PROSERPINE. Her eyes are not a bit better than mine: now! [He puts down the photograph and stares austerely at her]. And you know very well you think me dowdy and second rate enough.
LEXY [rising majestically] Heaven forbid that I should think of any of God’s creatures in such a way! [He moves stiffly away from her across the room to the neighborhood of the bookcase].
PROSERPINE [sarcastically] Thank you. Thats very nice and comforting.
LEXY [saddened by her depravity] I had no idea you had any feeling against Mrs Morell.
PROSERPINE [indignantly] I have no feeling against her. She’s very nice, very good-hearted: I’m very fond of her, and can appreciate her real qualities far better than any man can. [He shakes his head sadly. She rises and comes at him with intense pepperiness]. You dont believe me? You think I’m jealous? Oh, what a knowledge of the human heart you have, Mr Lexy Mill! How well you know the weaknesses of Woman, dont you? It must be so nice to be a man and have a fine penetrating intellect instead of mere emotions like us, and to know that the reason we dont share your amorous delusions is that we’re all jealous of one another! [She abandons him with a toss of her shoulders, and crosses to the fire to warm her hands].
LEXY. Ah, if you women only had the same clue to Man’s strength that you have to his weakness, Miss Prossy, there would be no Woman Question.
PROSERPINE [over her shoulder, as she stoops, holding her hands to the blaze] Where did you hear Morell say that? You didnt invent it yourself: youre not clever enough.
LEXY. That’s quite true, I am not ashamed of owing him that, as I owe him so many other spiritual truths. He said it at the annual conference of the Women’s Liberal Federation. Allow me to add that though they didnt appreciate it, I, a mere man, did. [He turns to the bookcase again, hoping that this may leave her crushed].
PROSERPINE [putting her hair straight at a panel of mirror in the mantelpiece] Well, when you talk to me, give me your own ideas, such as they are, and not his. You never cut a poorer figure than when you are trying to imitate him.
LEXY [stung] I try to follow his example, not to imitate him.
PROSERPINE [coming at him again on her way back to her work] Yes, you do: you imitate him. Why do you tuck your umbrella under your left arm instead of carrying it in your hand like anyone else? Why do you walk with your chin stuck out before you, hurrying along with that eager look in your eyes? you! who never get up before half past nine in the morning. Why do you say ‘knoaledge’ in church, though you always say ‘knolledge’ in private conversation! Bah! do you think I dont know? [She goes back to the typewriter]. Here! come and set about your work: weve wasted enough time for one morning. Here’s a copy of the diary for today. [She hands him a memorandum].
LEXY [deeply offended] Thank you. [He takes it and stands at the table with his back to her, reading it. She begins to transcribe her shorthand notes on the typewriter without troubling herself about his feelings].
The door opens; and Mr Burgess enters unannounced. He is a man of sixty, made coarse and sordid by the compulsory selfishness of petty commerce, and later on softened into sluggish bumptiousness by overfeeding and commercial success. A vulgar ignorant guzzling man, offensive and contemptuous to people whose labor is cheap, respectful to wealth and rank, and quite sincere and without rancor or envy in both attitudes. The world has offered him no decently paid work except that of a sweater; and he has become, in consequence, somewhat hoggish. But he has no suspicion of this himself, and honestly regards his commercial prosperity as the inevitable and socially wholesome triumph of the ability, industry, shrewdness, and experience in business of a man who in private is easygoing, affectionate, and humorously convivial to a fault. Corporeally he is podgy, with a snoutish nose in the centre of a flat square face, a dust colored beard with a patch of grey in the centre under his chin, and small watery blue eyes with a plaintively sentimental expression, which he transfers easily to his voice by his habit of pompously intoning his sentences.
BURGESS [stopping on the threshold, and looking round] They told me Mr Morell was here.
PROSERPINE [rising] I’ll fetch him for you.
BURGESS [staring disappointedly at her] Youre not the same young lady as hused to typewrite for him?
PROSERPINE. No.
BURGESS [grumbling on his way to the hearth-rug] No: she was young-er. [Miss Garnett stares at him; then goes out, slamming the door]. Startin on your rounds, Mr Mill?
LEXY [folding his memorandum and pocketing it] Yes: I must be off presently.
