The Collected Dramas of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ neither dropping his aitches nor misplacing them, nor committing any other vulgarism. He looks at his watch as he continues) Not that yet, sir, is it? 12:43, sir. Only two minutes more to wait, sir. Nice morning, sir?

      THE GENTLEMAN. Yes: very fresh after London.

      WAITER. Yes, sir: so all our visitors say, sir. Very nice family, Mrs. Clandon’s, sir.

      THE GENTLEMAN. You like them, do you?

      WAITER. Yes, sir. They have a free way with them that is very taking, sir, very taking indeed, sir: especially the young lady and gentleman.

      THE GENTLEMAN. Miss Dorothea and Mr. Philip, I suppose.

      WAITER. Yes, sir. The young lady, in giving an order, or the like of that, will say, “Remember, William, we came to this hotel on your account, having heard what a perfect waiter you are.” The young gentleman will tell me that I remind him strongly of his father (the gentleman starts at this) and that he expects me to act by him as such. (Soothing, sunny cadence.) Oh, very pleasant, sir, very affable and pleasant indeed!

      THE GENTLEMAN. You like his father! (He laughs at the notion.)

      WAITER. Oh, we must not take what they say too seriously, sir. Of course, sir, if it were true, the young lady would have seen the resemblance, too, sir.

      THE GENTLEMAN. Did she?

      WAITER. No, sir. She thought me like the bust of Shakespear in Stratford Church, sir. That is why she calls me William, sir. My real name is Walter, sir. (He turns to go back to the table, and sees Mrs. Clandon coming up to the terrace from the beach by the steps.) Here is Mrs. Clandon, sir. (To Mrs. Clandon, in an unobtrusively confidential tone) Gentleman for you, ma’am.

      MRS. CLANDON. We shall have two more gentlemen at lunch, William.

      WAITER. Right, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. (He withdraws into the hotel. Mrs. Clandon comes forward looking round for her visitor, but passes over the gentleman without any sign of recognition.)

      THE GENTLEMAN (peering at her quaintly from under the umbrella). Don’t you know me?

      MRS. CLANDON (incredulously, looking hard at him) Are you Finch McComas?

      McCOMAS. Can’t you guess? (He shuts the umbrella; puts it aside; and jocularly plants himself with his hands on his hips to be inspected.)

      MRS. CLANDON. I believe you are. (She gives him her hand. The shake that ensues is that of old friends after a long separation.) Where’s your beard?

      McCOMAS (with humorous solemnity). Would you employ a solicitor with a beard?

      MRS. CLANDON (pointing to the silk hat on the table). Is that your hat?

      McCOMAS. Would you employ a solicitor with a sombrero?

      MRS. CLANDON. I have thought of you all these eighteen years with the beard and the sombrero. (She sits down on the garden seat. McComas takes his chair again.) Do you go to the meetings of the Dialectical Society still?

      McCOMAS (gravely). I do not frequent meetings now.

      MRS. CLANDON. Finch: I see what has happened. You have become respectable.

      McCOMAS. Haven’t you?

      MRS. CLANDON. Not a bit.

      McCOMAS. You hold to your old opinions still?

      MRS. CLANDON. As firmly as ever.

      McCOMAS. Bless me! And you are still ready to make speeches in public, in spite of your sex (Mrs. Clandon nods); to insist on a married woman’s right to her own separate property (she nods again); to champion Darwin’s view of the origin of species and John Stuart Mill’s essay on Liberty (nod); to read Huxley, Tyndall and George Eliot (three nods); and to demand University degrees, the opening of the professions, and the parliamentary franchise for women as well as men?

      MRS. CLANDON (resolutely). Yes: I have not gone back one inch; and I have educated Gloria to take up my work where I left it. That is what has brought me back to England: I felt that I had no right to bury her alive in Madeira — my St. Helena, Finch. I suppose she will be howled at as I was; but she is prepared for that.

      McCOMAS. Howled at! My dear good lady: there is nothing in any of those views now-a-days to prevent her from marrying a bishop. You reproached me just now for having become respectable. You were wrong: I hold to our old opinions as strongly as ever. I don’t go to church; and I don’t pretend I do. I call myself what I am: a Philosophic Radical, standing for liberty and the rights of the individual, as I learnt to do from my master Herbert Spencer. Am I howled at? No: I’m indulged as an old fogey. I’m out of everything, because I’ve refused to bow the knee to Socialism.

      MRS. CLANDON (shocked). Socialism.

      McCOMAS. Yes, Socialism. That’s what Miss Gloria will be up to her ears in before the end of the month if you let her loose here.

      MRS. CLANDON (emphatically). But I can prove to her that Socialism is a fallacy.

      McCOMAS (touchingly). It is by proving that, Mrs. Clandon, that I have lost all my young disciples. Be careful what you do: let her go her own way. (With some bitterness.) We’re oldfashioned: the world thinks it has left us behind. There is only one place in all England where your opinions would still pass as advanced.

      MRS. CLANDON (scornfully unconvinced). The Church, perhaps?

      McCOMAS. No, the theatre. And now to business! Why have you made me come down here?

      MRS. CLANDON. Well, partly because I wanted to see you —

      McCOMAS (with goodhumored irony). Thanks.

      MRS. CLANDON. — and partly because I want you to explain everything to the children. They know nothing; and now that we have come back to England, it is impossible to leave them in ignorance any longer. (Agitated.) Finch: I cannot bring myself to tell them. I — (She is interrupted by the twins and Gloria. Dolly comes tearing up the steps, racing Philip, who combines a terrific speed with unhurried propriety of bearing which, however, costs him the race, as Dolly reaches her mother first and almost upsets the garden seat by the precipitancy of her arrival.)

      DOLLY (breathless). It’s all right, mamma. The dentist is coming; and he’s bringing his old man.

      MRS. CLANDON. Dolly, dear: don’t you see Mr. McComas? (Mr. McComas rises, smilingly.)

      DOLLY (her face falling with the most disparagingly obvious disappointment). This! Where are the flowing locks?

      PHILIP (seconding her warmly). Where the beard? — the cloak? — the poetic exterior?

      DOLLY. Oh, Mr. McComas, you’ve gone and spoiled yourself. Why didn’t you wait till we’d seen you?

      McCOMAS (taken aback, but rallying his humor to meet the emergency). Because eighteen years is too long for a solicitor to go without having his hair cut.

      GLORIA (at the other side of McComas). How do you do, Mr. McComas? (He turns; and she takes his hand and presses it, with a frank straight look into his eyes.) We are glad to meet you at last.

      McCOMAS. Miss Gloria, СКАЧАТЬ