name is Cecily Cardew.
is so forward of them. [Enter MERRIMAN.] MERRIMAN Miss Fairfax. CECILY[Enter GWENDOLEN.] [Advancing to meet her.] [Exit MERRIMAN.] Pray let me introduce myself to you. My
GWENDOLEN Cecily Cardew? [Moving to her and shaking hands.] What a very
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
sweet name! Something tells me that we are going to be great friends. I like
you already more than I can say. My first impressions of people are never
wrong.
CECILY
How nice of you to like me so much after we have known each other
such a comparatively short time. Pray sit down. GWENDOLEN [Still standing up. | I may call you Cecily, may I not? CECILY
With pleasure!
GWENDOLEN
And you will always call me Gwendolen, won't you?
CECILY
If you wish.
GWENDOLEN
Then that is all quite settled, is it not? CECILY I hope so. [A pause. They both sit down together.] GWENDOLEN
Perhaps this might be a favorable opportunity for my mention
ing who I am. My father is Lord Bracknell. You have never heard of papa,
I suppose?
CECILY
I don't think so.
GWENDOLEN
Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is entirely
unknown. I think that is quite as it should be. The home seems to me to be
the proper sphere for the man. And certainly once a man begins to neglect
his domestic duties he becomes painfully effeminate, does he not? And I
don't like that. It makes men so very attractive. Cecily, mamma, whose views
on education are remarkably strict, has brought me up to be extremely short
sighted; it is part of her system; so do you mind my looking at you through
my glasses?
CECILY
Oh! not at all, Gwendolen. I am very fond of being looked at. GWENDOLEN [After examining CECILY carefully through a lorgnette.] You are here on a short visit, I suppose.
CECILY
Oh no! I live here. GWENDOLEN [Severely.] Really? Your mother, no doubt, or some female relative of advanced years, resides here also?
CECILY
Oh no! I have no mother, nor, in fact, any relations.
GWENDOLEN
Indeed?
CECILY
My dear guardian, with the assistance of Miss Prism, has the arduous
task of looking after me.
GWENDOLEN
Your guardian?
CECILY
Yes, I am Mr. Worthing's ward.
GWENDOLEN
Oh! It is strange he never mentioned to me that he had a ward. How secretive of him! He grows more interesting hourly. I am not sure, however, that the news inspires me with feelings of unmixed delight. [Rising and going to her.] I am very fond of you, Cecily; I have liked you ever since I met you! But I am bound to state that now that I know that you are Mr.
Worthing's ward, 1 cannot help
expressing a wish you were�well just a little
older than you seem to be�and not quite so very alluring in appearance.
In fact, if I may speak candidly
CECILY
Pray do! I think that whenever one has anything unpleasant to say,
one should always be quite candid.
GWENDOLEN
Well, to speak with perfect candour, Cecily, I wish that you were
fully forty-two, and more than usually plain for your age. Ernest has a strong
upright nature. He is the very soul of truth and honour. Disloyalty would
be as impossible to him as deception. But even men of the noblest possible
moral character are extremely susceptible to the influence of the physical
.
1 1726 / OSCAR WILDE
charms of others. Modern, no less than Ancient History, supplies us with
many most painful examples of what I refer to. If it were not so, indeed,
History would be quite unreadable.
CECILY
I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you say Ernest?
GWENDOLEN Yes.
CECILY
Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is my guardian. It is his
brother�his elder brother. GWENDOLEN [Sitting down again.] Ernest never mentioned to me that he had a brother.
CECILY
I am sorry to say they have not been on good terms for a long time.
GWENDOLEN
Ah! that accounts for it. And now that I think of it I have never
heard any man mention his brother. The subject seems distasteful to most
men. Cecily, you have lifted a load from my mind. I was growing almost
anxious. It would have been terrible if any cloud had come across a friend
ship like ours, would it not? Of course you are quite, quite sure that it is
not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is your guardian?
CECILY
Quite sure. [A pause.] In fact, I am going to be his. GWENDOLEN [Inquiringly.] I beg your pardon? CECILY [Rather shy and confidingly.] Dearest Gwendolen, there is no reason
why I should make a secret of it to you. Our little county newspaper is sure
to chronicle the fact next week. Mr. Ernest Worthing and I are engaged to
be married.
GWENDOLEN [Quite politely, rising.] My darling Cecily, I think there must be some slight error. Mr. Ernest Worthing is engaged to me. The announcement will appear in the Morning Post3 on Saturday at the latest.
