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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Candida, by George Bernard Shaw
+
+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: Candida
+
+Author: George Bernard Shaw
+
+Posting Date: June 4, 2009 [EBook #4023]
+Release Date: May, 2003
+First Posted: October 12, 2001
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDIDA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Eve Sobol.  HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CANDIDA
+
+BERNARD SHAW
+
+1898
+
+
+
+ACT I
+
+A fine October morning in the north east suburbs of London, a vast
+district many miles away from the London of Mayfair and St. James's,
+much less known there than the Paris of the Rue de Rivoli and the
+Champs Elysees, and much less narrow, squalid, fetid and airless in its
+slums; strong in comfortable, prosperous middle class life;
+wide-streeted, myriad-populated; well-served with ugly iron urinals,
+Radical clubs, tram lines, and a perpetual stream of yellow cars;
+enjoying in its main thoroughfares the luxury of grass-grown "front
+gardens," untrodden by the foot of man save as to the path from the
+gate to the hall door; but blighted by an intolerable monotony of miles
+and miles of graceless, characterless brick houses, black iron
+railings, stony pavements, slaty roofs, and respectably ill dressed or
+disreputably poorly dressed people, quite accustomed to the place, and
+mostly plodding about somebody else's work, which they would not do if
+they themselves could help it. The little energy and eagerness that
+crop up show themselves in cockney cupidity and business "push." Even
+the policemen and the chapels are not infrequent enough to break the
+monotony. The sun is shining cheerfully; there is no fog; and though
+the smoke effectually prevents anything, whether faces and hands or
+bricks and mortar, from looking fresh and clean, it is not hanging
+heavily enough to trouble a Londoner.
+
+This desert of unattractiveness has its oasis. Near the outer end of
+the Hackney Road is a park of 217 acres, fenced in, not by railings,
+but by a wooden paling, and containing plenty of greensward, trees, a
+lake for bathers, flower beds with the flowers arranged carefully in
+patterns by the admired cockney art of carpet gardening and a sandpit,
+imported from the seaside for the delight of the children, but speedily
+deserted on its becoming a natural vermin preserve for all the petty
+fauna of Kingsland, Hackney and Hoxton. A bandstand, an unfinished
+forum for religious, anti-religious and political orators, cricket
+pitches, a gymnasium, and an old fashioned stone kiosk are among its
+attractions. Wherever the prospect is bounded by trees or rising green
+grounds, it is a pleasant place. Where the ground stretches far to the
+grey palings, with bricks and mortar, sky signs, crowded chimneys and
+smoke beyond, the prospect makes it desolate and sordid.
+
+The best view of Victoria Park is from the front window of St.
+Dominic's Parsonage, from which not a single chimney is visible. The
+parsonage is a semi-detached villa with a front garden and a porch.
+Visitors go up the flight of steps to the porch: tradespeople and
+members of the family go down by a door under the steps to the
+basement, with a breakfast room, used for all meals, in front, and the
+kitchen at the back. Upstairs, on the level of the hall door, is the
+drawing-room, with its large plate glass window looking on the park. In
+this room, the only sitting-room that can be spared from the children
+and the family meals, the parson, the Reverend James Mavor Morell does
+his work. He is sitting in a strong round backed revolving chair at the
+right hand end of a long table, which stands across the window, so that
+he can cheer himself with the view of the park at his elbow. At the
+opposite end of the table, adjoining it, is a little table; only half
+the width of the other, with a typewriter on it. His typist is sitting
+at this machine, with her back to the window. The large table is
+littered with pamphlets, journals, letters, nests of drawers, an office
+diary, postage scales and the like. A spare chair for visitors having
+business with the parson is in the middle, turned to his end. Within
+reach of his hand is a stationery case, and a cabinet photograph in a
+frame. Behind him the right hand wall, recessed above the fireplace, is
+fitted with bookshelves, on which an adept eye can measure the parson's
+divinity and casuistry by a complete set of Browning's poems and
+Maurice's Theological Essays, and guess at his politics from a yellow
+backed Progress and Poverty, Fabian Essays, a Dream of John Ball,
+Marx's Capital, and half a dozen other literary landmarks in Socialism.
+Opposite him on the left, near the typewriter, is the door. Further
+down the room, opposite the fireplace, a bookcase stands on a cellaret,
+with a sofa near it. There is a generous fire burning; and the hearth,
+with a comfortable armchair and a japanned flower painted coal scuttle
+at one side, a miniature chair for a boy or girl on the other, a nicely
+varnished wooden mantelpiece, with neatly moulded shelves, tiny bits of
+mirror let into the panels, and a travelling clock in a leather case
+(the inevitable wedding present), and on the wall above a large
+autotype of the chief figure in Titian's Virgin of the Assumption, is
+very inviting. Altogether the room is the room of a good housekeeper,
+vanquished, as far as the table is concerned, by an untidy man, but
+elsewhere mistress of the situation. The furniture, in its ornamental
+aspect, betrays the style of the advertised "drawing-room suite" of the
+pushing suburban furniture dealer; but there is nothing useless or
+pretentious in the room. The paper and panelling are dark, throwing the
+big cheery window and the park outside into strong relief.
+
+The Reverend James Mavor Morell is a Christian Socialist clergyman of
+the Church of England, and an active member of the Guild of St. Matthew
+and the Christian Social Union. A vigorous, genial, popular man of
+forty, robust and goodlooking, full of energy, with pleasant, hearty,
+considerate manners, and a sound, unaffected voice, which he uses with
+the clean, athletic articulation of a practised orator, and with a wide
+range and perfect command of expression. He is a first rate clergyman,
+able to say what he likes to whom he likes, to lecture people without
+setting himself up against them, to impose his authority on them
+without humiliating them, and to interfere in their business without
+impertinence. His well-spring of spiritual enthusiasm and sympathetic
+emotion has never run dry for a moment: he still eats and sleeps
+heartily enough to win the daily battle between exhaustion and
+recuperation triumphantly. Withal, a great baby, pardonably vain of his
+powers and unconsciously pleased with himself. He has a healthy
+complexion, a good forehead, with the brows somewhat blunt, and the
+eyes bright and eager, a mouth resolute, but not particularly well cut,
+and a substantial nose, with the mobile, spreading nostrils of the
+dramatic orator, but, like all his features, void of subtlety.
+
+The typist, Miss Proserpine Garnett, is a brisk little woman of about
+30, of the lower middle class, neatly but cheaply dressed in a black
+merino skirt and a blouse, rather pert and quick of speech, and not
+very civil in her manner, but sensitive and affectionate. She is
+clattering away busily at her machine whilst Morell opens the last of
+his morning's letters. He realizes its contents with a comic groan of
+despair.
+
+PROSERPINE. Another lecture?
+
+MORELL. Yes. The Hoxton Freedom Group want me to address them on Sunday
+morning (great emphasis on "Sunday," this being the unreasonable part
+of the business). What are they?
+
+PROSERPINE. Communist Anarchists, I think.
+
+MORELL. Just like Anarchists not to know that they can't have a parson
+on Sunday! Tell them to come to church if they want to hear me: it will
+do them good. Say I can only come on Mondays and Thursdays. Have you
+the diary there?
+
+PROSERPINE (taking up the diary). Yes.
+
+MORELL. Have I any lecture on for next Monday?
+
+PROSERPINE (referring to diary). Tower Hamlets Radical Club.
+
+MORELL. Well, Thursday then?
+
+PROSERPINE. English Land Restoration League.
+
+MORELL. What next?
+
+PROSERPINE. Guild of St. Matthew on Monday. Independent Labor Party,
+Greenwich Branch, on Thursday. Monday, Social-Democratic Federation,
+Mile End Branch. Thursday, first Confirmation class-- (Impatiently).
+Oh, I'd better tell them you can't come. They're only half a dozen
+ignorant and conceited costermongers without five shillings between
+them.
+
+MORELL (amused). Ah; but you see they're near relatives of mine, Miss
+Garnett.
+
+PROSERPINE (staring at him). Relatives of YOURS!
+
+MORELL. Yes: we have the same father--in Heaven.
+
+PROSERPINE (relieved). Oh, is that all?
+
+MORELL (with a sadness which is a luxury to a man whose voice expresses
+it so finely). Ah, you don't believe it. Everybody says it: nobody
+believes it--nobody. (Briskly, getting back to business.) Well, well!
+Come, Miss Proserpine, can't you find a date for the costers? What
+about the 25th?: that was vacant the day before yesterday.
+
+PROSERPINE (referring to diary). Engaged--the Fabian Society.
+
+MORELL. Bother the Fabian Society! Is the 28th gone too?
+
+PROSERPINE. City dinner. You're invited to dine with the Founder's
+Company.
+
+MORELL. That'll do; I'll go to the Hoxton Group of Freedom instead.
+(She enters the engagement in silence, with implacable disparagement of
+the Hoxton Anarchists in every line of her face. Morell bursts open the
+cover of a copy of The Church Reformer, which has come by post, and
+glances through Mr. Stewart Hendlam's leader and the Guild of St.
+Matthew news. These proceedings are presently enlivened by the
+appearance of Morell's curate, the Reverend Alexander Mill, a young
+gentleman gathered by Morell from the nearest University settlement,
+whither he had come from Oxford to give the east end of London the
+benefit of his university training. He is a conceitedly well
+intentioned, enthusiastic, immature person, with nothing positively
+unbearable about him except a habit of speaking with his lips carefully
+closed for half an inch from each corner, a finicking arthulation, and
+a set of horribly corrupt vowels, notably ow for o, this being his
+chief means of bringing Oxford refinement to bear on Hackney vulgarity.
+Morell, whom he has won over by a doglike devotion, looks up
+indulgently from The Church Reformer as he enters, and remarks) Well,
+Lexy! Late again, as usual.
+
+LEXY. I'm afraid so. I wish I could get up in the morning.
+
+MORELL (exulting in his own energy). Ha! ha! (Whimsically.) Watch and
+pray, Lexy: watch and pray.
+
+LEXY. I know. (Rising wittily to the occasion.) But how can I watch and
+pray when I am asleep? Isn't that so, Miss Prossy?
+
+PROSERPINE (sharply). Miss Garnett, if you please.
+
+LEXY. I beg your pardon--Miss Garnett.
+
+PROSERPINE. You've got to do all the work to-day.
+
+LEXY. Why?
+
+PROSERPINE. Never mind why. It will do you good to earn your supper
+before you eat it, for once in a way, as I do. Come: don't dawdle. You
+should have been off on your rounds half an hour ago.
+
+LEXY (perplexed). Is she in earnest, Morell?
+
+MORELL (in the highest spirits--his eyes dancing). Yes. _I_ am going to
+dawdle to-day.
+
+LEXY. You! You don't know how.
+
+MORELL (heartily). Ha! ha! Don't I? I'm going to have this day all to
+myself--or at least the forenoon. My wife's coming back: she's due here
+at 11.45.
+
+LEXY (surprised). Coming back already--with the children? I thought
+they were to stay to the end of the month.
+
+MORELL. So they are: she's only coming up for two days, to get some
+flannel things for Jimmy, and to see how we're getting on without her.
+
+LEXY (anxiously). But, my dear Morell, if what Jimmy and Fluffy had was
+scarlatina, do you think it wise--
+
+MORELL. Scarlatina!--rubbish, German measles. I brought it into the
+house myself from the Pycroft Street School. A parson is like a doctor,
+my boy: he must face infection as a soldier must face bullets. (He
+rises and claps Lexy on the shoulder.) Catch the measles if you can,
+Lexy: she'll nurse you; and what a piece of luck that will be for
+you!--eh?
+
+LEXY (smiling uneasily). It's so hard to understand you about Mrs.
+Morell--
+
+MORELL (tenderly). Ah, my boy, get married--get married to a good
+woman; and then you'll understand. That's a foretaste of what will be
+best in the Kingdom of Heaven we are trying to establish on earth. That
+will cure you of dawdling. An honest man feels that he must pay Heaven
+for every hour of happiness with a good spell of hard, unselfish work
+to make others happy. We have no more right to consume happiness
+without producing it than to consume wealth without producing it. Get a
+wife like my Candida; and you'll always be in arrear with your
+repayment. (He pats Lexy affectionately on the back, and is leaving the
+room when Lexy calls to him.)
+
+LEXY. Oh, wait a bit: I forgot. (Morell halts and turns with the door
+knob in his hand.) Your father-in-law is coming round to see you.
+(Morell shuts the door again, with a complete change of manner.)
+
+MORELL (surprised and not pleased). Mr. Burgess?
+
+LEXY. Yes. I passed him in the park, arguing with somebody. He gave me
+good day and asked me to let you know that he was coming.
+
+MORELL (half incredulous). But he hasn't called here for--I may almost
+say for years. Are you sure, Lexy? You're not joking, are you?
+
+LEXY (earnestly). No, sir, really.
+
+MORELL (thoughtfully). Hm! Time for him to take another look at Candida
+before she grows out of his knowledge. (He resigns himself to the
+inevitable, and goes out. Lexy looks after him with beaming, foolish
+worship.)
+
+LEXY. What a good man! What a thorough, loving soul he is! (He takes
+Morell's place at the table, making himself very comfortable as he
+takes out a cigaret.)
+
+PROSERPINE (impatiently, pulling the letter she has been working at off
+the typewriter and folding it.) Oh, a man ought to be able to be fond
+of his wife without making a fool of himself about her.
+
+LEXY (shocked). Oh, Miss Prossy!
+
+PROSERPINE (rising busily and coming to the stationery case to get an
+envelope, in which she encloses the letter as she speaks). Candida
+here, and Candida there, and Candida everywhere! (She licks the
+envelope.) It's enough to drive anyone out of their SENSES (thumping
+the envelope to make it stick) to hear a perfectly commonplace woman
+raved about in that absurd manner merely because she's got good hair,
+and a tolerable figure.
+
+LEXY (with reproachful gravity). I think her extremely beautiful, Miss
+Garnett. (He takes the photograph up; looks at it; and adds, with even
+greater impressiveness) EXTREMELY beautiful. How fine her eyes are!
+
+PROSERPINE. Her eyes are not a bit better than mine--now! (He puts down
+the photograph and stares austerely at her.) And you know very well
+that you think me dowdy and second rate enough.
+
+LEXY (rising majestically). Heaven forbid that I should think of any of
+God's creatures in such a way! (He moves stiffly away from her across
+the room to the neighbourhood of the bookcase.)
+
+PROSERPINE. Thank you. That's very nice and comforting.
+
+LEXY (saddened by her depravity). I had no idea you had any feeling
+against Mrs. Morell.
+
+PROSERPINE (indignantly). I have no feeling against her. She's very
+nice, very good-hearted: I'm very fond of her and can appreciate her
+real qualities far better than any man can. (He shakes his head sadly
+and turns to the bookcase, looking along the shelves for a volume. She
+follows him with intense pepperiness.) You don't believe me? (He turns
+and faces her. She pounces at him with spitfire energy.) You think I'm
+jealous. Oh, what a profound knowledge of the human heart you have, Mr.
+Lexy Mill! How well you know the weaknesses of Woman, don't you? It
+must be so nice to be a man and have a fine penetrating intellect
+instead of mere emotions like us, and to know that the reason we don't
+share your amorous delusions is that we're all jealous of one another!
+(She abandons him with a toss of her shoulders, and crosses to the fire
+to warm her hands.)
+
+LEXY. Ah, if you women only had the same clue to Man's strength that
+you have to his weakness, Miss Prossy, there would be no Woman Question.
+
+PROSERPINE (over her shoulder, as she stoops, holding her hands to the
+blaze). Where did you hear Morell say that? You didn't invent it
+yourself: you're not clever enough.
+
+LEXY. That's quite true. I am not ashamed of owing him that, as I owe
+him so many other spiritual truths. He said it at the annual conference
+of the Women's Liberal Federation. Allow me to add that though they
+didn't appreciate it, I, a mere man, did. (He turns to the bookcase
+again, hoping that this may leave her crushed.)
+
+PROSERPINE (putting her hair straight at the little panel of mirror in
+the mantelpiece). Well, when you talk to me, give me your own ideas,
+such as they are, and not his. You never cut a poorer figure than when
+you are trying to imitate him.
