogs that we +suspect of incipient rabies . . . ." They're in full cry after +him! + +KATHERINE. I mind much more all the creatures who are always +flinging mud at the country making him their hero suddenly! You know +what's in his mind? + +STEEL. Oh! We must get him to give up that idea of lecturing +everywhere against the war, Mrs. More; we simply must. + +KATHERINE. [Listening] The deputation's come. Go and fetch him, +Mr. Steel. He'll be in his room, at the House. + + [STEEL goes out, and KATHERINE Stands at bay. In a moment he + opens the door again, to usher in the deputation; then retires. + The four gentlemen have entered as if conscious of grave issues. + The first and most picturesque is JAMES HOME, a thin, tall, + grey-bearded man, with plentiful hair, contradictious eyebrows, + and the half-shy, half-bold manners, alternately rude and over + polite, of one not accustomed to Society, yet secretly much + taken with himself. He is dressed in rough tweeds, with a red + silk tie slung through a ring, and is closely followed by MARK + WACE, a waxy, round-faced man of middle-age, with sleek dark + hair, traces of whisker, and a smooth way of continually rubbing + his hands together, as if selling something to an esteemed + customer. He is rather stout, wears dark clothes, with a large + gold chain. Following him comes CHARLES SHELDER, a lawyer of + fifty, with a bald egg-shaped head, and gold pince-nez. He has + little side whiskers, a leathery, yellowish skin, a rather kind + but watchful and dubious face, and when he speaks seems to have + a plum in his mouth, which arises from the preponderance of his + shaven upper lip. Last of the deputation comes WILLIAM BANNING, + an energetic-looking, square-shouldered, self-made country-man, + between fifty and sixty, with grey moustaches, ruddy face, and + lively brown eyes. + +KATHERINE. How do you do, Mr. Home? + +HOME. [Bowing rather extravagantly over her hand, as if to show his +independence of women's influence] Mrs. More! We hardly expected-- +This is an honour. + +WACE. How do you do, Ma'am? + +KATHERINE. And you, Mr. Wace? + +WACE. Thank you, Ma'am, well indeed! + +SHELDER. How d'you do, Mrs. More? + +KATHERINE. Very well, thank you, Mr. Shelder. + +BANNING. [Speaking with a rather broad country accent] This is but +a poor occasion, Ma'am. + +KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Banning. Do sit down, gentlemen. + + Seeing that they will not settle down while she is standing, she + sits at the table. They gradually take their seats. Each + member of the deputation in his own way is severely hanging back + from any mention of the subject in hand; and KATHERINE as intent + on drawing them to it. + +KATHERINE. My husband will be here in two minutes. He's only over +at the House. + +SHELDER. [Who is of higher standing and education than the others] +Charming position--this, Mrs. More! So near the--er--Centre of-- +Gravity um? + +KATHERINE. I read the account of your second meeting at Toulmin. + +BANNING. It's bad, Mrs. More--bad. There's no disguising it. That +speech was moon-summer madness--Ah! it was! Take a lot of explaining +away. Why did you let him, now? Why did you? Not your views, I'm +sure! + + [He looks at her, but for answer she only compresses her lips.] + +BANNING. I tell you what hit me--what's hit the whole constituency-- +and that's his knowing we were over the frontier, fighting already, +when he made it. + +KATHERINE. What difference does it make if he did know? + +HOME. Hitting below the belt--I should have thought--you'll pardon +me! + +BANNING. Till war's begun, Mrs. More, you're entitled to say what +you like, no doubt--but after! That's going against your country. +Ah! his speech was strong, you know--his speech was strong. + +KATHERINE. He had made up his mind to speak. It was just an +accident the news coming then. + + [A silence.] + +BANNING. Well, that's true, I suppose. What we really want is to +make sure he won't break out again. + +HOME. Very high-minded, his views of course--but, some consideration +for the common herd. You'll pardon me! + +SHELDER. We've come with the friendliest feelings, Mrs. More--but, +you know, it won't do, this sort of thing! + +WACE. We shall be able to smooth him down. Oh! surely. + +BANNING. We'd be best perhaps not to mention about his knowing that +fighting had begun. + + [As he speaks, MORE enters through the French windows. They all + rise.] + +MORE. Good-morning, gentlemen. + + [He comes down to the table, but does not offer to shake hands.] + +BANNING. Well, Mr. More? You've made a woeful mistake, sir; I tell +you to your face. + +MORE. As everybody else does, Banning. Sit down again, please. + + [They gradually resume their seats, and MORE sits in KATHERINE's + chair. She alone remains standing leaning against the corner of + the bay window, watching their faces.] + +BANNING. You've seen the morning's telegrams? I tell you, Mr. +More--another reverse like that, and the flood will sweep you clean +away. And I'll not blame it. It's only flesh and blood. + +MORE, Allow for the flesh and blood in me, too, please. When I spoke +the other night it was not without a certain feeling here. [He +touches his heart.] + +BANNING. But your attitude's so sudden--you'd not been going that +length when you were down with us in May. + +MORE. Do me the justice to remember that even then I was against our +policy. It cost me three weeks' hard struggle to make up my mind to +that speech. One comes slowly to these things, Banning. + +SHELDER. Case of conscience? + +MORE. Such things have happened, Shelder, even in politics. + +SHELDER. You see, our ideals are naturally low--how different from +yours! + + [MORE smiles.] + + KATHERINE, who has drawn near her husband, moves back again, as + if relieved at this gleam of geniality. WACE rubs his hands. + +BANNING. There's one thing you forget, sir. We send you to +Parliament, representing us; but you couldn't find six men in the +whole constituency that would have bidden you to make that speech. + +MORE. I'm sorry; but I can't help my convictions, Banning. + +SHELDER. What was it the prophet was without in his own country? + +BANNING. Ah! but we're not funning, Mr. More. I've never known +feeling run so high. The sentiment of both meetings was dead against +you. We've had showers of letters to headquarters. Some from very +good men--very warm friends of yours. + +SHELDER. Come now! It's not too late. Let's go back and tell them +you won't do it again. + +MORE. Muzzling order? + +BANNING. [Bluntly] That's about it. + +MORE. Give up my principles to save my Parliamentary skin. Then, +indeed, they might call me a degenerate! [He touches the newspapers +on the table.] + + KATHERINE makes an abrupt and painful movement, then remains as + still as before, leaning against the corner of the window-seat. + +BANNING. Well, Well! I know. But we don't ask you to take your +words back--we only want discretion in the future. + +MORE. Conspiracy of silence! And have it said that a mob of +newspapers have hounded me to it. + +BANNING. They won't say that of you. + +SHELDER. My dear More, aren't you rather dropping to our level? +With your principles you ought not to care two straws what people +say. + +MORE. But I do. I can't betray the dignity and courage of public +men. If popular opinion is to control the utterances of her +politicians, then good-bye indeed to this country! + +BANNING. Come now! I won't say that your views weren't sound enough +before the fighting began. I've never liked our policy out there. +But our blood's being spilled; and that makes all the difference. +I don't suppose they'd want me exactly, but I'd be ready to go +myself. We'd all of us be ready. And we can't have the man that +represents us talking wild, until we've licked these fellows. That's +it in a nutshell. + +MORE. I understand your feeling, Banning. I tender you my +resignation. I can't and won't hold on where I'm not wanted. + +BANNING. No, no, no! Don't do that! [His accent broader and +broader] You've 'ad your say, and there it is. Coom now! You've +been our Member nine years, in rain and shine. + +SHELDER. We want to keep you, More. Come! Give us your promise- +that's a good man! + +MORE. I don't make cheap promises. You ask too much. + + [There is silence, and they all look at MORE.] + +SHELDER. There are very excellent reasons for the Government's +policy. + +MORE. There are always excellent reasons for having your way with +the weak. + +SHELDER. My dear More, how can you get up any enthusiasm for those +cattle-lifting ruffians? + +MORE. Better lift cattle than lift freedom. + +SHELDER. Well, all we'll ask is that you shouldn't go about the +country, saying so. + +MORE. But that is just what I must do. + + [Again they all look at MORE in consternation.] + +HOME. Not down our way, you'll pardon me. + +WACE. Really--really, sir---- + +SHELDER. The time of crusades is past, More. + +MORE. Is it? + +BANNING. Ah! no, but we don't want to part with you, Mr. More. +It's a bitter thing, this, after three elections. Look at the 'uman +side of it! To speak ill of your country when there's been a +disaster like this terrible business in the Pass. There's your own +wife. I see her brother's regiment's to start this very afternoon. +Come now--how must she feel? + + MORE breaks away to the bay window. The DEPUTATION exchange + glances. + +MORE. [Turning] To try to muzzle me like this--is going too far. + +BANNING. We just want to put you out of temptation. + +MORE. I've held my seat with you in all weathers for nine years. +You've all been bricks to me. My heart's in my work, Banning; I'm +not eager to undergo political eclipse at forty. + +SHELDER. Just so--we don't want to see you in that quandary. + +BANNING. It'd be no friendliness to give you a wrong impression of +the state of feeling. Silence--till the bitterness is overpast; +there's naught else for it, Mr. More, while you feel as you do. That +tongue of yours! Come! You owe us something. You're a big man; +it's the big view you ought to take. + +MORE. I am trying to. + +HOME. And what precisely is your view--you'll pardon my asking? + +MORE. [Turning on him] Mr. Home a great country such as ours--is +trustee for the highest sentiments of mankind. Do these few outrages +justify us in stealing the freedom of this little people? + +BANNING. Steal--their freedom! That's rather running before the +hounds. + +MORE. Ah, Banning! now we come to it. In your hearts you're none of +you for that--neither by force nor fraud. And yet you all know that +we've gone in there to stay, as we've gone into other lands--as all +we big Powers go into other lands, when they're little and weak. The +Prime Minister's words the other night were these: "If we are forced +to spend this blood and money now, we must never again be forced." +What does that mean but swallowing this country? + +SHELDER. Well, and quite frankly, it'd be no bad thing. + +HOME. We don't want their wretched country--we're forced. + +MORE. We are not forced. + +SHELDER. My dear More, what is civilization but the logical, +inevitable swallowing up of the lower by the higher types of man? +And what else will it be here? + +MORE. We shall not agree there, Shelder; and we might argue it all +day. But the point is, not whether you or I are right--the point is: +What is a man who holds a faith with all his heart to do? Please +tell me. + + [There is a silence.] + +BANNING. [Simply] I was just thinkin' of those poor fellows in the +Pass. + +MORE. I can see them, as well as you, Banning. But, imagine! Up in +our own country--the Black Valley--twelve hundred foreign devils dead +and dying--the crows busy over them--in our own country, our own +valley--ours--ours--violated. Would you care about "the poor +fellows" in that Pass?--Invading, stealing dogs! Kill them--kill +them! You would, and I would, too! + + The passion of those words touches and grips as no arguments + could; and they are silent. + +MORE. Well! What's the difference out there? I'm not so inhuman as +not to want to see this disaster in the Pass wiped out. But once +that's done, in spite of my affection for you; my ambitions, and +they're not few; [Very low] in spite of my own wife's feeling, I +must be free to raise my voice against this war. + +BANNING. [Speaking slowly, consulting the others, as it were, with +his eyes] Mr. More, there's no man I respect more than yourself. I +can't tell what they'll say down there when we go back; but I, for +one, don't feel it in me to take a hand in pressing you farther +against your faith. + +SHELDER. We don't deny that--that you have a case of sorts. + +WACE. No--surely. + +SHELDER. A--man should be free, I suppose, to hold his own opinions. + +MORE. Thank you, Shelder. + +BANNING. Well! well! We must take you as you are; but it's a rare +pity; there'll be a lot of trouble---- + + His eyes light on Honk who is leaning forward with hand raised + to his ear, listening. Very faint, from far in the distance, + there is heard a skirling sound. All become conscious of it, + all listen. + +HOME. [Suddenly] Bagpipes! + + The figure of OLIVE flies past the window, out on the terrace. + KATHERINE turns, as if to follow her. + +SHELDER. Highlanders! + + [He rises. KATHERINE goes quickly out on to the terrace. One + by one they all follow to the window. One by one go out on to + the terrace, till MORE is left alone. He turns to the bay + window. The music is swelling, coming nearer. MORE leaves the + window--his face distorted by the strafe of his emotions. He + paces the room, taking, in some sort, the rhythm of the march. + + Slowly the music dies away in the distance to a drum-tap and the + tramp of a company. MORE stops at the table, covering his eyes + with his hands. + + The DEPUTATION troop back across the terrace, and come in at the + French windows. Their faces and manners have quite changed. + KATHERINE follows them as far as the window. + +HOME. [In a strange, almost threatening voice] It won't do, Mr. +More. Give us your word, to hold your peace! + +SHELDER. Come! More. + +WACE. Yes, indeed--indeed! + +BANNING. We must have it. + +MORE. [Without lifting his head] I--I---- + + The drum-tap of a regiment marching is heard. + +BANNING. Can you hear that go by, man--when your country's just been +struck? + + Now comes the scale and mutter of a following crowd. + +MORE. I give you---- + + Then, sharp and clear above all other sounds, the words: "Give + the beggars hell, boys!" "Wipe your feet on their dirty + country!" "Don't leave 'em a gory acre! "And a burst of hoarse + cheering. + +MORE. [Flinging up his head] That's reality! By Heaven! No! + +KATHERINE. Oh! + +SHELDER. In that case, we'll go. + +BANNING. You mean it? You lose us, then! + + [MORE bows. + +HOME. Good riddance! [Venomously--his eyes darting between MORE and +KATHERINE] Go and stump the country! Find out what they think of +you! You'll pardon me! + + One by one, without a word, only BANNING looking back, they pass + out into the hall. MORE sits down at the table before the pile + of newspapers. KATHERINE, in the window, never moves. OLIVE + comes along the terrace to her mother. + +OLIVE. They were nice ones! Such a lot of dirty people following, +and some quite clean, Mummy. [Conscious from her mother's face that +something is very wrong, she looks at her father, and then steals up +to his side] Uncle Hubert's gone, Daddy; and Auntie Helen's crying. +And--look at Mummy! + + [MORE raises his head and looks.] + +OLIVE. Do be on our side! Do! + + She rubs her cheek against his. Feeling that he does not rub + his cheek against hers, OLIVE stands away, and looks from him to + her mother in wonder. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS + + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I + + A cobble-stoned alley, without pavement, behind a suburban + theatre. The tall, blind, dingy-yellowish wall of the building + is plastered with the tattered remnants of old entertainment + bills, and the words: "To Let," and with several torn, and one + still virgin placard, containing this announcement: "Stop-the- + War Meeting, October 1st. Addresses by STEPHEN MORE, Esq., and + others." The alley is plentifully strewn with refuse and scraps + of paper. Three stone steps, inset, lead to the stage door. It + is a dark night, and a street lamp close to the wall throws all + the light there is. A faint, confused murmur, as of distant + hooting is heard. Suddenly a boy comes running, then two rough + girls hurry past in the direction of the sound; and the alley is + again deserted. The stage door opens, and a doorkeeper, poking + his head out, looks up and down. He withdraws, but in a second + reappears, preceding three black-coated gentlemen. + +DOORKEEPER. It's all clear. You can get away down here, gentlemen. +Keep to the left, then sharp to the right, round the corner. + +THE THREE. [Dusting themselves, and settling their ties] Thanks, +very much! Thanks! + +FIRST BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Where's More? Isn't he coming? + + They are joined by a fourth black-coated GENTLEMAN. + +FOURTH BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Just behind. [TO the DOORKEEPER] +Thanks. + + They hurry away. The DOORKEEPER retires. Another boy runs + past. Then the door opens again. STEEL and MORE come out. + + MORE stands hesitating on the steps; then turns as if to go + back. + +STEEL. Come along, sir, come! + +MORE. It sticks in my gizzard, Steel. + +STEEL. [Running his arm through MORE'S, and almost dragging him down +the steps] You owe it to the theatre people. [MORE still hesitates] +We might be penned in there another hour; you told Mrs. More half- +past ten; it'll only make her anxious. And she hasn't seen you for +six weeks. + +MORE. All right; don't dislocate my arm. + + They move down the steps, and away to the left, as a boy comes + running down the alley. Sighting MORE, he stops dead, spins + round, and crying shrilly: "'Ere 'e is! That's 'im! 