CECILY [Very politely, rising.] I am afraid you must be under some misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly ten minutes ago. [Shows diary.] GWENDOLEN [Examines diary through her lorgnette carefully.] It is certainly very curious, for he asked me to be his wife yesterday afternoon at 5:30. If you would care to verify the incident, pray do so. [Produces diary of her own.] I never travel without my diary. One should always have something
sensational to read in the train. I am so sorry, dear Cecily, if it is any dis
appointment to you, but I am afraid I have the prior claim.
CECILY
It would distress me more than I can tell you, dear Gwendolen, if it
caused you any mental or physical anguish, but I feel bound to point out
that since Ernest proposed to you he clearly has changed his mind. GWENDOLEN [Meditatively.] If the poor fellow has been entrapped into any foolish promise I shall consider it my duty to rescue him at once, and with
a firm hand. CECILY [Thoughtfully and sadly.] Whatever unfortunate entanglement my dear boy may have got into, I will never reproach him with it after we are
married.
GWENDOLEN
Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, as an entanglement? You
are presumptuous. On an occasion of this kind it becomes more than a
moral duty to speak one's mind. It becomes a pleasure.
CECILY
Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that I entrapped Ernest into an engage
ment? How dare you? This is no time for wearing the shallow mask of man
ners. When I see a spade I call it a spade. GWENDOLEN [Satirically.] I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade. It
3. A popular journal featuring society gossip and also announcements of engagements and marriages.
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different.
[Enter MERRIMAN, followed by the footman. He carries a salver, tablecloth, and plate stand, CECILY is about to retort. The presence of the servants exercises a restraining influence, under which both girls chafe.]
MERRIMAN
Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?
CECILY [Sternly, in a calm voice.] Yes, as usual. [MERRIMAN begins to clear table and lay cloth. A long pause, CECILY and GWENDOLEN glare at each other.]
GWENDOLEN
Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity, Miss Cardew?
CECILY
Oh! yes! a great many. From the top of one of the hills quite close one can see five counties.
GWENDOLEN
Five counties! I don't think I should like that. I hate crowds.
CECILY [Sweetly.] I suppose that is why you five in town? [GWENDOLEN bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with her parasol.]
GWENDOLEN [Looking round.] Quite a well-kept garden this is, Miss Cardew. CECILY
So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN
I had no idea there were any flowers in the country.
CECILY
Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people are in
London.
GWENDOLEN
Personally I cannot understand how anybody manages to exist
in the country, if anybody who is anybody does. The country always bores
me to death.
CECILY
Ah! This is what the newspapers call agricultural depression, is it not?
I believe the aristocracy are suffering very much from it just at present.4 It
is almost an epidemic amongst them, I have been told. May I offer you some
tea, Miss Fairfax? GWENDOLEN [With elaborate politeness.] Thank you. [Aside.] Detestable girl!
But I require tea! CECILY [Sweetly.] Sugar? GWENDOLEN [Superciliously.] No, thank you. Sugar is not fashionable any
more, [CECILY looks angrily at her, takes up the tongs and puts four lumps of
sugar into the cup. ] CECILY [Severely.] Cake or bread and butter? GWENDOLEN [In a bored manner. J Bread and butter, please. Cake is rarely
seen at the best houses nowadays. CECILY [Cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the tray.] Hand that to Miss Fairfax.
[MERRIMAN does so, and goes out with footman. GWENDOLEN drinks the tea and makes a grimace. Puts down cup at once, reaches out her hand to the bread and butter, looks at it, and finds it is cake. Rises in indignation. ]
GWENDOLEN
You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I asked
most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me cake. I am known
for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my
nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far. CECILY [Rising.] To save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from the machinations of any other girl there are no lengths to which I would not go.
4. From the 1870s on, landowners (including aristocrats) had been suffering severe losses because of adverse economic conditions.
.
1 1728 / OSCAR WILDE
GWENDOLEN
From the moment I saw you I distrusted you. I felt that you
were false and deceitful. I am never deceived in such matters. My first
impressions of people are invariably right.
CECILY
It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I am trespassing on your valuable
time. No doubt you have many other calls of a similar character to make in
the neighborhood.
[Enter JACK.] GWENDOLEN [Catching sight of him.] Ernest! My own Ernest! JACK Gwendolen! Darling! [Offers to kiss her.] GWENDOLEN [Drawing hack.] A moment! May I ask if you are engaged to be
married to this young lady? [Points to CECILY.] JACK [Laughing.] To dear little Cecily! Of course not! What could have put
such an idea into your pretty little head? GWENDOLEN Thank you. You may! [Offers her cheek.] CECILY [Very sweetly.] I knew there must be some misunderstanding, Miss
Fairfax. The gentleman whose arm is at present round your waist is my dear
guardian, Mr. John Worthing.