+
+LEXY (stung). I try to follow his example, not to imitate him.
+
+PROSERPINE (coming at him again on her way back to her work). Yes, you
+do: you IMITATE him. Why do you tuck your umbrella under your left arm
+instead of carrying it in your hand like anyone else? Why do you walk
+with your chin stuck out before you, hurrying along with that eager
+look in your eyes--you, who never get up before half past nine in the
+morning? Why do you say "knoaledge" in church, though you always say
+"knolledge" in private conversation! Bah! do you think I don't know?
+(She goes back to the typewriter.) Here, come and set about your work:
+we've wasted enough time for one morning. Here's a copy of the diary
+for to-day. (She hands him a memorandum.)
+
+LEXY (deeply offended). Thank you. (He takes it and stands at the table
+with his back to her, reading it. She begins to transcribe her
+shorthand notes on the typewriter without troubling herself about his
+feelings. Mr. Burgess enters unannounced. He is a man of sixty, made
+coarse and sordid by the compulsory selfishness of petty commerce, and
+later on softened into sluggish bumptiousness by overfeeding and
+commercial success. A vulgar, ignorant, guzzling man, offensive and
+contemptuous to people whose labor is cheap, respectful to wealth and
+rank, and quite sincere and without rancour or envy in both attitudes.
+Finding him without talent, the world has offered him no decently paid
+work except ignoble work, and he has become in consequence, somewhat
+hoggish. But he has no suspicion of this himself, and honestly regards
+his commercial prosperity as the inevitable and socially wholesome
+triumph of the ability, industry, shrewdness and experience in business
+of a man who in private is easygoing, affectionate and humorously
+convivial to a fault. Corporeally, he is a podgy man, with a square,
+clean shaven face and a square beard under his chin; dust colored, with
+a patch of grey in the centre, and small watery blue eyes with a
+plaintively sentimental expression, which he transfers easily to his
+voice by his habit of pompously intoning his sentences.)
+
+BURGESS (stopping on the threshold, and looking round). They told me
+Mr. Morell was here.
+
+PROSERPINE (rising). He's upstairs. I'll fetch him for you.
+
+BURGESS (staring boorishly at her). You're not the same young lady as
+used to typewrite for him?
+
+PROSERPINE. No.
+
+BURGESS (assenting). No: she was younger. (Miss Garnett stolidly stares
+at him; then goes out with great dignity. He receives this quite
+obtusely, and crosses to the hearth-rug, where he turns and spreads
+himself with his back to the fire.) Startin' on your rounds, Mr. Mill?
+
+LEXY (folding his paper and pocketing it). Yes: I must be off presently.
+
+BURGESS (momentously). Don't let me detain you, Mr. Mill. What I come
+about is private between me and Mr. Morell.
+
+LEXY (huffily). I have no intention of intruding, I am sure, Mr.
+Burgess. Good morning.
+
+BURGESS (patronizingly). Oh, good morning to you. (Morell returns as
+Lexy is making for the door.)
+
+MORELL (to Lexy). Off to work?
+
+LEXY. Yes, sir.
+
+MORELL (patting him affectionately on the shoulder). Take my silk
+handkerchief and wrap your throat up. There's a cold wind. Away with
+you.
+
+(Lexy brightens up, and goes out.)
+
+BURGESS. Spoilin' your curates, as usu'l, James. Good mornin'. When I
+pay a man, an' 'is livin' depen's on me, I keep him in his place.
+
+MORELL (rather shortly). I always keep my curates in their places as my
+helpers and comrades. If you get as much work out of your clerks and
+warehousemen as I do out of my curates, you must be getting rich pretty
+fast. Will you take your old chair?
+
+(He points with curt authority to the arm chair beside the fireplace;
+then takes the spare chair from the table and sits down in front of
+Burgess.)
+
+BURGESS (without moving). Just the same as hever, James!
+
+MORELL. When you last called--it was about three years ago, I
+think--you said the same thing a little more frankly. Your exact words
+then were: "Just as big a fool as ever, James?"
+
+BURGESS (soothingly). Well, perhaps I did; but (with conciliatory
+cheerfulness) I meant no offence by it. A clergyman is privileged to be
+a bit of a fool, you know: it's on'y becomin' in his profession that he
+should. Anyhow, I come here, not to rake up hold differences, but to
+let bygones be bygones. (Suddenly becoming very solemn, and approaching
+Morell.) James: three year ago, you done me a hill turn. You done me
+hout of a contrac'; an' when I gev you 'arsh words in my nat'ral
+disappointment, you turned my daughrter again me. Well, I've come to
+act the part of a Cherischin. (Offering his hand.) I forgive you, James.
+
+MORELL (starting up). Confound your impudence!
+
+BURGESS (retreating, with almost lachrymose deprecation of this
+treatment). Is that becomin' language for a clergyman, James?--and you
+so partic'lar, too?
+
+MORELL (hotly). No, sir, it is not becoming language for a clergyman. I
+used the wrong word. I should have said damn your impudence: that's
+what St. Paul, or any honest priest would have said to you. Do you
+think I have forgotten that tender of yours for the contract to supply
+clothing to the workhouse?
+
+BURGESS (in a paroxysm of public spirit). I acted in the interest of
+the ratepayers, James. It was the lowest tender: you can't deny that.
+
+MORELL. Yes, the lowest, because you paid worse wages than any other
+employer--starvation wages--aye, worse than starvation wages--to the
+women who made the clothing. Your wages would have driven them to the
+streets to keep body and soul together. (Getting angrier and angrier.)
+Those women were my parishioners. I shamed the Guardians out of
+accepting your tender: I shamed the ratepayers out of letting them do
+it: I shamed everybody but you. (Boiling over.) How dare you, sir, come
+here and offer to forgive me, and talk about your daughter, and--
+
+BURGESS. Easy, James, easy, easy. Don't git hinto a fluster about
+nothink. I've howned I was wrong.
+
+MORELL (fuming about). Have you? I didn't hear you.
+
+BURGESS. Of course I did. I hown it now. Come: I harsk your pardon for
+the letter I wrote you. Is that enough?
+
+MORELL (snapping his fingers). That's nothing. Have you raised the
+wages?
+
+BURGESS (triumphantly). Yes.
+
+MORELL (stopping dead). What!
+
+BURGESS (unctuously). I've turned a moddle hemployer. I don't hemploy
+no women now: they're all sacked; and the work is done by machinery.
+Not a man 'as less than sixpence a hour; and the skilled 'ands gits the
+Trade Union rate. (Proudly.) What 'ave you to say to me now?
+
+MORELL (overwhelmed). Is it possible! Well, there's more joy in heaven
+over one sinner that repenteth-- (Going to Burgess with an explosion of
+apologetic cordiality.) My dear Burgess, I most heartily beg your
+pardon for my hard thoughts of you. (Grasps his hand.) And now, don't
+you feel the better for the change? Come, confess, you're happier. You
+look happier.
+
+BURGESS (ruefully). Well, p'raps I do. I s'pose I must, since you
+notice it. At all events, I git my contrax asseppit (accepted) by the
+County Council. (Savagely.) They dussent'ave nothink to do with me
+unless I paid fair wages--curse 'em for a parcel o' meddlin' fools!
+
+MORELL (dropping his hand, utterly discouraged). So that was why you
+raised the wages! (He sits down moodily.)
+
+BURGESS (severely, in spreading, mounting tones). Why else should I do
+it? What does it lead to but drink and huppishness in workin' men? (He
+seats himself magisterially in the easy chair.) It's hall very well for
+you, James: it gits you hinto the papers and makes a great man of you;
+but you never think of the 'arm you do, puttin' money into the pockets
+of workin' men that they don't know 'ow to spend, and takin' it from
+people that might be makin' a good huse on it.
+
+MORELL (with a heavy sigh, speaking with cold politeness). What is your
+business with me this morning? I shall not pretend to believe that you
+are here merely out of family sentiment.
+
+BURGESS (obstinately). Yes, I ham--just family sentiment and nothink
+else.
+
+MORELL (with weary calm). I don't believe you!
+
+BURGESS (rising threateningly). Don't say that to me again, James Mavor
+Morell.
+
+MORELL (unmoved). I'll say it just as often as may be necessary to
+convince you that it's true. I don't believe you.
+
+BURGESS (collapsing into an abyss of wounded feeling). Oh, well, if
+you're determined to be unfriendly, I s'pose I'd better go. (He moves
+reluctantly towards the door. Morell makes no sign. He lingers.) I
+didn't hexpect to find a hunforgivin' spirit in you, James. (Morell
+still not responding, he takes a few more reluctant steps doorwards.
+Then he comes back whining.) We huseter git on well enough, spite of
+our different opinions. Why are you so changed to me? I give you my
+word I come here in pyorr (pure) frenliness, not wishin' to be on bad
+terms with my hown daughrter's 'usban'. Come, James: be a Cherishin and
+shake 'ands. (He puts his hand sentimentally on Morell's shoulder.)
+
+MORELL (looking up at him thoughtfully). Look here, Burgess. Do you
+want to be as welcome here as you were before you lost that contract?
+
+BURGESS. I do, James. I do--honest.
+
+MORELL. Then why don't you behave as you did then?
+
+BURGESS (cautiously removing his hand). 'Ow d'y'mean?
+
+MORELL. I'll tell you. You thought me a young fool then.
+
+BURGESS (coaxingly). No, I didn't, James. I--
+
+MORELL (cutting him short). Yes, you did. And I thought you an old
+scoundrel.
+
+BURGESS (most vehemently deprecating this gross self-accusation on
+Morell's part). No, you didn't, James. Now you do yourself a hinjustice.
+
+MORELL. Yes, I did. Well, that did not prevent our getting on very well
+together. God made you what I call a scoundrel as he made me what you
+call a fool. (The effect of this observation on Burgess is to remove
+the keystone of his moral arch. He becomes bodily weak, and, with his
+eyes fixed on Morell in a helpless stare, puts out his hand
+apprehensively to balance himself, as if the floor had suddenly sloped
+under him. Morell proceeds in the same tone of quiet conviction.) It
+was not for me to quarrel with his handiwork in the one case more than
+in the other. So long as you come here honestly as a self-respecting,
+thorough, convinced scoundrel, justifying your scoundrelism, and proud
+of it, you are welcome. But (and now Morell's tone becomes formidable;
+and he rises and strikes the back of the chair for greater emphasis) I
+won't have you here snivelling about being a model employer and a
+converted man when you're only an apostate with your coat turned for
+the sake of a County Council contract. (He nods at him to enforce the
+point; then goes to the hearth-rug, where he takes up a comfortably
+commanding position with his back to the fire, and continues) No: I
+like a man to be true to himself, even in wickedness. Come now: either
+take your hat and go; or else sit down and give me a good scoundrelly
+reason for wanting to be friends with me. (Burgess, whose emotions have
+subsided sufficiently to be expressed by a dazed grin, is relieved by
+this concrete proposition. He ponders it for a moment, and then, slowly
+and very modestly, sits down in the chair Morell has just left.) That's
+right. Now, out with it.
+
+BURGESS (chuckling in spite of himself.) Well, you ARE a queer bird,
+James, and no mistake. But (almost enthusiastically) one carnt 'elp
+likin' you; besides, as I said afore, of course one don't take all a
+clorgyman says seriously, or the world couldn't go on. Could it now?
+(He composes himself for graver discourse, and turning his eyes on
+Morell proceeds with dull seriousness.) Well, I don't mind tellin' you,
+since it's your wish we should be free with one another, that I did
+think you a bit of a fool once; but I'm beginnin' to think that p'r'aps
+I was be'ind the times a bit.
+
+MORELL (delighted ). Aha! You're finding that out at last, are you?
+
+BURGESS (portentously). Yes, times 'as changed mor'n I could a
+believed. Five yorr (year) ago, no sensible man would a thought o'
+takin' up with your ideas. I hused to wonder you was let preach at all.
+Why, I know a clorgyman that 'as bin kep' hout of his job for yorrs by
+the Bishop of London, although the pore feller's not a bit more
+religious than you are. But to-day, if henyone was to offer to bet me a
+thousan' poun' that you'll end by bein' a bishop yourself, I shouldn't
+venture to take the bet. You and yore crew are gettin' hinfluential: I
+can see that. They'll 'ave to give you something someday, if it's only
+to stop yore mouth. You 'ad the right instinc' arter all, James: the
+line you took is the payin' line in the long run fur a man o' your sort.
+
+MORELL (decisively--offering his hand). Shake hands, Burgess. Now
+you're talking honestly. I don't think they'll make me a bishop; but if
+they do, I'll introduce you to the biggest jobbers I can get to come to
+my dinner parties.
+
+BURGESS (who has risen with a sheepish grin and accepted the hand of
+friendship). You will 'ave your joke, James. Our quarrel's made up now,
+isn't it?
+
+A WOMAN'S VOICE. Say yes, James.
+
+Startled, they turn quickly and find that Candida has just come in, and
+is looking at them with an amused maternal indulgence which is her
+characteristic expression. She is a woman of 33, well built, well
+nourished, likely, one guesses, to become matronly later on, but now
+quite at her best, with the double charm of youth and motherhood. Her
+ways are those of a woman who has found that she can always manage
+people by engaging their affection, and who does so frankly and
+instinctively without the smallest scruple. So far, she is like any
+other pretty woman who is just clever enough to make the most of her
+sexual attractions for trivially selfish ends; but Candida's serene
+brow, courageous eyes, and well set mouth and chin signify largeness of
+mind and dignity of character to ennoble her cunning in the affections.
+A wisehearted observer, looking at her, would at once guess that
+whoever had placed the Virgin of the Assumption over her hearth did so
+because he fancied some spiritual resemblance between them, and yet
+would not suspect either her husband or herself of any such idea, or
+indeed of any concern with the art of Titian.
+
+Just now she is in bonnet and mantle, laden with a strapped rug with
+her umbrella stuck through it, a handbag, and a supply of illustrated
+papers.
+
+MORELL (shocked at his remissness). Candida! Why--(looks at his watch,
+and is horrified to find it so late.) My darling! (Hurrying to her and
+seizing the rug strap, pouring forth his remorseful regrets all the
+time.) I intended to meet you at the train. I let the time slip.
+(Flinging the rug on the sofa.) I was so engrossed by--(returning to
+her)--I forgot--oh! (He embraces her with penitent emotion.)
+
+BURGESS (a little shamefaced and doubtful of his reception). How ors
+you, Candy? (She, still in Morell's arms, offers him her cheek, which
+he kisses.) James and me is come to a unnerstandin'--a honourable
+unnerstandin'. Ain' we, James?
+
+MORELL (impetuously). Oh, bother your understanding! You've kept me
+late for Candida. (With compassionate fervor.) My poor love: how did
+you manage about the luggage?--how--
+
+CANDIDA (stopping him and disengaging herself ). There, there, there. I
+wasn't alone. Eugene came down yesterday; and we traveled up together.
+
+MORELL (pleased). Eugene!
+
+CANDIDA. Yes: he's struggling with my luggage, poor boy. Go out, dear,
+at once; or he will pay for the cab; and I don't want that. (Morell
+hurries out. Candida puts down her handbag; then takes off her mantle
+and bonnet and puts them on the sofa with the rug, chatting meanwhile.)
+Well, papa, how are you getting on at home?
+
+BURGESS. The 'ouse ain't worth livin' in since you left it, Candy. I
+wish you'd come round and give the gurl a talkin' to. Who's this Eugene
+that's come with you?
+
+CANDIDA. Oh, Eugene's one of James's discoveries. He found him sleeping
+on the Embankment last June. Haven't you noticed our new picture
+(pointing to the Virgin)? He gave us that.
+
+BURGESS (incredulously). Garn! D'you mean to tell me--your hown
+father!--that cab touts or such like, orf the Embankment, buys pictur's
+like that? (Severely.) Don't deceive me, Candy: it's a 'Igh Church
+pictur; and James chose it hisself.
+
+CANDIDA. Guess again. Eugene isn't a cab tout.
+
+BURGESS. Then wot is he? (Sarcastically.) A nobleman, I 'spose.