'Ere 'e + is!" he bolts back in the direction whence he came. + +STEEL. Quick, Sir, quick! + +MORE. That is the end of the limit, as the foreign ambassador +remarked. + +STEEL. [Pulling him back towards the door] Well! come inside again, +anyway! + + A number of men and boys, and a few young girls, are trooping + quickly from the left. A motley crew, out for excitement; + loafers, artisans, navvies ; girls, rough or dubious. All in + the mood of hunters, and having tasted blood. They gather round + the steps displaying the momentary irresolution and curiosity + that follows on a new development of any chase. MORE, on the + bottom step, turns and eyes them. + +A GIRL. [At the edge] Which is 'im! The old 'un or the young? + + [MORE turns, and mounts the remaining steps.] + +TALL YOUTH. [With lank black hair under a bowler hat] You blasted +traitor! + + MORE faces round at the volley of jeering that follows; the + chorus of booing swells, then gradually dies, as if they + realized that they were spoiling their own sport. + +A ROUGH GIRL. Don't frighten the poor feller! + + [A girl beside her utters a shrill laugh.] + +STEEL. [Tugging at MORE's arm] Come along, sir. + +MORE. [Shaking his arm free--to the crowd] Well, what do you want? + +A VOICE. Speech. + +MORE. Indeed! That's new. + +ROUGH VOICE. [At the back of the crowd] Look at his white liver. +You can see it in his face. + +A BIG NAVY. [In front] Shut it! Give 'im a chanst! + +TALL YOUTH. Silence for the blasted traitor? + + A youth plays the concertina; there is laughter, then an abrupt + silence. + +MORE. You shall have it in a nutshell! + +A SHOPBOY. [Flinging a walnut-shell which strikes MORE on the +shoulder] Here y'are! + +MORE. Go home, and think! If foreigners invaded us, wouldn't you be +fighting tooth and nail like those tribesmen, out there? + +TALL YOUTH. Treacherous dogs! Why don't they come out in the open? + +MORE. They fight the best way they can. + + [A burst of hooting is led by a soldier in khaki on the + outskirt.] + +MORE. My friend there in khaki led that hooting. I've never said a +word against our soldiers. It's the Government I condemn for putting +them to this, and the Press for hounding on the Government, and all +of you for being led by the nose to do what none of you would do, +left to yourselves. + + The TALL YOUTH leads a somewhat unspontaneous burst of + execration. + +MORE. I say not one of you would go for a weaker man. + +VOICES IN THE CROWD. + + ROUGH VOICE. Tork sense! + + GIRL'S VOICE. He's gittin' at you! + + TALL YOUTH'S VOICE. Shiny skunk! + +A NAVVY. [Suddenly shouldering forward] Look 'ere, Mister! Don't +you come gaflin' to those who've got mates out there, or it'll be the +worse for you-you go 'ome! + +COCKNEY VOICE. And git your wife to put cottonwool in yer ears. + + [A spurt of laughter.] + +A FRIENDLY VOICE. [From the outskirts] Shame! there! Bravo, More! +Keep it up! + + [A scuffle drowns this cry.] + +MORE. [With vehemence] Stop that! Stop that! You---! + +TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + +AN ARTISAN. Who black-legged? + +MIDDLE-AGED MAN. Ought to be shot-backin' his country's enemies! + +MORE. Those tribesmen are defending their homes. + +TWO VOICES. Hear! hear! + + [They are hustled into silence.] + +TALL YOUTH. Wind-bag! + +MORE. [With sudden passion] Defending their homes! Not mobbing +unarmed men! + + [STEEL again pulls at his arm.] + +ROUGH. Shut it, or we'll do you in! + +MORE. [Recovering his coolness] Ah! Do me in by all means! You'd +deal such a blow at cowardly mobs as wouldn't be forgotten in your +time. + +STEEL. For God's sake, sir! + +MORE. [Shaking off his touch] Well! + + There is an ugly rush, checked by the fall of the foremost + figures, thrown too suddenly against the bottom step. The crowd + recoils. + + There is a momentary lull, and MORE stares steadily down at + them. + +COCKNEY VOICE. Don't 'e speak well! What eloquence! + + Two or three nutshells and a piece of orange-peel strike MORE + across the face. He takes no notice. + +ROUGH VOICE. That's it! Give 'im some encouragement. + + The jeering laughter is changed to anger by the contemptuous + smile on MORE'S face. + +A TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + +A VOICE. Don't stand there like a stuck pig. + +A ROUGH. Let's 'ave 'im dahn off that! + + Under cover of the applause that greets this, he strikes MORE + across the legs with a belt. STEEL starts forward. MORE, + flinging out his arm, turns him back, and resumes his tranquil + staring at the crowd, in whom the sense of being foiled by this + silence is fast turning to rage. + +THE CROWD. Speak up, or get down! Get off! Get away, there--or +we'll make you! Go on! + + [MORE remains immovable.] + +A YOUTH. [In a lull of disconcertion] I'll make 'im speak! See! + + He darts forward and spits, defiling MORES hand. MORE jerks it + up as if it had been stung, then stands as still as ever. A + spurt of laughter dies into a shiver of repugnance at the + action. The shame is fanned again to fury by the sight of MORES + scornful face. + +TALL YOUTH. [Out of murmuring] Shift! or you'll get it! + +A VOICE. Enough of your ugly mug! + +A ROUGH. Give 'im one! + + Two flung stones strike MORE. He staggers and nearly falls, + then rights himself. + +A GIRL'S VOICE. Shame! + +FRIENDLY VOICE. Bravo, More! Stick to it! + +A ROUGH. Give 'im another! + +A VOICE. No! + +A GIRL'S VOICE. Let 'im alone! Come on, Billy, this ain't no fun! + + Still looking up at MORE, the whole crowd falls into an uneasy + silence, broken only by the shuffling of feet. Then the BIG + NAVVY in the front rank turns and elbows his way out to the edge + of the crowd. + +THE NAVVY. Let 'im be! + + With half-sullen and half-shamefaced acquiescence the crowd + breaks up and drifts back whence it came, till the alley is + nearly empty. + +MORE. [As if coming to, out of a trance-wiping his hand and dusting +his coat] Well, Steel! + + And followed by STEEL, he descends the steps and moves away. + Two policemen pass glancing up at the broken glass. One of them + stops and makes a note. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + + + +SCENE II + +The window-end of KATHERINE'S bedroom, panelled in cream-coloured +wood. The light from four candles is falling on KATHERINE, who is +sitting before the silver mirror of an old oak dressing-table, +brushing her hair. A door, on the left, stands ajar. An oak chair +against the wall close to a recessed window is all the other +furniture. Through this window the blue night is seen, where a mist +is rolled out flat amongst trees, so that only dark clumps of boughs +show here and there, beneath a moonlit sky. As the curtain rises, +KATHERINE, with brush arrested, is listening. She begins again +brushing her hair, then stops, and taking a packet of letters from a +drawer of her dressing-table, reads. Through the just open door +behind her comes the voice of OLIVE. + +OLIVE. Mummy! I'm awake! + + But KATHERINE goes on reading; and OLIVE steals into the room in + her nightgown. + +OLIVE. [At KATHERINE'S elbow--examining her watch on its stand] It's +fourteen minutes to eleven. + +KATHERINE. Olive, Olive! + +OLIVE. I just wanted to see the time. I never can go to sleep if I +try--it's quite helpless, you know. Is there a victory yet? +[KATHERINE, shakes her head] Oh! I prayed extra special for one in +the evening papers. [Straying round her mother] Hasn't Daddy come? + +KATHERINE. Not yet. + +OLIVE. Are you waiting for him? [Burying her face in her mother's +hair] Your hair is nice, Mummy. It's particular to-night. + + KATHERINE lets fall her brush, and looks at her almost in alarm. + +OLIVE. How long has Daddy been away? + +KATHERINE. Six weeks. + +OLIVE. It seems about a hundred years, doesn't it? Has he been +making speeches all the time? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. To-night, too? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. The night that man was here whose head's too bald for +anything--oh! Mummy, you know--the one who cleans his teeth so +termendously--I heard Daddy making a speech to the wind. It broke a +wine-glass. His speeches must be good ones, mustn't they! + +KATHERINE. Very. + +OLIVE. It felt funny; you couldn't see any wind, you know. + +KATHERINE. Talking to the wind is an expression, Olive. + +OLIVE. Does Daddy often? + +KATHERINE. Yes, nowadays. + +OLIVE. What does it mean? + +KATHERINE. Speaking to people who won't listen. + +OLIVE. What do they do, then? + +KATHERINE. Just a few people go to hear him, and then a great crowd +comes and breaks in; or they wait for him outside, and throw things, +and hoot. + +OLIVE. Poor Daddy! Is it people on our side who throw things? + +KATHERINE. Yes, but only rough people. + +OLIVE. Why does he go on doing it? I shouldn't. + +KATHERINE. He thinks it is his duty. + +OLIVE. To your neighbour, or only to God? + +KATHERINE. To both. + +OLIVE. Oh! Are those his letters? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. [Reading from the letter] "My dear Heart." Does he always +call you his dear heart, Mummy? It's rather jolly, isn't it? +"I shall be home about half-past ten to-morrow night. For a few +hours the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-or-y will cease to burn--" What are +the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-o-r-y? + +KATHERINE. [Putting away the letters] Come, Olive! + +OLIVE. But what are they? + +KATHERINE. Daddy means that he's been very unhappy. + +OLIVE. Have you, too? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. [Cheerfully] So have I. May I open the window? + +KATHERINE. No; you'll let the mist in. + +OLIVE. Isn't it a funny mist-all flat! + +KATHERINE. Now, come along, frog! + +OLIVE. [Making time] Mummy, when is Uncle Hubert coming back? + +KATHERINE. We don't know, dear. + +OLIVE. I suppose Auntie Helen'll stay with us till he does. + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. That's something, isn't it? + +KATHERINE. [Picking her up] Now then! + +OLIVE. [Deliciously limp] Had I better put in the duty to your +neighbour if there isn't a victory soon? [As they pass through the +door] You're tickling under my knee! [Little gurgles of pleasure +follow. Then silence. Then a drowsy voice] I must keep awake for +Daddy. + + KATHERINE comes back. She is about to leave the door a little + open, when she hears a knock on the other door. It is opened a + few inches, and NURSE'S voice says: "Can I come in, Ma'am?" The + NURSE comes in. + +KATHERINE. [Shutting OLIVE's door, and going up to her] What is it, +Nurse? + +NURSE. [Speaking in a low voice] I've been meaning to--I'll never do +it in the daytime. I'm giving you notice. + +KATHERINE. Nurse! You too! + + She looks towards OLIVE'S room with dismay. The NURSE smudges a + slow tear away from her cheek. + +NURSE. I want to go right away at once. + +KATHERINE. Leave Olive! That is the sins of the fathers with a +vengeance. + +NURSE. I've had another letter from my son. No, Miss Katherine, +while the master goes on upholdin' these murderin' outlandish +creatures, I can't live in this house, not now he's coming back. + +KATHERINE. But, Nurse----! + +NURSE. It's not like them [With an ineffable gesture] downstairs, +because I'm frightened of the mob, or of the window's bein' broke +again, or mind what the boys in the street say. I should think not-- +no! It's my heart. I'm sore night and day thinkin' of my son, and +him lying out there at night without a rag of dry clothing, and water +that the bullocks won't drink, and maggots in the meat; and every day +one of his friends laid out stark and cold, and one day--'imself +perhaps. If anything were to 'appen to him,. I'd never forgive +meself--here. Ah! Miss Katherine, I wonder how you bear it--bad +news comin' every day--And Sir John's face so sad--And all the time +the master speaking against us, as it might be Jonah 'imself. + +KATHERINE. But, Nurse, how can you leave us, you? + +NURSE. [Smudging at her cheeks] There's that tells me it's +encouragin' something to happen, if I stay here; and Mr. More coming +back to-night. You can't serve God and Mammon, the Bible says. + +KATHERINE. Don't you know what it's costing him? + +NURSE. Ah! Cost him his seat, and his reputation; and more than +that it'll cost him, to go against the country. + +KATHERINE. He's following his conscience. + +NURSE. And others must follow theirs, too. No, Miss Katherine, for +you to let him--you, with your three brothers out there, and your +father fair wasting away with grief. Sufferin' too as you've been +these three months past. What'll you feel if anything happens to my +three young gentlemen out there, to my dear Mr. Hubert that I nursed +myself, when your precious mother couldn't? What would she have said +--with you in the camp of his enemies? + +KATHERINE. Nurse, Nurse! + +NURSE. In my paper they say he's encouraging these heathens and +makin' the foreigners talk about us; and every day longer the war +lasts, there's our blood on this house. + +KATHERINE. [Turning away] Nurse, I can't--I won't listen. + +NURSE. [Looking at her intently] Ah! You'll move him to leave off! +I see your heart, my dear. But if you don't, then go I must! + + She nods her head gravely, goes to the door of OLIVE'S room, + opens it gently, stands looking for a-moment, then with the + words "My Lamb!" she goes in noiselessly and closes the door. + + KATHERINE turns back to her glass, puts back her hair, and + smooths her lips and eyes. The door from the corridor is + opened, and HELEN's voice says: "Kit! You're not in bed?" + +KATHERINE. No. + + HELEN too is in a wrapper, with a piece of lace thrown over her + head. Her face is scared and miserable, and she runs into + KATHERINE's arms. + +KATHERINE. My dear, what is it? + +HELEN. I've seen--a vision! + +KATHERINE. Hssh! You'll wake Olive! + +HELEN. [Staring before her] I'd just fallen asleep, and I saw a +plain that seemed to run into the sky--like--that fog. And on it +there were--dark things. One grew into a body without a head, and a +gun by its side. And one was a man sitting huddled up, nursing a +wounded leg. He had the face of Hubert's servant, Wreford. And then +I saw--Hubert. His face was all dark and thin; and he had--a wound, +an awful wound here [She touches her breast]. The blood was running +from it, and he kept trying to stop it--oh! Kit--by kissing it [She +pauses, stifled by emotion]. Then I heard Wreford laugh, and say +vultures didn't touch live bodies. And there came a voice, from +somewhere, calling out: "Oh! God! I'm dying!" And Wreford began to +swear at it, and I heard Hubert say: "Don't, Wreford; let the poor +fellow be!" But the voice went on and on, moaning and crying out: +"I'll lie here all night dying--and then I'll die!" And Wreford +dragged himself along the ground; his face all devilish, like a man +who's going to kill. + +KATHERINE. My dear! HOW ghastly! + +HELEN. Still that voice went on, and I saw Wreford take up the dead +man's gun. Then Hubert got upon his feet, and went tottering along, +so feebly, so dreadfully--but before he could reach and stop him, +Wreford fired at the man who was crying. And Hubert called out: "You +brute!" and fell right down. And when Wreford saw him lying there, +he began to moan and sob, but Hubert never stirred. Then it all got +black again--and I could see a dark woman--thing creeping, first to +the man without a head; then to Wreford; then to Hubert, and it +touched him, and sprang away. And it cried out: "A-ai-ah!" [Pointing +out at the mist] Look! Out there! The dark things! + +KATHERINE. [Putting her arms round her] Yes, dear, yes! You must +have been looking at the mist. + +HELEN. [Strangely calm] He's dead! + +KATHERINE. It was only a dream. + +HELEN. You didn't hear that cry. [She listens] That's Stephen. +Forgive me, Kit; I oughtn't to have upset you, but I couldn't help +coming. + + She goes out, KATHERINE, into whom her emotion seems to have + passed, turns feverishly to the window, throws it open and leans + out. MORE comes in. + +MORE. Kit! + + Catching sight of her figure in the window, he goes quickly to + her. + +KATHERINE. Ah! [She has mastered her emotion. + +MORE. Let me look at you! + + He draws her from the window to the candle-light, and looks long + at her. + +MORE. What have you done to your hair? + +KATHERINE. Nothing. + +MORE. It's wonderful to-night. + + [He takes it greedily and buries his face in it.] + +KATHERINE. [Drawing her hair away] Well? + +MORE. At last! + +KATHERINE. [Pointing to OLIVE's room] Hssh! + +MORE. How is she? + +KATHERINE. All right. + +MORE. And you? + + [KATHERINE shrugs her shoulders.] + +MORE. Six weeks! + +KATHERINE. Why have you come? + +MORE. Why! + +KATHERINE. You begin again the day after tomorrow. Was it worth +while? + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. It makes it harder for me, that's all. + +MORE. [Staring at her] What's come to you? + +KATHERINE. Six weeks is a long time to sit and read about your +meetings. + +MORE. Put that away to-night. [He touches her] This is what +travellers feel when they come out of the desert to-water. + +KATHERINE. [Suddenly noticing the cut on his forehead] Your +forehead! It's cut. + +MORE. It's nothing. + +KATHERINE. Oh! Let me bathe it! + +MORE. No, dear! It's all right. + +KATHERINE. [Turning away] Helen has just been telling me a dream +she's had of Hubert's death. + +MORE. Poor child! + +KATHERINE. Dream bad dreams, and wait, and hide oneself--there's +been nothing else to do. Nothing, Stephen--nothing! + +MORE. Hide? Because of me? + + [KATHERINE nods.] + +MORE. [With a movement of distress] I see. I thought from your +letters you were coming to feel----. Kit! You look so lovely! + + [Suddenly he sees that she is crying, and goes quickly to her.] + +MORE. My dear, don't cry! God knows I don't want to make things +worse for you. I'll go away. + + She draws away from him a little, and after looking long at her, + he sits down at the dressing-table and begins turning over the + brushes and articles of toilet, trying to find words. + +MORE. Never look forward. After the time I've had--I thought-- +tonight--it would be summer--I thought it would be you--and +everything! + + While he is speaking KATHERINE has stolen closer. She suddenly + drops on her knees by his side and wraps his hand in her hair. + He turns and clasps her. + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. Ah! yes! But-to-morrow it begins again. Oh! Stephen! +How long--how long am I to be torn in two? [Drawing back in his +arms] I can't--can't bear it. + +MORE. My darling! + +KATHERINE. Give it up! For my sake! Give it up! [Pressing closer +to him] It shall be me--and everything---- + +MORE. God! + +KATHERINE. It shall be--if--if---- + +MORE. [Aghast] You're not making terms? Bargaining? For God's +sake, Kit! + +KATHERINE. For God's sake, Stephen! + +MORE. You!--of all people--you! + +KATHERINE. Stephen! + + [For a moment MORE yields utterly, then shrinks back.] + +MORE. A bargain! It's selling my soul! + + He struggles out of her arms, gets up, and stands without + speaking, staring at her, and wiping the sweat from his + forehead. KATHERINE remains some seconds on her knees, gazing + up at him, not realizing. Then her head droops; she too gets up + and stands apart, with her wrapper drawn close round her. It is + as if a cold and deadly shame had come to them both. Quite + suddenly MORE turns, and, without looking back, feebly makes his + way out of the room. When he is gone KATHERINE drops on her + knees and remains there motionless, huddled in her hair. