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

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СКАЧАТЬ you can read for yourself. The camel was fed on beef dissolved in alcohol; and he gained weight under it. Eat and drink as much as you please. (Still unable to stand without support, he makes his way past Cuthbertson to the revolving bookcase and stands there with his back to them, leaning on it with his head on his hand.)

      CRAVEN (grumbling). Oh yes, it’s very easy for you to talk, Paramore. But what am I to say to the Humanitarian societies and the Vegetarian societies that have made me a Vice President?

      CUTHBERTSON (chuckling). Aha! You made a virtue of it, did you, Dan?

      CRAVEN (warmly). I made a virtue of necessity, Jo. No one can blame me.

      JULIA (soothing him). Well, never mind, Daddy. Come back to the dining room and have a good beefsteak.

      CRAVEN (shuddering). Ugh! (Plaintively) No: I’ve lost my old manly taste for it. My very nature’s been corrupted by living on pap. (To Paramore.) That’s what comes of all this vivisection. You go experimenting on horses; and of course the result is that you try to get me into condition by feeding me on beans.

      PARAMORE (curtly, without changing his position). Well, if they’ve done you good, so much the better for you.

      CRAVEN (querulously). That’s all very well; but it’s very vexing. You don’t half see how serious it is to make a man believe that he has only another year to live: you really don’t, Paramore: I can’t help saying it. I’ve made my will, which was altogether unnecessary; and I’ve been reconciled to a lot of people I’d quarrelled with — people I can’t stand under ordinary circumstances. Then I’ve let the girls get round me at home to an extent I should never have done if I’d had my life before me. I’ve done a lot of serious thinking and reading and extra church going. And now it turns out simple waste of time. On my soul, it’s too disgusting: I’d far rather die like a man when I said I would.

      PARAMORE (as before). Perhaps you may. Your heart’s shaky, if that’s any satisfaction to you.

      CRAVEN (offended). You must excuse me, Paramore, if I say that I no longer feel any confidence in your opinion as a medical man. (Paramore’s eye flashes: he straightens himself and listens.) I paid you a pretty stiff fee for that consultation when you condemned me; and I can’t say I think you gave me value for it.

      PARAMORE (turning and facing Craven with dignity). That’s unanswerable, Colonel Craven. I shall return the fee.

      CRAVEN. Oh, it’s not the money; but I think you ought to realize your position. (Paramore turns stiffly away. Craven follows him impulsively, exclaiming remorsefully) Well, perhaps it was a nasty thing of me to allude to it. (He offers Paramore his hand.)

      PARAMORE (conscientiously taking it). Not at all. You are quite in the right, Colonel Craven. My diagnosis was wrong; and I must take the consequences.

      CRAVEN (holding his hand). No, don’t say that. It was natural enough: my liver is enough to set any man’s diagnosis wrong. (A long handshake, very trying to Paramore’s nerves. Paramore then retires to the recess on Ibsen’s left, and throws himself on the divan with a half suppressed sob, bending over the British Medical Journal with his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees.)

      CUTHBERTSON (who has been rejoicing with Julia at the other side of the room). Well, let’s say no more about it. I congratulate you, Craven, and hope you may long be spared. (Craven offers his hand.) No, Dan: your daughter first. (He takes Julia’s hand gently and hands her across to Craven, into whose arms she flies with a gush of feeling.)

      JULIA. Dear old Daddy!

      CRAVEN. Ah, is Julia glad that the old Dad is let off for a few years more?

      JULIA (almost crying). Oh, so glad: so glad! (Cuthbertson sobs audibly. The Colonel is affected. Sylvia, entering from the dining room, stops abruptly at the door on seeing the three. Paramore, in the recess, escapes her notice.)

      SYLVIA. Hallo!

      CRAVEN. Tell her the news, Julia: it would sound ridiculous from me. (He goes to the weeping Cuthbertson, and pats him consolingly on the shoulder.)

      JULIA. Silly: only think! Dad’s not ill at all. It was only a mistake of Dr. Paramore’s. Oh, dear! (She catches Craven’s left hand and stoops to kiss it, his right hand being still on Cuthbertson’s shoulder.)

      SYLVIA (contemptuously). I knew it. Of course it was nothing but eating too much. I always said Paramore was an ass. (Sensation. Cuthbertson, Craven and Julia turn in consternation.)

      PARAMORE (without malice). Never mind, Miss Craven. That is what is being said all over Europe now. Never mind.

      SYLVIA (a little abashed). I’m so sorry, Dr. Paramore. You must excuse a daughter’s feelings.

      CRAVEN (huffed). It evidently doesn’t make much difference to you, Sylvia.

      SYLVIA. I’m not going to be sentimental over it, Dad, you may bet. (Coming to Craven.) Besides, I knew it was nonsense all along. (Petting him.) Poor dear old Dad! why should your days be numbered any more than any one else’s? (He pats her cheek, mollified. Julia impatiently turns away from them.) Come to the smoking room, and let’s see what you can do after teetotalling for a year.

      CRAVEN (playfully). Vulgar little girl! (He pinches her ear.) Shall we come, Jo! You’ll be the better for a pick-me-up after all this emotion.

      CUTHBERTSON. I’m not ashamed of it, Dan. It has done me good. (He goes up to the table and shakes his fist at the bust over the mantelpiece.) It would do you good too if you had eyes and ears to take it in.

      CRAVEN (astonished). Who?

      SYLVIA. Why, good old Henrik, of course.

      CRAVEN (puzzled). Henrik?

      CUTHBERTSON (impatiently). Ibsen, man: Ibsen. (He goes out by the staircase door followed by Sylvia, who kisses her hand to the bust as she passes. Craven stares blankly after her, and then up at the bust. Giving the problem up as insoluble, he shakes his head and follows them. Near the door he checks himself and comes back.)

      CRAVEN (softly). By the way, Paramore? —

      PARAMORE (rousing himself with an effort). Yes?

      CRAVEN. You weren’t in earnest that time about my heart, were you?

      PARAMORE. Oh, nothing, nothing. There’s a slight murmur — mitral valves a little worn, perhaps; but they’ll last your time if you’re careful. Don’t smoke too much.

      CRAVEN. What! More privations! Now really, Paramore, really —

      PARAMORE (rising distractedly). Excuse me: I can’t pursue the subject. I — I —

      JULIA. Don’t worry him now, Daddy.

      CRAVEN. Well, well: I won’t. (He comes to Paramore, who is pacing restlessly up and down the middle of the room.) Come, Paramore, I’m not selfish, believe me: I can feel for your disappointment. But you must face it like a man. And after all, now really, doesn’t this shew that there’s a lot of rot about modern science? Between ourselves, you know, it’s horribly cruel: you must admit that it’s a deuced nasty thing to go ripping up and crucifying camels and monkeys. It must blunt all the finer feelings sooner or later.

      PARAMORE (turning on him). How many СКАЧАТЬ