MARCHBANKS Well: I can’t talk about indifferent things with my heart crying out bitterly in i t s hunger.
PROSERPINE Then hold your tongue.
MARCHBANKS Yes: that is what it always comes to. We hold our tongues. Does that stop the cry of your heart?—for it does cry: doesn’t it? It must, if you have a heart.
PROSERPINE [suddenly rising with her hand pressed on her heart] Oh, it’s no use trying to work while you talk like that. [She leaves her little table and sits on the sofa. Her feelings are evidently strongly worked on.] It’s no business of yours, whether my heart cries or not; but I have a mind to tell you, for all that.
MARCHBANKS You needn’t. I know already that it must.
PROSERPINE But mind: if you ever say I said so, I’ll deny it.
MARCHBANKS [compassionately] Yes, I know. And so you haven’t the courage to tell him?
PROSERPINE [bouncing up] Him! Who?
MARCHBANKS Whoever he is. The man you love. It might be anybody. The curate, Mr. Mill, perhaps.
PROSERPINE [with disdain] Mr. Mill!!! A fine man to break my heart about, indeed! I’d rather have y o u than Mr. Mill.
MARCHBANKS [recoiling] No, really—I’m very sorry; but you mustn’t think of that. I—
PROSERPINE [testily, crossing to the fire and standing at it with her back to him] Oh, don’t be frightened: it’s not you. It’s not any one particular person.
MARCHBANKS I know. You feel that you could love anybody that offered—
PROSERPINE [exasperated] Anybody that offered! No, I do not. What do you take me for?
MARCHBANKS [discouraged] No use. You won’t make me real answers—only those things that everybody says. [He strays to the sofa and sits down disconsolately. ]
PROSERPINE [nettled at what she takes to be a disparagement of her manners by an aristocrat] Oh, well, if you want original conversation, you’d better go and talk to yourself.
MARCHBANKS That is what all poets do: they talk to themselves out loud; and the world overhears them. But it’s horribly lonely not to hear someone else talk sometimes.
PROSERPINE Wait until Mr. Morell comes. He’ll talk to you. [MARCHBANKS shudders.] Oh, you needn’t make wry faces over him: he can talk better than you. [With temper.] He’d talk your little head off. [She is going back angrily to her place, when, suddenly enlightened, he springs up and stops her.]
MARCHBANKS Ah, I understand now!
PROSERPINE [reddening] What do you understand?
MARCHBANKS Your secret. Tell me: is it really and truly possible for a woman to love him?
PROSERPINE [as if this were beyond all bounds] Well!!
MARCHBANKS [passionately] No, answer me. I want to know: I must know. I can’t understand it. I can see nothing in him but words, pious resolutions, what people call goodness. You can’t love that.
PROSERPINE [attempting to snub him by an air of cool propriety] I simply don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t understand you.
MARCHBANKS [vehemently] You do. You lie—
PROSERPINE Oh!
MARCHBANKS You d o understand; and you k n o w. [Determined to have an answer.] Is it possible for a woman to love him?
PROSERPINE [looking him straight in the face] Yes. [He covers his face with his hands.] Whatever is the matter with you! [He takes down his hands and looks at her. Frightened at the tragic mask presented to her, she hurries past him at the utmost possible distance, keeping her eyes on his face until he turns from her and goes to the child’s chair beside the hearth, where he sits in the deepest dejection. As she approaches the door, it opens and BURGESS enters. On seeing him, she ejaculates] Praise heaven, here’s somebody! [and sits down, reassured, at her table. She puts a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter as BURGESS crosses to EUGENE.]
BURGESS [bent on taking care of the distinguished visitor] Well: so this is the way they leave you to yourself, Mr. Morchbanks. I’ve come to keep you company. [MARCHBANKS looks up at him in consternation, which is quite lost on him.] James is receivin’ a deppita tion in the dinin’ room; and Candy is hupstairs educatin’ of a young stitcher gurl she’s hinterusted in. She’s settin’ there learnin’ her to read out of the “‘ Ev’nly Twins.”11 [Condolingly. ] You must find it lonesome here with no one but the typist to talk to. [He pulls round the easy chair above fire, and sits down.]
PROSERPINE [highly incensed] He’ll be all right now that he has the advantage of you r polished conversation: that’s one comfort, anyhow. [She begins to typewrite with clattering asperity.]
BURGESS [amazed at her audacity] Hi was not addressin’ myself to you, young woman, that I’m awerr of.
PROSERPINE [tartly, to MARCHBANKS] Did you ever see worse manners, Mr. Marchbanks?