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS + + + + + +ACT IV + + It is between lights, the following day, in the dining-room of + MORE's house. The windows are closed, but curtains are not + drawn. STEEL is seated at the bureau, writing a letter from + MORE's dictation. + +STEEL. [Reading over the letter] "No doubt we shall have trouble. +But, if the town authorities at the last minute forbid the use of the +hall, we'll hold the meeting in the open. Let bills be got out, and +an audience will collect in any case." + +MORE. They will. + +STEEL. "Yours truly"; I've signed for you. + + [MORE nods.] + +STEEL. [Blotting and enveloping the letter] You know the servants +have all given notice--except Henry. + +MORE. Poor Henry! + +STEEL. It's partly nerves, of course--the windows have been broken +twice--but it's partly---- + +MORE. Patriotism. Quite! they'll do the next smashing themselves. +That reminds me--to-morrow you begin holiday, Steel. + +STEEL. Oh, no! + +MORE. My dear fellow--yes. Last night ended your sulphur cure. +Truly sorry ever to have let you in for it. + +STEEL. Some one must do the work. You're half dead as it is. + +MORE. There's lots of kick in me. + +STEEL. Give it up, sir. The odds are too great. It isn't worth it. + +MORE. To fight to a finish; knowing you must be beaten--is anything +better worth it? + +STEEL. Well, then, I'm not going. + +MORE. This is my private hell, Steel; you don't roast in it any +longer. Believe me, it's a great comfort to hurt no one but +yourself. + +STEEL. I can't leave you, sir. + +MORE. My dear boy, you're a brick--but we've got off by a miracle so +far, and I can't have the responsibility of you any longer. Hand me +over that correspondence about to-morrow's meeting. + +STEEL takes some papers from his pocket, but does not hand them. + +MORE. Come! [He stretches out his hand for the papers. As STEEL +still draws back, he says more sharply] Give them to me, Steel! +[STEEL hands them over] Now, that ends it, d'you see? + + They stand looking at each other; then STEEL, very much upset, + turns and goes out of the room. MORE, who has watched him with + a sorry smile, puts the papers into a dispatch-case. As he is + closing the bureau, the footman HENRY enters, announcing: "Mr. + Mendip, sir." MENDIP comes in, and the FOOTMAN withdraws. MORE + turns to his visitor, but does not hold out his hand. + +MENDIP. [Taking MORE'S hand] Give me credit for a little philosophy, +my friend. Mrs. More told me you'd be back to-day. Have you heard? + +MORE. What? + +MENDIP. There's been a victory. + +MORE. Thank God! + +MENDIP. Ah! So you actually are flesh and blood. + +MORE. Yes! + +MENDIP. Take off the martyr's shirt, Stephen. You're only flouting +human nature. + +MORE. So--even you defend the mob! + +MENDIP. My dear fellow, you're up against the strongest common +instinct in the world. What do you expect? That the man in the +street should be a Quixote? That his love of country should express +itself in philosophic altruism? What on earth do you expect? Men +are very simple creatures; and Mob is just conglomerate essence of +simple men. + +MORE. Conglomerate excrescence. Mud of street and market-place +gathered in a torrent--This blind howling "patriotism"--what each man +feels in here? [He touches his breast] No! + +MENDIP. You think men go beyond instinct--they don't. All they know +is that something's hurting that image of themselves that they call +country. They just feel something big and religious, and go it +blind. + +MORE. This used to be the country of free speech. It used to be the +country where a man was expected to hold to his faith. + +MENDIP. There are limits to human nature, Stephen. + +MORE. Let no man stand to his guns in face of popular attack. Still +your advice, is it? + +MENDIP. My advice is: Get out of town at once. The torrent you +speak of will be let loose the moment this news is out. Come, my +dear fellow, don't stay here! + +MORE. Thanks! I'll see that Katherine and Olive go. + +MENDIP. Go with them! If your cause is lost, that's no reason why +you should be. + +MORE. There's the comfort of not running away. And--I want comfort. + +MENDIP. This is bad, Stephen; bad, foolish--foolish. Well! I'm +going to the House. This way? + +MORE. Down the steps, and through the gate. Good-bye? + + KATHERINE has come in followed by NURSE, hatted and cloaked, + with a small bag in her hand. KATHERINE takes from the bureau a + cheque which she hands to the NURSE. MORE comes in from the + terrace. + +MORE. You're wise to go, Nurse. + +NURSE. You've treated my poor dear badly, sir. Where's your heart? + +MORE. In full use. + +NURSE. On those heathens. Don't your own hearth and home come +first? Your wife, that was born in time of war, with her own father +fighting, and her grandfather killed for his country. A bitter +thing, to have the windows of her house broken, and be pointed at by +the boys in the street. + + [MORE stands silent under this attack, looking at his wife.] + +KATHERINE. Nurse! + +NURSE. It's unnatural, sir--what you're doing! To think more of +those savages than of your own wife! Look at her! Did you ever see +her look like that? Take care, sir, before it's too late! + +MORE. Enough, please! + + NURSE stands for a moment doubtful; looks long at KATHERINE; + then goes. + +MORE. [Quietly] There has been a victory. + + [He goes out. KATHERINE is breathing fast, listening to the + distant hum and stir rising in the street. She runs to the + window as the footman, HENRY, entering, says: "Sir John Julian, + Ma'am!" SIR JOHN comes in, a newspaper in his hand. + +KATHERINE. At last! A victory! + +SIR JOHN. Thank God! [He hands her the paper.] + +KATHERINE. Oh, Dad! + + [She tears the paper open, and feverishly reads.] + +KATHERINE. At last! + + The distant hum in the street is rising steadily. But SIR JOHN, + after the one exultant moment when he handed her the paper, + stares dumbly at the floor. + +KATHERINE. [Suddenly conscious of his gravity] Father! + +SIR JOHN. There is other news. + +KATHERINE. One of the boys? Hubert? + + [SIR JOHN bows his head.] + +KATHERINE. Killed? + + [SIR JOHN again bows his head.] + +KATHERINE. The dream! [She covers her face] Poor Helen! + + They stand for a few seconds silent, then SIR JOHN raises his + head, and putting up a hand, touches her wet cheek. + +SIR JOHN. [Huskily] Whom the gods love---- + +KATHERINE. Hubert! + +SIR JOHN. And hulks like me go on living! + +KATHERINE. Dear Dad! + +SIR JOHN. But we shall drive the ruffians now! We shall break them. +Stephen back? + +KATHERINE. Last night. + +SIR JOHN. Has he finished his blasphemous speech-making at last? +[KATHERINE shakes her head] Not? + + [Then, seeing that KATHERINE is quivering with emotion, he ` + strokes her hand.] + +SIR JOHN. My dear! Death is in many houses! + +KATHERINE. I must go to Helen. Tell Stephen, Father. I can't. + +SIR JOHN. If you wish, child. + + [She goes out, leaving SIR JOHN to his grave, puzzled grief, and + in a few seconds MORE comes in.] + +MORE. Yes, Sir John. You wanted me? + +SIR JOHN. Hubert is killed. + +MORE. Hubert! + +SIR JOHN. By these--whom you uphold. Katherine asked me to let you +know. She's gone to Helen. I understand you only came back last +night from your---- No word I can use would give what I feel about +that. I don't know how things stand now between you and Katherine; +but I tell you this, Stephen: you've tried her these last two months +beyond what any woman ought to bear! + + [MORE makes a gesture of pain.] + +SIR JOHN. When you chose your course---- + +MORE. Chose! + +SIR JOHN. You placed yourself in opposition to every feeling in her. +You knew this might come. It may come again with another of my sons + +MORE. I would willingly change places with any one of them. + +SIR JOHN. Yes--I can believe in your unhappiness. I cannot conceive +of greater misery than to be arrayed against your country. If I +could have Hubert back, I would not have him at such a price--no, nor +all my sons. 'Pro patri mori'--My boy, at all events, is happy! + +MORE. Yes! + +SIR JOHN. Yet you can go on doing what you are! What devil of pride +has got into you, Stephen? + +MORE. Do you imagine I think myself better than the humblest private +fighting out there? Not for a minute. + +SIR JOHN. I don't understand you. I always thought you devoted to +Katherine. + +MORE. Sir John, you believe that country comes before wife and +child? + +SIR JOHN. I do. + +MORE. So do I. + +SIR JOHN. [Bewildered] Whatever my country does or leaves undone, I +no more presume to judge her than I presume to judge my God. [With +all the exaltation of the suffering he has undergone for her] My +country! + +MORE. I would give all I have--for that creed. + +SIR JOHN. [Puzzled] Stephen, I've never looked on you as a crank; +I always believed you sane and honest. But this is--visionary mania. + +MORE. Vision of what might be. + +SIR JOHN. Why can't you be content with what the grandest nation-- +the grandest men on earth--have found good enough for them? I've +known them, I've seen what they could suffer, for our country. + +MORE. Sir John, imagine what the last two months have been to me! +To see people turn away in the street--old friends pass me as if I +were a wall! To dread the post! To go to bed every night with the +sound of hooting in my ears! To know that my name is never referred +to without contempt---- + +SIR JOHN. You have your new friends. Plenty of them, I understand. + +MORE. Does that make up for being spat at as I was last night? Your +battles are fool's play to it. + + The stir and rustle of the crowd in the street grows louder. + SIR JOHN turns his head towards it. + +SIR JOHN. You've heard there's been a victory. Do you carry your +unnatural feeling so far as to be sorry for that? [MORE shakes his +head] That's something! For God's sake, Stephen, stop before it's +gone past mending. Don't ruin your life with Katherine. Hubert was +her favourite brother; you are backing those who killed him. Think +what that means to her! Drop this--mad Quixotism--idealism--whatever +you call it. Take Katherine away. Leave the country till the +thing's over--this country of yours that you're opposing, and--and-- +traducing. Take her away! Come! What good are you doing? What +earthly good? Come, my boy! Before you're utterly undone. + +MORE. Sir John! Our men are dying out there for, the faith that's +in them! I believe my faith the higher, the better for mankind-- Am +I to slink away? Since I began this campaign I've found hundreds +who've thanked me for taking this stand. They look on me now as +their leader. Am I to desert them? When you led your forlorn hope-- +did you ask yourself what good you were doing, or, whether you'd come +through alive? It's my forlorn hope not to betray those who are +following me; and not to help let die a fire--a fire that's sacred-- +not only now in this country, but in all countries, for all time. + +SIR JOHN. [After a long stare] I give you credit for believing what +you say. But let me tell you whatever that fire you talk of--I'm too +old-fashioned to grasp--one fire you are letting die--your wife's +love. By God! This crew of your new friends, this crew of cranks +and jays, if they can make up to you for the loss of her love--of +your career, of all those who used to like and respect you--so much +the better for you. But if you find yourself bankrupt of affection-- +alone as the last man on earth; if this business ends in your utter +ruin and destruction--as it must--I shall not pity--I cannot pity +you. Good-night! + + He marches to the door, opens it, and goes out. MORE is left + standing perfectly still. The stir and murmur of the street is + growing all the time, and slowly forces itself on his + consciousness. He goes to the bay window and looks out; then + rings the bell. It is not answered, and, after turning up the + lights, he rings again. KATHERINE comes in. She is wearing a + black hat, and black outdoor coat. She speaks coldly without + looking up. + +KATHERINE. You rang! + +MORE. For them to shut this room up. + +KATHERINE. The servants have gone out. They're afraid of the house +being set on fire. + +MORE. I see. + +KATHERINE. They have not your ideals to sustain them. [MORE winces] +I am going with Helen and Olive to Father's. + +MORE. [Trying to take in the exact sense of her words] Good! You +prefer that to an hotel? [KATHERINE nods. Gently] Will you let me +say, Kit, how terribly I feel for you--Hubert's---- + +KATHERINE. Don't. I ought to have made what I meant plainer. I am +not coming back. + +MORE. Not? Not while the house---- + +KATHERINE. Not--at all. + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. I warned you from the first. You've gone too far! + +MORE. [Terribly moved] Do you understand what this means? After +ten years--and all--our love! + +KATHERINE. Was it love? How could you ever have loved one so +unheroic as myself! + +MORE. This is madness, Kit--Kit! + +KATHERINE. Last night I was ready. You couldn't. If you couldn't +then, you never can. You are very exalted, Stephen. I don't like +living--I won't live, with one whose equal I am not. This has been +coming ever since you made that speech. I told you that night what +the end would be. + +MORE. [Trying to put his arms round her] Don't be so terribly +cruel! + +KATHERINE. No! Let's have the truth! People so wide apart don't +love! Let me go! + +MORE. In God's name, how can I help the difference in our faiths? + +KATHERINE. Last night you used the word--bargain. Quite right. I +meant to buy you. I meant to kill your faith. You showed me what I +was doing. I don't like to be shown up as a driver of bargains, +Stephen. + +MORE. God knows--I never meant---- + +KATHERINE. If I'm not yours in spirit--I don't choose to be your-- +mistress. + + MORE, as if lashed by a whip, has thrown up his hands in an + attitude of defence. + +KATHERINE. Yes, that's cruel! It shows the heights you live on. I +won't drag you down. + +MORE. For God's sake, put your pride away, and see! I'm fighting +for the faith that's in me. What else can a man do? What else? Ah! +Kit! Do see! + +KATHERINE. I'm strangled here! Doing nothing--sitting silent--when +my brothers are fighting, and being killed. I shall try to go out +nursing. Helen will come with me. I have my faith, too; my poor +common love of country. I can't stay here with you. I spent last +night on the floor--thinking--and I know! + +MORE. And Olive? + +KATHERINE. I shall leave her at Father's, with Nurse; unless you +forbid me to take her. You can. + +MORE. [Icily] That I shall not do--you know very well. You are +free to go, and to take her. + +KATHERINE. [Very low] Thank you! [Suddenly she turns to him, and +draws his eyes on her. Without a sound, she puts her whole strength +into that look] Stephen! Give it up! Come down to me! + + The festive sounds from the street grow louder. There can be + heard the blowing of whistles, and bladders, and all the sounds + of joy. + +MORE. And drown in--that? + +KATHERINE turns swiftly to the door. There she stands and again +looks at him. Her face is mysterious, from the conflicting currents +of her emotions. + +MORE. So--you're going? + +KATHERINE. [In a whisper] Yes. + + She bends her head, opens the door, and goes. MORE starts + forward as if to follow her, but OLIVE has appeared in the + doorway. She has on a straight little white coat and a round + white cap. + +OLIVE. Aren't you coming with us, Daddy? + + [MORE shakes his head.] + +OLIVE. Why not? + +MORE. Never mind, my dicky bird. + +OLIVE. The motor'll have to go very slow. There are such a lot of +people in the street. Are you staying to stop them setting the house +on fire? [MORE nods] May I stay a little, too? [MORE shakes his +head] Why? + +MORE. [Putting his hand on her head] Go along, my pretty! + +OLIVE. Oh! love me up, Daddy! + + [MORE takes and loves her up] + +OLIVE. Oo-o! + +MORE. Trot, my soul! + + [She goes, looks back at him, turns suddenly, and vanishes.] + + MORE follows her to the door, but stops there. Then, as full + realization begins to dawn on him, he runs to the bay window, + craning his head to catch sight of the front door. There is the + sound of a vehicle starting, and the continual hooting of its + horn as it makes its way among the crowd. He turns from the + window. + +MORE. Alone as the last man on earth! + + [Suddenly a voice rises clear out of the hurly-burly in the + street.] + +VOICE. There 'e is! That's 'im! More! Traitor! More! + + A shower of nutshells, orange-peel, and harmless missiles begins + to rattle against the glass of the window. Many voices take up + the groaning: "More! Traitor! Black-leg! More!" And through + the window can be seen waving flags and lighted Chinese + lanterns, swinging high on long bamboos. The din of execration + swells. MORE stands unheeding, still gazing after the cab. + Then, with a sharp crack, a flung stone crashes through one of + the panes. It is followed by a hoarse shout of laughter, and a + hearty groan. A second stone crashes through the glass. MORE + turns for a moment, with a contemptuous look, towards the + street, and the flare of the Chinese lanterns lights up his + face. Then, as if forgetting all about the din outside, he + moves back into the room, looks round him, and lets his head + droop. The din rises louder and louder; a third stone crashes + through. MORE raises his head again, and, clasping his hands, + looks straight before him. The footman, HENRY, entering, + hastens to the French windows. + +MORE. Ah! Henry, I thought you'd gone. + +FOOTMAN. I came back, sir. + +MORE. Good fellow! + +FOOTMAN. They're trying to force the terrace gate, sir. They've no +business coming on to private property--no matter what! + + In the surging entrance of the mob the footman, HENRY, who shows + fight, is overwhelmed, hustled out into the crowd on the + terrace, and no more seen. The MOB is a mixed crowd of + revellers of both sexes, medical students, clerks, shop men and + girls, and a Boy Scout or two. Many have exchanged hats--Some + wear masks, or false noses, some carry feathers or tin whistles. + Some, with bamboos and Chinese lanterns, swing them up outside + on the terrace. The medley of noises is very great. Such + ringleaders as exist in the confusion are a GROUP OF STUDENTS, + the chief of whom, conspicuous because unadorned, is an + athletic, hatless young man with a projecting underjaw, and + heavy coal-black moustache, who seems with the swing of his huge + arms and shoulders to sway the currents of motion. When the + first surge of noise and movement subsides, he calls out: "To + him, boys! Chair the hero!" THE STUDENTS rush at the impassive + MORE, swing him roughly on to their shoulders and bear him round + the room. When they have twice circled the table to the music + of their confused singing, groans and whistling, THE CHIEF OF + THE STUDENTS calls out: "Put him down!" Obediently they set him + down on the table which has been forced into the bay window, and + stand gaping up at him. + +CHIEF STUDENT. Speech! Speech! + + [The noise ebbs, and MORE looks round him.] + +CHIEF STUDENT. Now then, you, sir. + +MORE. [In a quiet voice] Very well. You are here by the law that +governs the action of all mobs--the law of Force. By that law, you +can do what you like to this body of mine. + +A VOICE. And we will, too. + +MORE. I don't doubt it. But before that, I've a word to say. + +A VOICE. You've always that. + + [ANOTHER VOICE raises a donkey's braying.] + +MORE. You--Mob--are the most contemptible thing under the sun. When +you walk the street--God goes in. + +CHIEF STUDENT. Be careful, you--sir. + +VOICES. Down him! Down with the beggar! + +MORE. [Above the murmurs] My fine friends, I'm not afraid of you. +You've forced your way into my house, and you've asked me to speak. +Put up with the truth for once! [His words rush out] You are the +thing that pelts the weak; kicks women; howls down free speech. This +to-day, and that to-morrow. Brain--you have none. Spirit--not the +ghost of it! If you're not meanness, there's no such thing. If +you're not cowardice, there is no cowardice [Above the growing +fierceness of the hubbub] Patriotism--there are two kinds--that of +our soldiers, and this of mine. You have neither! + +CHIEF STUDENT. [Checking a dangerous rush] Hold on! Hold on! [To +MORE] Swear to utter no more blasphemy against your country: Swear +it! + +CROWD. Ah! Ay! Ah! + +MORE. My country is not yours. Mine is that great country which +shall never take toll from the weakness of others. [Above the +groaning] Ah! you can break my head and my windows; but don't think +that you can break my faith. You could never break or shake it, if +you were a million to one. + + A girl with dark eyes and hair all wild, leaps out from the + crowd and shakes her fist at him. + +GIRL. You're friends with them that killed my lad! [MORE smiles +down at her, and she swiftly plucks the knife from the belt of a Boy +Scout beside her] Smile, you--cur! + + A violent rush and heave from behind flings MORE forward on to + the steel. He reels, staggers back, and falls down amongst the + crowd. A scream, a sway, a rush, a hubbub of cries. The CHIEF + STUDENT shouts above the riot: "Steady!" Another: "My God! + He's got it!" + +CHIEF STUDENT. Give him air! + + The crowd falls back, and two STUDENTS, bending over MORE, lift + his arms and head, but they fall like lead. Desperately they + test him for life. + +CHIEF STUDENT. By the Lord, it's over! + + Then begins a scared swaying out towards the window. Some one + turns out the lights, and in the darkness the crowd fast melts + away. The body of MORE lies in the gleam from a single Chinese + lantern. Muttering the words: "Poor devil! He kept his end up + anyway!" the CHIEF STUDENT picks from the floor a little + abandoned Union Jack and lays it on MORE's breast. Then he, + too, turns, and rushes out. + + And the body of MORE lies in the streak of light; and flee + noises in the street continue to rise. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS, BUT RISES AGAIN ALMOST AT ONCE. + + + + + + AFTERMATH + + A late Spring dawn is just breaking. Against trees in leaf and + blossom, with the houses of a London Square beyond, suffused by + the spreading glow, is seen a dark life-size statue on a granite + pedestal. In front is the broad, dust-dim pavement. The light + grows till the central words around the pedestal can be clearly + read: + + ERECTED + To the Memory + of + STEPHEN MORE + "Faithful to his ideal" + +High above, the face of MORE looks straight before him with a faint +smile. On one shoulder and on his bare head two sparrows have +perched, and from the gardens, behind, comes the twittering and +singing of birds. + + +THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + +The End + + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of THE MOB, a play in +THE THIRD SERIES by John Galsworthy. + diff --git a/old/glmob10.zip b/old/glmob10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5d21772 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/glmob10.zip diff --git a/old/glmob11.txt b/old/glmob11.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a39ce80 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/glmob11.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3140 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Mob (Play), by John Galsworthy +#27 in our series by John Galsworthy + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +PLAYS OF JOHN GALSWORTHY--SERIES 3 + + + +THE MOB + +A Play in Four Acts + + + + +PERSONS OF THE PLAY + +STEPHEN MORE, Member of Parliament +KATHERINE, his wife +OLIVE, their little daughter +THE DEAN OF STOUR, Katherine's uncle +GENERAL SIR JOHN JULIAN, her father +CAPTAIN HUBERT JULIAN, her brother +HELEN, his wife +EDWARD MENDIP, editor of "The Parthenon" +ALAN STEEL, More's secretary +JAMES HOME, architect | +CHARLES SHELDER, Solicitor |A deputation of More's +MARK WACE, bookseller |constituents +WILLIAM BANNING, manufacturer | +NURSE WREFORD +WREFORD (her son), Hubert's orderly +HIS SWEETHEART +THE FOOTMAN HENRY +A DOORKEEPER +SOME BLACK-COATED GENTLEMEN +A STUDENT +A GIRL + + + + + A MOB + +ACT I. The dining-room of More's town house, evening. + +ACT II. The same, morning. + +ACT III. SCENE I. An alley at the back of a suburban theatre. + SCENE II. Katherine's bedroom. + +ACT IV. The dining-room of More's house, late afternoon. + +AFTERMATH. The corner of a square, at dawn. + + + +Between ACTS I and II some days elapse. +Between ACTS II and III three months. +Between ACT III SCENE I and ACT III SCENE II no time. +Between ACTS III and IV a few hours. +Between ACTS IV and AFTERMATH an indefinite period. + + + + +ACT I + + It is half-past nine of a July evening. In a dining-room + lighted by sconces, and apparelled in wall-paper, carpet, and + curtains of deep vivid blue, the large French windows between + two columns are open on to a wide terrace, beyond which are seen + trees in darkness, and distant shapes of lighted houses. On one + side is a bay window, over which curtains are partly drawn. + Opposite to this window is a door leading into the hall. At an + oval rosewood table, set with silver, flowers, fruit, and wine, + six people are seated after dinner. Back to the bay window is + STEPHEN MORE, the host, a man of forty, with a fine-cut face, a + rather charming smile, and the eyes of an idealist; to his + right, SIR, JOHN JULIAN, an old soldier, with thin brown + features, and grey moustaches; to SIR JOHN's right, his brother, + the DEAN OF STOUR, a tall, dark, ascetic-looking Churchman: to + his right KATHERINE is leaning forward, her elbows on the table, + and her chin on her hands, staring across at her husband; to her + right sits EDWARD MENDIP, a pale man of forty-five, very bald, + with a fine forehead, and on his clear-cut lips a smile that + shows his teeth; between him and MORE is HELEN JULIAN, a pretty + dark-haired young woman, absorbed in thoughts of her own. The + voices are tuned to the pitch of heated discussion, as the + curtain rises. + + +THE DEAN. I disagree with you, Stephen; absolutely, entirely +disagree. + +MORE. I can't help it. + +MENDIP. Remember a certain war, Stephen! Were your chivalrous +notions any good, then? And, what was winked at in an obscure young +Member is anathema for an Under Secretary of State. You can't +afford---- + +MORE. To follow my conscience? That's new, Mendip. + +MENDIP. Idealism can be out of place, my friend. + +THE DEAN. The Government is dealing here with a wild lawless race, +on whom I must say I think sentiment is rather wasted. + +MORE. God made them, Dean. + +MENDIP. I have my doubts. + +THE DEAN. They have proved themselves faithless. We have the right +to chastise. + +MORE. If I hit a little man in the eye, and he hits me back, have I +the right to chastise him? + +SIR JOHN. We didn't begin this business. + +MORE. What! With our missionaries and our trading? + +THE DEAN. It is news indeed that the work of civilization may be +justifiably met by murder. Have you forgotten Glaive and Morlinson? + +SIR JOHN. Yes. And that poor fellow Groome and his wife? + +MORE. They went into a wild country, against the feeling of the +tribes, on their own business. What has the nation to do with the +mishaps of gamblers? + +SIR JOHN. We can't stand by and see our own flesh and blood +ill-treated! + +THE DEAN. Does our rule bring blessing--or does it not, Stephen? + +MORE. Sometimes; but with all my soul I deny the fantastic +superstition that our rule can benefit a people like this, a nation +of one race, as different from ourselves as dark from light--in +colour, religion, every mortal thing. We can only pervert their +natural instincts. + +THE DEAN. That to me is an unintelligible point of view. + +MENDIP. Go into that philosophy of yours a little deeper, Stephen-- +it spells stagnation. There are no fixed stars on this earth. +Nations can't let each other alone. + +MORE. Big ones could let little ones alone. + +MENDIP. If they could there'd be no big ones. My dear fellow, we +know little nations are your hobby, but surely office should have +toned you down. + +SIR JOHN. I've served my country fifty years, and I say she is not +in the wrong. + +MORE. I hope to serve her fifty, Sir John, and I say she is. + +MENDIP. There are moments when such things can't be said, More. + +MORE. They'll be said by me to-night, Mendip. + +MENDIP. In the House? + + [MORE nods.] + +KATHERINE. Stephen! + +MENDIP. Mrs. More, you mustn't let him. It's madness. + +MORE. [Rising] You can tell people that to-morrow, Mendip. Give it +a leader in 'The Parthenon'. + +MENDIP. Political lunacy! No man in your position has a right to +fly out like this at the eleventh hour. + +MORE. I've made no secret of my feelings all along. I'm against +this war, and against the annexation we all know it will lead to. + +MENDIP. My dear fellow! Don't be so Quixotic! We shall have war +within the next twenty-four hours, and nothing you can do will stop +it. + +HELEN. Oh! No! + +MENDIP. I'm afraid so, Mrs. Hubert. + +SIR JOHN. Not a doubt of it, Helen. + +MENDIP. [TO MORE] And you mean to charge the windmill? + + [MORE nods.] + +MENDIP. 'C'est magnifique'! + +MORE. I'm not out for advertisement. + +MENDIP. You will get it! + +MORE. Must speak the truth sometimes, even at that risk. + +SIR JOHN. It is not the truth. + +MENDIP. The greater the truth the greater the libel, and the greater +the resentment of the person libelled. + +THE DEAN. [Trying to bring matters to a blander level] My dear +Stephen, even if you were right--which I deny--about the initial +merits, there surely comes a point where the individual conscience +must resign it self to the country's feeling. This has become a +question of national honour. + +SIR JOHN. Well said, James! + +MORE. Nations are bad judges of their honour, Dean. + +THE DEAN. I shall not follow you there. + +MORE. No. It's an awkward word. + +KATHERINE. [Stopping THE DEAN] Uncle James! Please! + + [MORE looks at her intently.] + +SIR JOHN. So you're going to put yourself at the head of the cranks, +ruin your career, and make me ashamed that you're my son-in-law? + +MORE. Is a man only to hold beliefs when they're popular? You've +stood up to be shot at often enough, Sir John. + +SIR JOHN. Never by my country! Your speech will be in all the +foreign press-trust 'em for seizing on anything against us. A +show-up before other countries----! + +MORE. You admit the show-up? + +SIR JOHN. I do not, sir. + +THE DEAN. The position has become impossible. The state of things +out there must be put an end to once for all! Come, Katherine, back +us up! + +MORE. My country, right or wrong! Guilty--still my country! + +MENDIP. That begs the question. + + [KATHERINE rises. THE DEAN, too, stands up.] + +THE DEAN. [In a low voice] 'Quem Deus volt perdere'----! + +SIR JOHN. Unpatriotic! + +MORE. I'll have no truck with tyranny. + +KATHERINE. Father doesn't admit tyranny. Nor do any of us, Stephen. + +HUBERT JULIAN, a tall Soldier-like man, has come in. + +HELEN. Hubert! + + [She gets up and goes to him, and they talk together near the + door.] + +SIR JOHN. What in God's name is your idea? We've forborne long +enough, in all conscience. + +MORE. Sir John, we great Powers have got to change our ways in +dealing with weaker nations. The very dogs can give us lessons-- +watch a big dog with a little one. + +MENDIP. No, no, these things are not so simple as all that. + +MORE. There's no reason in the world, Mendip, why the rules of +chivalry should not apply to nations at least as well as to---dogs. + +MENDIP. My dear friend, are you to become that hapless kind of +outcast, a champion of lost causes? + +MORE. This cause is not lost. + +MENDIP. Right or wrong, as lost as ever was cause in all this world. +There was never a time when the word "patriotism" stirred mob +sentiment as it does now. 'Ware "Mob," Stephen---'ware "Mob"! + +MORE. Because general sentiment's against me, I--a public man--am to +deny my faith? The point is not whether I'm right or wrong, Mendip, +but whether I'm to sneak out of my conviction because it's unpopular. + +THE DEAN. I'm afraid I must go. [To KATHERINE] Good-night, my +dear! Ah! Hubert! [He greets HUBERT] Mr. Mendip, I go your way. +Can I drop you? + +MENDIP. Thank you. Good-night, Mrs. More. Stop him! It's +perdition. + + [He and THE DEAN go out. KATHERINE puts her arm in HELEN'S, and + takes her out of the room. HUBERT remains standing by the door] + +SIR JOHN. I knew your views were extreme in many ways, Stephen, but +I never thought the husband of my daughter would be a Peace-at-any- +price man! + +MORE. I am not! But I prefer to fight some one my own size. + +SIR JOHN. Well! I can only hope to God you'll come to your senses +before you commit the folly of this speech. I must get back to the +War Office. Good-night, Hubert. + +HUBERT. Good-night, Father. + + [SIR JOHN goes out. HUBERT stands motionless, dejected.] + +HUBERT. We've got our orders. + +MORE. What? When d'you sail? + +HUBERT. At once. + +MORE. Poor Helen! + +HUBERT. Not married a year; pretty bad luck! [MORE touches his arm +in sympathy] Well! We've got to put feelings in our pockets. Look +here, Stephen--don't make that speech! Think of Katherine--with the +Dad at the War Office, and me going out, and Ralph and old George out +there already! You can't trust your tongue when you're hot about a +thing. + +MORE. I must speak, Hubert. + +HUBERT. No, no! Bottle yourself up for to-night. The next few +hours 'll see it begin. [MORE turns from him] If you don't care +whether you mess up your own career--don't tear Katherine in two! + +MORE. You're not shirking your duty because of your wife. + +HUBERT. Well! You're riding for a fall, and a godless mucker it'll +be. This'll be no picnic. We shall get some nasty knocks out there. +Wait and see the feeling here when we've had a force or two cut up in +those mountains. It's awful country. Those fellows have got modern +arms, and are jolly good fighters. Do drop it, Stephen! + +MORE. Must risk something, sometimes, Hubert--even in my profession! + + [As he speaks, KATHERINE comes in.] + +HUBERT. But it's hopeless, my dear chap--absolutely. + + [MORE turns to the window, HUBERT to his sister--then with a + gesture towards MORE, as though to leave the matter to her, he + goes out.] + +KATHERINE. Stephen! Are you really going to speak? [He nods] I ask +you not. + +MORE. You know my feeling. + +KATHERINE. But it's our own country. We can't stand apart from it. +You won't stop anything--only make people hate you. I can't bear +that. + +MORE. I tell you, Kit, some one must raise a voice. Two or three +reverses--certain to come--and the whole country will go wild. And +one more little nation will cease to live. + +KATHERINE. If you believe in your country, you must believe that the +more land and power she has, the better for the world. + +MORE. Is that your faith? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +MORE. I respect it; I even understand it; but--I can't hold it. + +KATHERINE. But, Stephen, your speech will be a rallying cry to all +the cranks, and every one who has a spite against the country. +They'll make you their figurehead. [MORE smiles] They will. Your +chance of the Cabinet will go--you may even have to resign your seat. + +MORE. Dogs will bark. These things soon blow over. + +KATHERINE. No, no! If you once begin a thing, you always go on; and +what earthly good? + +MORE. History won't say: "And this they did without a single protest +from their public men!" + +KATHERINE. There are plenty who---- + +MORE. Poets? + +KATHERINE. Do you remember that day on our honeymoon, going up Ben +Lawers? You were lying on your face in the heather; you said it was +like kissing a loved woman. There was a lark singing--you said that +was the voice of one's worship. The hills were very blue; that's why +we had blue here, because it was the best dress of our country. You +do love her. + +MORE. Love her! + +KATHERINE. You'd have done this for me--then. + +MORE. Would you have asked me--then, Kit? + +KATHERINE. Yes. The country's our country! Oh! Stephen, think +what it'll be like for me--with Hubert and the other boys out there. +And poor Helen, and Father! I beg you not to make this speech. + +MORE. Kit! This isn't fair. Do you want me to feel myself a cur? + +KATHERINE. [Breathless] I--I--almost feel you'll be a cur to do it +[She looks at him, frightened by her own words. Then, as the footman +HENRY has come in to clear the table--very low] I ask you not! + + [He does not answer, and she goes out.] + +MORE [To the servant] Later, please, Henry, later! + + The servant retires. MORE still stands looking down at the + dining-table; then putting his hand to his throat, as if to free + it from the grip of his collar, he pours out a glass of water, + and drinks it of. In the street, outside the bay window, two + street musicians, a harp and a violin, have taken up their + stand, and after some twangs and scrapes, break into music. + MORE goes towards the sound, and draws aside one curtain. After + a moment, he returns to the table, and takes up the notes of the + speech. He is in an agony of indecision. + +MORE. A cur! + + He seems about to tear his notes across. Then, changing his + mind, turns them over and over, muttering. His voice gradually + grows louder, till he is declaiming to the empty room the + peroration of his speech. + +MORE. . . . We have arrogated to our land the title Champion of +Freedom, Foe of Oppression. Is that indeed a bygone glory? Is it +not worth some sacrifice of our pettier dignity, to avoid laying +another stone upon its grave; to avoid placing before the searchlight +eyes of History the spectacle of yet one more piece of national +cynicism? We are about to force our will and our dominion on a race +that has always been free, that loves its country, and its +independence, as much as ever we love ours. I cannot sit silent +to-night and see this begin. As we are tender of our own land, so we +should be of the lands of others. I love my country. It is because +I love my country that I raise my voice. Warlike in spirit these +people may be--but they have no chance against ourselves. And war on +such, however agreeable to the blind moment, is odious to the future. +The great heart of mankind ever beats in sense and sympathy with the +weaker. It is against this great heart of mankind that we are going. +In the name of Justice and Civilization we pursue this policy; but by +Justice we shall hereafter be judged, and by Civilization--condemned. + + While he is speaking, a little figure has flown along the + terrace outside, in the direction of the music, but has stopped + at the sound of his voice, and stands in the open window, + listening--a dark-haired, dark-eyed child, in a blue dressing- + gown caught up in her hand. The street musicians, having + reached the end of a tune, are silent. + + In the intensity of MORES feeling, a wine-glass, gripped too + strongly, breaks and falls in pieces onto a finger-bowl. The + child starts forward into the room. + +MORE. Olive! + +OLIVE. Who were you speaking to, Daddy? + +MORE. [Staring at her] The wind, sweetheart! + +OLIVE. There isn't any! + +MORE. What blew you down, then? + +OLIVE. [Mysteriously] The music. Did the wind break the wine- +glass, or did it come in two in your hand? + +MORE. Now my sprite! Upstairs again, before Nurse catches you. +Fly! Fly! + +OLIVE. Oh! no, Daddy! [With confidential fervour] It feels like +things to-night! + +MORE. You're right there! + +OLIVE. [Pulling him