GWENDOLEN
I beg your pardon?
CECILY
This is Uncle Jack. GWENDOLEN [Receding.] Jack! Oh! [Enter ALGERNON.]
CECILY
Here is Ernest. ALGERNON [Goes straight over to CECILY without noticing anyone else.] Myown love! [Offers to kiss her.] CECILY [Drawing hack.] A moment, Ernest! May I ask you�are you engaged
to be married to this young lady? ALGERNON [Looking round.] To what young lady? Good heavens! Gwendolen! CECILY
Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen. ALGERNON [Laughing.] Of course not! What could have put such an idea into your pretty little head? CECILY Thank you. [Presenting her cheek to he kissed.] You may. [ALGERNON kisses her.]
GWENDOLEN
I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew. The gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon Moncrieff.
CECILY. [Breaking away from ALGERNON.] Algernon Moncrieff! Oh! [The two girls move toivards each other and put their arms round each other's waists as if for protection.]
CECILY
Are you called Algernon?
ALGERNON
I cannot deny it.
CECILY Oh!
GWENDOLEN
Is your name really John? JACK [Standing rather proudly.] I could deny it if I liked, I could deny anything if I liked. But my name certainly is John. It has been John for years. CECILY [To GWENDOLEN.] A gross deception has been practiced on both of us.
GWENDOLEN
My poor wounded Cecily!
CECILY
My sweet wronged Gwendolen! GWENDOLEN [Slowly and seriously.] You will call me sister, will you not? [They embrace, JACK and ALGERNON groan and walk up and down.] CECILY [Rather brightly.] There is just one question I would like to be allowed to ask my guardian.
GWENDOLEN
An admirable idea! Mr. Worthing, there is just one question I
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
would like to be permitted to put to you. Where is your brother Ernest? We
are both engaged to be married to your brother Ernest, so it is a matter of
some importance to us to know where your brother Ernest is at present. JACK [Slowly and hesitatingly. ] Gwendolen�Cecily�it is very painful for me to be forced to speak the truth. It is the first time in my life that I have ever
been reduced to such a painful position, and I am really quite inexperienced
in doing anything of the kind. However I will tell you quite frankly that I
have no brother Ernest. I have no brother at all. I never had a brother in
my life, and I certainly have not the smallest intention of ever having one
in the future. CECILY [Surprised.} No brother at all? JACK [Cheerily.] None! GWENDOLEN [Sex'erely.] Had you never a brother of any kind? JACK [Pleasantly.] Never. Not even of any kind. GWENDOLEN
I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of us is engaged
to be married to anyone.
CECILY
It is not a very pleasant position for a young girl suddenly to find
herself in. Is it?
GWENDOLEN
Let us go into the house. They will hardly venture to come after
us there.
CECILY
No, men are so cowardly, aren't they?
[They retire into the house with scornfid looks.]
JACK
This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I suppose?
ALGERNON
Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is. The most wonderful
Bunbury I have ever had in my life.
JACK
Well, you've no right whatsoever to Bunbury here.
ALGERNON
That is absurd. One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one chooses.
Every serious Bunburyist knows that.
JACK
Serious Bunburyist! Good heavens!
ALGERNON
Well, one must be serious about something, if one wants to have
any amusement in life. I happen to be serious about Bunburying. What on
earth you are serious about I haven't got the remotest idea. About every
thing, I should fancy. You have such an absolutely trivial nature.
JACK
Well, the only small satisfaction I have in the whole of this wretched
business is that your friend Bunbury is quite exploded. You won't be able
to run down to the country quite so often as you used to do, dear Algy. And
a very good thing too.
ALGERNON
Your brother is a little off-colour, isn't he, dear Jack? You won't
be able to disappear to London quite so frequently as your wicked custom
was. And not a bad thing either.
JACK
AS for your conduct towards Miss Cardew, I must say that your taking in a sweet, simple, innocent girl like that is quite inexcusable. To say nothing
of the fact that she is my ward.
ALGERNON
I can see no possible defence at all for your deceiving a brilliant,
clever, thoroughly experienced young lady like Miss Fairfax. To say nothing
of the fact that she is my cousin.
JACK
I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all. I love her. ALGERNON
Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily. I adore her.