+
+CANDIDA (delighted--nodding). Yes. His uncle's a peer--a real live earl.
+
+BURGESS (not daring to believe such good news). No!
+
+CANDIDA. Yes. He had a seven day bill for 55 pounds in his pocket when
+James found him on the Embankment. He thought he couldn't get any money
+for it until the seven days were up; and he was too shy to ask for
+credit. Oh, he's a dear boy! We are very fond of him.
+
+BURGESS (pretending to belittle the aristocracy, but with his eyes
+gleaming). Hm, I thort you wouldn't git a piorr's (peer's) nevvy
+visitin' in Victoria Park unless he were a bit of a flat. (Looking
+again at the picture.) Of course I don't 'old with that pictur, Candy;
+but still it's a 'igh class, fust rate work of art: I can see that. Be
+sure you hintroduce me to him, Candy. (He looks at his watch
+anxiously.) I can only stay about two minutes.
+
+Morell comes back with Eugene, whom Burgess contemplates moist-eyed
+with enthusiasm. He is a strange, shy youth of eighteen, slight,
+effeminate, with a delicate childish voice, and a hunted, tormented
+expression and shrinking manner that show the painful sensitiveness
+that very swift and acute apprehensiveness produces in youth, before
+the character has grown to its full strength. Yet everything that his
+timidity and frailty suggests is contradicted by his face. He is
+miserably irresolute, does not know where to stand or what to do with
+his hands and feet, is afraid of Burgess, and would run away into
+solitude if he dared; but the very intensity with which he feels a
+perfectly commonplace position shows great nervous force, and his
+nostrils and mouth show a fiercely petulant wilfulness, as to the
+quality of which his great imaginative eyes and fine brow are
+reassuring. He is so entirely uncommon as to be almost unearthly; and
+to prosaic people there is something noxious in this unearthliness,
+just as to poetic people there is something angelic in it. His dress is
+anarchic. He wears an old blue serge jacket, unbuttoned over a woollen
+lawn tennis shirt, with a silk handkerchief for a cravat, trousers
+matching the jacket, and brown canvas shoes. In these garments he has
+apparently lain in the heather and waded through the waters; but there
+is no evidence of his having ever brushed them.
+
+As he catches sight of a stranger on entering, he stops, and edges
+along the wall on the opposite side of the room.
+
+MORELL (as he enters). Come along: you can spare us quarter of an hour,
+at all events. This is my father-in-law, Mr. Burgess--Mr. Marchbanks.
+
+MARCHBANKS (nervously backing against the bookcase). Glad to meet you,
+sir.
+
+BURGESS (crossing to him with great heartiness, whilst Morell joins
+Candida at the fire). Glad to meet YOU, I'm shore, Mr. Morchbanks.
+(Forcing him to shake hands.) 'Ow do you find yoreself this weather?
+'Ope you ain't lettin' James put no foolish ideas into your 'ed?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Foolish ideas! Oh, you mean Socialism. No.
+
+BURGESS. That's right. (Again looking at his watch.) Well, I must go
+now: there's no 'elp for it. Yo're not comin' my way, are you, Mr.
+Morchbanks?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Which way is that?
+
+BURGESS. Victawriar Pork station. There's a city train at 12.25.
+
+MORELL. Nonsense. Eugene will stay to lunch with us, I expect.
+
+MARCHBANKS (anxiously excusing himself). No--I--I--
+
+BURGESS. Well, well, I shan't press you: I bet you'd rather lunch with
+Candy. Some night, I 'ope, you'll come and dine with me at my club, the
+Freeman Founders in Nortn Folgit. Come, say you will.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Thank you, Mr. Burgess. Where is Norton Folgate--down in
+Surrey, isn't it? (Burgess, inexpressibly tickled, begins to splutter
+with laughter.)
+
+CANDIDA (coming to the rescue). You'll lose your train, papa, if you
+don't go at once. Come back in the afternoon and tell Mr. Marchbanks
+where to find the club.
+
+BURGESS (roaring with glee). Down in Surrey--har, har! that's not a bad
+one. Well, I never met a man as didn't know Nortn Folgit
+before.(Abashed at his own noisiness.) Good-bye, Mr. Morchbanks: I know
+yo're too 'ighbred to take my pleasantry in bad part. (He again offers
+his hand.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (taking it with a nervous jerk). Not at all.
+
+BURGESS. Bye, bye, Candy. I'll look in again later on. So long, James.
+
+MORELL. Must you go?
+
+BURGESS. Don't stir. (He goes out with unabated heartiness.)
+
+MORELL. Oh, I'll see you out. (He follows him out. Eugene stares after
+them apprehensively, holding his breath until Burgess disappears.)
+
+CANDIDA (laughing). Well, Eugene. (He turns with a start and comes
+eagerly towards her, but stops irresolutely as he meets her amused
+look.) What do you think of my father?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I--I hardly know him yet. He seems to be a very nice old
+gentleman.
+
+CANDIDA (with gentle irony). And you'll go to the Freeman Founders to
+dine with him, won't you?
+
+MARCHBANKS (miserably, taking it quite seriously). Yes, if it will
+please you.
+
+CANDIDA (touched). Do you know, you are a very nice boy, Eugene, with
+all your queerness. If you had laughed at my father I shouldn't have
+minded; but I like you ever so much better for being nice to him.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Ought I to have laughed? I noticed that he said something
+funny; but I am so ill at ease with strangers; and I never can see a
+joke! I'm very sorry. (He sits down on the sofa, his elbows on his
+knees and his temples between his fists, with an expression of hopeless
+suffering.)
+
+CANDIDA (bustling him goodnaturedly). Oh, come! You great baby, you!
+You are worse than usual this morning. Why were you so melancholy as we
+came along in the cab?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, that was nothing. I was wondering how much I ought to
+give the cabman. I know it's utterly silly; but you don't know how
+dreadful such things are to me--how I shrink from having to deal with
+strange people. (Quickly and reassuringly.) But it's all right. He
+beamed all over and touched his hat when Morell gave him two shillings.
+I was on the point of offering him ten. (Candida laughs heartily.
+Morell comes back with a few letters and newspapers which have come by
+the midday post.)
+
+CANDIDA. Oh, James, dear, he was going to give the cabman ten
+shillings--ten shillings for a three minutes' drive--oh, dear!
+
+MORELL (at the table, glancing through the letters). Never mind her,
+Marchbanks. The overpaying instinct is a generous one: better than the
+underpaying instinct, and not so common.
+
+MARCHBANKS (relapsing into dejection). No: cowardice, incompetence.
+Mrs. Morell's quite right.
+
+CANDIDA. Of course she is. (She takes up her handbag.) And now I must
+leave you to James for the present. I suppose you are too much of a
+poet to know the state a woman finds her house in when she's been away
+for three weeks. Give me my rug. (Eugene takes the strapped rug from
+the couch, and gives it to her. She takes it in her left hand, having
+the bag in her right.) Now hang my cloak across my arm. (He obeys.) Now
+my hat. (He puts it into the hand which has the bag.) Now open the door
+for me. (He hurries up before her and opens the door.) Thanks. (She
+goes out; and Marchbanks shuts the door.)
+
+MORELL (still busy at the table). You'll stay to lunch, Marchbanks, of
+course.
+
+MARCHBANKS (scared). I mustn't. (He glances quickly at Morell, but at
+once avoids his frank look, and adds, with obvious disingenuousness) I
+can't.
+
+MORELL (over his shoulder). You mean you won't.
+
+MARCHBANKS (earnestly). No: I should like to, indeed. Thank you very
+much. But--but--
+
+MORELL (breezily, finishing with the letters and coming close to him).
+But--but--but--but--bosh! If you'd like to stay, stay. You don't mean
+to persuade me you have anything else to do. If you're shy, go and take
+a turn in the park and write poetry until half past one; and then come
+in and have a good feed.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Thank you, I should like that very much. But I really
+mustn't. The truth is, Mrs. Morell told me not to. She said she didn't
+think you'd ask me to stay to lunch, but that I was to remember, if you
+did, that you didn't really want me to. (Plaintively.) She said I'd
+understand; but I don't. Please don't tell her I told you.
+
+MORELL (drolly). Oh, is that all? Won't my suggestion that you should
+take a turn in the park meet the difficulty?
+
+MARCHBANKS. How?
+
+MORELL (exploding good-humoredly). Why, you duffer--(But this
+boisterousness jars himself as well as Eugene. He checks himself, and
+resumes, with affectionate seriousness) No: I won't put it in that way.
+My dear lad: in a happy marriage like ours, there is something very
+sacred in the return of the wife to her home. (Marchbanks looks quickly
+at him, half anticipating his meaning.) An old friend or a truly noble
+and sympathetic soul is not in the way on such occasions; but a chance
+visitor is. (The hunted, horror-stricken expression comes out with
+sudden vividness in Eugene's face as he understands. Morell, occupied
+with his own thought, goes on without noticing it.) Candida thought I
+would rather not have you here; but she was wrong. I'm very fond of
+you, my boy, and I should like you to see for yourself what a happy
+thing it is to be married as I am.
+
+MARCHBANKS, Happy!--YOUR marriage! You think that! You believe that!
+
+MORELL (buoyantly). I know it, my lad. La Rochefoucauld said that there
+are convenient marriages, but no delightful ones. You don't know the
+comfort of seeing through and through a thundering liar and rotten
+cynic like that fellow. Ha, ha! Now off with you to the park, and write
+your poem. Half past one, sharp, mind: we never wait for anybody.
+
+MARCHBANKS (wildly). No: stop: you shan't. I'll force it into the light.
+
+MORELL (puzzled). Eh? Force what?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I must speak to you. There is something that must be
+settled between us.
+
+MORELL (with a whimsical glance at the clock). Now?
+
+MARCHBANKS (passionately). Now. Before you leave this room. (He
+retreats a few steps, and stands as if to bar Morell's way to the door.)
+
+MORELL (without moving, and gravely, perceiving now that there is
+something serious the matter). I'm not going to leave it, my dear boy:
+I thought YOU were. (Eugene, baffled by his firm tone, turns his back
+on him, writhing with anger. Morell goes to him and puts his hand on
+his shoulder strongly and kindly, disregarding his attempt to shake it
+off) Come: sit down quietly; and tell me what it is. And remember; we
+are friends, and need not fear that either of us will be anything but
+patient and kind to the other, whatever we may have to say.
+
+MARCHBANKS (twisting himself round on him). Oh, I am not forgetting
+myself: I am only (covering his face desperately with his hands) full
+of horror. (Then, dropping his hands, and thrusting his face forward
+fiercely at Morell, he goes on threateningly.) You shall see whether
+this is a time for patience and kindness. (Morell, firm as a rock,
+looks indulgently at him.) Don't look at me in that self-complacent
+way. You think yourself stronger than I am; but I shall stagger you if
+you have a heart in your breast.
+
+MORELL (powerfully confident). Stagger me, my boy. Out with it.
+
+MARCHBANKS. First--
+
+MORELL. First?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I love your wife.
+
+(Morell recoils, and, after staring at him for a moment in utter
+amazement, bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Eugene is taken aback,
+but not disconcerted; and he soon becomes indignant and contemptuous.)
+
+MORELL (sitting down to have his laugh out). Why, my dear child, of
+course you do. Everybody loves her: they can't help it. I like it. But
+(looking up whimsically at him) I say, Eugene: do you think yours is a
+case to be talked about? You're under twenty: she's over thirty.
+Doesn't it look rather too like a case of calf love?
+
+MARCHBANKS (vehemently). YOU dare say that of her! You think that way
+of the love she inspires! It is an insult to her!
+
+MORELL (rising; quickly, in an altered tone). To her! Eugene: take
+care. I have been patient. I hope to remain patient. But there are some
+things I won't allow. Don't force me to show you the indulgence I
+should show to a child. Be a man.
+
+MARCHBANKS (with a gesture as if sweeping something behind him). Oh,
+let us put aside all that cant. It horrifies me when I think of the
+doses of it she has had to endure in all the weary years during which
+you have selfishly and blindly sacrificed her to minister to your
+self-sufficiency--YOU (turning on him) who have not one thought--one
+sense--in common with her.
+
+MORELL (philosophically). She seems to bear it pretty well. (Looking
+him straight in the face.) Eugene, my boy: you are making a fool of
+yourself--a very great fool of yourself. There's a piece of wholesome
+plain speaking for you.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, do you think I don't know all that? Do you think that
+the things people make fools of themselves about are any less real and
+true than the things they behave sensibly about? (Morell's gaze wavers
+for the first time. He instinctively averts his face and stands
+listening, startled and thoughtful.) They are more true: they are the
+only things that are true. You are very calm and sensible and moderate
+with me because you can see that I am a fool about your wife; just as
+no doubt that old man who was here just now is very wise over your
+socialism, because he sees that YOU are a fool about it. (Morell's
+perplexity deepens markedly. Eugene follows up his advantage, plying
+him fiercely with questions.) Does that prove you wrong? Does your
+complacent superiority to me prove that I am wrong?
+
+MORELL (turning on Eugene, who stands his ground). Marchbanks: some
+devil is putting these words into your mouth. It is easy--terribly
+easy--to shake a man's faith in himself. To take advantage of that to
+break a man's spirit is devil's work. Take care of what you are doing.
+Take care.
+
+MARCHBANKS (ruthlessly). I know. I'm doing it on purpose. I told you I
+should stagger you.
+
+(They confront one another threateningly for a moment. Then Morell
+recovers his dignity.)
+
+MORELL (with noble tenderness). Eugene: listen to me. Some day, I hope
+and trust, you will be a happy man like me. (Eugene chafes
+intolerantly, repudiating the worth of his happiness. Morell, deeply
+insulted, controls himself with fine forbearance, and continues
+steadily, with great artistic beauty of delivery) You will be married;
+and you will be working with all your might and valor to make every
+spot on earth as happy as your own home. You will be one of the makers
+of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth; and--who knows?--you may be a
+pioneer and master builder where I am only a humble journeyman; for
+don't think, my boy, that I cannot see in you, young as you are,
+promise of higher powers than I can ever pretend to. I well know that
+it is in the poet that the holy spirit of man--the god within him--is
+most godlike. It should make you tremble to think of that--to think
+that the heavy burthen and great gift of a poet may be laid upon you.
+
+MARCHBANKS (unimpressed and remorseless, his boyish crudity of
+assertion telling sharply against Morell's oratory). It does not make
+me tremble. It is the want of it in others that makes me tremble.
+
+MORELL (redoubling his force of style under the stimulus of his genuine
+feeling and Eugene's obduracy). Then help to kindle it in them--in
+ME---not to extinguish it. In the future--when you are as happy as I
+am--I will be your true brother in the faith. I will help you to
+believe that God has given us a world that nothing but our own folly
+keeps from being a paradise. I will help you to believe that every
+stroke of your work is sowing happiness for the great harvest that
+all--even the humblest--shall one day reap. And last, but trust me, not
+least, I will help you to believe that your wife loves you and is happy
+in her home. We need such help, Marchbanks: we need it greatly and
+always. There are so many things to make us doubt, if once we let our
+understanding be troubled. Even at home, we sit as if in camp,
+encompassed by a hostile army of doubts. Will you play the traitor and
+let them in on me?
+
+MARCHBANKS (looking round him). Is it like this for her here always? A
+woman, with a great soul, craving for reality, truth, freedom, and
+being fed on metaphors, sermons, stale perorations, mere rhetoric. Do
+you think a woman's soul can live on your talent for preaching?
+
+MORELL (Stung). Marchbanks: you make it hard for me to control myself.
+My talent is like yours insofar as it has any real worth at all. It is
+the gift of finding words for divine truth.
+
+MARCHBANKS (impetuously). It's the gift of the gab, nothing more and
+nothing less. What has your knack of fine talking to do with the truth,
+any more than playing the organ has? I've never been in your church;
+but I've been to your political meetings; and I've seen you do what's
+called rousing the meeting to enthusiasm: that is, you excited them
+until they behaved exactly as if they were drunk. And their wives
+looked on and saw clearly enough what fools they were. Oh, it's an old
+story: you'll find it in the Bible. I imagine King David, in his fits
+of enthusiasm, was very like you. (Stabbing him with the words.) "But
+his wife despised him in her heart."