down to her, and whispering] I must get back +again in secret. H'sh! + + She suddenly runs and wraps herself into one of the curtains of + the bay window. A young man enters, with a note in his hand. + +MORE. Hello, Steel! + + [The street musicians have again begun to play.] + +STEEL. From Sir John--by special messenger from the War Office. + +MORE. [Reading the note] "The ball is opened." + + He stands brooding over the note, and STEEL looks at him + anxiously. He is a dark, sallow, thin-faced young man, with the + eyes of one who can attach himself to people, and suffer with + them. + +STEEL. I'm glad it's begun, sir. It would have been an awful pity +to have made that speech. + +MORE. You too, Steel! + +STEEL. I mean, if it's actually started---- + +MORE. [Tearing tie note across] Yes. Keep that to yourself. + +STEEL. Do you want me any more? + + MORE takes from his breast pocket some papers, and pitches them + down on the bureau. + +MORE. Answer these. + +STEEL. [Going to the bureau] Fetherby was simply sickening. [He +begins to write. Struggle has begun again in MORE] Not the faintest +recognition that there are two sides to it. + + MORE gives him a quick look, goes quietly to the dining-table + and picks up his sheaf of notes. Hiding them with his sleeve, + he goes back to the window, where he again stands hesitating. + +STEEL. Chief gem: [Imitating] "We must show Impudence at last that +Dignity is not asleep!" + +MORE. [Moving out on to the terrace] Nice quiet night! + +STEEL. This to the Cottage Hospital--shall I say you will preside? + +MORE. No. + + STEEL writes; then looking up and seeing that MORE is no longer + there, he goes to the window, looks to right and left, returns + to the bureau, and is about to sit down again when a thought + seems to strike him with consternation. He goes again to the + window. Then snatching up his hat, he passes hurriedly out + along the terrace. As he vanishes, KATHERINE comes in from the + hall. After looking out on to the terrace she goes to the bay + window; stands there listening; then comes restlessly back into + the room. OLIVE, creeping quietly from behind the curtain, + clasps her round the waist. + +KATHERINE. O my darling! How you startled me! What are you doing +down here, you wicked little sinner! + +OLIVE. I explained all that to Daddy. We needn't go into it again, +need we? + +KATHERINE. Where is Daddy? + +OLIVE. Gone. + +KATHERINE. When? + +OLIVE. Oh! only just, and Mr. Steel went after him like a rabbit. +[The music stops] They haven't been paid, you know. + +KATHERINE. Now, go up at once. I can't think how you got down here. + +OLIVE. I can. [Wheedling] If you pay them, Mummy, they're sure to +play another. + +KATHERINE. Well, give them that! One more only. + + She gives OLIVE a coin, who runs with it to the bay window, + opens the aide casement, and calls to the musicians. + +OLIVE. Catch, please! And would you play just one more? + + She returns from the window, and seeing her mother lost in + thought, rubs herself against her. + +OLIVE. Have you got an ache? + +KATHARINE. Right through me, darling! + +OLIVE. Oh! + + [The musicians strike up a dance.] + +OLIVE. Oh! Mummy! I must just dance! + + She kicks off her lisle blue shoes, and begins dancing. While + she is capering HUBERT comes in from the hall. He stands + watching his little niece for a minute, and KATHERINE looks at + him. + +HUBERT. Stephen gone! + +KATHERINE. Yes--stop, Olive! + +OLIVE. Are you good at my sort of dancing, Uncle? + +HUBERT. Yes, chick--awfully! + +KATHERINE. Now, Olive! + + The musicians have suddenly broken off in the middle of a bar. + From the street comes the noise of distant shouting. + +OLIVE. Listen, Uncle! Isn't it a particular noise? + + HUBERT and KATHERINE listen with all their might, and OLIVE + stares at their faces. HUBERT goes to the window. The sound + comes nearer. The shouted words are faintly heard: "Pyper---- + war----our force crosses frontier--sharp fightin'----pyper." + +KATHERINE. [Breathless] Yes! It is. + + The street cry is heard again in two distant voices coming from + different directions: "War--pyper--sharp fightin' on the + frontier--pyper." + +KATHERINE. Shut out those ghouls! + + As HUBERT closes the window, NURSE WREFORD comes in from the + hall. She is an elderly woman endowed with a motherly grimness. + She fixes OLIVE with her eye, then suddenly becomes conscious of + the street cry. + +NURSE. Oh! don't say it's begun. + + [HUBERT comes from the window.] + +NURSE. Is the regiment to go, Mr. Hubert? + +HUBERT. Yes, Nanny. + +NURSE. Oh, dear! My boy! + +KATHERINE. [Signing to where OLIVE stands with wide eyes] Nurse! + +HUBERT. I'll look after him, Nurse. + +NURSE. And him keepin' company. And you not married a year. Ah! +Mr. Hubert, now do 'ee take care; you and him's both so rash. + +HUBERT. Not I, Nurse! + + NURSE looks long into his face, then lifts her finger, and + beckons OLIVE. + +OLIVE. [Perceiving new sensations before her, goes quietly] Good- +night, Uncle! Nanny, d'you know why I was obliged to come down? [In +a fervent whisper] It's a secret! + + [As she passes with NURSE out into the hall, her voice is heard + saying, "Do tell me all about the war."] + +HUBERT. [Smothering emotion under a blunt manner] We sail on +Friday, Kit. Be good to Helen, old girl. + +KATHERINE. Oh! I wish----! Why--can't--women--fight? + +HUBERT. Yes, it's bad for you, with Stephen taking it like this. +But he'll come round now it's once begun. + + KATHERINE shakes her head, then goes suddenly up to him, and + throws her arms round his neck. It is as if all the feeling + pent up in her were finding vent in this hug. + + The door from the hall is opened, and SIR JOHN'S voice is heard + outside: "All right, I'll find her." + +KATHERINE. Father! + + [SIR JOHN comes in.] + +SIR JOHN. Stephen get my note? I sent it over the moment I got to +the War Office. + +KATHERINE. I expect so. [Seeing the torn note on the table] Yes. + +SIR JOHN. They're shouting the news now. Thank God, I stopped that +crazy speech of his in time. + +KATHERINE. Have you stopped it? + +SIR JOHN. What! He wouldn't be such a sublime donkey? + +KATHERINE. I think that is just what he might be. [Going to the +window] We shall know soon. + + [SIR JOHN, after staring at her, goes up to HUBERT.] + +SIR JOHN. Keep a good heart, my boy. The country's first. [They +exchange a hand-squeeze.] + + KATHERINE backs away from the window. STEEL has appeared there + from the terrace, breathless from running. + +STEEL. Mr. More back? + +KATHERINE. No. Has he spoken? + +STEEL. Yes. + +KATHERINE. Against? + +STEEL. Yes. + +SIR JOHN. What? After! + + SIR, JOHN stands rigid, then turns and marches straight out into + the hall. At a sign from KATHERINE, HUBERT follows him. + +KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Steel? + +STEEL. [Still breathless and agitated] We were here--he slipped +away from me somehow. He must have gone straight down to the House. +I ran over, but when I got in under the Gallery he was speaking +already. They expected something--I never heard it so still there. +He gripped them from the first word--deadly--every syllable. It got +some of those fellows. But all the time, under the silence you could +feel a--sort of--of--current going round. And then Sherratt--I think +it was--began it, and you saw the anger rising in them; but he kept +them down--his quietness! The feeling! I've never seen anything +like it there. + +Then there was a whisper all over the House that fighting had begun. +And the whole thing broke out--regular riot--as if they could have +killed him. Some one tried to drag him down by the coat-tails, but +he shook him off, and went on. Then he stopped dead and walked out, +and the noise dropped like a stone. The whole thing didn't last five +minutes. It was fine, Mrs. More; like--like lava; he was the only +cool person there. I wouldn't have missed it for anything--it was +grand! + + MORE has appeared on the terrace, behind STEEL. + +KATHERINE. Good-night, Mr. Steel. + +STEEL. [Startled] Oh!--Good-night! + + He goes out into the hall. KATHERINE picks up OLIVE'S shoes, + and stands clasping them to her breast. MORE comes in. + +KATHERINE. You've cleared your conscience, then! I didn't think +you'd hurt me so. + + MORE does not answer, still living in the scene he has gone + through, and KATHERINE goes a little nearer to him. + +KATHERINE. I'm with the country, heart and soul, Stephen. I warn +you. + + While they stand in silence, facing each other, the footman, + HENRY, enters from the hall. + +FOOTMAN. These notes, sir, from the House of Commons. + +KATHERINE. [Taking them] You can have the room directly. + + [The FOOTMAN goes out.] + +MORE. Open them! + + KATHERINE opens one after the other, and lets them fall on the + table. + +MORE. Well? + +KATHERINE. What you might expect. Three of your best friends. It's +begun. + +MORE. 'Ware Mob! [He gives a laugh] I must write to the Chief. + + KATHERINE makes an impulsive movement towards him; then quietly + goes to the bureau, sits down and takes up a pen. + +KATHERINE. Let me make the rough draft. [She waits] Yes? + +MORE. [Dictating] + +"July 15th. + +"DEAR SIR CHARLES, After my speech to-night, embodying my most +unalterable convictions [KATHERINE turns and looks up at him, but he +is staring straight before him, and with a little movement of despair +she goes on writing] I have no alternative but to place the +resignation of my Under-Secretaryship in your hands. My view, my +faith in this matter may be wrong--but I am surely right to keep the +flag of my faith flying. I imagine I need not enlarge on the +reasons----" + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + + + + +ACT. II + + Before noon a few days later. The open windows of the dining- + room let in the sunlight. On the table a number of newspapers + are littered. HELEN is sitting there, staring straight before + her. A newspaper boy runs by outside calling out his wares. At + the sound she gets up anti goes out on to the terrace. HUBERT + enters from the hall. He goes at once to the terrace, and draws + HELEN into the room. + +HELEN. Is it true--what they're shouting? + +HUBERT. Yes. Worse than we thought. They got our men all crumpled +up in the Pass--guns helpless. Ghastly beginning. + +HELEN. Oh, Hubert! + +HUBERT. My dearest girl! + + HELEN puts her face up to his. He kisses her. Then she turns + quickly into the bay window. The door from the hall has been + opened, and the footman, HENRY, comes in, preceding WREFORD and + his sweetheart. + +HENRY. Just wait here, will you, while I let Mrs. More know. +[Catching sight of HUBERT] Beg pardon, sir! + +HUBERT. All right, Henry. [Off-hand] Ah! Wreford! [The FOOTMAN +withdraws] So you've brought her round. That's good! My sister'll +look after her--don't you worry! Got everything packed? Three +o'clock sharp. + +WREFORD. [A broad faced soldier, dressed in khaki with a certain +look of dry humour, now dimmed-speaking with a West Country burr] +That's right, zurr; all's ready. + + HELEN has come out of the window, and is quietly looking at + WREFORD and the girl standing there so awkwardly. + +HELEN. [Quietly] Take care of him, Wreford. + +HUBERT. We'll take care of each other, won't we, Wreford? + +HELEN. How long have you been engaged? + +THE GIRL. [A pretty, indeterminate young woman] Six months. [She +sobs suddenly.] + +HELEN. Ah! He'll soon be safe back. + +WREFORD. I'll owe 'em for this. [In a lacy voice to her] Don't 'ee +now! Don't 'ee! + +HELEN. No! Don't cry, please! + + She stands struggling with her own lips, then goes out on to the + terrace, HUBERT following. WREFORD and his girl remain where + they were, strange and awkward, she muffling her sobs. + +WREFORD. Don't 'ee go on like that, Nance; I'll 'ave to take you +'ome. That's silly, now we've a-come. I might be dead and buried by +the fuss you're makin'. You've a-drove the lady away. See! + + She regains control of herself as the door is opened and + KATHERINE appears, accompanied by OLIVE, who regards WREFORD + with awe and curiosity, and by NURSE, whose eyes are red, but + whose manner is composed. + +KATHERINE. My brother told me; so glad you've brought her. + +WREFORD. Ye--as, M'. She feels me goin', a bit. + +KATHERINE. Yes, yes! Still, it's for the country, isn't it? + +THE GIRL. That's what Wreford keeps tellin' me. He've got to go--so +it's no use upsettin' 'im. And of course I keep tellin' him I shall +be all right. + +NURSE. [Whose eyes never leave her son's face] And so you will. + +THE GIRL. Wreford thought it'd comfort him to know you were +interested in me. 'E's so 'ot-headed I'm sure somethin'll come to +'im. + +KATHERINE. We've all got some one going. Are you coming to the +docks? We must send them off in good spirits, you know. + +OLIVE. Perhaps he'll get a medal. + +KATHERINE. Olive! + +NURSE. You wouldn't like for him to be hanging back, one of them +anti-patriot, stop-the-war ones. + +KATHERINE. [Quickly] Let me see--I have your address. [Holding out +her hand to WREFORD] We'll look after her. + +OLIVE. [In a loud whisper] Shall I lend him my toffee? + +KATHERINE. If you like, dear. [To WREFORD] Now take care of my +brother and yourself, and we'll take care of her. + +WREFORD. Ye--as, M'. + + He then looks rather wretchedly at his girl, as if the interview + had not done so much for him as he had hoped. She drops a + little curtsey. WREFORD salutes. + +OLIVE. [Who has taken from the bureau a packet, places it in his +hand] It's very nourishing! + +WREFORD. Thank you, miss. + + Then, nudging each other, and entangled in their feelings and + the conventions, they pass out, shepherded by NURSE. + +KATHERINE. Poor things! + +OLIVE. What is an anti-patriot, stop-the-war one, Mummy? + +KATHERINE. [Taking up a newspaper] Just a stupid name, dear--don't +chatter! + +OLIVE. But tell me just one weeny thing! + +KATHERINE. Well? + +OLIVE. Is Daddy one? + +KATHERINE. Olive! How much do you know about this war? + +OLIVE. They won't obey us properly. So we have to beat them, and +take away their country. We shall, shan't we? + +KATHERINE. Yes. But Daddy doesn't want us to; he doesn't think it +fair, and he's been saying so. People are very angry with him. + +OLIVE. Why isn't it fair? I suppose we're littler than them. + +KATHERINE. No. + +OLIVE. Oh! in history we always are. And we always win. That's why +I like history. Which are you for, Mummy--us or them? + +KATHERINE. Us. + +OLIVE. Then I shall have to be. It's a pity we're not on the same +side as Daddy. [KATHERINE shudders] Will they hurt him for not +taking our side? + +KATHERINE. I expect they will, Olive. + +OLIVE. Then we shall have to be extra nice to him. + +KATHERINE. If we can. + +OLIVE. I can; I feel like it. + + HELEN and HUBERT have returned along the terrace. Seeing + KATHERINE and the child, HELEN passes on, but HUBERT comes in at + the French window. + +OLIVE. [Catching sight of him-softly] Is Uncle Hubert going to the +front to-day? [KATHERINE nods] But not grandfather? + +KATHERINE. No, dear. + +OLIVE. That's lucky for them, isn't it? + + HUBERT comes in. The presence of the child give him self- + control. + +HUBERT. Well, old girl, it's good-bye. [To OLIVE] What shall I +bring you back, chick? + +OLIVE. Are there shops at the front? I thought it was dangerous. + +HUBERT. Not a bit. + +OLIVE. [Disillusioned] Oh! + +KATHERINE. Now, darling, give Uncle a good hug. + + [Under cover of OLIVE's hug, KATHERINE repairs her courage.] + +KATHERINE. The Dad and I'll be with you all in spirit. Good-bye, +old boy! + + They do not dare to kiss, and HUBERT goes out very stiff and + straight, in the doorway passing STEEL, of whom he takes no + notice. STEEL hesitates, and would go away. + +KATHERINE. Come in, Mr. Steel. + +STEEL. The deputation from Toulmin ought to be here, Mrs. More. +It's twelve. + +OLIVE. [Having made a little ball of newspaper-slyly] Mr. Steel, +catch! + + [She throws, and STEEL catches it in silence.] + +KATHERINE. Go upstairs, won't you, darling? + +OLIVE. Mayn't I read in the window, Mummy? Then I shall see if any +soldiers pass. + +KATHERINE. No. You can go out on the terrace a little, and then you +must go up. + + [OLIVE goes reluctantly out on to the terrace.] + +STEEL. Awful news this morning of that Pass! And have you seen +these? [Reading from the newspaper] "We will have no truck with the +jargon of the degenerate who vilifies his country at such a moment. +The Member for Toulmin has earned for himself the contempt of all +virile patriots." [He takes up a second journal] "There is a +certain type of public man who, even at his own expense, cannot +resist the itch to advertise himself. We would, at moments of +national crisis, muzzle such persons, as we muzzle dogs that we +suspect of incipient rabies . . . ." They're in full cry after +him! + +KATHERINE. I mind much more all the creatures who are always +flinging mud at the country making him their hero suddenly! You know +what's in his mind? + +STEEL. Oh! We must get him to give up that idea of lecturing +everywhere against the war, Mrs. More; we simply must. + +KATHERINE. [Listening] The deputation's come. Go and fetch him, +Mr. Steel. He'll be in his room, at the House. + + [STEEL goes out, and KATHERINE Stands at bay. In a moment he + opens the door again, to usher in the deputation; then retires. + The four gentlemen have entered as if conscious of grave issues. + The first and most picturesque is JAMES HOME, a thin, tall, + grey-bearded man, with plentiful hair, contradictious eyebrows, + and the half-shy, half-bold manners, alternately rude and over + polite, of one not accustomed to Society, yet secretly much + taken with himself. He is dressed in rough tweeds, with a red + silk tie slung through a ring, and is closely followed by MARK + WACE, a waxy, round-faced man of middle-age, with sleek dark + hair, traces of whisker, and a smooth way of continually rubbing + his hands together, as if selling something to an esteemed + customer. He is rather stout, wears dark clothes, with a large + gold chain. Following him comes CHARLES SHELDER, a lawyer of + fifty, with a bald egg-shaped head, and gold pince-nez. He has + little side whiskers, a leathery, yellowish skin, a rather kind + but watchful and dubious face, and when he speaks seems to have + a plum in his mouth, which arises from the preponderance of his + shaven upper lip. Last of the deputation comes WILLIAM BANNING, + an energetic-looking, square-shouldered, self-made country-man, + between fifty and sixty, with grey moustaches, ruddy face, and + lively brown eyes.] + +KATHERINE. How do you do, Mr. Home? + +HOME. [Bowing rather extravagantly over her hand, as if to show his +independence of women's influence] Mrs. More! We hardly expected-- +This is an honour. + +WACE. How do you do, Ma'am? + +KATHERINE. And you, Mr. Wace? + +WACE. Thank you, Ma'am, well indeed! + +SHELDER. How d'you do, Mrs. More? + +KATHERINE. Very well, thank you, Mr. Shelder. + +BANNING. [Speaking with a rather broad country accent] This is but +a poor occasion, Ma'am. + +KATHERINE. Yes, Mr. Banning. Do sit down, gentlemen. + + Seeing that they will not settle down while she is standing, she + sits at the table. They gradually take their seats. Each + member of the deputation in his