BURGESS [with pompous severity] Mr. Morchbanks is a gentleman and knows his place, which is more than some people do.
PROSERPINE [ fretfully] It’s well you and I are not ladies and gentlemen : I’d talk to you pretty straight if Mr. Marchbanks wasn’t here. [She pulls the letter out of the machine so crossly that it tears.] There, now I’ve spoiled this letter—have to be done all over again. Oh, I can’t contain myself—silly old fathead!
BURGESS [rising, breathless with indignation] Ho! I’m a silly ole fat‘ead, am I? Ho, indeed [gasping]. Hall right, my gurl! Hall right. You just wait till I tell that to your employer. You’ll see. I’ll teach you: see if I don’t.
PROSERPINE I—
BURGESS [cutting her short] No, you’ve done it now. No huse a-talkin’ to me. I’ll let you know who I am. [PROSERPINE shifts her paper carriage with a defiant bang, and disdainfully goes on with her work.] Don’t you take no notice of her, Mr. Morchbanks. She’s beneath it. [He sits down again loftily.]
MARCHBANKS [miserably nervous and disconcerted] Hadn’t we better change the subject. I—I don’t think Miss Garnett meant anything.
PROSERPINE [with intense conviction] Oh, didn’t I though, just!
BURGESS I wouldn’t demean myself to take notice on her. [An electric bell rings twice.]
PROSERPINE [gathering up her note-book and papers] That’s for me. [She hurries out.]
BURGESS [calling after her] Oh, we can spare you. [Somewhat relieved by the triumph of having the last word, and yet half inclined to try to improve on it, he looks after her for a moment; then subsides into his seat by EUGENE, and addresses him very confidentialty.] Now we’re alone, Mr. Morchbanks, let me give you a friendly ‘int that I wouldn’t give to everybody. ’Ow long ‘ave you known my son-in-law James here?
MARCHBANKS I don’t know. I never can remember dates. A few months, perhaps.
BURGESS Ever notice anything queer about him?
MARCHBANKS I don’t think so.
BURGESS (impressively] No more you wouldn’t. That’s the danger in it. Well, he’s mad.
MARCHBANKS Mad!
BURGESS Mad as a Morch ‘are. You take notice on him and you’ll see.
MARCHBANKS [beginning] But surely that is only because his opinions—
BURGESS [touching him with his forefinger on his knee, and pressing it as if to hold his attention with it] That’s wot I used ter think, Mr. Morchbanks. H i thought long enough that it was honly ‘is opinions; though, mind you, hopinions becomes vurry serious things when people takes to hactin on ’em as ‘e does. But that’s not wot I go on. [He looks round to make sure that they are alone, and bends over to EUGENE’s ear.] Wot do you think he says to me this mornin’ in this very room?
MARCHBANKS What?
BURGESS He sez to me—this is as sure as we’re settin’ here now—he sez: “I’m a fool,” he sez; “and yore a scounderi”—as cool as possible. Me a scounderl, mind you! And then shook ‘ ands with me on it, as if it was to my credit! Do you mean to tell me that that man’s sane?
MORELL [outside, calling to PROSERPINE, holding the door open] Get all their names and addresses, Miss Garnett.
PROSERPINE [in the distance] Yes, Mr. Morell. [MORELL comes in, with the deputation’s documents
in his hands.]
BURGESS [aside to MARCHBANKS] Yorr he is. Just you keep your heye on him and see. [Rising momentously.] I’m sorry, James, to ‘ ave to make a complaint to you. I don’t want to do it; but I feel I oughter, as a matter o’ right and dooty.
MORELL What’s the matter.
BURGESS Mr. Morchbanks will bear me out: he was a witness. [Very solemnly. ] Your young woman so far forgot herself as to call me a silly ole fat‘ead.
MORELL [delighted—with tremendous heartiness] Oh, now, isn’t that exactly like Prossy? She’s so frank: she can’t contain herself! Poor Prossy! Ha! Ha!
BURGESS [trembling with rage] And do you hexpec me to put up with it from the like of er?
MORELL Pooh, nonsense! you can’t take any notice of it. Never mind. [He goes to the cellaret and puts the papers into one of the drawers. ]
BURGESS Oh, I don’t mind. I’m above it. But is it r i g h t?—that’s what I want to know. Is it right?
MORELL That’s a question for the Church, not for the laity. Has it done you any harm, that’s the question for you, eh? Of course, it hasn’t. Think no more of it. [He dismisses the subject by going to his place at the table and setting to work at his correspondence.]