+
+MORELL (wrathfully). Leave my house. Do you hear? (He advances on him
+threateningly.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (shrinking back against the couch). Let me alone. Don't
+touch me. (Morell grasps him powerfully by the lapel of his coat: he
+cowers down on the sofa and screams passionately.) Stop, Morell, if you
+strike me, I'll kill myself. I won't bear it. (Almost in hysterics.)
+Let me go. Take your hand away.
+
+MORELL (with slow, emphatic scorn.) You little snivelling, cowardly
+whelp. (Releasing him.) Go, before you frighten yourself into a fit.
+
+MARCHBANKS (on the sofa, gasping, but relieved by the withdrawal of
+Morell's hand). I'm not afraid of you: it's you who are afraid of me.
+
+MORELL (quietly, as he stands over him). It looks like it, doesn't it?
+
+MARCHBANKS (with petulant vehemence). Yes, it does. (Morell turns away
+contemptuously. Eugene scrambles to his feet and follows him.) You
+think because I shrink from being brutally handled--because (with tears
+in his voice) I can do nothing but cry with rage when I am met with
+violence--because I can't lift a heavy trunk down from the top of a cab
+like you--because I can't fight you for your wife as a navvy would: all
+that makes you think that I'm afraid of you. But you're wrong. If I
+haven't got what you call British pluck, I haven't British cowardice
+either: I'm not afraid of a clergyman's ideas. I'll fight your ideas.
+I'll rescue her from her slavery to them: I'll pit my own ideas against
+them. You are driving me out of the house because you daren't let her
+choose between your ideas and mine. You are afraid to let me see her
+again. (Morell, angered, turns suddenly on him. He flies to the door in
+involuntary dread.) Let me alone, I say. I'm going.
+
+MORELL (with cold scorn). Wait a moment: I am not going to touch you:
+don't be afraid. When my wife comes back she will want to know why you
+have gone. And when she finds that you are never going to cross our
+threshold again, she will want to have that explained, too. Now I don't
+wish to distress her by telling her that you have behaved like a
+blackguard.
+
+MARCHBANKS (Coming back with renewed vehemence). You shall--you must.
+If you give any explanation but the true one, you are a liar and a
+coward.  Tell her what I said; and how you were strong and manly, and
+shook me as a terrier shakes a rat; and how I shrank and was terrified;
+and how you called me a snivelling little whelp and put me out of the
+house. If you don't tell her, I will: I'll write to her.
+
+MORELL (taken aback.) Why do you want her to know this?
+
+MARCHBANKS (with lyric rapture.) Because she will understand me, and
+know that I understand her. If you keep back one word of it from
+her--if you are not ready to lay the truth at her feet as I am--then
+you will know to the end of your days that she really belongs to me and
+not to you. Good-bye. (Going.)
+
+MORELL (terribly disquieted). Stop: I will not tell her.
+
+MARCHBANKS (turning near the door). Either the truth or a lie you MUST
+tell her, if I go.
+
+MORELL (temporizing). Marchbanks: it is sometimes justifiable.
+
+MARCHBANKS (cutting him short). I know--to lie. It will be useless.
+Good-bye, Mr. Clergyman.
+
+(As he turns finally to the door, it opens and Candida enters in
+housekeeping attire.)
+
+CANDIDA. Are you going, Eugene?(Looking more observantly at him.) Well,
+dear me, just look at you, going out into the street in that state! You
+ARE a poet, certainly. Look at him, James! (She takes him by the coat,
+and brings him forward to show him to Morell.) Look at his collar! look
+at his tie! look at his hair! One would think somebody had been
+throttling you. (The two men guard themselves against betraying their
+consciousness.) Here! Stand still. (She buttons his collar; ties his
+neckerchief in a bow; and arranges his hair.) There! Now you look so
+nice that I think you'd better stay to lunch after all, though I told
+you you mustn't. It will be ready in half an hour. (She puts a final
+touch to the bow. He kisses her hand.) Don't be silly.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I want to stay, of course--unless the reverend gentleman,
+your husband, has anything to advance to the contrary.
+
+CANDIDA. Shall he stay, James, if he promises to be a good boy and to
+help me to lay the table? (Marchbanks turns his head and looks
+steadfastly at Morell over his shoulder, challenging his answer.)
+
+MORELL (shortly). Oh, yes, certainly: he had better. (He goes to the
+table and pretends to busy himself with his papers there.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (offering his arm to Candida). Come and lay the table.(She
+takes it and they go to the door together. As they go out he adds) I am
+the happiest of men.
+
+MORELL. So was I--an hour ago.
+
+
+
+ACT II
+
+The same day. The same room. Late in the afternoon. The spare chair for
+visitors has been replaced at the table, which is, if possible, more
+untidy than before. Marchbanks, alone and idle, is trying to find out
+how the typewriter works. Hearing someone at the door, he steals
+guiltily away to the window and pretends to be absorbed in the view.
+Miss Garnett, carrying the notebook in which she takes down Morell's
+letters in shorthand from his dictation, sits down at the typewriter
+and sets to work transcribing them, much too busy to notice Eugene.
+Unfortunately the first key she strikes sticks.
+
+PROSERPINE. Bother! You've been meddling with my typewriter, Mr.
+Marchbanks; and there's not the least use in your trying to look as if
+you hadn't.
+
+MARCHBANKS (timidly). I'm very sorry, Miss Garnett. I only tried to
+make it write.
+
+PROSERPINE. Well, you've made this key stick.
+
+MARCHBANKS (earnestly). I assure you I didn't touch the keys. I didn't,
+indeed. I only turned a little wheel. (He points irresolutely at the
+tension wheel.)
+
+PROSERPINE. Oh, now I understand. (She sets the machine to rights,
+talking volubly all the time.) I suppose you thought it was a sort of
+barrel-organ. Nothing to do but turn the handle, and it would write a
+beautiful love letter for you straight off, eh?
+
+MARCHBANKS (seriously). I suppose a machine could be made to write
+love-letters. They're all the same, aren't they!
+
+PROSERPINE (somewhat indignantly: any such discussion, except by way of
+pleasantry, being outside her code of manners). How do I know? Why do
+you ask me?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I beg your pardon. I thought clever people--people who can
+do business and write letters, and that sort of thing--always had love
+affairs.
+
+PROSERPINE (rising, outraged). Mr. Marchbanks! (She looks severely at
+him, and marches with much dignity to the bookcase.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (approaching her humbly). I hope I haven't offended you.
+Perhaps I shouldn't have alluded to your love affairs.
+
+PROSERPINE (plucking a blue book from the shelf and turning sharply on
+him). I haven't any love affairs. How dare you say such a thing?
+
+MARCHBANKS (simply). Really! Oh, then you are shy, like me. Isn't that
+so?
+
+PROSERPINE. Certainly I am not shy. What do you mean?
+
+MARCHBANKS (secretly). You must be: that is the reason there are so few
+love affairs in the world. We all go about longing for love: it is the
+first need of our natures, the loudest cry Of our hearts; but we dare
+not utter our longing: we are too shy. (Very earnestly.) Oh, Miss
+Garnett, what would you not give to be without fear, without shame--
+
+PROSERPINE (scandalized), Well, upon my word!
+
+MARCHBANKS (with petulant impatience). Ah, don't say those stupid
+things to me: they don't deceive me: what use are they? Why are you
+afraid to be your real self with me? I am just like you.
+
+PROSERPINE. Like me! Pray, are you flattering me or flattering
+yourself? I don't feel quite sure which. (She turns to go back to the
+typewriter.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (stopping her mysteriously). Hush! I go about in search of
+love; and I find it in unmeasured stores in the bosoms of others. But
+when I try to ask for it, this horrible shyness strangles me; and I
+stand dumb, or worse than dumb, saying meaningless things--foolish
+lies. And I see the affection I am longing for given to dogs and cats
+and pet birds, because they come and ask for it. (Almost whispering.)
+It must be asked for: it is like a ghost: it cannot speak unless it is
+first spoken to. (At his normal pitch, but with deep melancholy.) All
+the love in the world is longing to speak; only it dare not, because it
+is shy, shy, shy. That is the world's tragedy. (With a deep sigh he
+sits in the spare chair and buries his face in his hands.)
+
+PROSERPINE (amazed, but keeping her wits about her--her point of honor
+in encounters with strange young men). Wicked people get over that
+shyness occasionally, don't they?
+
+MARCHBANKS (scrambling up almost fiercely). Wicked people means people
+who have no love: therefore they have no shame. They have the power to
+ask love because they don't need it: they have the power to offer it
+because they have none to give. (He collapses into his seat, and adds,
+mournfully) But we, who have love, and long to mingle it with the love
+of others: we cannot utter a word. (Timidly.) You find that, don't you?
+
+PROSERPINE. Look here: if you don't stop talking like this, I'll leave
+the room, Mr. Marchbanks: I really will. It's not proper. (She resumes
+her seat at the typewriter, opening the blue book and preparing to copy
+a passage from it.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (hopelessly). Nothing that's worth saying IS proper. (He
+rises, and wanders about the room in his lost way, saying) I can't
+understand you, Miss Garnett. What am I to talk about?
+
+PROSERPINE (snubbing him). Talk about indifferent things, talk about
+the weather.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Would you stand and talk about indifferent things if a
+child were by, crying bitterly with hunger?
+
+PROSERPINE. I suppose not.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Well: I can't talk about indifferent things with my heart
+crying out bitterly in ITS hunger.
+
+PROSERPINE. Then hold your tongue.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Yes: that is what it always comes to. We hold our tongues.
+Does that stop the cry of your heart?--for it does cry: doesn't it? It
+must, if you have a heart.
+
+PROSERPINE (suddenly rising with her hand pressed on her heart). Oh,
+it's no use trying to work while you talk like that. (She leaves her
+little table and sits on the sofa. Her feelings are evidently strongly
+worked on.) It's no business of yours, whether my heart cries or not;
+but I have a mind to tell you, for all that.
+
+MARCHBANKS. You needn't. I know already that it must.
+
+PROSERPINE. But mind: if you ever say I said so, I'll deny it.
+
+MARCHBANKS (compassionately). Yes, I know. And so you haven't the
+courage to tell him?
+
+PROSERPINE (bouncing up). HIM! Who?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Whoever he is. The man you love. It might be anybody. The
+curate, Mr. Mill, perhaps.
+
+PROSERPINE (with disdain). Mr. Mill!!! A fine man to break my heart
+about, indeed! I'd rather have you than Mr. Mill.
+
+MARCHBANKS (recoiling). No, really--I'm very sorry; but you mustn't
+think of that. I--
+
+PROSERPINE. (testily, crossing to the fire and standing at it with her
+back to him). Oh, don't be frightened: it's not you. It's not any one
+particular person.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I know. You feel that you could love anybody that offered--
+
+PROSERPINE (exasperated). Anybody that offered! No, I do not. What do
+you take me for?
+
+MARCHBANKS (discouraged). No use. You won't make me REAL answers--only
+those things that everybody says. (He strays to the sofa and sits down
+disconsolately.)
+
+PROSERPINE (nettled at what she takes to be a disparagement of her
+manners by an aristocrat). Oh, well, if you want original conversation,
+you'd better go and talk to yourself.
+
+MARCHBANKS. That is what all poets do: they talk to themselves out
+loud; and the world overhears them. But it's horribly lonely not to
+hear someone else talk sometimes.
+
+PROSERPINE. Wait until Mr. Morell comes. HE'LL talk to you. (Marchbanks
+shudders.) Oh, you needn't make wry faces over him: he can talk better
+than you. (With temper.) He'd talk your little head off. (She is going
+back angrily to her place, when, suddenly enlightened, he springs up
+and stops her.)
+
+MARCHBANKS. Ah, I understand now!
+
+PROSERPINE (reddening). What do you understand?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Your secret. Tell me: is it really and truly possible for a
+woman to love him?
+
+PROSERPINE (as if this were beyond all bounds). Well!!
+
+MARCHBANKS (passionately). No, answer me. I want to know: I MUST know.
+I can't understand it. I can see nothing in him but words, pious
+resolutions, what people call goodness. You can't love that.
+
+PROSERPINE (attempting to snub him by an air of cool propriety). I
+simply don't know what you're talking about. I don't understand you.
+
+MARCHBANKS (vehemently). You do. You lie--
+
+PROSERPINE. Oh!
+
+MARCHBANKS. You DO understand; and you KNOW. (Determined to have an
+answer.) Is it possible for a woman to love him?
+
+PROSERPINE (looking him straight in the face.) Yes. (He covers his face
+with his hands.) Whatever is the matter with you! (He takes down his
+hands and looks at her. Frightened at the tragic mask presented to her,
+she hurries past him at the utmost possible distance, keeping her eyes
+on his face until he turns from her and goes to the child's chair
+beside the hearth, where he sits in the deepest dejection. As she
+approaches the door, it opens and Burgess enters. On seeing him, she
+ejaculates) Praise heaven, here's somebody! (and sits down, reassured,
+at her table. She puts a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter as
+Burgess crosses to Eugene.)
+
+BURGESS (bent on taking care of the distinguished visitor). Well: so
+this is the way they leave you to yourself, Mr. Morchbanks. I've come
+to keep you company. (Marchbanks looks up at him in consternation,
+which is quite lost on him.) James is receivin' a deppitation in the
+dinin' room; and Candy is hupstairs educatin' of a young stitcher gurl
+she's hinterusted in. She's settin' there learnin' her to read out of
+the "'Ev'nly Twins." (Condolingly.) You must find it lonesome here with
+no one but the typist to talk to. (He pulls round the easy chair above
+fire, and sits down.)
+
+PROSERPINE (highly incensed). He'll be all right now that he has the
+advantage of YOUR polished conversation: that's one comfort, anyhow.
+(She begins to typewrite with clattering asperity.)
+
+BURGESS (amazed at her audacity). Hi was not addressin' myself to you,
+young woman, that I'm awerr of.
+
+PROSERPINE (tartly, to Marchbanks). Did you ever see worse manners, Mr.
+Marchbanks?
+
+BURGESS (with pompous severity). Mr. Morchbanks is a gentleman and
+knows his place, which is more than some people do.
+
+PROSERPINE (fretfully). It's well you and I are not ladies and
+gentlemen: I'd talk to you pretty straight if Mr. Marchbanks wasn't
+here. (She pulls the letter out of the machine so crossly that it
+tears.) There, now I've spoiled this letter--have to be done all over
+again. Oh, I can't contain myself--silly old fathead!
+
+BURGESS (rising, breathless with indignation). Ho! I'm a silly ole
+fathead, am I? Ho, indeed (gasping). Hall right, my gurl! Hall right.
+You just wait till I tell that to your employer. You'll see. I'll teach
+you: see if I don't.
+
+PROSERPINE. I--
+
+BURGESS (cutting her short). No, you've done it now. No huse a-talkin'
+to me. I'll let you know who I am. (Proserpine shifts her paper
+carriage with a defiant bang, and disdainfully goes on with her work.)
+Don't you take no notice of her, Mr. Morchbanks. She's beneath it. (He
+sits down again loftily.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (miserably nervous and disconcerted). Hadn't we better
+change the subject. I--I don't think Miss Garnett meant anything.
+
+PROSERPINE (with intense conviction). Oh, didn't I though, just!
+
+BURGESS. I wouldn't demean myself to take notice on her.
+
+(An electric bell rings twice.)
+
+PROSERPINE (gathering up her note-book and papers).  That's for me.
+(She hurries out.)
+
+BURGESS (calling after her). Oh, we can spare you. (Somewhat relieved
+by the triumph of having the last word, and yet half inclined to try to
+improve on it, he looks after her for a moment; then subsides into his
+seat by Eugene, and addresses him very confidentially.) Now we're
+alone, Mr. Morchbanks, let me give you a friendly 'int that I wouldn't
+give to everybody. 'Ow long 'ave you known my son-in-law James here?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I don't know. I never can remember dates. A few months,
+perhaps.