BURGESS [momentously] Dont let me detain you, Mr Mill. What I come about is private between me and Mr Morell.
LEXY [huffily] I have no intention of intruding, I am sure, Mr Burgess. Good morning.
BURGESS [patronizingly] Oh, good morning to you.
Morell returns as Lexy is making for the door.
MORELL [to Lexy] Off to work?
LEXY. Yes, sir.
MORELL. Take my silk handkerchief and wrap your throat up. Theres a cold wind. Away with you.
Lexy, more than consoled for Burgess’s rudeness, brightens up and goes out.
BURGESS. Spoilin your korates as usu’l, James. Good mornin. When I pay a man, an’ ‘is livin depens on me, I keep him in ‘is place.
MORELL [rather shortly] I always keep my curates in their places as my helpers and comrades. If you get as much work out of your clerks and warehousemen as I do out of my curates, you must be getting rich pretty fast. Will you take your old chair.
He points with curt authority to the armchair beside the fireplace; then takes the spare chair from the table and sits down at an unfamiliar distance from his visitor.
BURGESS [without moving] Just the same as hever, James!
MORELL. When you last called – it was about three years ago, I think – you said the same thing a little more frankly. Your exact words then were ‘Just as big a fool as ever, James!’
BURGESS [soothingly] Well, praps I did; but [with conciliatory cheerfulness] I meant no hoffence by it. A clorgyman is privileged to be a bit of a fool, you know: it’s ony becomin in ‘is profession that he should. Anyhow, I come here, not to rake up hold differences, but to let bygones be bygones. [Suddenly becoming very solemn, and approaching Morell] James: three years ago, you done me a hil turn, you done me hout of a contrac: as when I gev you arsh words in my natral disappointment, you turned my daughrter again me. Well, Ive come to hact the part of a Kerischin. [Offering his hand] I forgive you, James.
MORELL [starting up] Confound your impudence!
BURGESS [retreating, with almost lachrymose deprecation of this treatment] Is that becomin language for a clorgyman, James? And you so particlar, too!
MORELL [hotly] No, sir: it is not becoming language for a clergyman. I used the wrong word. I should have said damn your impudence: thats what St Paul or any honest priest would have said to you. Do you think I have forgotten that tender of yours for the contract to supply clothing to the workhouse?
BURGESS [in a paroxysm of public spirit] I hacted in the hinterest of the ratepayers, James. It was the lowest tender: you carnt deny that.
MORELL. Yes, the lowest, because you paid worse wages than any other employer – starvation wages – aye, worse than starvation wages – to the women who made the clothing. Your wages would have driven them to the streets to keep body and soul together. [Getting angrier and angrier] Those women were my parishioners. I shamed the Guardians out of accepting your tender: I shamed the ratepayers out of letting them do it: I shamed everybody but you. [Boiling over]. How dare you, sir, come here and offer to forgive me, and talk about your daughter, and –
BURGESS. Heasy, James! heasy! heasy! Dont git hinto a fluster about nothink. Ive howned I was wrong.
MORELL. Have you? I didn’t hear you.
BURGESS. Of course I did. I hown it now. Come: I harsk your pardon for the letter I wrote you. Is that enough?
MORELL [snapping his fingers] Thats nothing. Have you raised the wages?
> BURGESS [triumphantly] Yes.
MORELL. What!
BURGESS [unctuously] Ive turned a moddle hemployer. I dont hemploy no women now: theyre all sacked; and the work is done by machinery. Not a man ‘as less than sixpence a hour; and the skilled ands gits the Trade Union rate. [Proudly] What ave you to say to me now?
MORELL [overwhelmed] Is it possible! Well, theres more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth! – [Going to Burgess with an explosion of apologetic cordiality] My dear Burgess: how splendid of you! I most heartily beg your pardon for my hard thoughts. [Grasping his hand] And now, dont you feel the better for the change? Come! confess! youre happier. You look happier.
BURGESS [ruefully] Well, praps I do. I spose I must, since you notice it. At all events, I git my contrax assepted by the County Council. [Savagely] They dussent ave nothink to do with me unless I paid fair wages: curse em for a parcel o meddlin fools!
MORELL [dropping his hand, utterly discouraged] So that was why you raised the wages! [He sits down moodily].
