60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      VALENTINE. What’s that? Eh?

      McCOMAS. He alleges that you drugged him, Mr. Valentine.

      VALENTINE. So I did. (They are astonished.)

      McCOMAS. But what did you do that for?

      DOLLY. Five shillings extra.

      McCOMAS (to Dolly, short-temperedly). I must really ask you, Miss Clandon, not to interrupt this very serious conversation with irrelevant interjections. (Vehemently.) I insist on having earnest matters earnestly and reverently discussed. (This outburst produces an apologetic silence, and puts McComas himself out of countenance. He coughs, and starts afresh, addressing himself to Gloria.) Miss Clandon: it is my duty to tell you that your father has also persuaded himself that Mr. Valentine wishes to marry you —

      VALENTINE (interposing adroitly). I do.

      McCOMAS (offended). In that case, sir, you must not be surprised to find yourself regarded by the young lady’s father as a fortune hunter.

      VALENTINE. So I am. Do you expect my wife to live on what I earn? tenpence a week!

      McCOMAS (revolted). I have nothing more to say, sir. I shall return and tell Mr. Crampton that this family is no place for a father. (He makes for the door.)

      MRS. CLANDON (with quiet authority). Finch! (He halts.) If Mr. Valentine cannot be serious, you can. Sit down. (McComas, after a brief struggle between his dignity and his friendship, succumbs, seating himself this time midway between Dolly and Mrs. Clandon.) You know that all this is a made up case — that Fergus does not believe in it any more than you do. Now give me your real advice — your sincere, friendly advice: you know I have always trusted your judgment. I promise you the children will be quiet.

      McCOMAS (resigning himself). Well, well! What I want to say is this. In the old arrangement with your husband, Mrs. Clandon, you had him at a terrible disadvantage.

      MRS. CLANDON. How so, pray?

      McCOMAS. Well, you were an advanced woman, accustomed to defy public opinion, and with no regard for what the world might say of you.

      MRS. CLANDON (proud of it). Yes: that is true. (Gloria, behind the chair, stoops and kisses her mother’s hair, a demonstration which disconcerts her extremely.)

      McCOMAS. On the other hand, Mrs. Clandon, your husband had a great horror of anything getting into the papers. There was his business to be considered, as well as the prejudices of an oldfashioned family.

      MRS. CLANDON. Not to mention his own prejudices.

      McCOMAS. Now no doubt he behaved badly, Mrs. Clandon —

      MRS. CLANDON (scornfully). No doubt.

      McCOMAS. But was it altogether his fault?

      MRS. CLANDON. Was it mine?

      McCOMAS (hastily). No. Of course not.

      GLORIA (observing him attentively). You do not mean that, Mr. McComas.

      McCOMAS. My dear young lady, you pick me up very sharply. But let me just put this to you. When a man makes an unsuitable marriage (nobody’s fault, you know, but purely accidental incompatibility of tastes); when he is deprived by that misfortune of the domestic sympathy which, I take it, is what a man marries for; when in short, his wife is rather worse than no wife at all (through no fault of his own, of course), is it to be wondered at if he makes matters worse at first by blaming her, and even, in his desperation, by occasionally drinking himself into a violent condition or seeking sympathy elsewhere?

      MRS. CLANDON. I did not blame him: I simply rescued myself and the children from him.

      McCOMAS. Yes: but you made hard terms, Mrs. Clandon. You had him at your mercy: you brought him to his knees when you threatened to make the matter public by applying to the Courts for a judicial separation. Suppose he had had that power over you, and used it to take your children away from you and bring them up in ignorance of your very name, how would you feel? what would you do? Well, won’t you make some allowance for his feelings? — in common humanity.

      MRS. CLANDON. I never discovered his feelings. I discovered his temper, and his — (she shivers) the rest of his common humanity.

      McCOMAS (wistfully). Women can be very hard, Mrs. Clandon.

      VALENTINE. That’s true.

      GLORIA (angrily). Be silent. (He subsides.)

      McCOMAS (rallying all his forces). Let me make one last appeal. Mrs. Clandon: believe me, there are men who have a good deal of feeling, and kind feeling, too, which they are not able to express. What you miss in Crampton is that mere veneer of civilization, the art of shewing worthless attentions and paying insincere compliments in a kindly, charming way. If you lived in London, where the whole system is one of false goodfellowship, and you may know a man for twenty years without finding out that he hates you like poison, you would soon have your eyes opened. There we do unkind things in a kind way: we say bitter things in a sweet voice: we always give our friends chloroform when we tear them to pieces. But think of the other side of it! Think of the people who do kind things in an unkind way — people whose touch hurts, whose voices jar, whose tempers play them false, who wound and worry the people they love in the very act of trying to conciliate them, and yet who need affection as much as the rest of us. Crampton has an abominable temper, I admit. He has no manners, no tact, no grace. He’ll never be able to gain anyone’s affection unless they will take his desire for it on trust. Is he to have none — not even pity — from his own flesh and blood?

      DOLLY (quite melted). Oh, how beautiful, Finch! How nice of you!

      PHILIP (with conviction). Finch: this is eloquence — positive eloquence.

      DOLLY. Oh, mamma, let us give him another chance. Let us have him to dinner.

      MRS. CLANDON (unmoved). No, Dolly: I hardly got any lunch. My dear Finch: there is not the least use in talking to me about Fergus. You have never been married to him: I have.

      McCOMAS (to Gloria). Miss Clandon: I have hitherto refrained from appealing to you, because, if what Mr. Crampton told me to be true, you have been more merciless even than your mother.

      GLORIA (defiantly). You appeal from her strength to my weakness!

      McCOMAS. Not your weakness, Miss Clandon. I appeal from her intellect to your heart.

      GLORIA. I have learnt to mistrust my heart. (With an angry glance at Valentine.) I would tear my heart and throw it away if I could. My answer to you is my mother’s answer. (She goes to Mrs. Clandon, and stands with her arm about her; but Mrs. Clandon, unable to endure this sort of demonstrativeness, disengages herself as soon as she can without hurting Gloria’s feelings.)

      McCOMAS (defeated). Well, I am very sorry — very sorry. I have done my best. (He rises and prepares to go, deeply dissatisfied.)

      MRS. CLANDON. But what did you expect, Finch? What do you want us to do?

      McCOMAS. The first step for both you and Crampton is to obtain counsel’s opinion as to whether he is bound by the deed of separation or not. Now why not obtain this opinion at once, and have a friendly meeting (her face hardens) — or shall we say a neutral meeting? — to settle СКАЧАТЬ