+
+BURGESS. Ever notice anything queer about him?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I don't think so.
+
+BURGESS (impressively). No more you wouldn't. That's the danger in it.
+Well, he's mad.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Mad!
+
+BURGESS. Mad as a Morch 'are. You take notice on him and you'll see.
+
+MARCHBANKS (beginning). But surely that is only because his opinions--
+
+BURGESS (touching him with his forefinger on his knee, and pressing it
+as if to hold his attention with it). That's wot I used tee think, Mr.
+Morchbanks. Hi thought long enough that it was honly 'is hopinions;
+though, mind you, hopinions becomes vurry serious things when people
+takes to hactin on 'em as 'e does. But that's not wot I go on. (He
+looks round to make sure that they are alone, and bends over to
+Eugene's ear.) Wot do you think he says to me this mornin' in this very
+room?
+
+MARCHBANKS. What?
+
+BURGESS. He sez to me--this is as sure as we're settin' here now--he
+sez: "I'm a fool," he sez;--"and yore a scounderl"--as cool as
+possible. Me a scounderl, mind you! And then shook 'ands with me on it,
+as if it was to my credit! Do you mean to tell me that that man's sane?
+
+MORELL. (outside, calling to Proserpine, holding the door open). Get
+all their names and addresses, Miss Garnett.
+
+PROSERPINE (in the distance). Yes, Mr. Morell.
+
+(Morell comes in, with the deputation's documents in his hands.)
+
+BURGESS (aside to Marchbanks). Yorr he is. Just you keep your heye on
+him and see. (Rising momentously.) I'm sorry, James, to 'ave to make a
+complaint to you. I don't want to do it; but I feel I oughter, as a
+matter o' right and duty.
+
+MORELL. What's the matter?
+
+BURGESS. Mr. Morchbanks will bear me out: he was a witness. (Very
+solemnly.) Your young woman so far forgot herself as to call me a silly
+ole fat 'ead.
+
+MORELL (delighted--with tremendous heartiness). Oh, now, isn't that
+EXACTLY like Prossy? She's so frank: she can't contain herself! Poor
+Prossy! Ha! Ha!
+
+BURGESS (trembling with rage). And do you hexpec me to put up with it
+from the like of 'ER?
+
+MORELL. Pooh, nonsense! you can't take any notice of it. Never mind.
+(He goes to the cellaret and puts the papers into one of the drawers.)
+
+BURGESS. Oh, I don't mind. I'm above it. But is it RIGHT?--that's what
+I want to know. Is it right?
+
+MORELL. That's a question for the Church, not for the laity. Has it
+done you any harm, that's the question for you, eh? Of course, it
+hasn't. Think no more of it. (He dismisses the subject by going to his
+place at the table and setting to work at his correspondence.)
+
+BURGESS (aside to Marchbanks). What did I tell you? Mad as a 'atter.
+(He goes to the table and asks, with the sickly civility of a hungry
+man) When's dinner, James?
+
+MORELL. Not for half an hour yet.
+
+BURGESS (with plaintive resignation). Gimme a nice book to read over
+the fire, will you, James: thur's a good chap.
+
+MORELL. What sort of book? A good one?
+
+BURGESS (with almost a yell of remonstrance). Nah-oo! Summat pleasant,
+just to pass the time. (Morell takes an illustrated paper from the
+table and offers it. He accepts it humbly.) Thank yer, James. (He goes
+back to his easy chair at the fire, and sits there at his ease,
+reading.)
+
+MORELL (as he writes). Candida will come to entertain you presently.
+She has got rid of her pupil. She is filling the lamps.
+
+MARCHBANKS (starting up in the wildest consternation). But that will
+soil her hands. I can't bear that, Morell: it's a shame. I'll go and
+fill them. (He makes for the door.)
+
+MORELL. You'd better not. (Marchbanks stops irresolutely.) She'd only
+set you to clean my boots, to save me the trouble of doing it myself in
+the morning.
+
+BURGESS (with grave disapproval). Don't you keep a servant now, James?
+
+MORELL. Yes; but she isn't a slave; and the house looks as if I kept
+three. That means that everyone has to lend a hand. It's not a bad
+plan: Prossy and I can talk business after breakfast whilst we're
+washing up. Washing up's no trouble when there are two people to do it.
+
+MARCHBANKS (tormentedly). Do you think every woman is as coarse-grained
+as Miss Garnett?
+
+BURGESS (emphatically). That's quite right, Mr. Morchbanks. That's
+quite right. She IS corse-grained.
+
+MORELL (quietly and significantly). Marchbanks!
+
+MARCHBANKS. Yes.
+
+MORELL. How many servants does your father keep?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, I don't know. (He comes back uneasily to the sofa, as
+if to get as far as possible from Morell's questioning, and sits down
+in great agony of mind, thinking of the paraffin.)
+
+MORELL. (very gravely). So many that you don't know. (More
+aggressively.) Anyhow, when there's anything coarse-grained to be done,
+you ring the bell and throw it on to somebody else, eh? That's one of
+the great facts in YOUR existence, isn't it?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, don't torture me. The one great fact now is that your
+wife's beautiful fingers are dabbling in paraffin oil, and that you are
+sitting here comfortably preaching about it--everlasting preaching,
+preaching, words, words, words.
+
+BURGESS (intensely appreciating this retort). Ha, ha! Devil a better.
+(Radiantly.) 'Ad you there, James, straight.
+
+(Candida comes in, well aproned, with a reading lamp trimmed, filled,
+and ready for lighting. She places it on the table near Morell, ready
+for use.)
+
+CANDIDA (brushing her finger tips together with a slight twitch of her
+nose). If you stay with us, Eugene, I think I will hand over the lamps
+to you.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I will stay on condition that you hand over all the rough
+work to me.
+
+CANDIDA. That's very gallant; but I think I should like to see how you
+do it first. (Turning to Morell.) James: you've not been looking after
+the house properly.
+
+MORELL. What have I done--or not done--my love?
+
+CANDIDA (with serious vexation). My own particular pet scrubbing brush
+has been used for blackleading. (A heart-breaking wail bursts from
+Marchbanks. Burgess looks round, amazed. Candida hurries to the sofa.)
+What's the matter? Are you ill, Eugene?
+
+MARCHBANKS. No, not ill. Only horror, horror, horror! (He bows his head
+on his hands.)
+
+BURGESS (shocked). What! Got the 'orrors, Mr. Morchbanks! Oh, that's
+bad, at your age. You must leave it off grajally.
+
+CANDIDA (reassured). Nonsense, papa. It's only poetic horror, isn't it,
+Eugene? (Petting him.)
+
+BURGESS (abashed). Oh, poetic 'orror, is it? I beg your pordon, I'm
+shore. (He turns to the fire again, deprecating his hasty conclusion.)
+
+CANDIDA. What is it, Eugene--the scrubbing brush? (He shudders.) Well,
+there! never mind. (She sits down beside him.) Wouldn't you like to
+present me with a nice new one, with an ivory back inlaid with
+mother-of-pearl?
+
+MARCHBANKS (softly and musically, but sadly and longingly). No, not a
+scrubbing brush, but a boat--a tiny shallop to sail away in, far from
+the world, where the marble floors are washed by the rain and dried by
+the sun, where the south wind dusts the beautiful green and purple
+carpets. Or a chariot--to carry us up into the sky, where the lamps are
+stars, and don't need to be filled with paraffin oil every day.
+
+MORELL (harshly). And where there is nothing to do but to be idle,
+selfish and useless.
+
+CANDIDA (jarred). Oh, James, how could you spoil it all!
+
+MARCHBANKS (firing up). Yes, to be idle, selfish and useless: that is
+to be beautiful and free and happy: hasn't every man desired that with
+all his soul for the woman he loves? That's my ideal: what's yours, and
+that of all the dreadful people who live in these hideous rows of
+houses? Sermons and scrubbing brushes! With you to preach the sermon
+and your wife to scrub.
+
+CANDIDA (quaintly). He cleans the boots, Eugene. You will have to clean
+them to-morrow for saying that about him.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh! don't talk about boots. Your feet should be beautiful
+on the mountains.
+
+CANDIDA. My feet would not be beautiful on the Hackney Road without
+boots.
+
+BURGESS (scandalized). Come, Candy, don't be vulgar. Mr. Morchbanks
+ain't accustomed to it. You're givin' him the 'orrors again. I mean the
+poetic ones.
+
+(Morell is silent. Apparently he is busy with his letters: really he is
+puzzling with misgiving over his new and alarming experience that the
+surer he is of his moral thrusts, the more swiftly and effectively
+Eugene parries them. To find himself beginning to fear a man whom he
+does not respect affects him bitterly.)
+
+(Miss Garnett comes in with a telegram.)
+
+PROSERPINE (handing the telegram to Morell). Reply paid. The boy's
+waiting. (To Candida, coming back to her machine and sitting down.)
+Maria is ready for you now in the kitchen, Mrs. Morell. (Candida
+rises.) The onions have come.
+
+MARCHBANKS (convulsively). Onions!
+
+CANDIDA. Yes, onions. Not even Spanish ones--nasty little red onions.
+You shall help me to slice them. Come along.
+
+(She catches him by the wrist and runs out, pulling him after her.
+Burgess rises in consternation, and stands aghast on the hearth-rug,
+staring after them.)
+
+BURGESS. Candy didn't oughter 'andle a peer's nevvy like that. It's
+goin' too fur with it. Lookee 'ere, James: do 'e often git taken queer
+like that?
+
+MORELL (shortly, writing a telegram). I don't know.
+
+BURGESS (sentimentally). He talks very pretty. I allus had a turn for a
+bit of potery. Candy takes arter me that-a-way: huse ter make me tell
+her fairy stories when she was on'y a little kiddy not that 'igh
+(indicating a stature of two feet or thereabouts).
+
+MORELL (preoccupied). Ah, indeed. (He blots the telegram, and goes out.)
+
+PROSERPINE. Used you to make the fairy stories up out of your own head?
+
+(Burgess, not deigning to reply, strikes an attitude of the haughtiest
+disdain on the hearth-rug.)
+
+PROSERPINE (calmly). I should never have supposed you had it in you. By
+the way, I'd better warn you, since you've taken such a fancy to Mr.
+Marchbanks. He's mad.
+
+BURGESS. Mad! Wot! 'Im too!!
+
+PROSERPINE. Mad as a March hare. He did frighten me, I can tell you
+just before you came in that time. Haven't you noticed the queer things
+he says?
+
+BURGESS. So that's wot the poetic 'orrors means. Blame me if it didn't
+come into my head once or twyst that he must be off his chump! (He
+crosses the room to the door, lifting up his voice as he goes.) Well,
+this is a pretty sort of asylum for a man to be in, with no one but you
+to take care of him!
+
+PROSERPINE (as he passes her). Yes, what a dreadful thing it would be
+if anything happened to YOU!
+
+BURGESS (loftily). Don't you address no remarks to me. Tell your
+hemployer that I've gone into the garden for a smoke.
+
+PROSERPINE (mocking). Oh!
+
+(Before Burgess can retort, Morell comes back.)
+
+BURGESS (sentimentally). Goin' for a turn in the garden to smoke, James.
+
+MORELL (brusquely). Oh, all right, all right. (Burgess goes out
+pathetically in the character of the weary old man. Morell stands at
+the table, turning over his papers, and adding, across to Proserpine,
+half humorously, half absently) Well, Miss Prossy, why have you been
+calling my father-in-law names?
+
+PROSERPINE (blushing fiery red, and looking quickly up at him, half
+scared, half reproachful). I-- (She bursts into tears.)
+
+MORELL (with tender gaiety, leaning across the table towards her, and
+consoling her). Oh, come, come, come! Never mind, Pross: he IS a silly
+old fathead, isn't he?
+
+(With an explosive sob, she makes a dash at the door, and vanishes,
+banging it. Morell, shaking his head resignedly, sighs, and goes
+wearily to his chair, where he sits down and sets to work, looking old
+and careworn.)
+
+(Candida comes in. She has finished her household work and taken of the
+apron. She at once notices his dejected appearance, and posts herself
+quietly at the spare chair, looking down at him attentively; but she
+says nothing.)
+
+MORELL (looking up, but with his pen raised ready to resume his work).
+Well? Where is Eugene?
+
+CANDIDA. Washing his hands in the scullery--under the tap. He will make
+an excellent cook if he can only get over his dread of Maria.
+
+MORELL (shortly). Ha! No doubt. (He begins writing again.)
+
+CANDIDA (going nearer, and putting her hand down softly on his to stop
+him, as she says). Come here, dear. Let me look at you. (He drops his
+pen and yields himself at her disposal. She makes him rise and brings
+him a little away from the table, looking at him critically all the
+time.) Turn your face to the light. (She places him facing the window.)
+My boy is not looking well. Has he been overworking?
+
+MORELL. Nothing more than usual.
+
+CANDIDA. He looks very pale, and grey, and wrinkled, and old. (His
+melancholy deepens; and she attacks it with wilful gaiety.) Here
+(pulling him towards the easy chair) you've done enough writing for
+to-day. Leave Prossy to finish it and come and talk to me.
+
+MORELL. But--
+
+CANDIDA. Yes, I MUST be talked to sometimes. (She makes him sit down,
+and seats herself on the carpet beside his knee.) Now (patting his
+hand) you're beginning to look better already. Why don't you give up
+all this tiresome overworking--going out every night lecturing and
+talking? Of course what you say is all very true and very right; but it
+does no good: they don't mind what you say to them one little bit. Of
+course they agree with you; but what's the use of people agreeing with
+you if they go and do just the opposite of what you tell them the
+moment your back is turned? Look at our congregation at St. Dominic's!
+Why do they come to hear you talking about Christianity every Sunday?
+Why, just because they've been so full of business and money-making for
+six days that they want to forget all about it and have a rest on the
+seventh, so that they can go back fresh and make money harder than
+ever! You positively help them at it instead of hindering them.
+
+MORELL (with energetic seriousness). You know very well, Candida, that
+I often blow them up soundly for that. But if there is nothing in their
+church-going but rest and diversion, why don't they try something more
+amusing--more self-indulgent? There must be some good in the fact that
+they prefer St. Dominic's to worse places on Sundays.
+
+CANDIDA. Oh, the worst places aren't open; and even if they were, they
+daren't be seen going to them. Besides, James, dear, you preach so
+splendidly that it's as good as a play for them. Why do you think the
+women are so enthusiastic?
+
+MORELL (shocked). Candida!
+
+CANDIDA. Oh, _I_ know. You silly boy: you think it's your Socialism and
+your religion; but if it was that, they'd do what you tell them instead
+of only coming to look at you. They all have Prossy's complaint.
+
+MORELL. Prossy's complaint! What do you mean, Candida?
+
+CANDIDA. Yes, Prossy, and all the other secretaries you ever had. Why
+does Prossy condescend to wash up the things, and to peel potatoes and
+abase herself in all manner of ways for six shillings a week less than
+she used to get in a city office? She's in love with you, James: that's
+the reason. They're all in love with you. And you are in love with
+preaching because you do it so beautifully. And you think it's all
+enthusiasm for the kingdom of Heaven on earth; and so do they. You dear
+silly!
+
+MORELL. Candida: what dreadful, what soul-destroying cynicism! Are you
+jesting? Or--can it be?--are you jealous?
+
+CANDIDA (with curious thoughtfulness). Yes, I feel a little jealous
+sometimes.
+
+MORELL (incredulously). What! Of Prossy?
+
+CANDIDA (laughing). No, no, no, no. Not jealous of anybody. Jealous for
+somebody else, who is not loved as he ought to be.
+
+MORELL. Me!
+
+CANDIDA. You! Why, you're spoiled with love and worship: you get far
+more than is good for you. No: I mean Eugene.
+
+MORELL (startled). Eugene!
+
+CANDIDA. It seems unfair that all the love should go to you, and none
+to him, although he needs it so much more than you do. (A convulsive
+movement shakes him in spite of himself.) What's the matter? Am I
+worrying you?
+
+MORELL (hastily). Not at all. (Looking at her with troubled intensity.)
+You know that I have perfect confidence in you, Candida.