BURGESS [severely, in spreading, mounting tones] Woy helse should I do it? What does it lead to but drink and huppishness in workin men? [He seats himself magisterially in the easy chair]. It’s hall very well for you, James: it gits you hinto the papers and makes a great man of you; but you never think of the arm you do, puttin money into the pockets of workin men that they dunno ow to spend, and takin it from people that might be makin a good huse on it.
MORELL [with a heavy sigh, speaking with cold politeness] What is your business with me this morning? I shall not pretend to believe that you are here merely out of family sentiment.
BURGESS [obstinately] Yes I ham: just family sentiment and nothink helse.
MORELL [with weary calm] I dont believe you.
BURGESS [rising threateningly] Dont say that to me again, James Mavor Morell.
MORELL [unmoved] I’ll say it just as often as may be necessary to convince you that it’s true. I dont believe you.
BURGESS [collapsing into an abyss of wounded feeling] Oh, well, if youre detormined to be hunfriendly, I spose I’d better go. [He moves reluctantly towards the door. Morell makes no sign. He lingers]. I didnt hexpect to find a hunforgivin spirit in you, James. [Morell still not responding, he takes a few more reluctant steps doorwards. Then he comes back, whining]. We huseter git on well enough, spite of our different hopinions. Woy are you so changed to me? I give you my word I come here in peeorr [pure] frenliness, not wishin to be hon bad terms with my hown daughrter’s usban. Come, James: be a Kerischin, and shake ands. [He puts his hand sentimentally on Morell’s shoulder].
MORELL [looking up at him thoughtfully] Look here, Burgess. Do you want to be as welcome here as you were before you lost that contract?
BURGESS. I do, James. I do – honest.
MORELL. Then why dont you behave as you did then?
BURGESS [cautiously removing his hand] Ow d’y’mean?
MORELL. I’ll tell you. You thought me a young fool then.
BURGESS [coaxingly] No I didnt, James. I –
MORELL [cutting him short] Yes, you did. And I thought you an old scoundrel.
BURGESS [most vehemently deprecating this gross self-accusation on Morell’s part] No you didnt, James. Now you do yourself a hinjustice.
MORELL. Yes I did. Well, that did not prevent our getting on very well together. God made you what I call a scoundrel as He made me what you call a fool. [The effect of this observation on Burgess is to remove the keystone of his moral arch. He becomes bodily weak, and, with his eyes fixed on Morell in a helpless stare, puts out his hand apprehensively to balance himself, as if the floor had suddenly sloped under him. Morell proceeds, in the same tone of quiet conviction] It was not for me to quarrel with His handiwork in the one case more than in the other. So long as you come here honestly as a self-respecting, thorough, convinced, scoundrel, justifying your scoundrelism and proud of it, you are welcome. But [and now Morell’s tone becomes formidable; and he rises and strikes the back of thechair for greater emphasis] I wont have you here snivelling about being a model employer and a converted man when youre only an apostate with your coat turned for the sake of a County Council contract. [He nods at him to enforce the point; then goes to the hearth-rug, where he takes up a comfortably commanding position with his back to the fire, and continues] No: I like a man to be true to himself, even in wickedness. Come now: either take your hat and go; or else sit down and give me a good scoundrelly reason for wanting to be friends with me. [Burgess, whose emotions have subsided sufficiently to be expressed by a dazed grin, is relieved by this concrete proposition. He ponders it for a moment, and then, slowly and very modestly sits down in the chair Morell has just left]. Thats right. Now out with it.
BURGESS [chuckling in spite of himself] Well, you orr a queer bird, James, and no mistake. But [almost enthusiastically] one carnt elp likin you: besides, as I said afore, of course one dont take hall a clorgyman says seriously, or the world couldnt go on. Could it now? [He composes himself for graver discourse, and, turning his eyes on Morell, proceeds with dull seriousness] Well, I dont mind tellin you, since it’s your wish we should be free with one another, that I did think you a bit of a fool once; but I’m beginnin to think that praps I was be’ind the times a bit.
MORELL [exultant] Aha! Youre finding that out at last, are you?