JACK
There is certainly no chance of your marrying Miss Cardew.
ALGERNON
I don't think there is much likelihood, Jack, of you and Miss Fair-
fax being united.
JACK
Well, that is no business of yours.
.
1 1730 / OSCAR WILDE
ALGERNON
If it was my business, I wouldn't talk about it. [Begins to eat muffins.] It is very vulgar to talk about one's business. Only people like stock
brokers do that, and then merely at dinner parties.
JACK How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this hor
rible trouble, I can't make out. You seem to me to be perfectly heartless.
ALGERNON
Well, I can't eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would
probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is
the only way to eat them.
JACK I say it's perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under the
circumstances.
ALGERNON
When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles me.
Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as anyone who knows me inti
mately will tell you, I refuse everything except food and drink. At the present
moment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy. Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins. [Rising.]
JACK [Rising.] Well, that is no reason why you should eat them all in that greedy way. [Takes muffins from ALGERNON.] ALGERNON [Offering tea cake.] I wish you would have tea cake instead. I don't like tea cake. JACK
Good heavens! I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in his own
garden.
ALGERNON
But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat muffins.
JACK
I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the circumstances. That
is a very different thing.
ALGERNON
That may be. But the muffins are the same. [He seizes the muffin dish from JACK.]
JACK
Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.
ALGERNON
You can't possibly ask me to go without having some dinner. It's
absurd. I never go without my dinner. No one ever does, except vegetarians
and people like that. Besides I have just made arrangements with Dr. Chas
uble to be christened at a quarter to six under the name of Ernest.
JACK
My dear fellow, the sooner you give up that nonsense the better. I made
arrangements this morning with Dr. Chasuble to be christened myself at 5:
30, and I naturally will take the name of Ernest. Gwendolen would wish it.
We can't both be christened Ernest. It's absurd. Besides, I have a perfect
right to be christened if I like. There is no evidence at all that I ever have
been christened by anybody. I should think it extremely probable I never
was, and so does Dr. Chasuble. It is entirely different in your case. You have
been christened already.
ALGERNON
Yes, but I have not been christened for years.
JACK
Yes, but you have been christened. That is the important thing.
ALGERNON
Quite so. So I know my constitution can stand it. If you are not
quite sure about your ever having been christened, I must say I think it
rather dangerous your venturing on it now. It might make you very unwell.
You can hardly have forgotten that someone very closely connected with
you was very nearly carried off this week in Paris by a severe chill.
JACK
Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill was not hereditary.
ALGERNON
It usen't to be, I know�but I daresay it is now. Science is always making wonderful improvements in things. JACK [Picking up the muffin dish.] Oh, that is nonsense; you are always talking nonsense.
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
ALGERNON
Jack, you are at the muffins again! I wish you wouldn't. There are only two left. [Takes them..] I told you I was particularly fond of muffins.
JACK
But I hate tea cake.
ALGERNON
Why on earth then do you allow tea cake to be served up for your
guests? What ideas you have of hospitality!
JACK
Algernon! I have already told you to go. I don't want you here. Why
don't you go!
ALGERNON
I haven't quite finished my tea yet! and there is still one muffin left. [Jack groans, and sinks into a chair. ALGERNON still continues eating.] ACT-DROP
Third Act
SCENE�Morning room5 at the Manor House.
[GWENDOLEN and CECILY are at the window, looking out into the garden.]
GWENDOLEN
The fact that they did not follow us at once into the house, as
anyone else would have done, seems to me to show that they have some
sense of shame left.
CECILY
They have been eating muffins. That looks like repentance. GWENDOLEN [After a pause.] They don't seem to notice us at all. Couldn't you cough?
CECILY
But I haven't got a cough.
GWENDOLEN
They're looking at us. What effrontery!
CECILY
They're approaching. That's very forward of them.
GWENDOLEN
Let us preserve a dignified silence.
CECILY
Certainly. It's the only thing to do now.
[Enter JACK followed by ALGERNON. They whistle some dreadful popular air from a British Opera.6]
GWENDOLEN
This dignified silence seems to produce an unpleasant effect. CECILY A most distasteful one. GWENDOLEN
But we will not be the first to speak.
CECILY
Certainly not.
GWENDOLEN
Mr. Worthing, I have something very particular to ask you. Much depends on your reply.
CECILY
Gwendolen, your common sense is invaluable. Mr. Moncrieff, kindly
answer me the following question. Why did you pretend to be my guardian's
brother?
ALGERNON
In order that I might have an opportunity of meeting you. CECILY [To GWENDOLEN.] That certainly seems a satisfactory explanation, does it not?