+
+CANDIDA. You vain thing! Are you so sure of your irresistible
+attractions?
+
+MORELL. Candida: you are shocking me. I never thought of my
+attractions. I thought of your goodness--your purity. That is what I
+confide in.
+
+CANDIDA. What a nasty, uncomfortable thing to say to me! Oh, you ARE a
+clergyman, James--a thorough clergyman.
+
+MORELL (turning away from her, heart-stricken). So Eugene says.
+
+CANDIDA (with lively interest, leaning over to him with her arms on his
+knee). Eugene's always right. He's a wonderful boy: I have grown fonder
+and fonder of him all the time I was away. Do you know, James, that
+though he has not the least suspicion of it himself, he is ready to
+fall madly in love with me?
+
+MORELL (grimly). Oh, he has no suspicion of it himself, hasn't he?
+
+CANDIDA. Not a bit. (She takes her arms from his knee, and turns
+thoughtfully, sinking into a more restful attitude with her hands in
+her lap.) Some day he will know when he is grown up and experienced,
+like you. And he will know that I must have known. I wonder what he
+will think of me then.
+
+MORELL. No evil, Candida. I hope and trust, no evil.
+
+CANDIDA (dubiously). That will depend.
+
+MORELL (bewildered). Depend!
+
+CANDIDA (looking at him). Yes: it will depend on what happens to him.
+(He look vacantly at her.) Don't you see? It will depend on how he
+comes to learn what love really is. I mean on the sort of woman who
+will teach it to him.
+
+MORELL (quite at a loss). Yes. No. I don't know what you mean.
+
+CANDIDA (explaining). If he learns it from a good woman, then it will
+be all right: he will forgive me.
+
+MORELL. Forgive!
+
+CANDIDA. But suppose he learns it from a bad woman, as so many men do,
+especially poetic men, who imagine all women are angels! Suppose he
+only discovers the value of love when he has thrown it away and
+degraded himself in his ignorance. Will he forgive me then, do you
+think?
+
+MORELL. Forgive you for what?
+
+CANDIDA (realizing how stupid he is, and a little disappointed, though
+quite tenderly so). Don't you understand? (He shakes his head. She
+turns to him again, so as to explain with the fondest intimacy.) I
+mean, will he forgive me for not teaching him myself? For abandoning
+him to the bad women for the sake of my goodness--my purity, as you
+call it? Ah, James, how little you understand me, to talk of your
+confidence in my goodness and purity! I would give them both to poor
+Eugene as willingly as I would give my shawl to a beggar dying of cold,
+if there were nothing else to restrain me. Put your trust in my love
+for you, James, for if that went, I should care very little for your
+sermons--mere phrases that you cheat yourself and others with every
+day. (She is about to rise.)
+
+MORELL. HIS words!
+
+CANDIDA (checking herself quickly in the act of getting up, so that she
+is on her knees, but upright). Whose words?
+
+MORELL. Eugene's.
+
+CANDIDA (delighted). He is always right. He understands you; he
+understands me; he understands Prossy; and you, James--you understand
+nothing. (She laughs, and kisses him to console him. He recoils as if
+stung, and springs up.)
+
+MORELL. How can you bear to do that when--oh, Candida (with anguish in
+his voice) I had rather you had plunged a grappling iron into my heart
+than given me that kiss.
+
+CANDIDA (rising, alarmed). My dear: what's the matter?
+
+MORELL (frantically waving her off). Don't touch me.
+
+CANDIDA (amazed). James!
+
+(They are interrupted by the entrance of Marchbanks, with Burgess, who
+stops near the door, staring, whilst Eugene hurries forward between
+them.)
+
+MARCHBANKS. Is anything the matter?
+
+MORELL (deadly white, putting an iron constraint on himself). Nothing
+but this: that either you were right this morning, or Candida is mad.
+
+BURGESS (in loudest protest). Wot! Candy mad too! Oh, come, come, come!
+(He crosses the room to the fireplace, protesting as he goes, and
+knocks the ashes out of his pipe on the bars. Morell sits down
+desperately, leaning forward to hide his face, and interlacing his
+fingers rigidly to keep them steady.)
+
+CANDIDA (to Morell, relieved and laughing). Oh, you're only shocked! Is
+that all? How conventional all you unconventional people are!
+
+BURGESS. Come: be'ave yourself, Candy. What'll Mr. Morchbanks think of
+you?
+
+CANDIDA. This comes of James teaching me to think for myself, and never
+to hold back out of fear of what other people may think of me. It works
+beautifully as long as I think the same things as he does. But now,
+because I have just thought something different!--look at him--just
+look!
+
+(She points to Morell, greatly amused. Eugene looks, and instantly
+presses his band on his heart, as if some deadly pain had shot through
+it, and sits down on the sofa like a man witnessing a tragedy.)
+
+BURGESS (on the hearth-rug). Well, James, you certainly ain't as
+himpressive lookin' as usu'l.
+
+MORELL (with a laugh which is half a sob). I suppose not. I beg all
+your pardons: I was not conscious of making a fuss. (Pulling himself
+together.) Well, well, well, well, well! (He goes back to his place at
+the table, setting to work at his papers again with resolute
+cheerfulness.)
+
+CANDIDA (going to the sofa and sitting beside Marchbanks, still in a
+bantering humor). Well, Eugene, why are you so sad? Did the onions make
+you cry?
+
+(Morell cannot prevent himself from watching them.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (aside to her). It is your cruelty. I hate cruelty. It is a
+horrible thing to see one person make another suffer.
+
+CANDIDA (petting him ironically). Poor boy, have I been cruel? Did I
+make it slice nasty little red onions?
+
+MARCHBANKS (earnestly). Oh, stop, stop: I don't mean myself. You have
+made him suffer frightfully. I feel his pain in my own heart. I know
+that it is not your fault--it is something that must happen; but don't
+make light of it. I shudder when you torture him and laugh.
+
+CANDIDA (incredulously). I torture James! Nonsense, Eugene: how you
+exaggerate! Silly! (She looks round at Morell, who hastily resumes his
+writing. She goes to him and stands behind his chair, bending over
+him.) Don't work any more, dear. Come and talk to us.
+
+MORELL (affectionately but bitterly). Ah no: I can't talk. I can only
+preach.
+
+CANDIDA (caressing him). Well, come and preach.
+
+BURGESS (strongly remonstrating). Aw, no, Candy. 'Ang it all! (Lexy
+Mill comes in, looking anxious and important.)
+
+LEXY (hastening to shake hands with Candida). How do you do, Mrs.
+Morell? So glad to see you back again.
+
+CANDIDA. Thank you, Lexy. You know Eugene, don't you?
+
+LEXY. Oh, yes. How do you do, Marchbanks?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Quite well, thanks.
+
+LEXY (to Morell). I've just come from the Guild of St. Matthew. They
+are in the greatest consternation about your telegram. There's nothing
+wrong, is there?
+
+CANDIDA. What did you telegraph about, James?
+
+LEXY (to Candida). He was to have spoken for them tonight. They've
+taken the large hall in Mare Street and spent a lot of money on
+posters. Morell's telegram was to say he couldn't come. It came on them
+like a thunderbolt.
+
+CANDIDA (surprized, and beginning to suspect something wrong). Given up
+an engagement to speak!
+
+BURGESS. First time in his life, I'll bet. Ain' it, Candy?
+
+LEXY (to Morell). They decided to send an urgent telegram to you asking
+whether you could not change your mind. Have you received it?
+
+MORELL (with restrained impatience). Yes, yes: I got it.
+
+LEXY. It was reply paid.
+
+MORELL. Yes, I know. I answered it. I can't go.
+
+CANDIDA. But why, James?
+
+MORELL (almost fiercely). Because I don't choose. These people forget
+that I am a man: they think I am a talking machine to be turned on for
+their pleasure every evening of my life. May I not have ONE night at
+home, with my wife, and my friends?
+
+(They are all amazed at this outburst, except Eugene. His expression
+remains unchanged.)
+
+CANDIDA. Oh, James, you know you'll have an attack of bad conscience
+to-morrow; and _I_ shall have to suffer for that.
+
+LEXY (intimidated, but urgent). I know, of course, that they make the
+most unreasonable demands on you. But they have been telegraphing all
+over the place for another speaker: and they can get nobody but the
+President of the Agnostic League.
+
+MORELL (promptly). Well, an excellent man. What better do they want?
+
+LEXY. But he always insists so powerfully on the divorce of Socialism
+from Christianity. He will undo all the good we have been doing. Of
+course you know best; but--(He hesitates.)
+
+CANDIDA (coaxingly). Oh, DO go, James. We'll all go.
+
+BURGESS (grumbling). Look 'ere, Candy! I say! Let's stay at home by the
+fire, comfortable. He won't need to be more'n a couple-o'-hour away.
+
+CANDIDA. You'll be just as comfortable at the meeting. We'll all sit on
+the platform and be great people.
+
+EUGENE (terrified). Oh, please don't let us go on the platform.
+No--everyone will stare at us--I couldn't. I'll sit at the back of the
+room.
+
+CANDIDA. Don't be afraid. They'll be too busy looking at James to
+notice you.
+
+MORELL (turning his head and looking meaningly at her over his
+shoulder). Prossy's complaint, Candida! Eh?
+
+CANDIDA (gaily). Yes.
+
+BURGESS (mystified). Prossy's complaint. Wot are you talking about,
+James?
+
+MORELL (not heeding him, rises; goes to the door; and holds it open,
+shouting in a commanding voice). Miss Garnett.
+
+PROSERPINE (in the distance). Yes, Mr. Morell. Coming. (They all wait,
+except Burgess, who goes stealthily to Lexy and draws him aside.)
+
+BURGESS. Listen here, Mr. Mill. Wot's Prossy's complaint? Wot's wrong
+with 'er?
+
+LEXY (confidentially). Well, I don't exactly know; but she spoke very
+strangely to me this morning. I'm afraid she's a little out of her mind
+sometimes.
+
+BURGESS (overwhelmed). Why, it must be catchin'! Four in the same
+'ouse! (He goes back to the hearth, quite lost before the instability
+of the human intellect in a clergyman's house.)
+
+PROSERPINE (appearing on the threshold). What is it, Mr. Morell?
+
+MORELL. Telegraph to the Guild of St. Matthew that I am coming.
+
+PROSERPINE (surprised). Don't they expect you?
+
+MORELL (peremptorily). Do as I tell you.
+
+(Proserpine frightened, sits down at her typewriter, and obeys. Morell
+goes across to Burgess, Candida watching his movements all the time
+with growing wonder and misgiving.)
+
+MORELL. Burgess: you don't want to come?
+
+BURGESS (in deprecation). Oh, don't put it like that, James. It's only
+that it ain't Sunday, you know.
+
+MORELL. I'm sorry. I thought you might like to be introduced to the
+chairman. He's on the Works Committee of the County Council and has
+some influence in the matter of contracts. (Burgess wakes up at once.
+Morell, expecting as much, waits a moment, and says) Will you come?
+
+BURGESS (with enthusiasm). Course I'll come, James. Ain' it always a
+pleasure to 'ear you.
+
+MORELL (turning from him). I shall want you to take some notes at the
+meeting, Miss Garnett, if you have no other engagement. (She nods,
+afraid to speak.) You are coming, Lexy, I suppose.
+
+LEXY. Certainly.
+
+CANDIDA. We are all coming, James.
+
+MORELL. No: you are not coming; and Eugene is not coming. You will stay
+here and entertain him--to celebrate your return home. (Eugene rises,
+breathless.)
+
+CANDIDA. But James--
+
+MORELL (authoritatively). I insist. You do not want to come; and he
+does not want to come. (Candida is about to protest.) Oh, don't concern
+yourselves: I shall have plenty of people without you: your chairs will
+be wanted by unconverted people who have never heard me before.
+
+CANDIDA (troubled). Eugene: wouldn't you like to come?
+
+MORELL. I should be afraid to let myself go before Eugene: he is so
+critical of sermons. (Looking at him.) He knows I am afraid of him: he
+told me as much this morning. Well, I shall show him how much afraid I
+am by leaving him here in your custody, Candida.
+
+MARCHBANKS (to himself, with vivid feeling). That's brave. That's
+beautiful. (He sits down again listening with parted lips.)
+
+CANDIDA (with anxious misgiving). But--but--Is anything the matter,
+James? (Greatly troubled.) I can't understand--
+
+MORELL. Ah, I thought it was I who couldn't understand, dear. (He takes
+her tenderly in his arms and kisses her on the forehead; then looks
+round quietly at Marchbanks.)
+
+
+
+ACT III
+
+Late in the evening. Past ten. The curtains are drawn, and the lamps
+lighted. The typewriter is in its case; the large table has been
+cleared and tidied; everything indicates that the day's work is done.
+
+Candida and Marchbanks are seated at the fire. The reading lamp is on
+the mantelshelf above Marchbanks, who is sitting on the small chair
+reading aloud from a manuscript. A little pile of manuscripts and a
+couple of volumes of poetry are on the carpet beside him. Candida is in
+the easy chair with the poker, a light brass one, upright in her hand.
+She is leaning back and looking at the point of it curiously, with her
+feet stretched towards the blaze and her heels resting on the fender,
+profoundly unconscious of her appearance and surroundings.
+
+MARCHBANKS (breaking off in his recitation): Every poet that ever lived
+has put that thought into a sonnet. He must: he can't help it. (He
+looks to her for assent, and notices her absorption in the poker.)
+Haven't you been listening? (No response.) Mrs. Morell!
+
+CANDIDA (starting). Eh?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Haven't you been listening?
+
+CANDIDA (with a guilty excess of politeness). Oh, yes. It's very nice.
+Go on, Eugene. I'm longing to hear what happens to the angel.
+
+MARCHBANKS (crushed--the manuscript dropping from his hand to the
+floor). I beg your pardon for boring you.
+
+CANDIDA. But you are not boring me, I assure you. Please go on. Do,
+Eugene.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I finished the poem about the angel quarter of an hour ago.
+I've read you several things since.
+
+CANDIDA (remorsefully). I'm so sorry, Eugene. I think the poker must
+have fascinated me. (She puts it down.)
+
+MARCHBANKS. It made me horribly uneasy.
+
+CANDIDA. Why didn't you tell me? I'd have put it down at once.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I was afraid of making you uneasy, too. It looked as if it
+were a weapon. If I were a hero of old, I should have laid my drawn
+sword between us. If Morell had come in he would have thought you had
+taken up the poker because there was no sword between us.
+
+CANDIDA (wondering). What? (With a puzzled glance at him.) I can't
+quite follow that. Those sonnets of yours have perfectly addled me. Why
+should there be a sword between us?
+
+MARCHBANKS (evasively). Oh, never mind. (He stoops to pick up the
+manuscript.)
+
+CANDIDA. Put that down again, Eugene. There are limits to my appetite
+for poetry--even your poetry. You've been reading to me for more than
+two hours--ever since James went out. I want to talk.
+
+MARCHBANKS (rising, scared). No: I mustn't talk. (He looks round him in
+his lost way, and adds, suddenly) I think I'll go out and take a walk
+in the park. (Making for the door.)
+
+CANDIDA. Nonsense: it's shut long ago. Come and sit down on the
+hearth-rug, and talk moonshine as you usually do. I want to be amused.
+Don't you want to?
+
+MARCHBANKS (in half terror, half rapture). Yes.
+
+CANDIDA. Then come along. (She moves her chair back a little to make
+room. He hesitates; then timidly stretches himself on the hearth-rug,
+face upwards, and throws back his head across her knees, looking up at
+her.)
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, I've been so miserable all the evening, because I was
+doing right. Now I'm doing wrong; and I'm happy.
+
+CANDIDA (tenderly amused at him). Yes: I'm sure you feel a great grown
+up wicked deceiver--quite proud of yourself, aren't you?
+
+MARCHBANKS (raising his head quickly and turning a little to look round
+at her). Take care. I'm ever so much older than you, if you only knew.
+(He turns quite over on his knees, with his hands clasped and his arms
+on her lap, and speaks with growing impulse, his blood beginning to
+stir.) May I say some wicked things to you?