own way is severely hanging back + from any mention of the subject in hand; and KATHERINE as intent + on drawing them to it. + +KATHERINE. My husband will be here in two minutes. He's only over +at the House. + +SHELDER. [Who is of higher standing and education than the others] +Charming position--this, Mrs. More! So near the--er--Centre of-- +Gravity um? + +KATHERINE. I read the account of your second meeting at Toulmin. + +BANNING. It's bad, Mrs. More--bad. There's no disguising it. That +speech was moon-summer madness--Ah! it was! Take a lot of explaining +away. Why did you let him, now? Why did you? Not your views, I'm +sure! + + [He looks at her, but for answer she only compresses her lips.] + +BANNING. I tell you what hit me--what's hit the whole constituency-- +and that's his knowing we were over the frontier, fighting already, +when he made it. + +KATHERINE. What difference does it make if he did know? + +HOME. Hitting below the belt--I should have thought--you'll pardon +me! + +BANNING. Till war's begun, Mrs. More, you're entitled to say what +you like, no doubt--but after! That's going against your country. +Ah! his speech was strong, you know--his speech was strong. + +KATHERINE. He had made up his mind to speak. It was just an +accident the news coming then. + + [A silence.] + +BANNING. Well, that's true, I suppose. What we really want is to +make sure he won't break out again. + +HOME. Very high-minded, his views of course--but, some consideration +for the common herd. You'll pardon me! + +SHELDER. We've come with the friendliest feelings, Mrs. More--but, +you know, it won't do, this sort of thing! + +WACE. We shall be able to smooth him down. Oh! surely. + +BANNING. We'd be best perhaps not to mention about his knowing that +fighting had begun. + + [As he speaks, MORE enters through the French windows. They all + rise.] + +MORE. Good-morning, gentlemen. + + [He comes down to the table, but does not offer to shake hands.] + +BANNING. Well, Mr. More? You've made a woeful mistake, sir; I tell +you to your face. + +MORE. As everybody else does, Banning. Sit down again, please. + + [They gradually resume their seats, and MORE sits in KATHERINE's + chair. She alone remains standing leaning against the corner of + the bay window, watching their faces.] + +BANNING. You've seen the morning's telegrams? I tell you, Mr. +More--another reverse like that, and the flood will sweep you clean +away. And I'll not blame it. It's only flesh and blood. + +MORE, Allow for the flesh and blood in me, too, please. When I spoke +the other night it was not without a certain feeling here. [He +touches his heart.] + +BANNING. But your attitude's so sudden--you'd not been going that +length when you were down with us in May. + +MORE. Do me the justice to remember that even then I was against our +policy. It cost me three weeks' hard struggle to make up my mind to +that speech. One comes slowly to these things, Banning. + +SHELDER. Case of conscience? + +MORE. Such things have happened, Shelder, even in politics. + +SHELDER. You see, our ideals are naturally low--how different from +yours! + + [MORE smiles.] + + KATHERINE, who has drawn near her husband, moves back again, as + if relieved at this gleam of geniality. WACE rubs his hands. + +BANNING. There's one thing you forget, sir. We send you to +Parliament, representing us; but you couldn't find six men in the +whole constituency that would have bidden you to make that speech. + +MORE. I'm sorry; but I can't help my convictions, Banning. + +SHELDER. What was it the prophet was without in his own country? + +BANNING. Ah! but we're not funning, Mr. More. I've never known +feeling run so high. The sentiment of both meetings was dead against +you. We've had showers of letters to headquarters. Some from very +good men--very warm friends of yours. + +SHELDER. Come now! It's not too late. Let's go back and tell them +you won't do it again. + +MORE. Muzzling order? + +BANNING. [Bluntly] That's about it. + +MORE. Give up my principles to save my Parliamentary skin. Then, +indeed, they might call me a degenerate! [He touches the newspapers +on the table.] + + KATHERINE makes an abrupt and painful movement, then remains as + still as before, leaning against the corner of the window-seat. + +BANNING. Well, Well! I know. But we don't ask you to take your +words back--we only want discretion in the future. + +MORE. Conspiracy of silence! And have it said that a mob of +newspapers have hounded me to it. + +BANNING. They won't say that of you. + +SHELDER. My dear More, aren't you rather dropping to our level? +With your principles you ought not to care two straws what people +say. + +MORE. But I do. I can't betray the dignity and courage of public +men. If popular opinion is to control the utterances of her +politicians, then good-bye indeed to this country! + +BANNING. Come now! I won't say that your views weren't sound enough +before the fighting began. I've never liked our policy out there. +But our blood's being spilled; and that makes all the difference. +I don't suppose they'd want me exactly, but I'd be ready to go +myself. We'd all of us be ready. And we can't have the man that +represents us talking wild, until we've licked these fellows. That's +it in a nutshell. + +MORE. I understand your feeling, Banning. I tender you my +resignation. I can't and won't hold on where I'm not wanted. + +BANNING. No, no, no! Don't do that! [His accent broader and +broader] You've 'ad your say, and there it is. Coom now! You've +been our Member nine years, in rain and shine. + +SHELDER. We want to keep you, More. Come! Give us your promise- +that's a good man! + +MORE. I don't make cheap promises. You ask too much. + + [There is silence, and they all look at MORE.] + +SHELDER. There are very excellent reasons for the Government's +policy. + +MORE. There are always excellent reasons for having your way with +the weak. + +SHELDER. My dear More, how can you get up any enthusiasm for those +cattle-lifting ruffians? + +MORE. Better lift cattle than lift freedom. + +SHELDER. Well, all we'll ask is that you shouldn't go about the +country, saying so. + +MORE. But that is just what I must do. + + [Again they all look at MORE in consternation.] + +HOME. Not down our way, you'll pardon me. + +WACE. Really--really, sir---- + +SHELDER. The time of crusades is past, More. + +MORE. Is it? + +BANNING. Ah! no, but we don't want to part with you, Mr. More. +It's a bitter thing, this, after three elections. Look at the 'uman +side of it! To speak ill of your country when there's been a +disaster like this terrible business in the Pass. There's your own +wife. I see her brother's regiment's to start this very afternoon. +Come now--how must she feel? + + MORE breaks away to the bay window. The DEPUTATION exchange + glances. + +MORE. [Turning] To try to muzzle me like this--is going too far. + +BANNING. We just want to put you out of temptation. + +MORE. I've held my seat with you in all weathers for nine years. +You've all been bricks to me. My heart's in my work, Banning; I'm +not eager to undergo political eclipse at forty. + +SHELDER. Just so--we don't want to see you in that quandary. + +BANNING. It'd be no friendliness to give you a wrong impression of +the state of feeling. Silence--till the bitterness is overpast; +there's naught else for it, Mr. More, while you feel as you do. That +tongue of yours! Come! You owe us something. You're a big man; +it's the big view you ought to take. + +MORE. I am trying to. + +HOME. And what precisely is your view--you'll pardon my asking? + +MORE. [Turning on him] Mr. Home a great country such as ours--is +trustee for the highest sentiments of mankind. Do these few outrages +justify us in stealing the freedom of this little people? + +BANNING. Steal--their freedom! That's rather running before the +hounds. + +MORE. Ah, Banning! now we come to it. In your hearts you're none of +you for that--neither by force nor fraud. And yet you all know that +we've gone in there to stay, as we've gone into other lands--as all +we big Powers go into other lands, when they're little and weak. The +Prime Minister's words the other night were these: "If we are forced +to spend this blood and money now, we must never again be forced." +What does that mean but swallowing this country? + +SHELDER. Well, and quite frankly, it'd be no bad thing. + +HOME. We don't want their wretched country--we're forced. + +MORE. We are not forced. + +SHELDER. My dear More, what is civilization but the logical, +inevitable swallowing up of the lower by the higher types of man? +And what else will it be here? + +MORE. We shall not agree there, Shelder; and we might argue it all +day. But the point is, not whether you or I are right--the point is: +What is a man who holds a faith with all his heart to do? Please +tell me. + + [There is a silence.] + +BANNING. [Simply] I was just thinkin' of those poor fellows in the +Pass. + +MORE. I can see them, as well as you, Banning. But, imagine! Up in +our own country--the Black Valley--twelve hundred foreign devils dead +and dying--the crows busy over them--in our own country, our own +valley--ours--ours--violated. Would you care about "the poor +fellows" in that Pass?--Invading, stealing dogs! Kill them--kill +them! You would, and I would, too! + + The passion of those words touches and grips as no arguments + could; and they are silent. + +MORE. Well! What's the difference out there? I'm not so inhuman as +not to want to see this disaster in the Pass wiped out. But once +that's done, in spite of my affection for you; my ambitions, and +they're not few; [Very low] in spite of my own wife's feeling, I +must be free to raise my voice against this war. + +BANNING. [Speaking slowly, consulting the others, as it were, with +his eyes] Mr. More, there's no man I respect more than yourself. I +can't tell what they'll say down there when we go back; but I, for +one, don't feel it in me to take a hand in pressing you farther +against your faith. + +SHELDER. We don't deny that--that you have a case of sorts. + +WACE. No--surely. + +SHELDER. A--man should be free, I suppose, to hold his own opinions. + +MORE. Thank you, Shelder. + +BANNING. Well! well! We must take you as you are; but it's a rare +pity; there'll be a lot of trouble---- + + His eyes light on Honk who is leaning forward with hand raised + to his ear, listening. Very faint, from far in the distance, + there is heard a skirling sound. All become conscious of it, + all listen. + +HOME. [Suddenly] Bagpipes! + + The figure of OLIVE flies past the window, out on the terrace. + KATHERINE turns, as if to follow her. + +SHELDER. Highlanders! + + [He rises. KATHERINE goes quickly out on to the terrace. One + by one they all follow to the window. One by one go out on to + the terrace, till MORE is left alone. He turns to the bay + window. The music is swelling, coming nearer. MORE leaves the + window--his face distorted by the strafe of his emotions. He + paces the room, taking, in some sort, the rhythm of the march.] + + [Slowly the music dies away in the distance to a drum-tap and the + tramp of a company. MORE stops at the table, covering his eyes + with his hands.] + + [The DEPUTATION troop back across the terrace, and come in at the + French windows. Their faces and manners have quite changed. + KATHERINE follows them as far as the window.] + +HOME. [In a strange, almost threatening voice] It won't do, Mr. +More. Give us your word, to hold your peace! + +SHELDER. Come! More. + +WACE. Yes, indeed--indeed! + +BANNING. We must have it. + +MORE. [Without lifting his head] I--I---- + + The drum-tap of a regiment marching is heard. + +BANNING. Can you hear that go by, man--when your country's just been +struck? + + Now comes the scale and mutter of a following crowd. + +MORE. I give you---- + + Then, sharp and clear above all other sounds, the words: "Give + the beggars hell, boys!" "Wipe your feet on their dirty + country!" "Don't leave 'em a gory acre! "And a burst of hoarse + cheering. + +MORE. [Flinging up his head] That's reality! By Heaven! No! + +KATHERINE. Oh! + +SHELDER. In that case, we'll go. + +BANNING. You mean it? You lose us, then! + + [MORE bows.] + +HOME. Good riddance! [Venomously--his eyes darting between MORE and +KATHERINE] Go and stump the country! Find out what they think of +you! You'll pardon me! + + One by one, without a word, only BANNING looking back, they pass + out into the hall. MORE sits down at the table before the pile + of newspapers. KATHERINE, in the window, never moves. OLIVE + comes along the terrace to her mother. + +OLIVE. They were nice ones! Such a lot of dirty people following, +and some quite clean, Mummy. [Conscious from her mother's face that +something is very wrong, she looks at her father, and then steals up +to his side] Uncle Hubert's gone, Daddy; and Auntie Helen's crying. +And--look at Mummy! + + [MORE raises his head and looks.] + +OLIVE. Do be on our side! Do! + + She rubs her cheek against his. Feeling that he does not rub + his cheek against hers, OLIVE stands away, and looks from him to + her mother in wonder. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS + + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I + + A cobble-stoned alley, without pavement, behind a suburban + theatre. The tall, blind, dingy-yellowish wall of the building + is plastered with the tattered remnants of old entertainment + bills, and the words: "To Let," and with several torn, and one + still virgin placard, containing this announcement: "Stop-the- + War Meeting, October 1st. Addresses by STEPHEN MORE, Esq., and + others." The alley is plentifully strewn with refuse and scraps + of paper. Three stone steps, inset, lead to the stage door. It + is a dark night, and a street lamp close to the wall throws all + the light there is. A faint, confused murmur, as of distant + hooting is heard. Suddenly a boy comes running, then two rough + girls hurry past in the direction of the sound; and the alley is + again deserted. The stage door opens, and a doorkeeper, poking + his head out, looks up and down. He withdraws, but in a second + reappears, preceding three black-coated gentlemen. + +DOORKEEPER. It's all clear. You can get away down here, gentlemen. +Keep to the left, then sharp to the right, round the corner. + +THE THREE. [Dusting themselves, and settling their ties] Thanks, +very much! Thanks! + +FIRST BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Where's More? Isn't he coming? + + They are joined by a fourth black-coated GENTLEMAN. + +FOURTH BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Just behind. [TO the DOORKEEPER] +Thanks. + + They hurry away. The DOORKEEPER retires. Another boy runs + past. Then the door opens again. STEEL and MORE come out. + + MORE stands hesitating on the steps; then turns as if to go + back. + +STEEL. Come along, sir, come! + +MORE. It sticks in my gizzard, Steel. + +STEEL. [Running his arm through MORE'S, and almost dragging him down +the steps] You owe it to the theatre people. [MORE still hesitates] +We might be penned in there another hour; you told Mrs. More half- +past ten; it'll only make her anxious. And she hasn't seen you for +six weeks. + +MORE. All right; don't dislocate my arm. + + They move down the steps, and away to the left, as a boy comes + running down the alley. Sighting MORE, he stops dead, spins + round, and crying shrilly: "'Ere 'e is! That's 'im! 'Ere 'e + is!" he bolts back in the direction whence he came. + +STEEL. Quick, Sir, quick! + +MORE. That is the end of the limit, as the foreign ambassador +remarked. + +STEEL. [Pulling him back towards the door] Well! come inside again, +anyway! + + A number of men and boys, and a few young girls, are trooping + quickly from the left. A motley crew, out for excitement; + loafers, artisans, navvies; girls, rough or dubious. All in + the mood of hunters, and having tasted blood. They gather round + the steps displaying the momentary irresolution and curiosity + that follows on a new development of any chase. MORE, on the + bottom step, turns and eyes them. + +A GIRL. [At the edge] Which is 'im! The old 'un or the young? + + [MORE turns, and mounts the remaining steps.] + +TALL YOUTH. [With lank black hair under a bowler hat] You blasted +traitor! + + MORE faces round at the volley of jeering that follows; the + chorus of booing swells, then gradually dies, as if they + realized that they were spoiling their own sport. + +A ROUGH GIRL. Don't frighten the poor feller! + + [A girl beside her utters a shrill laugh.] + +STEEL. [Tugging at MORE's arm] Come along, sir. + +MORE. [Shaking his arm free--to the crowd] Well, what do you want? + +A VOICE. Speech. + +MORE. Indeed! That's new. + +ROUGH VOICE. [At the back of the crowd] Look at his white liver. +You can see it in his face. + +A BIG NAVY. [In front] Shut it! Give 'im a chanst! + +TALL YOUTH. Silence for the blasted traitor? + + A youth plays the concertina; there is laughter, then an abrupt + silence. + +MORE. You shall have it in a nutshell! + +A SHOPBOY. [Flinging a walnut-shell which strikes MORE on the +shoulder] Here y'are! + +MORE. Go home, and think! If foreigners invaded us, wouldn't you be +fighting tooth and nail like those tribesmen, out there? + +TALL YOUTH. Treacherous dogs! Why don't they come out in the open? + +MORE. They fight the best way they can. + + [A burst of hooting is led by a soldier in khaki on the + outskirt.] + +MORE. My friend there in khaki led that hooting. I've never said a +word against our soldiers. It's the Government I condemn for putting +them to this, and the Press for hounding on the Government, and all +of you for being led by the nose to do what none of you would do, +left to yourselves. + + The TALL YOUTH leads a somewhat unspontaneous burst of + execration. + +MORE. I say not one of you would go for a weaker man. + +VOICES IN THE CROWD. + + ROUGH VOICE. Tork sense! + + GIRL'S VOICE. He's gittin' at you! + + TALL YOUTH'S VOICE. Shiny skunk! + +A NAVVY. [Suddenly shouldering forward] Look 'ere, Mister! Don't +you come gaflin' to those who've got mates out there, or it'll be the +worse for you-you go 'ome! + +COCKNEY VOICE. And git your wife to put cottonwool in yer ears. + + [A spurt of laughter.] + +A FRIENDLY VOICE. [From the outskirts] Shame! there! Bravo, More! +Keep it up! + + [A scuffle drowns this cry.] + +MORE. [With vehemence] Stop that! Stop that! You---! + +TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + +AN ARTISAN. Who black-legged? + +MIDDLE-AGED MAN. Ought to be shot-backin' his country's enemies! + +MORE. Those tribesmen are defending their homes. + +TWO VOICES. Hear! hear! + + [They are hustled into silence.] + +TALL YOUTH. Wind-bag! + +MORE. [With sudden passion] Defending their homes! Not mobbing +unarmed men! + + [STEEL again pulls at his arm.] + +ROUGH. Shut it, or we'll do you in! + +MORE. [Recovering his coolness] Ah! Do me in by all means! You'd +deal such a blow at cowardly mobs as wouldn't be forgotten in your +time. + +STEEL. For God's sake, sir! + +MORE. [Shaking off his touch] Well! + + There is an ugly rush, checked by the fall of the foremost + figures, thrown too suddenly against the bottom step. The crowd + recoils. + + There is a momentary lull, and MORE stares steadily down at + them. + +COCKNEY VOICE. Don't 'e speak well! What eloquence! + + Two or three nutshells and a piece of orange-peel strike MORE + across the face. He takes no notice. + +ROUGH VOICE. That's it! Give 'im some encouragement. + + The jeering laughter is changed to anger by the contemptuous + smile on MORE'S face. + +A TALL YOUTH. Traitor! + +A VOICE. Don't stand there like a stuck pig. + +A ROUGH. Let's 'ave 'im dahn off that! + + Under cover of the applause that greets this, he strikes MORE + across the legs with a belt. STEEL starts forward. MORE, + flinging out his arm, turns him back, and resumes his tranquil + staring at the crowd, in whom the sense of being foiled by this + silence is fast turning to rage. + +THE CROWD. Speak up, or get down! Get off! Get away, there--or +we'll make you! Go on! + + [MORE remains immovable.] + +A YOUTH. [In a lull of disconcertion] I'll make 'im speak! See! + + He darts forward and spits, defiling MORES hand. MORE jerks it + up as if it had been stung, then stands as still as ever. A + spurt of laughter dies into a shiver of repugnance at the + action. The shame is fanned again to fury by the sight of MORES + scornful face. + +TALL YOUTH. [Out of murmuring] Shift! or you'll get it! + +A VOICE. Enough of your ugly mug! + +A ROUGH. Give 'im one! + + Two flung stones strike MORE. He staggers and nearly falls, + then rights himself. + +A GIRL'S VOICE. Shame! + +FRIENDLY VOICE. Bravo, More! Stick to it! + +A ROUGH. Give 'im another! + +A VOICE. No! + +A GIRL'S VOICE. Let 'im alone! Come on, Billy, this ain't no fun! + + Still looking up at MORE, the whole crowd falls into an uneasy + silence, broken only by the shuffling of feet. Then the BIG + NAVVY in the front rank turns and elbows his way out to the edge + of the crowd. + +THE NAVVY. Let 'im be! + + With half-sullen and half-shamefaced acquiescence the crowd + breaks up and drifts back whence it came, till the alley is + nearly empty. + +MORE. [As if coming to, out of a trance-wiping his hand and dusting +his coat] Well, Steel! + + And followed by STEEL, he descends the steps and moves away. + Two policemen pass glancing up at the broken glass. One of them + stops and makes a note. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + + + +SCENE II + +The window-end of KATHERINE'S bedroom, panelled in cream-coloured +wood. The light from four candles is falling on KATHERINE, who is +sitting before the silver mirror of an old oak dressing-table, +brushing her hair. A door, on the left, stands ajar. An oak chair +against the wall close to a recessed window is all the other +furniture. Through this window the blue night is seen, where a mist +is rolled out flat amongst trees, so that only dark clumps of boughs +show here and there, beneath a moonlit sky. As the curtain rises, +KATHERINE, with brush arrested, is listening. She begins again +brushing her hair, then stops, and taking a packet of letters from a +drawer of her dressing-table, reads. Through the just open door +behind her comes the voice of OLIVE. + +OLIVE. Mummy! I'm awake! + + But KATHERINE goes on reading; and OLIVE steals into the room in + her nightgown. + +OLIVE. [At KATHERINE'S elbow--examining her watch on its stand] It's +fourteen minutes to eleven. + +KATHERINE. Olive, Olive! + +OLIVE. I just wanted to see the time. I never can go to sleep if I +try--it's quite helpless, you know. Is there a victory yet? +[KATHERINE, shakes her head] Oh! I prayed extra special for one in +the evening papers. [Straying round her mother] Hasn't Daddy come? + +KATHERINE. Not yet. + +OLIVE. Are you waiting for him? [Burying her face in her mother's +hair] Your hair is nice, Mummy. It's particular to-night. + + KATHERINE lets fall her brush, and looks at her almost in alarm. + +OLIVE. How long has Daddy been away? + +KATHERINE. Six weeks. + +OLIVE. It seems about a hundred years, doesn't it? Has he been +making speeches all the time? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. To-night, too? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. The night that man was here whose head's too bald for +anything--oh! Mummy, you know--the one who cleans his teeth so +termendously--I heard Daddy making a speech to the wind. It broke a +wine-glass. His speeches must be good ones, mustn't they! + +KATHERINE. Very. + +OLIVE. It felt funny; you couldn't see any wind, you know. + +KATHERINE. Talking to the wind is an expression, Olive. + +OLIVE. Does Daddy often? + +KATHERINE. Yes, nowadays. + +OLIVE. What does it mean? + +KATHERINE. Speaking to people who won't listen. + +OLIVE. What do they do, then? + +KATHERINE. Just a few people go to hear him, and then a great crowd +comes and breaks in; or they wait for him outside, and throw things, +and hoot. + +OLIVE. Poor Daddy! Is it people on our side who throw things? + +KATHERINE. Yes, but only rough people. + +OLIVE. Why does he go on doing it? I shouldn't. + +KATHERINE. He thinks it is his duty. + +OLIVE. To your neighbour, or only to God? + +KATHERINE. To both. + +OLIVE. Oh! Are those his letters? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. [Reading from the letter] "My dear Heart." Does he always +call you his dear heart, Mummy? It's rather jolly, isn't it? +"I shall be home about half-past ten to-morrow night. For a few +hours the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-or-y will cease to burn--" What are +the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-o-r-y? + +KATHERINE. [Putting away the letters] Come, Olive! + +OLIVE. But what are they? + +KATHERINE. Daddy means that he's been very unhappy. + +OLIVE. Have you, too? + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. [Cheerfully] So have I. May I open the window? + +KATHERINE. No; you'll let the mist in. + +OLIVE. Isn't it a funny mist-all flat! + +KATHERINE. Now, come along, frog! + +OLIVE. [Making time] Mummy, when is Uncle Hubert coming back? + +KATHERINE. We don't know, dear. + +OLIVE. I suppose Auntie Helen'll stay with us till he does. + +KATHERINE. Yes. + +OLIVE. That's something, isn't it? + +KATHERINE. [Picking her up] Now then! + +OLIVE. [Deliciously limp] Had I better put in the duty to your +neighbour if there isn't a victory soon? [As they pass through the +door] You're tickling under my knee! [Little gurgles of pleasure +follow. Then silence. Then a drowsy voice] I must keep awake for +Daddy. + + KATHERINE comes back. She is about to leave the door a little + open, when she hears a knock on the other door. It is opened a + few inches, and NURSE'S voice says: "Can I come in, Ma'am?" The + NURSE comes in. + +KATHERINE. [Shutting OLIVE's door, and going up to her] What is it, +Nurse? + +NURSE. [Speaking in a low voice] I've been meaning to--I'll never do +it in the daytime. I'm giving you notice. + +KATHERINE. Nurse! You too! + + She looks towards OLIVE'S room with dismay. The NURSE smudges a + slow tear away from her cheek. + +NURSE. I want to go right away at once. + +KATHERINE. Leave Olive! That is the sins of the fathers with a +vengeance. + +NURSE. I've had another letter from my son. No, Miss Katherine, +while the master goes on upholdin' these murderin' outlandish +creatures, I can't live in this house, not now he's coming back. + +KATHERINE. But, Nurse----! + +NURSE. It's not like them [With an ineffable gesture] downstairs, +because I'm frightened of the mob, or of the window's bein' broke +again, or mind what the boys in the street say. I should think not-- +no! It's my heart. I'm sore night and day thinkin' of my son, and +him lying out there at night without a rag of dry clothing, and water +that the bullocks won't drink, and maggots in the meat; and every day +one of his friends laid out stark and cold, and one day--'imself +perhaps. If anything were to 'appen to him. I'd never forgive +meself--here. Ah! Miss Katherine, I wonder how you bear it--bad +news comin' every day--And Sir John's face so sad--And all the time +the master speaking against us, as it might be Jonah 'imself. + +KATHERINE. But, Nurse, how can you leave us, you? + +NURSE. [Smudging at her cheeks] There's that tells me it's +encouragin' something to happen, if I stay here; and Mr. More coming +back to-night. You can't serve God and Mammon, the Bible says. + +KATHERINE. Don't you know what it's costing him? + +NURSE. Ah! Cost him his seat, and his reputation; and more than +that it'll cost him, to go against the country. + +KATHERINE. He's following his conscience. + +NURSE. And others must follow theirs, too. No, Miss Katherine, for +you to let him--you, with your three brothers out there, and your +father fair wasting away with grief. Sufferin' too as you've been +these three months past. What'll you feel if anything happens to my +three young gentlemen out there, to my dear Mr. Hubert that I nursed +myself, when your precious mother couldn't? What would she have said +--with you in the camp of his enemies? + +KATHERINE. Nurse, Nurse! + +NURSE. In my paper they say he's encouraging these heathens and +makin' the foreigners talk about us; and every day longer the war +lasts, there's our blood on this house. + +KATHERINE. [Turning away] Nurse, I can't--I won't listen. + +NURSE. [Looking at her intently] Ah! You'll move him to leave off! +I see your heart, my dear. But if you don't, then go I must! + + She nods her head gravely, goes to the door of OLIVE'S room, + opens it gently, stands looking for a-moment, then with the + words "My Lamb!" she goes in noiselessly and closes the door. + + KATHERINE turns back to her glass, puts back her hair, and + smooths her lips and eyes. The door from the corridor is + opened, and HELEN's voice says: "Kit! You're not in bed?" + +KATHERINE. No. + + HELEN too is in a wrapper, with a piece of lace thrown over her + head. Her face is scared and miserable, and she runs into + KATHERINE's arms. + +KATHERINE. My dear, what is it? + +HELEN. I've seen--a vision! + +KATHERINE. Hssh! You'll wake Olive! + +HELEN. [Staring before her] I'd just fallen asleep, and I saw a +plain that seemed to run into the sky--like--that fog. And on it +there were--dark things. One grew into a body without a head, and a +gun by its side. And one was a man sitting huddled up, nursing a +wounded leg. He had the face of Hubert's servant, Wreford. And then +I saw--Hubert. His face was all dark and thin; and he had--a wound, +an awful wound here [She touches her breast]. The blood was running +from it, and he kept trying to stop it--oh! Kit--by kissing it [She +pauses, stifled by emotion]. Then I heard Wreford laugh, and say +vultures didn't touch live bodies. And there came a voice, from +somewhere, calling out: "Oh! God! I'm dying!" And Wreford began to +swear at it, and I heard Hubert say: "Don't, Wreford; let the poor +fellow be!" But the voice went on and on, moaning and crying out: +"I'll lie here all night dying--and then I'll die!" And Wreford +dragged himself along the ground; his face all devilish, like a man +who's going to kill. + +KATHERINE. My dear! HOW ghastly! + +HELEN. Still that voice went on, and I saw Wreford take up the dead +man's gun. Then Hubert got upon his feet, and went tottering along, +so feebly, so dreadfully--but before he could reach and stop him, +Wreford fired at the man who was crying. And Hubert called out: "You +brute!" and fell right down. And when Wreford saw him lying there, +he began to moan and sob, but Hubert never stirred. Then it all got +black again--and I could see a dark woman--thing creeping, first to +the man without a head; then to Wreford; then to Hubert, and it +touched him, and sprang away. And it cried out: "A-ai-ah!" [Pointing +out at the mist] Look! Out there! The dark things! + +KATHERINE. [Putting her arms round her] Yes, dear, yes! You must +have been looking at the mist. + +HELEN. [Strangely calm] He's dead! + +KATHERINE. It was only a dream. + +HELEN. You didn't hear that cry. [She listens] That's Stephen. +Forgive me, Kit; I oughtn't to have upset you, but I couldn't help +coming. + + She goes out, KATHERINE, into whom her emotion seems to have + passed, turns feverishly to the window, throws it open and leans + out. MORE comes in. + +MORE. Kit! + + Catching sight of her figure in the window, he goes quickly to + her. + +KATHERINE. Ah! [She has mastered her emotion.] + +MORE. Let me look at you! + + He draws her from the window to the candle-light, and looks long + at her. + +MORE. What have you done to your hair? + +KATHERINE. Nothing. + +MORE. It's wonderful to-night. + + [He takes it greedily and buries his face in it.] + +KATHERINE. [Drawing her hair away] Well? + +MORE. At last! + +KATHERINE. [Pointing to OLIVE's room] Hssh! + +MORE. How is she? + +KATHERINE. All right. + +MORE. And you? + + [KATHERINE shrugs her shoulders.] + +MORE. Six weeks! + +KATHERINE. Why have you come? + +MORE. Why! + +KATHERINE. You begin again the day after tomorrow. Was it worth +while? + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. It makes it harder for me, that's all. + +MORE. [Staring at her] What's come to you? + +KATHERINE. Six weeks is a long time to sit and read about your +meetings. + +MORE. Put that away to-night. [He touches her] This is what +travellers feel when they come out of the desert to-water. + +KATHERINE. [Suddenly noticing the cut on his forehead] Your +forehead! It's cut. + +MORE. It's nothing. + +KATHERINE. Oh! Let me bathe it! + +MORE. No, dear! It's all right. + +KATHERINE. [Turning away] Helen has just been telling me a dream +she's had of Hubert's death. + +MORE. Poor child! + +KATHERINE. Dream bad dreams, and wait, and hide oneself--there's +been nothing else to do. Nothing, Stephen--nothing! + +MORE. Hide? Because of me? + + [KATHERINE nods.] + +MORE. [With a movement of distress] I see. I thought from your +letters you were coming to feel----. Kit! You look so lovely! + + [Suddenly he sees that she is crying, and goes quickly to her.] + +MORE. My dear, don't cry! God knows I don't want to make things +worse for you. I'll go away. + + She draws away from him a little, and after looking long at her, + he sits down at the dressing-table and begins turning over the + brushes and articles of toilet, trying to find words. + +MORE. Never look forward. After the time I've had--I thought-- +tonight--it would be summer--I thought it would be you--and +everything! + + While he is speaking KATHERINE has stolen closer. She suddenly + drops on her knees by his side and wraps his hand in her hair. + He turns and clasps her. + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. Ah! yes! But-to-morrow it begins again. Oh! Stephen! +How long--how long am I to be torn in two? [Drawing back in his +arms] I can't--can't bear it. + +MORE. My darling! + +KATHERINE. Give it up! For my sake! Give it up! [Pressing closer +to him] It shall be me--and everything---- + +MORE. God! + +KATHERINE. It shall be--if--if---- + +MORE. [Aghast] You're not making terms? Bargaining? For God's +sake, Kit! + +KATHERINE. For God's sake, Stephen! + +MORE. You!--of all people--you! + +KATHERINE. Stephen! + + [For a moment MORE yields utterly, then shrinks back.] + +MORE. A bargain! It's selling my soul! + + He struggles out of her arms, gets up, and stands without + speaking, staring at her, and wiping the sweat from his + forehead. KATHERINE remains some seconds on her knees, gazing + up at him, not realizing. Then her head droops; she too gets up + and stands apart, with her wrapper drawn close round her. It is + as if a cold and deadly shame had come to them both. Quite + suddenly MORE turns, and, without looking back, feebly makes his + way out of the room. When he is gone KATHERINE drops on her + knees and remains there motionless, huddled in her hair. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS + + + + + +ACT IV + + It is between lights, the following day, in the dining-room of + MORE's house. The windows are closed, but curtains are not + drawn. STEEL is seated at the bureau, writing a letter from + MORE's dictation. + +STEEL. [Reading over the letter] "No doubt we shall have trouble. +But, if the town authorities at the last minute forbid the use of the +hall, we'll hold the meeting in the open. Let bills be got out, and +an audience will collect in any case." + +MORE. They will. + +STEEL. "Yours truly"; I've signed for you. + + [MORE nods.] + +STEEL. [Blotting and enveloping the letter] You know the servants +have all given notice--except Henry. + +MORE. Poor Henry! + +STEEL. It's partly nerves, of course--the windows have been broken +twice--but it's partly---- + +MORE. Patriotism. Quite! they'll do the next smashing themselves. +That reminds me--to-morrow you begin holiday, Steel. + +STEEL. Oh, no! + +MORE. My dear fellow--yes. Last night ended your sulphur cure. +Truly sorry ever to have let you in for it. + +STEEL. Some one must do the work. You're half dead as it is. + +MORE. There's lots of kick in me. + +STEEL. Give it up, sir. The odds are too great. It isn't worth it. + +MORE. To fight to a finish; knowing you must be beaten--is anything +better worth it? + +STEEL. Well, then, I'm not going. + +MORE. This is my private hell, Steel; you don't roast in it any +longer. Believe me, it's a great comfort to hurt no one but +yourself. + +STEEL. I can't leave you, sir. + +MORE. My dear boy, you're a brick--but we've got off by a miracle so +far, and I can't have the responsibility of you any longer. Hand me +over that correspondence about to-morrow's meeting. + +STEEL takes some papers from his pocket, but does not hand them. + +MORE. Come! [He stretches out his hand for the papers. As STEEL +still draws back, he says more sharply] Give them to me, Steel! +[STEEL hands them over] Now, that ends it, d'you see? + + They stand looking at each other; then STEEL, very much upset, + turns and goes out of the room. MORE, who has watched him with + a sorry smile, puts the papers into a dispatch-case. As he is + closing the bureau, the footman HENRY enters, announcing: "Mr. + Mendip, sir." MENDIP comes in, and the FOOTMAN withdraws. MORE + turns to his visitor, but does not hold out his hand. + +MENDIP. [Taking MORE'S hand] Give me credit for a little philosophy, +my friend. Mrs. More told me you'd be back to-day. Have you heard? + +MORE. What? + +MENDIP. There's been a victory. + +MORE. Thank God! + +MENDIP. Ah! So you actually are flesh and blood. + +MORE. Yes! + +MENDIP. Take off the martyr's shirt, Stephen. You're only flouting +human nature. + +MORE. So--even you defend the mob! + +MENDIP. My dear fellow, you're up against the strongest common +instinct in the world. What do you expect? That the man in the +street should be a Quixote? That his love of country should express +itself in philosophic altruism? What on earth do you expect? Men +are very simple creatures; and Mob is just conglomerate essence of +simple men. + +MORE. Conglomerate excrescence. Mud of street and market-place +gathered in a torrent--This blind howling "patriotism"--what each man +feels in here? [He touches his breast] No! + +MENDIP. You think men go beyond instinct--they don't. All they know +is that something's hurting that image of themselves that they call +country. They just feel something big and religious, and go it +blind. + +MORE. This used to be the country of free speech. It used to be the +country where a man was expected to hold to his faith. + +MENDIP. There