GWENDOLEN
Yes, dear, if you can believe him.
CECILY
I don't. But that does not affect the wonderful beauty of his answer.
GWENDOLEN
True. In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity is the
vital thing. Mr. Worthing, what explanation can you offer to me for pre
tending to have a brother? Was it in order that you might have an oppor
5. A relatively informally furnished room for drawing room, a much more formal and elegant receiving visitors making morning calls (usually setting. close friends of the host or hostess). Afternoon vis-6. Probably a reference to one of the operas of itors, on the other hand, would be received in the W. S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan.
.
1 732 / OSCAR WILDE
tunity of coming up to town to see me as often as possible?
JACK
Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?
GWENDOLEN
I have the gravest doubts upon the subject. But I intend to crush them. This is not the moment for German scepticism.7 [Moving to CECILY.] Their explanations appear to be quite satisfactory, especially Mr. Worth
ing's. That seems to me to have the stamp of truth upon it.
CECILY
1 am more than content with what Mr. Moncrieff said. His voice alone inspires one with absolute credulity.
GWENDOLEN
Then you think we should forgive them?
CECILY
Yes. I mean no.
GWENDOLEN
True! I had forgotten. There are principles at stake that one
cannot surrender. Which of us should tell them? The task is not a pleasant
one.
CECILY
Could we not both speak at the same time?
GWENDOLEN
An excellent idea! 1 nearly always speak at the same time as
other people. Will you take the time from me? CECILY Certainly. [GWENDOLEN beats time with uplifted finger.] GWENDOLEN AND CECILY
[Speaking together.] Your Christian names are still an insuperable barrier. That is all!
JACK AND ALGERNON
[Speaking together.] Our Christian names! Is that all?
But we are going to be christened this afternoon. GWENDOLEN [To JACK.] For my sake you are prepared to do this terrible thing? JACK I am. CECILY [To ALGERNON.] To please me you are ready to face this fearful ordeal? ALGERNON I am!
GWENDOLEN
How absurd to talk of the equality of the sexes! Where questions
of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are infinitely beyond us. JACK We are. [Clasps hands with ALGERNON.] CECILY
They have moments of physical courage of which we women know
absolutely nothing. GWENDOLEN [To JACK.] Darling! ALGERNON [To CECILY.] Darling. [They fall into each other's arms.]
[Enter MERRIMAN. When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing the situation.]
MERRIMAN
Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell!
JACK
Good heavens!
[Enter LADY BRACKNELL. The couples separate in alarm. Exit MERRI
MAN.]
LADY BRACKNELL
Gwendolen! What does this mean?
GWENDOLEN
Merely that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Worthing,
mamma.
LADY BRACKNELL
Come here. Sit down. Sit down immediately. Hesitation of any kind is a sign of mental decay in the young, of physical weakness in the old. [Turns to JACK.] Apprised, sir, of my daughter's sudden flight by her trusty maid, whose confidence I purchased by means of a small coin, I followed her at once by a luggage train.8 Her unhappy father is, I am glad to say, under the impression that she is attending a more than usually
7. Many 19th-century German scholars (e.g., texts. D. F. Strauss) were notorious among the British 8. Freight train. for being skeptical in their analyses of religious
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
lengthy lecture by the University Extension Scheme on the Influence of a
Permanent Income on Thought. I do not propose to undeceive him. Indeed
I have never undeceived him on any question. I would consider it wrong.
But of course, you will clearly understand that all communication between
yourself and my daughter must cease immediately from this moment. On
this point, as indeed on all points, I am firm.
JACK
I am engaged to be married to Gwendolen, Lady Bracknell!
LADY BRACKNELL
YOU are nothing of the kind, sir. And now, as regards Alger
non! . . . Algernon!
ALGERNON
Yes, Aunt Augusta. LADY BRACKNELL May I ask if it is in this house that your invalid friend Mr. Bunbury resides? ALGERNON [Stammering.] Oh! No! Bunbury doesn't live here. Bunbury is somewhere else at present. In fact, Bunbury is dead.
LADY BRACKNELL
Dead! When did Mr. Bunbury die? His death must have
been extremely sudden. ALGERNON [Airily.] Oh! I killed Bunbury this afternoon. I mean poor Bunbury died this afternoon.
LADY BRACKNELL
What did he die of?
ALGERNON
Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded.
LADY BRACKNELL
Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage? I
was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social legislation. If so,
he is well punished for his morbidity.