BURGESS [portentously] Yes: times ‘as changed mor’n I could a believed. Five yorr [year] ago, no sensible man would a thought o takin hup with your hidears. I hused to wonder you was let preach at all. Why, I know a clorgyman what ‘as bin kep hout of his job for yorrs by the Bishop o London, although the pore feller’s not a bit more religious than you are. But today, if hennyone was to horffer to bet me a thousan poun that youll hend by being a bishop yourself, I dussent take the bet. [Very impressively] You and your crew are gittin hinfluential: I can see that. Theyll ave to give you somethink someday, if it’s honly to stop your mouth. You ad the right instinc arter all, James: the line you took is the payin line in the long run for a man o your sort.
MORELL [offering his hand with thorough decision] Shake hands, Burgess. Now youre talking honestly. I dont think theyll make me a bishop; but if they do, I’ll introduce you to the biggest jobbers I can get to come to my dinner parties.
BURGESS [who has risen with a sheepish grin and accepted the hand of friendship] You will ave your joke, James. Our quarrel’s made up now, ain it?
A WOMAN’S VOICE. Say yes, James.
Startled, they turn quickly and find that Candida has just come in, and is looking at them with an amused maternal indulgence which is her characteristic expression. She is a woman of 33, well built, well nourished, likely, one guesses, to become matronly later on, but now quite at her best, with the double charm of youth and motherhood. Her ways are those of a woman who has found that she can always manage people by engaging their affection, and who does so frankly and instinctively without the smallest scruple. So far, she is like any other pretty woman who is just clever enough to make the most of her sexual attractions for trivially selfish ends; but Candida’s serene brow, courageous eyes, and well set mouth and chin signify largeness of mind and dignity of character to ennoble her cunning in the affections. A wise-hearted observer, looking at her, would at once guess that whoever had placed the Virgin of the Assumption over her hearth did so because he fancied some spiritual resemblance between them, and yet would not suspect either her husband or herself of any such idea, or indeed of any concern with the art of Titian.
Just now she is in bonnet and mantle, carrying a strapped rug with her umbrella stuck through it, a handbag, and a supply of illustrated papers.
MORELL [shocked at his remissness] Candida! Why – [he looks at his watch, and is horrified to find it so late]. My darling! [Hurrying to her and seizing the rug strap, pouring forth his remorseful regrets all the time] I intended to meet you at the train. I let the time slip. [Flinging the rug on the sofa] I was so engrossed by – [returning to her] – I f
orgot – oh! [He embraces her with penitent emotion].
BURGESS [a little shamefaced and doubtful of his reception] How orr you, Candy? [She, still in Morell’s arms, offers him her cheek, which he kisses], James and me is come to a nunnerstannin. A honorable unnerstannin. Ain we, James?
MORELL [impetuously] Oh bother your understanding! youve kept me late for Candida. [With compassionate fervor] My poor love: how did you manage about the luggage? How –
CANDIDA [stopping him and disengaging herself] There! there! there! I wasnt alone. Eugene has been down with us; and we travelled together.
MORELL [pleased] Eugene!
CANDIDA. Yes: he’s struggling with my luggage, poor boy. Go out, dear, at once; or he’ll pay for the cab; and I dont want that. [Morell hurries out. Candida puts down her handbag; then takes off her mantle and bonnet and puts them on the sofa with the rug, chatting meanwhile]. Well, papa: how are you getting on at home?
BURGESS. The ouse aint worth livin in since you left it, Candy. I wish youd come round and give the gurl a talkin to. Who’s this Eugene thats come with you?
CANDIDA. Oh, Eugene’s one of James’s discoveries. He found him sleeping on the Embankment last June. Havnt you noticed our new picture [pointing to the Virgin] ? He gave us that.
BURGESS [incredulously] Garn! D’you mean to tell me – your hown father! – that cab touts or such like, orf the Embankment, buys pictures like that? [Severely] Dont deceive me, Candy: it’s a ‘Igh Church picture; and James chose it hisself.
CANDIDA. Guess again. Eugene isnt a cab tout.
BURGESS. Then what is he? [Sarcastically] A nobleman, I spose.
CANDIDA [nodding delightedly] Yes. His uncle’s a peer! A real live earl.
BURGESS [not daring to believe such good news] No!
CANDIDA. Yes. He had a seven day bill for £55 in his pocket when James found him on the Embankment. He thought he couldnt get any money for it until the seven days were up; and he was too shy to ask for credit. Oh, he’s a dear boy! We are very fond of him.
Plays Pleasant Page 12