BURGESS [aside to MARCHBANKS] What did I tell you? Mad as a ‘atter. [He goes to the table and asks, with the sickly civility of a hungry man] When’s dinner, James?
MORELL Not for half an hour yet.
BURGESS [with plaintive resignation] Gimme a nice book to read over the fire, will you, James: thur’s a good chap.
MORELL What sort of book? A good one?
BURGESS [with almost a yell of remonstrance] Nah-oo! Summat pleasant, just to pass the time. [MORELL takes an illustrated paper from the table and offers it. He accepts it humbly. Thank yer, James. [He goes back to his easy chair at the fire, and sits there at his ease, reading. ]
MORELL [as he writes] Candida will come to entertain you presently. She has got rid of her pupil. She is filling the lamps.
MARCHBANKS [starting up in the wildest consternation] But that will soil her hands. I can’t bear that, Morell: it’s a shame. I’ll go and fill them. [He makes for the door.
MORELL You’d better not. [MARCHBANKS stops irresolutely.] She’d only set you to clean my boots, to save me the trouble of doing it myself in the morning.
BURGESS [with grave disapproval] Don’t you keep a servant now, James?
MORELL Yes; but she isn’t a slave; and the house looks as if I kept three. That means that everyone has to lend a hand. It’s not a bad plan: Prossy and I can talk business after breakfast whilst we’re washing up. Washing up’s no trouble when there are two people to do it.
MARCHBANKS [tormentedly] Do you think every woman is as coarse-grained as Miss Garnett?
BURGESS [emphatically] That’s quite right, Mr. Morchbanks. That‘squiteright. She is corse-grained.
MORELL (quietly and significantly] Marchbanks!
MARCHBANKS Yes.
MORELL How many servants does your father keep?
MARCHBANKS Oh, I don’t know. [He comes back uneasily to the sofa, as if to get as far as possible from MORELL’s questioning, and sits down in great agony of mind, thinking of the paraffin. ]
MORELL [very gravely] So many that you don’t know. [More aggressively.] Anyhow, when there’s anything coarse-grained to be done, you ring the bell and throw it on to somebody else, eh? That’s one of the great facts in y o u r existence, isn’t it?
MARCHBANKS Oh, don’t torture me. The one great fact now is that your wife’s beautiful fingers are dabbling in paraffin oil, and that you are sitting here comfortably preaching about it—everlasting preaching, preaching, words, words, words.
BURGESS [intensely appreciating this retort] Ha, ha! Devil a better. [Radiantly] ‘Ad you there, James, straight. [CANDIDA comes in, well aproned, with a reading lamp trimmed,filled, and ready for lighting. She places it on the table near MORELL, ready for use.]
CANDIDA [brushing her finger tips together with a slight twitch of her nose] If you stay with us, Eugene, I think I will hand over the lamps to you.
MARCHBANKS I will stay on condition that you hand over all the rough work to me.
CANDIDA That’s very gallant; but I think I should like to see how you do it first. [Turning to MORELL.] James: you’ve not been looking after the house properly.
MORELL What have I done—or not done—my love?
CANDIDA [with serious vexation] My own particular pet scrubbing brush has been used for blackleading. [.A heartbreaking wail bursts from MARCHBANKS. BURGESS looks round, amazed. CANDIDA hurries to the sofa.] What’s the matter? Are you ill, Eugene?
MARCHBANKS No, not ill . Only horror, horror, horror! [He bows his head on his hands. ]
BURGESS [shocked ] What! Got the ‘orrors, Mr. Morchbanks! Oh, that’s bad, at your age. You must leave it off grajally.
CANDIDA [reassured] Nonsense, papa. It’s only poetic horror, isn’t it, Eugene? [Petting him.]
BURGESS [abashed] Oh, poetic ‘orror, is it? I beg your pordon, I’m shore. [He turns to the fire again, deprecating his hasty conclusion.]
CANDIDA What is it, Eugene—the scrubbing brush? [He shudders.] Well, there! never mind. [She sits down beside him.] Wouldn’t you like to present me with a nice new one, with an ivory back inlaid with mother-of-pearl?
MARCHBANKS [softly and musically, but sadly and longingly] No, not a scrubbing brush, but a boat—a tiny shallop12 to sail away in, far from the world, where the marble floors are washed by the rain and dried by the sun, where the south wind dusts the beautiful green and purple carpets. Or a chariot—to carry us up into the sky, where the lamps are stars, and don’t need to be filled with paraffin oil every day.
MORELL [harshty] And where there is nothing to do but to be idle, selfish and useless.