are limits to human nature, Stephen. + +MORE. Let no man stand to his guns in face of popular attack. Still +your advice, is it? + +MENDIP. My advice is: Get out of town at once. The torrent you +speak of will be let loose the moment this news is out. Come, my +dear fellow, don't stay here! + +MORE. Thanks! I'll see that Katherine and Olive go. + +MENDIP. Go with them! If your cause is lost, that's no reason why +you should be. + +MORE. There's the comfort of not running away. And--I want comfort. + +MENDIP. This is bad, Stephen; bad, foolish--foolish. Well! I'm +going to the House. This way? + +MORE. Down the steps, and through the gate. Good-bye? + + KATHERINE has come in followed by NURSE, hatted and cloaked, + with a small bag in her hand. KATHERINE takes from the bureau a + cheque which she hands to the NURSE. MORE comes in from the + terrace. + +MORE. You're wise to go, Nurse. + +NURSE. You've treated my poor dear badly, sir. Where's your heart? + +MORE. In full use. + +NURSE. On those heathens. Don't your own hearth and home come +first? Your wife, that was born in time of war, with her own father +fighting, and her grandfather killed for his country. A bitter +thing, to have the windows of her house broken, and be pointed at by +the boys in the street. + + [MORE stands silent under this attack, looking at his wife.] + +KATHERINE. Nurse! + +NURSE. It's unnatural, sir--what you're doing! To think more of +those savages than of your own wife! Look at her! Did you ever see +her look like that? Take care, sir, before it's too late! + +MORE. Enough, please! + + NURSE stands for a moment doubtful; looks long at KATHERINE; + then goes. + +MORE. [Quietly] There has been a victory. + + [He goes out. KATHERINE is breathing fast, listening to the + distant hum and stir rising in the street. She runs to the + window as the footman, HENRY, entering, says: "Sir John Julian, + Ma'am!" SIR JOHN comes in, a newspaper in his hand.] + +KATHERINE. At last! A victory! + +SIR JOHN. Thank God! [He hands her the paper.] + +KATHERINE. Oh, Dad! + + [She tears the paper open, and feverishly reads.] + +KATHERINE. At last! + + The distant hum in the street is rising steadily. But SIR JOHN, + after the one exultant moment when he handed her the paper, + stares dumbly at the floor. + +KATHERINE. [Suddenly conscious of his gravity] Father! + +SIR JOHN. There is other news. + +KATHERINE. One of the boys? Hubert? + + [SIR JOHN bows his head.] + +KATHERINE. Killed? + + [SIR JOHN again bows his head.] + +KATHERINE. The dream! [She covers her face] Poor Helen! + + They stand for a few seconds silent, then SIR JOHN raises his + head, and putting up a hand, touches her wet cheek. + +SIR JOHN. [Huskily] Whom the gods love---- + +KATHERINE. Hubert! + +SIR JOHN. And hulks like me go on living! + +KATHERINE. Dear Dad! + +SIR JOHN. But we shall drive the ruffians now! We shall break them. +Stephen back? + +KATHERINE. Last night. + +SIR JOHN. Has he finished his blasphemous speech-making at last? +[KATHERINE shakes her head] Not? + + [Then, seeing that KATHERINE is quivering with emotion, he ` + strokes her hand.] + +SIR JOHN. My dear! Death is in many houses! + +KATHERINE. I must go to Helen. Tell Stephen, Father. I can't. + +SIR JOHN. If you wish, child. + + [She goes out, leaving SIR JOHN to his grave, puzzled grief, and + in a few seconds MORE comes in.] + +MORE. Yes, Sir John. You wanted me? + +SIR JOHN. Hubert is killed. + +MORE. Hubert! + +SIR JOHN. By these--whom you uphold. Katherine asked me to let you +know. She's gone to Helen. I understand you only came back last +night from your----No word I can use would give what I feel about +that. I don't know how things stand now between you and Katherine; +but I tell you this, Stephen: you've tried her these last two months +beyond what any woman ought to bear! + + [MORE makes a gesture of pain.] + +SIR JOHN. When you chose your course---- + +MORE. Chose! + +SIR JOHN. You placed yourself in opposition to every feeling in her. +You knew this might come. It may come again with another of my sons + +MORE. I would willingly change places with any one of them. + +SIR JOHN. Yes--I can believe in your unhappiness. I cannot conceive +of greater misery than to be arrayed against your country. If I +could have Hubert back, I would not have him at such a price--no, nor +all my sons. 'Pro patri mori'--My boy, at all events, is happy! + +MORE. Yes! + +SIR JOHN. Yet you can go on doing what you are! What devil of pride +has got into you, Stephen? + +MORE. Do you imagine I think myself better than the humblest private +fighting out there? Not for a minute. + +SIR JOHN. I don't understand you. I always thought you devoted to +Katherine. + +MORE. Sir John, you believe that country comes before wife and +child? + +SIR JOHN. I do. + +MORE. So do I. + +SIR JOHN. [Bewildered] Whatever my country does or leaves undone, I +no more presume to judge her than I presume to judge my God. [With +all the exaltation of the suffering he has undergone for her] My +country! + +MORE. I would give all I have--for that creed. + +SIR JOHN. [Puzzled] Stephen, I've never looked on you as a crank; +I always believed you sane and honest. But this is--visionary mania. + +MORE. Vision of what might be. + +SIR JOHN. Why can't you be content with what the grandest nation-- +the grandest men on earth--have found good enough for them? I've +known them, I've seen what they could suffer, for our country. + +MORE. Sir John, imagine what the last two months have been to me! +To see people turn away in the street--old friends pass me as if I +were a wall! To dread the post! To go to bed every night with the +sound of hooting in my ears! To know that my name is never referred +to without contempt---- + +SIR JOHN. You have your new friends. Plenty of them, I understand. + +MORE. Does that make up for being spat at as I was last night? Your +battles are fool's play to it. + + The stir and rustle of the crowd in the street grows louder. + SIR JOHN turns his head towards it. + +SIR JOHN. You've heard there's been a victory. Do you carry your +unnatural feeling so far as to be sorry for that? [MORE shakes his +head] That's something! For God's sake, Stephen, stop before it's +gone past mending. Don't ruin your life with Katherine. Hubert was +her favourite brother; you are backing those who killed him. Think +what that means to her! Drop this--mad Quixotism--idealism--whatever +you call it. Take Katherine away. Leave the country till the +thing's over--this country of yours that you're opposing, and--and-- +traducing. Take her away! Come! What good are you doing? What +earthly good? Come, my boy! Before you're utterly undone. + +MORE. Sir John! Our men are dying out there for, the faith that's +in them! I believe my faith the higher, the better for mankind--Am +I to slink away? Since I began this campaign I've found hundreds +who've thanked me for taking this stand. They look on me now as +their leader. Am I to desert them? When you led your forlorn hope-- +did you ask yourself what good you were doing, or, whether you'd come +through alive? It's my forlorn hope not to betray those who are +following me; and not to help let die a fire--a fire that's sacred-- +not only now in this country, but in all countries, for all time. + +SIR JOHN. [After a long stare] I give you credit for believing what +you say. But let me tell you whatever that fire you talk of--I'm too +old-fashioned to grasp--one fire you are letting die--your wife's +love. By God! This crew of your new friends, this crew of cranks +and jays, if they can make up to you for the loss of her love--of +your career, of all those who used to like and respect you--so much +the better for you. But if you find yourself bankrupt of affection-- +alone as the last man on earth; if this business ends in your utter +ruin and destruction--as it must--I shall not pity--I cannot pity +you. Good-night! + + He marches to the door, opens it, and goes out. MORE is left + standing perfectly still. The stir and murmur of the street is + growing all the time, and slowly forces itself on his + consciousness. He goes to the bay window and looks out; then + rings the bell. It is not answered, and, after turning up the + lights, he rings again. KATHERINE comes in. She is wearing a + black hat, and black outdoor coat. She speaks coldly without + looking up. + +KATHERINE. You rang! + +MORE. For them to shut this room up. + +KATHERINE. The servants have gone out. They're afraid of the house +being set on fire. + +MORE. I see. + +KATHERINE. They have not your ideals to sustain them. [MORE winces] +I am going with Helen and Olive to Father's. + +MORE. [Trying to take in the exact sense of her words] Good! You +prefer that to an hotel? [KATHERINE nods. Gently] Will you let me +say, Kit, how terribly I feel for you--Hubert's---- + +KATHERINE. Don't. I ought to have made what I meant plainer. I am +not coming back. + +MORE. Not? Not while the house---- + +KATHERINE. Not--at all. + +MORE. Kit! + +KATHERINE. I warned you from the first. You've gone too far! + +MORE. [Terribly moved] Do you understand what this means? After +ten years--and all--our love! + +KATHERINE. Was it love? How could you ever have loved one so +unheroic as myself! + +MORE. This is madness, Kit--Kit! + +KATHERINE. Last night I was ready. You couldn't. If you couldn't +then, you never can. You are very exalted, Stephen. I don't like +living--I won't live, with one whose equal I am not. This has been +coming ever since you made that speech. I told you that night what +the end would be. + +MORE. [Trying to put his arms round her] Don't be so terribly +cruel! + +KATHERINE. No! Let's have the truth! People so wide apart don't +love! Let me go! + +MORE. In God's name, how can I help the difference in our faiths? + +KATHERINE. Last night you used the word--bargain. Quite right. I +meant to buy you. I meant to kill your faith. You showed me what I +was doing. I don't like to be shown up as a driver of bargains, +Stephen. + +MORE. God knows--I never meant---- + +KATHERINE. If I'm not yours in spirit--I don't choose to be your-- +mistress. + + MORE, as if lashed by a whip, has thrown up his hands in an + attitude of defence. + +KATHERINE. Yes, that's cruel! It shows the heights you live on. I +won't drag you down. + +MORE. For God's sake, put your pride away, and see! I'm fighting +for the faith that's in me. What else can a man do? What else? Ah! +Kit! Do see! + +KATHERINE. I'm strangled here! Doing nothing--sitting silent--when +my brothers are fighting, and being killed. I shall try to go out +nursing. Helen will come with me. I have my faith, too; my poor +common love of country. I can't stay here with you. I spent last +night on the floor--thinking--and I know! + +MORE. And Olive? + +KATHERINE. I shall leave her at Father's, with Nurse; unless you +forbid me to take her. You can. + +MORE. [Icily] That I shall not do--you know very well. You are +free to go, and to take her. + +KATHERINE. [Very low] Thank you! [Suddenly she turns to him, and +draws his eyes on her. Without a sound, she puts her whole strength +into that look] Stephen! Give it up! Come down to me! + + The festive sounds from the street grow louder. There can be + heard the blowing of whistles, and bladders, and all the sounds + of joy. + +MORE. And drown in--that? + +KATHERINE turns swiftly to the door. There she stands and again +looks at him. Her face is mysterious, from the conflicting currents +of her emotions. + +MORE. So--you're going? + +KATHERINE. [In a whisper] Yes. + + She bends her head, opens the door, and goes. MORE starts + forward as if to follow her, but OLIVE has appeared in the + doorway. She has on a straight little white coat and a round + white cap. + +OLIVE. Aren't you coming with us, Daddy? + + [MORE shakes his head.] + +OLIVE. Why not? + +MORE. Never mind, my dicky bird. + +OLIVE. The motor'll have to go very slow. There are such a lot of +people in the street. Are you staying to stop them setting the house +on fire? [MORE nods] May I stay a little, too? [MORE shakes his +head] Why? + +MORE. [Putting his hand on her head] Go along, my pretty! + +OLIVE. Oh! love me up, Daddy! + + [MORE takes and loves her up] + +OLIVE. Oo-o! + +MORE. Trot, my soul! + + [She goes, looks back at him, turns suddenly, and vanishes.] + + MORE follows her to the door, but stops there. Then, as full + realization begins to dawn on him, he runs to the bay window, + craning his head to catch sight of the front door. There is the + sound of a vehicle starting, and the continual hooting of its + horn as it makes its way among the crowd. He turns from the + window. + +MORE. Alone as the last man on earth! + + [Suddenly a voice rises clear out of the hurly-burly in the + street.] + +VOICE. There 'e is! That's 'im! More! Traitor! More! + + A shower of nutshells, orange-peel, and harmless missiles begins + to rattle against the glass of the window. Many voices take up + the groaning: "More! Traitor! Black-leg! More!" And through + the window can be seen waving flags and lighted Chinese + lanterns, swinging high on long bamboos. The din of execration + swells. MORE stands unheeding, still gazing after the cab. + Then, with a sharp crack, a flung stone crashes through one of + the panes. It is followed by a hoarse shout of laughter, and a + hearty groan. A second stone crashes through the glass. MORE + turns for a moment, with a contemptuous look, towards the + street, and the flare of the Chinese lanterns lights up his + face. Then, as if forgetting all about the din outside, he + moves back into the room, looks round him, and lets his head + droop. The din rises louder and louder; a third stone crashes + through. MORE raises his head again, and, clasping his hands, + looks straight before him. The footman, HENRY, entering, + hastens to the French windows. + +MORE. Ah! Henry, I thought you'd gone. + +FOOTMAN. I came back, sir. + +MORE. Good fellow! + +FOOTMAN. They're trying to force the terrace gate, sir. They've no +business coming on to private property--no matter what! + + In the surging entrance of the mob the footman, HENRY, who shows + fight, is overwhelmed, hustled out into the crowd on the + terrace, and no more seen. The MOB is a mixed crowd of + revellers of both sexes, medical students, clerks, shop men and + girls, and a Boy Scout or two. Many have exchanged hats--Some + wear masks, or false noses, some carry feathers or tin whistles. + Some, with bamboos and Chinese lanterns, swing them up outside + on the terrace. The medley of noises is very great. Such + ringleaders as exist in the confusion are a GROUP OF STUDENTS, + the chief of whom, conspicuous because unadorned, is an + athletic, hatless young man with a projecting underjaw, and + heavy coal-black moustache, who seems with the swing of his huge + arms and shoulders to sway the currents of motion. When the + first surge of noise and movement subsides, he calls out: "To + him, boys! Chair the hero!" THE STUDENTS rush at the impassive + MORE, swing him roughly on to their shoulders and bear him round + the room. When they have twice circled the table to the music + of their confused singing, groans and whistling, THE CHIEF OF + THE STUDENTS calls out: "Put him down!" Obediently they set him + down on the table which has been forced into the bay window, and + stand gaping up at him. + +CHIEF STUDENT. Speech! Speech! + + [The noise ebbs, and MORE looks round him.] + +CHIEF STUDENT. Now then, you, sir. + +MORE. [In a quiet voice] Very well. You are here by the law that +governs the action of all mobs--the law of Force. By that law, you +can do what you like to this body of mine. + +A VOICE. And we will, too. + +MORE. I don't doubt it. But before that, I've a word to say. + +A VOICE. You've always that. + + [ANOTHER VOICE raises a donkey's braying.] + +MORE. You--Mob--are the most contemptible thing under the sun. When +you walk the street--God goes in. + +CHIEF STUDENT. Be careful, you--sir. + +VOICES. Down him! Down with the beggar! + +MORE. [Above the murmurs] My fine friends, I'm not afraid of you. +You've forced your way into my house, and you've asked me to speak. +Put up with the truth for once! [His words rush out] You are the +thing that pelts the weak; kicks women; howls down free speech. This +to-day, and that to-morrow. Brain--you have none. Spirit--not the +ghost of it! If you're not meanness, there's no such thing. If +you're not cowardice, there is no cowardice [Above the growing +fierceness of the hubbub] Patriotism--there are two kinds--that of +our soldiers, and this of mine. You have neither! + +CHIEF STUDENT. [Checking a dangerous rush] Hold on! Hold on! [To +MORE] Swear to utter no more blasphemy against your country: Swear +it! + +CROWD. Ah! Ay! Ah! + +MORE. My country is not yours. Mine is that great country which +shall never take toll from the weakness of others. [Above the +groaning] Ah! you can break my head and my windows; but don't think +that you can break my faith. You could never break or shake it, if +you were a million to one. + + A girl with dark eyes and hair all wild, leaps out from the + crowd and shakes her fist at him. + +GIRL. You're friends with them that killed my lad! [MORE smiles +down at her, and she swiftly plucks the knife from the belt of a Boy +Scout beside her] Smile, you--cur! + + A violent rush and heave from behind flings MORE forward on to + the steel. He reels, staggers back, and falls down amongst the + crowd. A scream, a sway, a rush, a hubbub of cries. The CHIEF + STUDENT shouts above the riot: "Steady!" Another: "My God! + He's got it!" + +CHIEF STUDENT. Give him air! + + The crowd falls back, and two STUDENTS, bending over MORE, lift + his arms and head, but they fall like lead. Desperately they + test him for life. + +CHIEF STUDENT. By the Lord, it's over! + + Then begins a scared swaying out towards the window. Some one + turns out the lights, and in the darkness the crowd fast melts + away. The body of MORE lies in the gleam from a single Chinese + lantern. Muttering the words: "Poor devil! He kept his end up + anyway!" the CHIEF STUDENT picks from the floor a little + abandoned Union Jack and lays it on MORE's breast. Then he, + too, turns, and rushes out. + + And the body of MORE lies in the streak of light; and flee + noises in the street continue to rise. + + + THE CURTAIN FALLS, BUT RISES AGAIN ALMOST AT ONCE. + + + + + + AFTERMATH + + A late Spring dawn is just breaking. Against trees in leaf and + blossom, with the houses of a London Square beyond, suffused by + the spreading glow, is seen a dark life-size statue on a granite + pedestal. In front is the broad, dust-dim pavement. The light + grows till the central words around the pedestal can be clearly + read: + + ERECTED + To the Memory + of + STEPHEN MORE + "Faithful to his ideal" + +High above, the face of MORE looks straight before him with a faint +smile. On one shoulder and on his bare head two sparrows have +perched, and from the gardens, behind, comes the twittering and +singing of birds. + + +THE CURTAIN FALLS. + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of THE MOB (Play) +by John Galsworthy. + diff --git a/old/glmob11.zip b/old/glmob11.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6cabac --- /dev/null +++ b/old/glmob11.zip |