+
+CANDIDA (without the least fear or coldness, quite nobly, and with
+perfect respect for his passion, but with a touch of her wise-hearted
+maternal humor). No. But you may say anything you really and truly
+feel. Anything at all, no matter what it is. I am not afraid, so long
+as it is your real self that speaks, and not a mere attitude--a gallant
+attitude, or a wicked attitude, or even a poetic attitude. I put you on
+your honor and truth. Now say whatever you want to.
+
+MARCHBANKS (the eager expression vanishing utterly from his lips and
+nostrils as his eyes light up with pathetic spirituality). Oh, now I
+can't say anything: all the words I know belong to some attitude or
+other--all except one.
+
+CANDIDA. What one is that?
+
+MARCHBANKS (softly, losing himself in the music of the name). Candida,
+Candida, Candida, Candida, Candida. I must say that now, because you
+have put me on my honor and truth; and I never think or feel Mrs.
+Morell: it is always Candida.
+
+CANDIDA. Of course. And what have you to say to Candida?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Nothing, but to repeat your name a thousand times. Don't
+you feel that every time is a prayer to you?
+
+CANDIDA. Doesn't it make you happy to be able to pray?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Yes, very happy.
+
+CANDIDA. Well, that happiness is the answer to your prayer. Do you want
+anything more?
+
+MARCHBANKS (in beatitude). No: I have come into heaven, where want is
+unknown.
+
+(Morell comes in. He halts on the threshold, and takes in the scene at
+a glance.)
+
+MORELL (grave and self-contained). I hope I don't disturb you. (Candida
+starts up violently, but without the smallest embarrassment, laughing
+at herself. Eugene, still kneeling, saves himself from falling by
+putting his hands on the seat of the chair, and remains there, staring
+open mouthed at Morell.)
+
+CANDIDA (as she rises). Oh, James, how you startled me! I was so taken
+up with Eugene that I didn't hear your latch-key. How did the meeting
+go off? Did you speak well?
+
+MORELL. I have never spoken better in my life.
+
+CANDIDA. That was first rate! How much was the collection?
+
+MORELL. I forgot to ask.
+
+CANDIDA (to Eugene). He must have spoken splendidly, or he would never
+have forgotten that. (To Morell.) Where are all the others?
+
+MORELL. They left long before I could get away: I thought I should
+never escape. I believe they are having supper somewhere.
+
+CANDIDA (in her domestic business tone). Oh; in that case, Maria may go
+to bed. I'll tell her. (She goes out to the kitchen.)
+
+MORELL (looking sternly down at Marchbanks). Well?
+
+MARCHBANKS (squatting cross-legged on the hearth-rug, and actually at
+ease with Morell--even impishly humorous). Well?
+
+MORELL. Have you anything to tell me?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Only that I have been making a fool of myself here in
+private whilst you have been making a fool of yourself in public.
+
+MORELL. Hardly in the same way, I think.
+
+MARCHBANKS (scrambling up--eagerly). The very, very, VERY same way. I
+have been playing the good man just like you. When you began your
+heroics about leaving me here with Candida--
+
+MORELL (involuntarily). Candida?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, yes: I've got that far. Heroics are infectious: I
+caught the disease from you. I swore not to say a word in your absence
+that I would not have said a month ago in your presence.
+
+MORELL. Did you keep your oath?
+
+MARCHBANKS. (suddenly perching himself grotesquely on the easy chair).
+I was ass enough to keep it until about ten minutes ago. Up to that
+moment I went on desperately reading to her--reading my own
+poems--anybody's poems--to stave off a conversation. I was standing
+outside the gate of Heaven, and refusing to go in. Oh, you can't think
+how heroic it was, and how uncomfortable! Then--
+
+MORELL (steadily controlling his suspense). Then?
+
+MARCHBANKS (prosaically slipping down into a quite ordinary attitude in
+the chair). Then she couldn't bear being read to any longer.
+
+MORELL. And you approached the gate of Heaven at last?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Yes.
+
+MORELL. Well? (Fiercely.) Speak, man: have you no feeling for me?
+
+MARCHBANKS (softly and musically). Then she became an angel; and there
+was a flaming sword that turned every way, so that I couldn't go in;
+for I saw that that gate was really the gate of Hell.
+
+MORELL (triumphantly). She repulsed you!
+
+MARCHBANKS (rising in wild scorn). No, you fool: if she had done that I
+should never have seen that I was in Heaven already. Repulsed me! You
+think that would have saved me--virtuous indignation! Oh, you are not
+worthy to live in the same world with her. (He turns away
+contemptuously to the other side of the room.)
+
+MORELL (who has watched him quietly without changing his place). Do you
+think you make yourself more worthy by reviling me, Eugene?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Here endeth the thousand and first lesson. Morell: I don't
+think much of your preaching after all: I believe I could do it better
+myself. The man I want to meet is the man that Candida married.
+
+MORELL. The man that--? Do you mean me?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I don't mean the Reverend James Mavor Morell, moralist and
+windbag. I mean the real man that the Reverend James must have hidden
+somewhere inside his black coat--the man that Candida loved. You can't
+make a woman like Candida love you by merely buttoning your collar at
+the back instead of in front.
+
+MORELL (boldly and steadily). When Candida promised to marry me, I was
+the same moralist and windbag that you now see. I wore my black coat;
+and my collar was buttoned behind instead of in front. Do you think she
+would have loved me any the better for being insincere in my profession?
+
+MARCHBANKS (on the sofa hugging his ankles). Oh, she forgave you, just
+as she forgives me for being a coward, and a weakling, and what you
+call a snivelling little whelp and all the rest of it. (Dreamily.) A
+woman like that has divine insight: she loves our souls, and not our
+follies and vanities and illusions, or our collars and coats, or any
+other of the rags and tatters we are rolled up in. (He reflects on this
+for an instant; then turns intently to question Morell.) What I want to
+know is how you got past the flaming sword that stopped me.
+
+MORELL (meaningly). Perhaps because I was not interrupted at the end of
+ten minutes.
+
+MARCHBANKS (taken aback). What!
+
+MORELL. Man can climb to the highest summits; but he cannot dwell there
+long.
+
+MARCHBANKS. It's false: there can he dwell for ever and there only.
+It's in the other moments that he can find no rest, no sense of the
+silent glory of life. Where would you have me spend my moments, if not
+on the summits?
+
+MORELL. In the scullery, slicing onions and filling lamps.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Or in the pulpit, scrubbing cheap earthenware souls?
+
+MORELL. Yes, that, too. It was there that I earned my golden moment,
+and the right, in that moment, to ask her to love me. I did not take
+the moment on credit; nor did I use it to steal another man's happiness.
+
+MARCHBANKS (rather disgustedly, trotting back towards the fireplace). I
+have no doubt you conducted the transaction as honestly as if you were
+buying a pound of cheese. (He stops on the brink of the hearth-rug and
+adds, thoughtfully, to himself, with his back turned to Morell) I could
+only go to her as a beggar.
+
+MORELL (starting). A beggar dying of cold--asking for her shawl?
+
+MARCHBANKS (turning, surprised). Thank you for touching up my poetry.
+Yes, if you like, a beggar dying of cold asking for her shawl.
+
+MORELL (excitedly). And she refused. Shall I tell you why she refused?
+I CAN tell you, on her own authority. It was because of--
+
+MARCHBANKS. She didn't refuse.
+
+MORELL. Not!
+
+MARCHBANKS. She offered me all I chose to ask for, her shawl, her
+wings, the wreath of stars on her head, the lilies in her hand, the
+crescent moon beneath her feet--
+
+MORELL (seizing him). Out with the truth, man: my wife is my wife: I
+want no more of your poetic fripperies. I know well that if I have lost
+her love and you have gained it, no law will bind her.
+
+MARCHBANKS (quaintly, without fear or resistance). Catch me by the
+shirt collar, Morell: she will arrange it for me afterwards as she did
+this morning. (With quiet rapture.) I shall feel her hands touch me.
+
+MORELL. You young imp, do you know how dangerous it is to say that to
+me? Or (with a sudden misgiving) has something made you brave?
+
+MARCHBANKS. I'm not afraid now. I disliked you before: that was why I
+shrank from your touch. But I saw to-day--when she tortured you--that
+you love her. Since then I have been your friend: you may strangle me
+if you like.
+
+MORELL (releasing him). Eugene: if that is not a heartless lie--if you
+have a spark of human feeling left in you--will you tell me what has
+happened during my absence?
+
+MARCHBANKS. What happened! Why, the flaming sword--(Morell stamps with
+impatience.) Well, in plain prose, I loved her so exquisitely that I
+wanted nothing more than the happiness of being in such love. And
+before I had time to come down from the highest summits, you came in.
+
+MORELL (suffering deeply). So it is still unsettled--still the misery
+of doubt.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Misery! I am the happiest of men. I desire nothing now but
+her happiness. (With dreamy enthusiasm.) Oh, Morell, let us both give
+her up. Why should she have to choose between a wretched little nervous
+disease like me, and a pig-headed parson like you? Let us go on a
+pilgrimage, you to the east and I to the west, in search of a worthy
+lover for her--some beautiful archangel with purple wings--
+
+MORELL. Some fiddlestick. Oh, if she is mad enough to leave me for you,
+who will protect her? Who will help her? who will work for her? who
+will be a father to her children? (He sits down distractedly on the
+sofa, with his elbows on his knees and his head propped on his clenched
+fists.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (snapping his fingers wildly). She does not ask those silly
+questions. It is she who wants somebody to protect, to help, to work
+for--somebody to give her children to protect, to help and to work for.
+Some grown up man who has become as a little child again. Oh, you fool,
+you fool, you triple fool! I am the man, Morell: I am the man. (He
+dances about excitedly, crying.) You don't understand what a woman is.
+Send for her, Morell: send for her and let her choose between--(The
+door opens and Candida enters. He stops as if petrified.)
+
+CANDIDA (amazed, on the threshold). What on earth are you at, Eugene?
+
+MARCHBANKS (oddly). James and I are having a preaching match; and he is
+getting the worst of it. (Candida looks quickly round at Morell. Seeing
+that he is distressed, she hurries down to him, greatly vexed, speaking
+with vigorous reproach to Marchbanks.)
+
+CANDIDA. You have been annoying him. Now I won't have it, Eugene: do
+you hear? (Putting her hand on Morell's shoulder, and quite forgetting
+her wifely tact in her annoyance.) My boy shall not be worried: I will
+protect him.
+
+MORELL (rising proudly). Protect!
+
+CANDIDA (not heeding him--to Eugene). What have you been saying?
+
+MARCHBANKS (appalled). Nothing--
+
+CANDIDA. Eugene! Nothing?
+
+MARCHBANKS (piteously). I mean--I--I'm very sorry. I won't do it again:
+indeed I won't. I'll let him alone.
+
+MORELL (indignantly, with an aggressive movement towards Eugene). Let
+me alone! You young--
+
+CANDIDA (Stopping him). Sh--no, let me deal with him, James.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, you're not angry with me, are you?
+
+CANDIDA (severely). Yes, I am--very angry. I have a great mind to pack
+you out of the house.
+
+MORELL (taken aback by Candida's vigor, and by no means relishing the
+sense of being rescued by her from another man). Gently, Candida,
+gently. I am able to take care of myself.
+
+CANDIDA (petting him). Yes, dear: of course you are. But you mustn't be
+annoyed and made miserable.
+
+MARCHBANKS (almost in tears, turning to the door). I'll go.
+
+CANDIDA. Oh, you needn't go: I can't turn you out at this time of
+night. (Vehemently.) Shame on you! For shame!
+
+MARCHBANKS (desperately). But what have I done?
+
+CANDIDA. I know what you have done--as well as if I had been here all
+the time. Oh, it was unworthy! You are like a child: you cannot hold
+your tongue.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I would die ten times over sooner than give you a moment's
+pain.
+
+CANDIDA (with infinite contempt for this puerility). Much good your
+dying would do me!
+
+MORELL. Candida, my dear: this altercation is hardly quite seemingly.
+It is a matter between two men; and I am the right person to settle it.
+
+CANDIDA. Two MEN! Do you call that a man? (To Eugene.) You bad boy!
+
+MARCHBANKS (gathering a whimsically affectionate courage from the
+scolding). If I am to be scolded like this, I must make a boy's excuse.
+He began it. And he's bigger than I am.
+
+CANDIDA (losing confidence a little as her concern for Morell's dignity
+takes the alarm). That can't be true. (To Morell.) You didn't begin it,
+James, did you?
+
+MORELL (contemptuously). No.
+
+MARCHBANKS (indignant). Oh!
+
+MORELL (to Eugene). YOU began it--this morning. (Candida, instantly
+connecting this with his mysterious allusion in the afternoon to
+something told him by Eugene in the morning, looks quickly at him,
+wrestling with the enigma. Morell proceeds with the emphasis of
+offended superiority.) But your other point is true. I am certainly the
+bigger of the two, and, I hope, the stronger, Candida. So you had
+better leave the matter in my hands.
+
+CANDIDA (again soothing him). Yes, dear; but--(Troubled.) I don't
+understand about this morning.
+
+MORELL (gently snubbing her). You need not understand, my dear.
+
+CANDIDA. But, James, I--(The street bell rings.) Oh, bother! Here they
+all come. (She goes out to let them in.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (running to Morell ). Oh, Morell, isn't it dreadful? She's
+angry with us: she hates me. What shall I do?
+
+MORELL (with quaint desperation, clutching himself by the hair).
+Eugene: my head is spinning round. I shall begin to laugh presently.
+(He walks up and down the middle of the room.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (following him anxiously). No, no: she'll think I've thrown
+you into hysterics. Don't laugh. (Boisterous voices and laughter are
+heard approaching. Lexy Mill, his eyes sparkling, and his bearing
+denoting unwonted elevation of spirit, enters with Burgess, who is
+greasy and self-complacent, but has all his wits about him. Miss
+Garnett, with her smartest hat and jacket on, follows them; but though
+her eyes are brighter than before, she is evidently a prey to
+misgiving. She places herself with her back to her typewriting table,
+with one hand on it to rest herself, passes the other across her
+forehead as if she were a little tired and giddy. Marchbanks relapses
+into shyness and edges away into the corner near the window, where
+Morell's books are.)
+
+MILL (exhilaratedly). Morell: I MUST congratulate you. (Grasping his
+hand.) What a noble, splendid, inspired address you gave us! You
+surpassed yourself.
+
+BURGESS. So you did, James. It fair kep' me awake to the last word.
+Didn't it, Miss Garnett?
+
+PROSERPINE (worriedly). Oh, I wasn't minding you: I was trying to make
+notes. (She takes out her note-book, and looks at her stenography,
+which nearly makes her cry.)
+
+MORELL. Did I go too fast, Pross?
+
+PROSERPINE. Much too fast. You know I can't do more than a hundred
+words a minute. (She relieves her feelings by throwing her note-book
+angrily beside her machine, ready for use next morning.)
+
+MORELL (soothingly). Oh, well, well, never mind, never mind, never
+mind. Have you all had supper?
+
+LEXY. Mr. Burgess has been kind enough to give us a really splendid
+supper at the Belgrave.
+
+BURGESS (with effusive magnanimity). Don't mention it, Mr. Mill.
+(Modestly.) You're 'arty welcome to my little treat.
+
+PROSERPINE. We had champagne! I never tasted it before. I feel quite
+giddy.
+
+MORELL (surprised). A champagne supper! That was very handsome. Was it
+my eloquence that produced all this extravagance?
+
+MILL (rhetorically). Your eloquence, and Mr. Burgess's goodness of
+heart. (With a fresh burst of exhilaration.) And what a very fine
+fellow the chairman is, Morell! He came to supper with us.
+
+MORELL (with long drawn significance, looking at Burgess). O-o-o-h, the
+chairman. NOW I understand.
+
+(Burgess, covering a lively satisfaction in his diplomatic cunning with
+a deprecatory cough, retires to the hearth. Lexy folds his arms and
+leans against the cellaret in a high-spirited attitude. Candida comes
+in with glasses, lemons, and a jug of hot water on a tray.)
