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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4023-h.zip b/4023-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..39a551d --- /dev/null +++ b/4023-h.zip diff --git a/4023-h/4023-h.htm b/4023-h/4023-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..759c4d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/4023-h/4023-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4946 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Candida, by George Bernard Shaw +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.stage {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.dialog {text-indent: -5%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDIDA *** + + + + +Produced by Eve Sobol. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +CANDIDA +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +BERNARD SHAW +</H2> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +1898 +</H4> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#act1">ACT I</A><BR> +<A HREF="#act2">ACT II</A><BR> +<A HREF="#act3">ACT III</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="act1"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACT I +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Another lecture? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Communist Anarchists, I think. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (taking up the diary). Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Have I any lecture on for next Monday? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (referring to diary). Tower Hamlets Radical Club. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Well, Thursday then? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. English Land Restoration League. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. What next? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (amused). Ah; but you see they're near relatives of mine, Miss +Garnett. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (staring at him). Relatives of YOURS! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Yes: we have the same father—in Heaven. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (relieved). Oh, is that all? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (referring to diary). Engaged—the Fabian Society. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Bother the Fabian Society! Is the 28th gone too? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. City dinner. You're invited to dine with the Founder's +Company. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. I'm afraid so. I wish I could get up in the morning. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (exulting in his own energy). Ha! ha! (Whimsically.) Watch and +pray, Lexy: watch and pray. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (sharply). Miss Garnett, if you please. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. I beg your pardon—Miss Garnett. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. You've got to do all the work to-day. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. Why? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (perplexed). Is she in earnest, Morell? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (in the highest spirits—his eyes dancing). Yes. <I>I</I> am going to +dawdle to-day. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. You! You don't know how. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (surprised). Coming back already—with the children? I thought +they were to stay to the end of the month. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (anxiously). But, my dear Morell, if what Jimmy and Fluffy had was +scarlatina, do you think it wise— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (smiling uneasily). It's so hard to understand you about Mrs. +Morell— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (surprised and not pleased). Mr. Burgess? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (earnestly). No, sir, really. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (shocked). Oh, Miss Prossy! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Thank you. That's very nice and comforting. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (saddened by her depravity). I had no idea you had any feeling +against Mrs. Morell. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (stung). I try to follow his example, not to imitate him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (stopping on the threshold, and looking round). They told me +Mr. Morell was here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (rising). He's upstairs. I'll fetch him for you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (staring boorishly at her). You're not the same young lady as +used to typewrite for him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. No. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (folding his paper and pocketing it). Yes: I must be off presently. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (momentously). Don't let me detain you, Mr. Mill. What I come +about is private between me and Mr. Morell. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (huffily). I have no intention of intruding, I am sure, Mr. +Burgess. Good morning. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (patronizingly). Oh, good morning to you. (Morell returns as +Lexy is making for the door.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (to Lexy). Off to work? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. Yes, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (patting him affectionately on the shoulder). Take my silk +handkerchief and wrap your throat up. There's a cold wind. Away with +you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(Lexy brightens up, and goes out.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (without moving). Just the same as hever, James! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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?" +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (starting up). Confound your impudence! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (retreating, with almost lachrymose deprecation of this +treatment). Is that becomin' language for a clergyman, James?—and you +so partic'lar, too? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Easy, James, easy, easy. Don't git hinto a fluster about +nothink. I've howned I was wrong. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (fuming about). Have you? I didn't hear you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Of course I did. I hown it now. Come: I harsk your pardon for +the letter I wrote you. Is that enough? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (snapping his fingers). That's nothing. Have you raised the +wages? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (triumphantly). Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (stopping dead). What! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (dropping his hand, utterly discouraged). So that was why you +raised the wages! (He sits down moodily.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (obstinately). Yes, I ham—just family sentiment and nothink +else. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (with weary calm). I don't believe you! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (rising threateningly). Don't say that to me again, James Mavor +Morell. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. I do, James. I do—honest. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Then why don't you behave as you did then? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (cautiously removing his hand). 'Ow d'y'mean? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. I'll tell you. You thought me a young fool then. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (coaxingly). No, I didn't, James. I— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (cutting him short). Yes, you did. And I thought you an old +scoundrel. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (most vehemently deprecating this gross self-accusation on +Morell's part). No, you didn't, James. Now you do yourself a hinjustice. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (delighted ). Aha! You're finding that out at last, are you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +A WOMAN'S VOICE. Say yes, James. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (stopping him and disengaging herself ). There, there, there. I +wasn't alone. Eugene came down yesterday; and we traveled up together. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (pleased). Eugene! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Guess again. Eugene isn't a cab tout. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Then wot is he? (Sarcastically.) A nobleman, I 'spose. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (delighted—nodding). Yes. His uncle's a peer—a real live earl. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (not daring to believe such good news). No! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +As he catches sight of a stranger on entering, he stops, and edges +along the wall on the opposite side of the room. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (nervously backing against the bookcase). Glad to meet you, +sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Foolish ideas! Oh, you mean Socialism. No. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Which way is that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Victawriar Pork station. There's a city train at 12.25. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Nonsense. Eugene will stay to lunch with us, I expect. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (anxiously excusing himself). No—I—I— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Thank you, Mr. Burgess. Where is Norton Folgate—down in +Surrey, isn't it? (Burgess, inexpressibly tickled, begins to splutter +with laughter.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (taking it with a nervous jerk). Not at all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Bye, bye, Candy. I'll look in again later on. So long, James. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Must you go? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Don't stir. (He goes out with unabated heartiness.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Oh, I'll see you out. (He follows him out. Eugene stares after +them apprehensively, holding his breath until Burgess disappears.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I—I hardly know him yet. He seems to be a very nice old +gentleman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (with gentle irony). And you'll go to the Freeman Founders to +dine with him, won't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (miserably, taking it quite seriously). Yes, if it will +please you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Oh, James, dear, he was going to give the cabman ten +shillings—ten shillings for a three minutes' drive—oh, dear! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (relapsing into dejection). No: cowardice, incompetence. +Mrs. Morell's quite right. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (still busy at the table). You'll stay to lunch, Marchbanks, of +course. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (over his shoulder). You mean you won't. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (earnestly). No: I should like to, indeed. Thank you very +much. But—but— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (drolly). Oh, is that all? Won't my suggestion that you should +take a turn in the park meet the difficulty? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. How? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS, Happy!—YOUR marriage! You think that! You believe that! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (wildly). No: stop: you shan't. I'll force it into the light. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (puzzled). Eh? Force what? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I must speak to you. There is something that must be +settled between us. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (with a whimsical glance at the clock). Now? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (powerfully confident). Stagger me, my boy. Out with it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. First— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. First? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I love your wife. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (vehemently). YOU dare say that of her! You think that way +of the love she inspires! It is an insult to her! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (ruthlessly). I know. I'm doing it on purpose. I told you I +should stagger you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(They confront one another threateningly for a moment. Then Morell +recovers his dignity.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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." +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (wrathfully). Leave my house. Do you hear? (He advances on him +threateningly.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (with slow, emphatic scorn.) You little snivelling, cowardly +whelp. (Releasing him.) Go, before you frighten yourself into a fit. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (quietly, as he stands over him). It looks like it, doesn't it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (taken aback.) Why do you want her to know this? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (terribly disquieted). Stop: I will not tell her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (turning near the door). Either the truth or a lie you MUST +tell her, if I go. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (temporizing). Marchbanks: it is sometimes justifiable. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (cutting him short). I know—to lie. It will be useless. +Good-bye, Mr. Clergyman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(As he turns finally to the door, it opens and Candida enters in +housekeeping attire.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I want to stay, of course—unless the reverend gentleman, +your husband, has anything to advance to the contrary. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (shortly). Oh, yes, certainly: he had better. (He goes to the +table and pretends to busy himself with his papers there.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. So was I—an hour ago. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="act2"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACT II +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (timidly). I'm very sorry, Miss Garnett. I only tried to +make it write. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Well, you've made this key stick. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (seriously). I suppose a machine could be made to write +love-letters. They're all the same, aren't they! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (rising, outraged). Mr. Marchbanks! (She looks severely at +him, and marches with much dignity to the bookcase.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (approaching her humbly). I hope I haven't offended you. +Perhaps I shouldn't have alluded to your love affairs. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (simply). Really! Oh, then you are shy, like me. Isn't that +so? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Certainly I am not shy. What do you mean? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (scandalized), Well, upon my word! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (snubbing him). Talk about indifferent things, talk about +the weather. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Would you stand and talk about indifferent things if a +child were by, crying bitterly with hunger? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. I suppose not. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Well: I can't talk about indifferent things with my heart +crying out bitterly in ITS hunger. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Then hold your tongue. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. You needn't. I know already that it must. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. But mind: if you ever say I said so, I'll deny it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (compassionately). Yes, I know. And so you haven't the +courage to tell him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (bouncing up). HIM! Who? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Whoever he is. The man you love. It might be anybody. The +curate, Mr. Mill, perhaps. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (with disdain). Mr. Mill!!! A fine man to break my heart +about, indeed! I'd rather have you than Mr. Mill. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (recoiling). No, really—I'm very sorry; but you mustn't +think of that. I— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I know. You feel that you could love anybody that offered— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (exasperated). Anybody that offered! No, I do not. What do +you take me for? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Ah, I understand now! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (reddening). What do you understand? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Your secret. Tell me: is it really and truly possible for a +woman to love him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (as if this were beyond all bounds). Well!! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (vehemently). You do. You lie— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Oh! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. You DO understand; and you KNOW. (Determined to have an +answer.) Is it possible for a woman to love him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (amazed at her audacity). Hi was not addressin' myself to you, +young woman, that I'm awerr of. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (tartly, to Marchbanks). Did you ever see worse manners, Mr. +Marchbanks? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (with pompous severity). Mr. Morchbanks is a gentleman and +knows his place, which is more than some people do. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. I— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (miserably nervous and disconcerted). Hadn't we better +change the subject. I—I don't think Miss Garnett meant anything. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (with intense conviction). Oh, didn't I though, just! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. I wouldn't demean myself to take notice on her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(An electric bell rings twice.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (gathering up her note-book and papers). That's for me. +(She hurries out.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I don't know. I never can remember dates. A few months, +perhaps. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Ever notice anything queer about him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I don't think so. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (impressively). No more you wouldn't. That's the danger in it. +Well, he's mad. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Mad! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Mad as a Morch 'are. You take notice on him and you'll see. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (beginning). But surely that is only because his opinions— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. What? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. (outside, calling to Proserpine, holding the door open). Get +all their names and addresses, Miss Garnett. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (in the distance). Yes, Mr. Morell. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(Morell comes in, with the deputation's documents in his hands.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. What's the matter? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (trembling with rage). And do you hexpec me to put up with it +from the like of 'ER? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Oh, I don't mind. I'm above it. But is it RIGHT?—that's what +I want to know. Is it right? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Not for half an hour yet. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (with plaintive resignation). Gimme a nice book to read over +the fire, will you, James: thur's a good chap. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. What sort of book? A good one? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (as he writes). Candida will come to entertain you presently. +She has got rid of her pupil. She is filling the lamps. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (with grave disapproval). Don't you keep a servant now, James? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (tormentedly). Do you think every woman is as coarse-grained +as Miss Garnett? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (emphatically). That's quite right, Mr. Morchbanks. That's +quite right. She IS corse-grained. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (quietly and significantly). Marchbanks! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. How many servants does your father keep? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (intensely appreciating this retort). Ha, ha! Devil a better. +(Radiantly.) 'Ad you there, James, straight. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I will stay on condition that you hand over all the rough +work to me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. What have I done—or not done—my love? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. No, not ill. Only horror, horror, horror! (He bows his head +on his hands.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (shocked). What! Got the 'orrors, Mr. Morchbanks! Oh, that's +bad, at your age. You must leave it off grajally. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (reassured). Nonsense, papa. It's only poetic horror, isn't it, +Eugene? (Petting him.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (abashed). Oh, poetic 'orror, is it? I beg your pordon, I'm +shore. (He turns to the fire again, deprecating his hasty conclusion.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (harshly). And where there is nothing to do but to be idle, +selfish and useless. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (jarred). Oh, James, how could you spoil it all! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (quaintly). He cleans the boots, Eugene. You will have to clean +them to-morrow for saying that about him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Oh! don't talk about boots. Your feet should be beautiful +on the mountains. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. My feet would not be beautiful on the Hackney Road without +boots. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(Miss Garnett comes in with a telegram.