CANDIDA [jarred] Oh, James, how could you spoil it all!
MARCHBANKS [firing up] Yes, to be idle, selfish and useless: that is to be beautiful and free and happy: hasn’t every man desired that with all his soul for the woman he loves? That’s my ideal: what’s yours, and that of all the dreadful people who live in these hideous rows of houses? Sermons and scrubbing brushes! With you to preach the sermon and your wife to scrub.
CANDIDA [quaintly] He cleans the boots, Eugene. You will have to clean them to-morrow for saying that about him.
MARCHBANKS Oh! don’t talk about boots. Your feet should be beautiful on the mountains.am
CANDIDA My feet would not be beautiful on the Hackney Road without boots.
BURGESS [scandalized] Come, Candy, don’t be vulgar. Mr. Morchbanks ain’t accustomed to it. You’re givin’ him the ‘orrors again. I mean the poetic ones. [MORELL is silent. Apparently he is busy with his letters: really he is puzzling with misgiving over his new and alarming experience that the surer he is of his moral thrusts, the more swiftly and effectively EUGENE parries them. To find himself beginning to fear a man whom he does not respect afflicts him bitterly. ) [MISS GARNETT comes in with a telegram.]
PROSERPINE (handing the telegram to MORELL] Reply paid. The boy’s waiting. [To CANDIDA, coming back to her machine and sitting down. Maria is ready for you now in the kitchen, Mrs. Morell. [CANDIDA rises.] The onions have come.
MARCHBANKS [convulsively] Onions!
CANDIDA Yes, onions. Not even Spanish ones—nasty little red onions. You shall help me to slice them. Come along. [She catches him by the wrist and runs out, pulling him after her. BURGESS rises in consternation, and stands aghast on the hearth-rug, staring after them. ]
BURGESS Candy didn’t oughter ‘andle a peer’s nevvyan like that. It’s goin’ too fur with it. Lookee ’ere, James: do ‘e often git taken queer like that?
MORELL [shortly, writing a telegram] I don’t know.
BURGESS [sentimentally] He talks very pretty. I allus had a turn for a bit of potery. Candy takes arter me that-a-way: huse ter make me tell her fairy stories when she was on’ y a little kiddy not that ‘igh [indicating a stature of two fe
et or thereabouts].
MORELL [preoccupied] Ah, indeed. [He blots the telegram, and goes out. ]
PROSERPINE Used you to make the fairy stories up out of your own head? [BURGESS, not deigning to reply, strikes an attitude of the haughtiest disdain on the hearth-rug.]
PROSERPINE [calmly] I should never have supposed you had it in you. By the way, I’d better warn you, since you’ve taken such a fancy to Mr. Marchbanks. He’s mad.
BURGESS Mad! Wot! ‘Im too!!
PROSERPINE Mad as a March hare. He did frighten me, I can tell you just before you came in that time. Haven’t you noticed the queer things he says?
BURGESS So that’s wot the poetic ‘orrors means. Blame me if it didn’t come into my head once or twyst that he must be off his chump!ao [He crosses the room to the door, lifting up his voice as he goes. Well, this is a pretty sort of asylum for a man to be in, with no one but you to take care of him!
PROSERPINE [as he passes her] Yes, what a dreadful thing it would be if anything happened to you!
BURGESS [loftily] Don’t you address no remarks to me. Tell your hemployer that I’ve gone into the garden for a smoke.
PROSERPINE [mocking] Oh! [Before BURGESS can retort, MORELL comes back.]
BURGESS [sentimentally] Goin’ for a turn in the garden to smoke, James.
MORELL [brusquely] Oh, all right, all right. [BURGESS goes out pathetically in the character of the weary old man. MORELL stands at the table, turning over his papers, and adding, across to PROSERPINE, half humorously, half absently] Well, Miss Prossy, why have you been calling my father-in-law names?
PROSERPINE [blushing fiery red, and looking quickly up at him, half iscared, half reproachful ] I-[She bursts into tears.]
MORELL [with tender gaiety, leaning across the table towards her, and consoling her] Oh, come, come, come! Never mind, Pross: he isasilly old fathead, isn’t he?
[With an explosive sob, she makes a dash at the door, and vanishes, banging it. MORELL, shaking his head resignedly, sighs, and goes wearily to his chair, where he sits down and sets to work, looking old and careworn.]
[CANDIDA comes in. She has finished her household work and taken off the apron. She at once notices his dejected appearance, and posts herself quietly at the spare chair, looking down at him attentively; but she says nothing.]
Man and Superman and Three Other Plays Page 19