+
+CANDIDA. Who will have some lemonade? You know our rules: total
+abstinence. (She puts the tray on the table, and takes up the lemon
+squeezers, looking enquiringly round at them.)
+
+MORELL. No use, dear. They've all had champagne. Pross has broken her
+pledge.
+
+CANDIDA (to Proserpine). You don't mean to say you've been drinking
+champagne!
+
+PROSERPINE (stubbornly). Yes, I do. I'm only a beer teetotaller, not a
+champagne teetotaller. I don't like beer. Are there any letters for me
+to answer, Mr. Morell?
+
+MORELL. No more to-night.
+
+PROSERPINE. Very well. Good-night, everybody.
+
+LEXY (gallantly). Had I not better see you home, Miss Garnett?
+
+PROSERPINE. No, thank you. I shan't trust myself with anybody to-night.
+I wish I hadn't taken any of that stuff. (She walks straight out.)
+
+BURGESS (indignantly). Stuff, indeed! That gurl dunno wot champagne is!
+Pommery and Greeno at twelve and six a bottle. She took two glasses
+a'most straight hoff.
+
+MORELL (a little anxious about her). Go and look after her, Lexy.
+
+LEXY (alarmed). But if she should really be--Suppose she began to sing
+in the street, or anything of that sort.
+
+MORELL. Just so: she may. That's why you'd better see her safely home.
+
+CANDIDA. Do, Lexy: there's a good fellow. (She shakes his hand and
+pushes him gently to the door.)
+
+LEXY. It's evidently my duty to go. I hope it may not be necessary.
+Good-night, Mrs. Morell. (To the rest.) Good-night. (He goes. Candida
+shuts the door.)
+
+BURGESS. He was gushin' with hextra piety hisself arter two sips.
+People carn't drink like they huseter. (Dismissing the subject and
+bustling away from the hearth.) Well, James: it's time to lock up. Mr.
+Morchbanks: shall I 'ave the pleasure of your company for a bit of the
+way home?
+
+MARCHBANKS (affrightedly). Yes: I'd better go. .(He hurries across to
+the door; but Candida places herself before it, barring his way.)
+
+CANDIDA (with quiet authority). You sit down. You're not going yet.
+
+MARCHBANKS (quailing). No: I--I didn't mean to. (He comes back into the
+room and sits down abjectly on the sofa.)
+
+CANDIDA. Mr. Marchbanks will stay the night with us, papa.
+
+BURGESS. Oh, well, I'll say good-night. So long, James. (He shakes
+hands with Morell and goes on to Eugene.) Make 'em give you a night
+light by your bed, Mr. Morchbanks: it'll comfort you if you wake up in
+the night with a touch of that complaint of yores. Good-night.
+
+MARCHBANKS. Thank you: I will. Good-night, Mr. Burgess. (They shake
+hands and Burgess goes to the door.)
+
+CANDIDA (intercepting Morell, who is following Burgess). Stay here,
+dear: I'll put on papa's coat for him. (She goes out with Burgess.)
+
+MARCHBANKS. Morell: there's going to be a terrible scene. Aren't you
+afraid?
+
+MORELL. Not in the least.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I never envied you your courage before. (He rises timidly
+and puts his hand appealingly on Morell's forearm.) Stand by me, won't
+you?
+
+MORELL (casting him off gently, but resolutely). Each for himself,
+Eugene. She must choose between us now. (He goes to the other side of
+the room as Candida returns. Eugene sits down again on the sofa like a
+guilty schoolboy on his best behaviour.)
+
+CANDIDA (between them, addressing Eugene). Are you sorry?
+
+MARCHBANKS (earnestly). Yes, heartbroken.
+
+CANDIDA. Well, then, you are forgiven. Now go off to bed like a good
+little boy: I want to talk to James about you.
+
+MARCHBANKS (rising in great consternation). Oh, I can't do that,
+Morell. I must be here. I'll not go away. Tell her.
+
+CANDIDA (with quick suspicion). Tell me what? (His eyes avoid hers
+furtively. She turns and mutely transfers the question to Morell.)
+
+MORELL (bracing himself for the catastrophe). I have nothing to tell
+her, except (here his voice deepens to a measured and mournful
+tenderness) that she is my greatest treasure on earth--if she is really
+mine.
+
+CANDIDA (coldly, offended by his yielding to his orator's instinct and
+treating her as if she were the audience at the Guild of St. Matthew).
+I am sure Eugene can say no less, if that is all.
+
+MARCHBANKS (discouraged). Morell: she's laughing at us.
+
+MORELL (with a quick touch of temper). There is nothing to laugh at.
+Are you laughing at us, Candida?
+
+CANDIDA (with quiet anger). Eugene is very quick-witted, James. I hope
+I am going to laugh; but I am not sure that I am not going to be very
+angry. (She goes to the fireplace, and stands there leaning with her
+arm on the mantelpiece and her foot on the fender, whilst Eugene steals
+to Morell and plucks him by the sleeve.)
+
+MARCHBANKS (whispering). Stop Morell. Don't let us say anything.
+
+MORELL (pushing Eugene away without deigning to look at him). I hope
+you don't mean that as a threat, Candida.
+
+CANDIDA (with emphatic warning). Take care, James. Eugene: I asked you
+to go. Are you going?
+
+MORELL (putting his foot down). He shall not go. I wish him to remain.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I'll go. I'll do whatever you want. (He turns to the door.)
+
+CANDIDA. Stop! (He obeys.) Didn't you hear James say he wished you to
+stay? James is master here. Don't you know that?
+
+MARCHBANKS (flushing with a young poet's rage against tyranny). By what
+right is he master?
+
+CANDIDA (quietly). Tell him, James.
+
+MORELL (taken aback). My dear: I don't know of any right that makes me
+master. I assert no such right.
+
+CANDIDA (with infinite reproach). You don't know! Oh, James, James! (To
+Eugene, musingly.) I wonder do you understand, Eugene! No: you're too
+young. Well, I give you leave to stay--to stay and learn. (She comes
+away from the hearth and places herself between them.) Now, James:
+what's the matter? Come: tell me.
+
+MARCHBANKS (whispering tremulously across to him). Don't.
+
+CANDIDA. Come. Out with it!
+
+MORELL (slowly). I meant to prepare your mind carefully, Candida, so as
+to prevent misunderstanding.
+
+CANDIDA. Yes, dear: I am sure you did. But never mind: I shan't
+misunderstand.
+
+MORELL. Well--er--(He hesitates, unable to find the long explanation
+which he supposed to be available.)
+
+CANDIDA. Well?
+
+MORELL (baldly). Eugene declares that you are in love with him.
+
+MARCHBANKS (frantically). No, no, no, no, never. I did not, Mrs.
+Morell: it's not true. I said I loved you, and that he didn't. I said
+that I understood you, and that he couldn't. And it was not after what
+passed there before the fire that I spoke: it was not, on my word. It
+was this morning.
+
+CANDIDA (enlightened). This morning!
+
+MARCHBANKS. Yes. (He looks at her, pleading for credence, and then
+adds, simply) That was what was the matter with my collar.
+
+CANDIDA (after a pause; for she does not take in his meaning at once).
+His collar! (She turns to Morell, shocked.) Oh, James: did you--(she
+stops)?
+
+MORELL (ashamed). You know, Candida, that I have a temper to struggle
+with. And he said (shuddering) that you despised me in your heart.
+
+CANDIDA (turning quickly on Eugene). Did you say that?
+
+MARCHBANKS (terrified). No!
+
+CANDIDA (severely). Then James has just told me a falsehood. Is that
+what you mean?
+
+MARCHBANKS. No, no: I--I-- (blurting out the explanation desperately)
+--it was David's wife. And it wasn't at home: it was when she saw him
+dancing before all the people.
+
+MORELL (taking the cue with a debater's adroitness). Dancing before all
+the people, Candida; and thinking he was moving their hearts by his
+mission when they were only suffering from--Prossy's complaint. (She is
+about to protest: he raises his hand to silence her, exclaiming) Don't
+try to look indignant, Candida:--
+
+CANDIDA (interjecting). Try!
+
+MORELL (continuing). Eugene was right. As you told me a few hours
+after, he is always right. He said nothing that you did not say far
+better yourself. He is the poet, who sees everything; and I am the poor
+parson, who understands nothing.
+
+CANDIDA (remorsefully). Do you mind what is said by a foolish boy,
+because I said something like it again in jest?
+
+MORELL. That foolish boy can speak with the inspiration of a child and
+the cunning of a serpent. He has claimed that you belong to him and not
+to me; and, rightly or wrongly, I have come to fear that it may be
+true. I will not go about tortured with doubts and suspicions. I will
+not live with you and keep a secret from you. I will not suffer the
+intolerable degradation of jealousy. We have agreed--he and I--that you
+shall choose between us now. I await your decision.
+
+CANDIDA (slowly recoiling a step, her heart hardened by his rhetoric in
+spite of the sincere feeling behind it). Oh! I am to choose, am I? I
+suppose it is quite settled that I must belong to one or the other.
+
+MORELL (firmly). Quite. You must choose definitely.
+
+MARCHBANKS (anxiously). Morell: you don't understand. She means that
+she belongs to herself.
+
+CANDIDA (turning on him). I mean that and a good deal more, Master
+Eugene, as you will both find out presently. And pray, my lords and
+masters, what have you to offer for my choice? I am up for auction, it
+seems. What do you bid, James?
+
+MORELL (reproachfully). Cand-- (He breaks down: his eyes and throat
+fill with tears: the orator becomes the wounded animal.) I can't speak--
+
+CANDIDA (impulsively going to him). Ah, dearest--
+
+MARCHBANKS (in wild alarm). Stop: it's not fair. You mustn't show her
+that you suffer, Morell. I am on the rack, too; but I am not crying.
+
+MORELL (rallying all his forces). Yes: you are right. It is not for
+pity that I am bidding. (He disengages himself from Candida.)
+
+CANDIDA (retreating, chilled). I beg your pardon, James; I did not mean
+to touch you. I am waiting to hear your bid.
+
+MORELL (with proud humility). I have nothing to offer you but my
+strength for your defence, my honesty of purpose for your surety, my
+ability and industry for your livelihood, and my authority and position
+for your dignity. That is all it becomes a man to offer to a woman.
+
+CANDIDA (quite quietly). And you, Eugene? What do you offer?
+
+MARCHBANKS. My weakness! my desolation! my heart's need!
+
+CANDIDA (impressed). That's a good bid, Eugene. Now I know how to make
+my choice.
+
+She pauses and looks curiously from one to the other, as if weighing
+them. Morell, whose lofty confidence has changed into heartbreaking
+dread at Eugene's bid, loses all power of concealing his anxiety.
+Eugene, strung to the highest tension, does not move a muscle.
+
+MORELL (in a suffocated voice--the appeal bursting from the depths of
+his anguish). Candida!
+
+MARCHBANKS (aside, in a flash of contempt). Coward!
+
+CANDIDA (significantly). I give myself to the weaker of the two.
+
+Eugene divines her meaning at once: his face whitens like steel in a
+furnace that cannot melt it.
+
+MORELL (bowing his head with the calm of collapse). I accept your
+sentence, Candida.
+
+CANDIDA. Do you understand, Eugene?
+
+MARCHBANKS. Oh, I feel I'm lost. He cannot bear the burden.
+
+MORELL (incredulously, raising his bead with prosaic abruptness). Do
+you mean, me, Candida?
+
+CANDIDA (smiling a little). Let us sit and talk comfortably over it
+like three friends. (To Morell.) Sit down, dear. (Morell takes the
+chair from the fireside--the children's chair.) Bring me that chair,
+Eugene. (She indicates the easy chair. He fetches it silently, even
+with something like cold strength, and places it next Morell, a little
+behind him. She sits down. He goes to the sofa and sits there, still
+silent and inscrutable. When they are all settled she begins, throwing
+a spell of quietness on them by her calm, sane, tender tone.) You
+remember what you told me about yourself, Eugene: how nobody has cared
+for you since your old nurse died: how those clever, fashionable
+sisters and successful brothers of yours were your mother's and
+father's pets: how miserable you were at Eton: how your father is
+trying to starve you into returning to Oxford: how you have had to live
+without comfort or welcome or refuge, always lonely, and nearly always
+disliked and misunderstood, poor boy!
+
+MARCHBANKS (faithful to the nobility of his lot). I had my books. I had
+Nature. And at last I met you.
+
+CANDIDA. Never mind that just at present. Now I want you to look at
+this other boy here--MY boy--spoiled from his cradle. We go once a
+fortnight to see his parents. You should come with us, Eugene, and see
+the pictures of the hero of that household. James as a baby! the most
+wonderful of all babies. James holding his first school prize, won at
+the ripe age of eight! James as the captain of his eleven! James in his
+first frock coat! James under all sorts of glorious circumstances! You
+know how strong he is (I hope he didn't hurt you)--how clever he
+is--how happy! (With deepening gravity.) Ask James's mother and his
+three sisters what it cost to save James the trouble of doing anything
+but be strong and clever and happy. Ask ME what it costs to be James's
+mother and three sisters and wife and mother to his children all in
+one. Ask Prossy and Maria how troublesome the house is even when we
+have no visitors to help us to slice the onions. Ask the tradesmen who
+want to worry James and spoil his beautiful sermons who it is that puts
+them off. When there is money to give, he gives it: when there is money
+to refuse, I refuse it. I build a castle of comfort and indulgence and
+love for him, and stand sentinel always to keep little vulgar cares
+out. I make him master here, though he does not know it, and could not
+tell you a moment ago how it came to be so. (With sweet irony.) And
+when he thought I might go away with you, his only anxiety was what
+should become of ME! And to tempt me to stay he offered me (leaning
+forward to stroke his hair caressingly at each phrase) his strength for
+MY defence, his industry for my livelihood, his position for my
+dignity, his-- (Relenting.) Ah, I am mixing up your beautiful sentences
+and spoiling them, am I not, darling? (She lays her cheek fondly
+against his.)
+
+MORELL (quite overcome, kneeling beside her chair and embracing her
+with boyish ingenuousness). It's all true, every word. What I am you
+have made me with the labor of your hands and the love of your heart!
+You are my wife, my mother, my sisters: you are the sum of all loving
+care to me.
+
+CANDIDA (in his arms, smiling, to Eugene). Am I YOUR mother and sisters
+to you, Eugene?
+
+MARCHBANKS (rising with a fierce gesture of disgust). Ah, never. Out,
+then, into the night with me!
+
+CANDIDA (rising quickly and intercepting him). You are not going like
+that, Eugene?
+
+MARCHBANKS (with the ring of a man's voice--no longer a boy's--in the
+words). I know the hour when it strikes. I am impatient to do what must
+be done.
+
+MORELL (rising from his knee, alarmed). Candida: don't let him do
+anything rash.
+
+CANDIDA (confident, smiling at Eugene). Oh, there is no fear. He has
+learnt to live without happiness.
+
+MARCHBANKS. I no longer desire happiness: life is nobler than that.
+Parson James: I give you my happiness with both hands: I love you
+because you have filled the heart of the woman I loved. Good-bye. (He
+goes towards the door.)
+
+CANDIDA. One last word. (He stops, but without turning to her.) How old
+are you, Eugene?
+
+MARCHBANKS. As old as the world now. This morning I was eighteen.
+
+CANDIDA (going to him, and standing behind him with one hand
+caressingly on his shoulder). Eighteen! Will you, for my sake, make a
+little poem out of the two sentences I am going to say to you? And will
+you promise to repeat it to yourself whenever you think of me?
+
+MARCHBANKS (without moving). Say the sentences.
+
+CANDIDA. When I am thirty, she will be forty-five. When I am sixty, she
+will be seventy-five.
+
+MARCHBANKS (turning to her). In a hundred years, we shall be the same
+age. But I have a better secret than that in my heart. Let me go now.
+The night outside grows impatient.
+
+CANDIDA. Good-bye. (She takes his face in her hands; and as he divines
+her intention and bends his knee, she kisses his forehead. Then he
+flies out into the night. She turns to Morell, holding out her arms to
+him.) Ah, James! (They embrace. But they do not know the secret in the
+poet's heart.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Candida, by George Bernard Shaw
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