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (convulsively). Onions! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Yes, onions. Not even Spanish ones—nasty little red onions. +You shall help me to slice them. Come along. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (shortly, writing a telegram). I don't know. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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). +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (preoccupied). Ah, indeed. (He blots the telegram, and goes out.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Used you to make the fairy stories up out of your own head? +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(Burgess, not deigning to reply, strikes an attitude of the haughtiest +disdain on the hearth-rug.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Mad! Wot! 'Im too!! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (as he passes her). Yes, what a dreadful thing it would be +if anything happened to YOU! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (loftily). Don't you address no remarks to me. Tell your +hemployer that I've gone into the garden for a smoke. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (mocking). Oh! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(Before Burgess can retort, Morell comes back.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (sentimentally). Goin' for a turn in the garden to smoke, James. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (blushing fiery red, and looking quickly up at him, half +scared, half reproachful). I— (She bursts into tears.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (looking up, but with his pen raised ready to resume his work). +Well? Where is Eugene? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (shortly). Ha! No doubt. (He begins writing again.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Nothing more than usual. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. But— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (shocked). Candida! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Oh, <I>I</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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Prossy's complaint! What do you mean, Candida? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Candida: what dreadful, what soul-destroying cynicism! Are you +jesting? Or—can it be?—are you jealous? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (with curious thoughtfulness). Yes, I feel a little jealous +sometimes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (incredulously). What! Of Prossy? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (laughing). No, no, no, no. Not jealous of anybody. Jealous for +somebody else, who is not loved as he ought to be. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Me! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. You! Why, you're spoiled with love and worship: you get far +more than is good for you. No: I mean Eugene. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (startled). Eugene! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (hastily). Not at all. (Looking at her with troubled intensity.) +You know that I have perfect confidence in you, Candida. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. You vain thing! Are you so sure of your irresistible +attractions? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. What a nasty, uncomfortable thing to say to me! Oh, you ARE a +clergyman, James—a thorough clergyman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (turning away from her, heart-stricken). So Eugene says. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (grimly). Oh, he has no suspicion of it himself, hasn't he? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. No evil, Candida. I hope and trust, no evil. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (dubiously). That will depend. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (bewildered). Depend! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (quite at a loss). Yes. No. I don't know what you mean. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (explaining). If he learns it from a good woman, then it will +be all right: he will forgive me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Forgive! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Forgive you for what? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. HIS words! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (checking herself quickly in the act of getting up, so that she +is on her knees, but upright). Whose words? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Eugene's. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (rising, alarmed). My dear: what's the matter? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (frantically waving her off). Don't touch me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (amazed). James! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(They are interrupted by the entrance of Marchbanks, with Burgess, who +stops near the door, staring, whilst Eugene hurries forward between +them.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Is anything the matter? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (deadly white, putting an iron constraint on himself). Nothing +but this: that either you were right this morning, or Candida is mad. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (to Morell, relieved and laughing). Oh, you're only shocked! Is +that all? How conventional all you unconventional people are! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Come: be'ave yourself, Candy. What'll Mr. Morchbanks think of +you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (on the hearth-rug). Well, James, you certainly ain't as +himpressive lookin' as usu'l. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(Morell cannot prevent himself from watching them.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (aside to her). It is your cruelty. I hate cruelty. It is a +horrible thing to see one person make another suffer. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (petting him ironically). Poor boy, have I been cruel? Did I +make it slice nasty little red onions? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (affectionately but bitterly). Ah no: I can't talk. I can only +preach. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (caressing him). Well, come and preach. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (strongly remonstrating). Aw, no, Candy. 'Ang it all! (Lexy +Mill comes in, looking anxious and important.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (hastening to shake hands with Candida). How do you do, Mrs. +Morell? So glad to see you back again. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Thank you, Lexy. You know Eugene, don't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. Oh, yes. How do you do, Marchbanks? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Quite well, thanks. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. What did you telegraph about, James? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (surprized, and beginning to suspect something wrong). Given up +an engagement to speak! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. First time in his life, I'll bet. Ain' it, Candy? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (to Morell). They decided to send an urgent telegram to you asking +whether you could not change your mind. Have you received it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (with restrained impatience). Yes, yes: I got it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. It was reply paid. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Yes, I know. I answered it. I can't go. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. But why, James? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(They are all amazed at this outburst, except Eugene. His expression +remains unchanged.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Oh, James, you know you'll have an attack of bad conscience +to-morrow; and <I>I</I> shall have to suffer for that. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (promptly). Well, an excellent man. What better do they want? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (coaxingly). Oh, DO go, James. We'll all go. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. You'll be just as comfortable at the meeting. We'll all sit on +the platform and be great people. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Don't be afraid. They'll be too busy looking at James to +notice you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (turning his head and looking meaningly at her over his +shoulder). Prossy's complaint, Candida! Eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (gaily). Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (mystified). Prossy's complaint. Wot are you talking about, +James? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (not heeding him, rises; goes to the door; and holds it open, +shouting in a commanding voice). Miss Garnett. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (in the distance). Yes, Mr. Morell. Coming. (They all wait, +except Burgess, who goes stealthily to Lexy and draws him aside.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. Listen here, Mr. Mill. Wot's Prossy's complaint? Wot's wrong +with 'er? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (appearing on the threshold). What is it, Mr. Morell? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Telegraph to the Guild of St. Matthew that I am coming. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE (surprised). Don't they expect you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (peremptorily). Do as I tell you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Burgess: you don't want to come? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (in deprecation). Oh, don't put it like that, James. It's only +that it ain't Sunday, you know. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (with enthusiasm). Course I'll come, James. Ain' it always a +pleasure to 'ear you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. Certainly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. We are all coming, James. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. But James— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (troubled). Eugene: wouldn't you like to come? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (to himself, with vivid feeling). That's brave. That's +beautiful. (He sits down again listening with parted lips.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (with anxious misgiving). But—but—Is anything the matter, +James? (Greatly troubled.) I can't understand— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="act3"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACT III +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (starting). Eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Haven't you been listening? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (crushed—the manuscript dropping from his hand to the +floor). I beg your pardon for boring you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. But you are not boring me, I assure you. Please go on. Do, +Eugene. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I finished the poem about the angel quarter of an hour ago. +I've read you several things since. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (remorsefully). I'm so sorry, Eugene. I think the poker must +have fascinated me. (She puts it down.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. It made me horribly uneasy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Why didn't you tell me? I'd have put it down at once. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (evasively). Oh, never mind. (He stoops to pick up the +manuscript.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (in half terror, half rapture). Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Oh, I've been so miserable all the evening, because I was +doing right. Now I'm doing wrong; and I'm happy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (tenderly amused at him). Yes: I'm sure you feel a great grown +up wicked deceiver—quite proud of yourself, aren't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. What one is that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Of course. And what have you to say to Candida? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Nothing, but to repeat your name a thousand times. Don't +you feel that every time is a prayer to you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Doesn't it make you happy to be able to pray? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Yes, very happy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Well, that happiness is the answer to your prayer. Do you want +anything more? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (in beatitude). No: I have come into heaven, where want is +unknown. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(Morell comes in. He halts on the threshold, and takes in the scene at +a glance.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. I have never spoken better in my life. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. That was first rate! How much was the collection? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. I forgot to ask. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (to Eugene). He must have spoken splendidly, or he would never +have forgotten that. (To Morell.) Where are all the others? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. They left long before I could get away: I thought I should +never escape. I believe they are having supper somewhere. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (looking sternly down at Marchbanks). Well? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (squatting cross-legged on the hearth-rug, and actually at +ease with Morell—even impishly humorous). Well? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Have you anything to tell me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Hardly in the same way, I think. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (involuntarily). Candida? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Did you keep your oath? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (steadily controlling his suspense). Then? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (prosaically slipping down into a quite ordinary attitude in +the chair). Then she couldn't bear being read to any longer. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. And you approached the gate of Heaven at last? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Well? (Fiercely.) Speak, man: have you no feeling for me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (triumphantly). She repulsed you! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (who has watched him quietly without changing his place). Do you +think you make yourself more worthy by reviling me, Eugene? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. The man that—? Do you mean me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (meaningly). Perhaps because I was not interrupted at the end of +ten minutes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (taken aback). What! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Man can climb to the highest summits; but he cannot dwell there +long. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. In the scullery, slicing onions and filling lamps. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Or in the pulpit, scrubbing cheap earthenware souls? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (starting). A beggar dying of cold—asking for her shawl? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (turning, surprised). Thank you for touching up my poetry. +Yes, if you like, a beggar dying of cold asking for her shawl. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (excitedly). And she refused. Shall I tell you why she refused? +I CAN tell you, on her own authority. It was because of— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. She didn't refuse. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Not! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (suffering deeply). So it is still unsettled—still the misery +of doubt. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (amazed, on the threshold). What on earth are you at, Eugene? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (rising proudly). Protect! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (not heeding him—to Eugene). What have you been saying? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (appalled). Nothing— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Eugene! Nothing? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (piteously). I mean—I—I'm very sorry. I won't do it again: +indeed I won't. I'll let him alone. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (indignantly, with an aggressive movement towards Eugene). Let +me alone! You young— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (Stopping him). Sh—no, let me deal with him, James. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Oh, you're not angry with me, are you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (severely). Yes, I am—very angry. I have a great mind to pack +you out of the house. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (petting him). Yes, dear: of course you are. But you mustn't be +annoyed and made miserable. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (almost in tears, turning to the door). I'll go. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Oh, you needn't go: I can't turn you out at this time of +night. (Vehemently.) Shame on you! For shame! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (desperately). But what have I done? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I would die ten times over sooner than give you a moment's +pain. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (with infinite contempt for this puerility). Much good your +dying would do me! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Two MEN! Do you call that a man? (To Eugene.) You bad boy! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (contemptuously). No. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (indignant). Oh! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (again soothing him). Yes, dear; but—(Troubled.) I don't +understand about this morning. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (gently snubbing her). You need not understand, my dear. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. But, James, I—(The street bell rings.) Oh, bother! Here they +all come. (She goes out to let them in.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (running to Morell ). Oh, Morell, isn't it dreadful? She's +angry with us: she hates me. What shall I do? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILL (exhilaratedly). Morell: I MUST congratulate you. (Grasping his +hand.) What a noble, splendid, inspired address you gave us! You +surpassed yourself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS. So you did, James. It fair kep' me awake to the last word. +Didn't it, Miss Garnett? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Did I go too fast, Pross? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (soothingly). Oh, well, well, never mind, never mind, never +mind. Have you all had supper? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY. Mr. Burgess has been kind enough to give us a really splendid +supper at the Belgrave. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BURGESS (with effusive magnanimity). Don't mention it, Mr. Mill. +(Modestly.) You're 'arty welcome to my little treat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. We had champagne! I never tasted it before. I feel quite +giddy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (surprised). A champagne supper! That was very handsome. Was it +my eloquence that produced all this extravagance? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (with long drawn significance, looking at Burgess). O-o-o-h, the +chairman. NOW I understand. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +(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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. No use, dear. They've all had champagne. Pross has broken her +pledge. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (to Proserpine). You don't mean to say you've been drinking +champagne! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. No more to-night. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PROSERPINE. Very well. Good-night, everybody. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (gallantly). Had I not better see you home, Miss Garnett? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (a little anxious about her). Go and look after her, Lexy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LEXY (alarmed). But if she should really be—Suppose she began to sing +in the street, or anything of that sort. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Just so: she may. That's why you'd better see her safely home. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Do, Lexy: there's a good fellow. (She shakes his hand and +pushes him gently to the door.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (affrightedly). Yes: I'd better go. .(He hurries across to +the door; but Candida places herself before it, barring his way.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (with quiet authority). You sit down. You're not going yet. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (quailing). No: I—I didn't mean to. (He comes back into the +room and sits down abjectly on the sofa.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Mr. Marchbanks will stay the night with us, papa. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Thank you: I will. Good-night, Mr. Burgess. (They shake +hands and Burgess goes to the door.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (intercepting Morell, who is following Burgess). Stay here, +dear: I'll put on papa's coat for him. (She goes out with Burgess.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Morell: there's going to be a terrible scene. Aren't you +afraid? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Not in the least. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (between them, addressing Eugene). Are you sorry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (earnestly). Yes, heartbroken. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Well, then, you are forgiven. Now go off to bed like a good +little boy: I want to talk to James about you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (rising in great consternation). Oh, I can't do that, +Morell. I must be here. I'll not go away. Tell her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (with quick suspicion). Tell me what? (His eyes avoid hers +furtively. She turns and mutely transfers the question to Morell.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (discouraged). Morell: she's laughing at us. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (with a quick touch of temper). There is nothing to laugh at. +Are you laughing at us, Candida? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (whispering). Stop Morell. Don't let us say anything. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (pushing Eugene away without deigning to look at him). I hope +you don't mean that as a threat, Candida. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (with emphatic warning). Take care, James. Eugene: I asked you +to go. Are you going? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (putting his foot down). He shall not go. I wish him to remain. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. I'll go. I'll do whatever you want. (He turns to the door.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Stop! (He obeys.) Didn't you hear James say he wished you to +stay? James is master here. Don't you know that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (flushing with a young poet's rage against tyranny). By what +right is he master? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (quietly). Tell him, James. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (taken aback). My dear: I don't know of any right that makes me +master. I assert no such right. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (whispering tremulously across to him). Don't. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Come. Out with it! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (slowly). I meant to prepare your mind carefully, Candida, so as +to prevent misunderstanding. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Yes, dear: I am sure you did. But never mind: I shan't +misunderstand. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL. Well—er—(He hesitates, unable to find the long explanation +which he supposed to be available.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Well? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (baldly). Eugene declares that you are in love with him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (enlightened). This morning! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Yes. (He looks at her, pleading for credence, and then +adds, simply) That was what was the matter with my collar. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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)? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (ashamed). You know, Candida, that I have a temper to struggle +with. And he said (shuddering) that you despised me in your heart. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (turning quickly on Eugene). Did you say that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (terrified). No! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (severely). Then James has just told me a falsehood. Is that +what you mean? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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:— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (interjecting). Try! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (remorsefully). Do you mind what is said by a foolish boy, +because I said something like it again in jest? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (firmly). Quite. You must choose definitely. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (anxiously). Morell: you don't understand. She means that +she belongs to herself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (reproachfully). Cand— (He breaks down: his eyes and throat +fill with tears: the orator becomes the wounded animal.) I can't speak— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (impulsively going to him). Ah, dearest— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (rallying all his forces). Yes: you are right. It is not for +pity that I am bidding. (He disengages himself from Candida.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (retreating, chilled). I beg your pardon, James; I did not mean +to touch you. I am waiting to hear your bid. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (quite quietly). And you, Eugene? What do you offer? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. My weakness! my desolation! my heart's need! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (impressed). That's a good bid, Eugene. Now I know how to make +my choice. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (in a suffocated voice—the appeal bursting from the depths of +his anguish). Candida! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (aside, in a flash of contempt). Coward! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (significantly). I give myself to the weaker of the two. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Eugene divines her meaning at once: his face whitens like steel in a +furnace that cannot melt it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (bowing his head with the calm of collapse). I accept your +sentence, Candida. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. Do you understand, Eugene? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. Oh, I feel I'm lost. He cannot bear the burden. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (incredulously, raising his bead with prosaic abruptness). Do +you mean, me, Candida? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (faithful to the nobility of his lot). I had my books. I had +Nature. And at last I met you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (in his arms, smiling, to Eugene). Am I YOUR mother and sisters +to you, Eugene? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (rising with a fierce gesture of disgust). Ah, never. Out, +then, into the night with me! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (rising quickly and intercepting him). You are not going like +that, Eugene? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MORELL (rising from his knee, alarmed). Candida: don't let him do +anything rash. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA (confident, smiling at Eugene). Oh, there is no fear. He has +learnt to live without happiness. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. One last word. (He stops, but without turning to her.) How old +are you, Eugene? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS. As old as the world now. This morning I was eighteen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MARCHBANKS (without moving). Say the sentences. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CANDIDA. When I am thirty, she will be forty-five. When I am sixty, she +will be seventy-five. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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.) +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Candida, by George Bernard Shaw + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDIDA *** + +***** This file should be named 4023-h.htm or 4023-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/4023/ + +Produced by Eve Sobol. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDIDA *** + +***** This file should be named 4023.txt or 4023.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/4023/ + +Produced by Eve Sobol. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by Eve Sobol, South Bend, Indiana, USA + + + + + +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, +horrors-tricken 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 feelinq 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 lappell 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 distingished 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 Etext of Candida by George Bernard Shaw + diff --git a/old/cndda10.zip b/old/cndda10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e14538 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/cndda10.zip |