The Essential G. B. Shaw: Celebrated Plays, Novels, Personal Letters, Essays & Articles. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      “Thank goodness!” said Lady Geraldine. “Bluebeard has gone; and we can have our chat at last.”

      “Why Bluebeard?” said Mary, laughing. “His beard is auburn. Has he been married more than once?”

      “No. But mark my words, he will marry at least half-a-dozen times; and he will kill all his wives, unless they run away from him, as poor Marian did. However, so long as he does not marry us, he can do as he likes. The question of the day is, what are you going to say to Mr John Hoskyn?”

      “Oh!” said Mary, her face clouding. “Let Mr John Hoskyn wait. I wish he were in America.”

      “And why?” said Lady Geraldine in an obstinate tone.

      “Because I want to enjoy my visit here and not be worried by his proposals.”

      “You can answer him in five minutes, and then enjoy your visit as much as if he actually were in America.”

      “That is true. Except that it will take much longer than five minutes to devise a letter that will not hurt his feelings too much.”

      “I could write a sensible letter for you that would not hurt his feelings at all.”

      “Will you? I shall be so much obliged. I hate refusing people.”

      “Mary: I hope you are not going to be foolish about this offer.”

      “Do you mean,” said Mary, astonished, “that you advise me to accept it?”

      “Most decidedly.”

      “But you said last night that he was not even a gentleman.”

      “Oh, a gentleman! Nonsense! What is a gentleman? Who is a gentleman nowadays? Is Mr Conolly, with whom you seem so well pleased” (Mary opened her eyes widely) a gentleman? Or Mr. Jack?”

      “Do you consider Mr. Herbert a gentleman?”

      “Yes, I grant you that. I forgot him, but I only conclude from your experience of him that a mere gentleman would not do for you at all. Do you dislike Mr Hoskyn?”

      “No. But then I do not absolutely dislike any man; and I know nearly a hundred.”

      “Is there anyone whom you like better?”

      “N–no. Of course I am speaking only of people whom I could marry. Still that is not saying much. If I heard that he was leaving the country for ever, I should be rather relieved than otherwise.”

      “Yes, my dear, I know it is very annoying to be forced to make up one’s mind. But you will gain nothing by putting off. I have been speaking to Sir John about Mr Hoskyn and everything he has told me is satisfactory in the highest degree.”

      “I am sure of it. Respectable, well off, rising, devotedly attached to me, calculates his figures at a percentage off the minimum, and so forth.”

      “Mary,” said Lady Geraldine gravely: “have I mentioned I even one of those points to you?”

      “No,” said Mary, taken a little aback. “But what other light can you see him in?”

      “In the best of all lights: that of a comfortable husband. I am in dread for you lest your notions of high art should make you do something foolish. When you have had as much experience as I, you will know that genius no more qualifies a man to be a husband than good looks, or fine manners, or noble birth, or anything else out of a story book.”

      “But want of genius is still less a qualification.”

      “Genius, Mary, is a positive disqualification. Geniuses are morbid, intolerant, easily offended, sleeplessly self-conscious men, who expect their wives to be angels with no further business in life than to pet and worship their husbands. Even at the best they are not comfortable men to live with; and a perfect husband is one who is perfectly comfortable to live with. Look at the matter practically. Do you suppose, you foolish child, that I am a bit less happy because Sir John does not know a Raphael from a Redgrave, and would accept the last waltz cheerfully as a genuine something-or-other by Bach in B minor? Our tastes are quite different; and, to confess the truth, I was no more romantically in love with him when we were married than you are at present with Mr Hoskyn. Yet where will you find such a modern Darby and Joan as we are? You hear Belle Saunders complaining that she has ‘nothing in common’ with her husband. What cant! As if any two beings living in the same world must not have more things in common than not; especially a husband and wife living in the same house, on the same income, and owning the same children. Why, I have something in common with Macalister, the gardener. I can find you a warning as well as an example, I knew Mr Conolly’s wife well before she was married. She was a woman of whom it was impossible to believe anything bad. In an evil hour she met Conolly at a charity concert where they had both promised to sing. Of course he sang as if he was all softness and gentleness, much as he did just now, probably. Then there was a charming romance. She like you, was fond of books, pictures, and music. He knew all about them. She was very honest and candid: he a statue of probity. He was a genius too; and his fame was a novelty then: everybody talked of him. Never was there such an match. She was the only woman in England worthy of him: he the only man worthy of her. Well, she married him, in spite of the patent fact that with all his genius, he is a most uncomfortable person. She endured him for two years then ran away with an arrogant blockhead who had nothing to recommend him to her except an imposing appearance and an extreme unlikeness to her husband. She has never been heard of since. If she had married man like Hoskyn, she could have been a happy wife and mother today. But she was like you she thought that taking a husband was the same thing as engaging gentleman to talk art criticism with.”

      “I think I had better advertise, ‘Wanted: a comfortable husband. Applicants need not be handsome, as the lady is shortsighted. It sounds very prosaic, Lady Geraldine.”

      “It is prosaic. I told you once before that the world is is not a stage for you to play the heroine on. Like all young people, you want an exalted motive for every step you take.”

      “I confess I do. However, you have forgotten to apply your argument to Mr. Hoskyn’s case. If people with artistic tastes are all uncomfortable, I must be uncomfortable; and that is not fair to him.”

      “No matter. He is in love with you. Besides, you are not artistic enough to be uncomfortable. You have been your father’s housekeeper too long.”

      “And you really advise me to marry Mr. Hoskyn?”

      Lady. Geraldine hesitated. “I think you can hardly expect me to take the responsibility of directly advising you to marry any man. It is one of the things that people must do for themselves. But I certainly advise you not to be deterred from marrying him by any supposed incompatibility in your tastes, or by his not being a man of genius.”

      “I wonder would Mr. Conolly marry me.”

      “Mary!”

      “It was an unmaidenly remark,” said Mary, laughing.”

      “It is undignified for a sensible girl to play at being silly, Mary. I hope you have no serious intention beneath your jesting. If you have, I shall be very sorry indeed for having allowed Mr. Conolly to meet you here.”

      “Not the slightest, I assure you. Why, Lady СКАЧАТЬ