The Essential Plays of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you can, you can. One word from you will make us happy for ever.

      CHARTERIS (diplomatically). Come, my dear: we really must go. We can’t stay until Cuthbertson comes. (Releases her gently and takes her mantle from the table.) Here is your mantle: put it on and be good. You have given me a terrible evening: you must have some consideration for me.

      JULIA (dangerous again). Then I am to be cast off.

      CHARTERIS (coaxingly). You are to put on your bonnet, dearest. (He puts the mantle on her shoulders.)

      JULIA (with a bitter half laugh, half sob). Well, I suppose I must do what I am told. (She goes to the table, and looks for her bonnet. She sees the yellow-backed French novel.) Ah, look at that! (holds it out to him.) Look — look at what the creature reads — filthy, vile French stuff that no decent woman would touch. And you — you have been reading it with her.

      CHARTERIS. You recommended that book to me yourself.

      JULIA. Faugh! (Dashes it on the floor.)

      CHARTERIS (running anxiously to the book). Don’t damage property, Julia. (He picks it up and dusts it.) Making scenes is an affair of sentiment: damaging property is serious. (Replaces it on the table.) And now do pray come along.

      JULIA (implacably). You can go: there is nothing to prevent you. I will not stir. (She sits down stubbornly on the sofa.)

      CHARTERIS (losing patience). Oh come! I am not going to begin all this over again. There are limits even to my forbearance. Come on.

      JULIA. I will not, I tell you.

      CHARTERIS. Then good night. (He makes resolutely for the door. With a rush, she gets there before him, and bars his way.) I thought you wanted me to go.

      JULIA (at the door). You shall not leave me here alone.

      CHARTERIS. Then come with me.

      JULIA. Not until you have sworn to me to give up that woman.

      CHARTERIS. My dear, I will swear anything if you will only come away and put an end to this.

      JULIA (perplexed — doubting him). You will swear?

      CHARTERIS. Solemnly. Propose the oath. I have been on the point of swearing for the last half hour.

      JULIA (despairingly). You are only making fun of me. I want no oaths. I want your promise — your sacred word of honour.

      CHARTERIS. Certainly — anything you demand, on condition that you come away immediately. On my sacred word of honour as a gentleman — as an Englishman — as anything you like — I will never see her again, never speak to her, never think of her. Now come.

      JULIA. But are you in earnest? Will you keep your word?

      CHARTERIS (smiling subtly). Now you are getting unreasonable. Do come along without any more nonsense. At any rate, I am going. I am not strong enough to carry you home; but I am strong enough to make my way through that door in spite of you. You will then have a new grievance against me for my brutal violence. (He takes a step towards the door.)

      JULIA (solemnly). If you do, I swear I will throw myself from that window, Leonard, as you pass out.

      CHARTERIS (unimpressed). That window is at the back of the building. I shall pass out at the front; so you will not hurt me. Good night. (He approaches the door.)

      JULIA. Leonard: have you no pity?

      CHARTERIS. Not in the least. When you condescend to these antics you force me to despise you. How can a woman who behaves like a spoiled child and talks like a sentimental novel have the audacity to dream of being a companion for a man of any sort of sense or character? (She gives an inarticulate cry and throws herself sobbing on his breast.) Come, don’t cry, my dear Julia: you don’t look half so beautiful as when you’re happy; and it takes all the starch out of my shirt front. Come along.

      JULIA (affectionately). I’ll come, dear, if you wish it. Give me one kiss.

      CHARTERIS (exasperated). This is too much. No: I’m dashed if I will. Here, let me go, Julia. (She clings to him.) Will you come without another word if I give you a kiss?

      JULIA. I will do anything you wish, darling.

      CHARTERIS. Well, here. (He takes her in his arms and gives her an unceremonious kiss.) Now remember your promise. Come along.

      JULIA. That was not a nice kiss, dearest. I want one of our old real kisses.

      CHARTERIS (furious). Oh, go to the deuce. (He disengages himself impulsively; and she, as if he had flung her down, falls pathetically with a stifled moan. With an angry look at her, he strides out and slams the door. She raises herself on one hand, listening to his retreating footsteps. They stop. Her face lights up with eager, triumphant cunning. The steps return hastily. She throws herself down again as before. Charteris reappears, in the utmost dismay, exclaiming) Julia: we’re done. Cuthbertson’s coming upstairs with your father — (she sits up quickly) do you hear? — the two fathers.

      JULIA (sitting on the floor). Impossible. They don’t know one another.

      CHARTERIS (desperately). I tell you they are coming up together like brothers. What on earth are we to do?

      JULIA (scrambling up with the help of his hand). Quick, the lift: we can go down in that. (She rushes to the table for her bonnet.)

      CHARTERIS. No, the man’s gone home; and the lift’s locked.

      JULIA (putting on bonnet at express speed). Let’s go up to the next floor.

      CHARTERIS. There’s no next floor. We’re at the top of the house. No, no, you must invent some thumping lie. I can’t think of one: you can, Julia. Exercise all your genius. I’ll back you up.

      JULIA. But —— —

      CHARTERIS. Sh-sh! Here they are. Sit down and look at home. (Julia tears off her bonnet and mantle; throws them on the table; and darts to the piano at which she seats herself.)

      JULIA. Come and sing. (She plays the symphony to “When other lips.” He stands at the piano, as if about to sing. Two elderly gentlemen enter. Julia stops playing.)

      The elder of the two gentlemen, Colonel Daniel Craven, affects the bluff, simple veteran, and carries it off pleasantly and well, having a fine upright figure, and being, in fact, a goodnaturedly impulsive, credulous person who, after an entirely thoughtless career as an officer and a gentleman, is now being startled into some sort of self-education by the surprising proceedings of his children.

      His companion, Mr. Joseph Cuthbertson, Grace’s father, has none of the Colonel’s boyishness. He is a man of fervent idealistic sentiment, so frequently outraged by the facts of life, that he has acquired an habitually indignant manner, which unexpectedly becomes enthusiastic or affectionate when he speaks.

      The two men differ greatly in expression. The Colonel’s face is lined with weather, with age, with eating and drinking, and with the cumulative effects of many petty vexations, but not with thought: he is still fresh, and he has by no means full expectations of pleasure and novelty. Cuthbertson has the lines of sedentary London brain work, with its chronic fatigue and longing for rest and recreative emotion, and its СКАЧАТЬ