ALGERNON
My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors
found out that Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean�so Bunbury
died.
LADY BRACKNELL
He seems to have had great confidence in the opinion of
his physicians. I am glad, however, that he made up his mind at the last to
some definite course of action, and acted under proper medical advice. And
now that we have finally got rid of this Mr. Bunbury, may I ask, Mr. Worth
ing, who is that young person whose hand my nephew Algernon is now
holding in what seems to me a peculiarly unnecessary manner?
JACK
That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew, my ward.
[LADY BRACKNELL bows coldly to CECILY.]
ALGERNON
I am engaged to be married to Cecily, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
I beg your pardon?
CECILY
Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged to be married, Lady Bracknell. LADY' BRACKNELL [With a shiver, crossing to the sofa and sitting down.] I do not know whether there is anything peculiarly exciting in the air of this
particular part of Hertfordshire, but the number of engagements that go on
seems to me considerably above the proper average that statistics have laid
down for our guidance. I think some preliminary inquiry on my part would
not be out of place. Mr. Worthing, is Miss Cardew at all connected with
any of the larger railway stations in London? I merely desire information.
Until yesterday I had no idea that there were any families or persons whose origin was a Terminus.9 [JACK looks perfectly furious, but restrains himself] JACK [In a clear, cold voice.] Miss Cardew is the granddaughter of the late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149, Belgrave Square, S.W.; Gervase Park, Dorking,
Surrey; and the Sporran, Fifeshire, N.B.1
9. Station at the end of a railway line. 1. Presumably North Britain, i.e., Scotland.
.
1 1734 / OSCAR WILDE
LADY BRACKNELL
That sounds not unsatisfactory. Three addresses always
inspire confidence, even in tradesmen. But what proof have I of their
authenticity?
JACK I have carefully preserved the Court Guides2 of the period. They are open to your inspection, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL [Grimly.] I have known strange errors in that publication.
JACK Miss Cardew's family solicitors are Messrs. Markby, Markby, and Markby.
LADY BRACKNELL
Markby, Markby, and Markby? A firm of the very highest
position in their profession. Indeed I am told that one of the Mr. Markbys
is occasionally to be seen at dinner parties. So far I am satisfied. JACK [Very irritably.] How extremely kind of you, Lady Bracknell! I have also in my possession, you will be pleased to hear, certificates of Miss Cardew's
birth, baptism, whooping cough, registration, vaccination, confirmation,
and the measles; both the German and the English variety.
LADY BRACKNELL
Ah! A life crowded with incident, I see; though perhaps somewhat too exciting for a young girl. I am not myself in favor of premature experiences. [Rises, looks at her ivatch.] Gwendolen! the time approaches for our departure. We have not a moment to lose. As a matter of form, Mr.
Worthing, I had better ask you if Miss Cardew has any little fortune?
JACK Oh! about a hundred and thirty thousand pounds in the Funds.' That is all. Good-bye, Lady Bracknell. So pleased to have seen you. LADY BRACKNELL [Sitting down again.] A moment, Mr. Worthing. A hundred and thirty thousand pounds! And in the Funds! Miss Cardew seems to me a most attractive young lady, now that I look at her. Few girls of the present day have any really solid qualities, any of the qualities that last, and improve with time. We live, I regret to say, in an age of surfaces. [To CECILY.] Come over here, dear, [CECILYgoes across.] Pretty child! your dress is sadly simple, and your hair seems almost as Nature might have left it. But we can soon alter all that. A thoroughly experienced French maid produces a really marvellous result in a very brief space of time. I remember recommending one to young Lady Lancing, and after three months her own husband did not
know her. JACK [Aside.] And after six months nobody knew her.4 LADY BRACKNELL [Glares at JACK for a few moments. Then bends, with a practiced
smile, to CECILY.] Kindly turn round, sweet child, [CECILY turns completely round.] No, the side view is what I want, [CECILY presents her profile.] Yes, quite as I expected. There are distinct social possibilities in your profile. The two weak points in our age are its want of principle and its want of profile. The chin a little higher, dear. Style largely depends on the way the chin is
worn. They are worn very high, just at present. Algernon!
ALGERNON
Yes, Aunt Augusta! LADY BRACKNELL There are distinct social possibilities in Miss Cardew's profile.
ALGERNON
Cecily is the sweetest, dearest, prettiest girl in the whole world.
And I don't care twopence about social possibilities.
LADY BRACKNELL
Never speak disrespectfully of Society, Algernon. Only peo
2. Directories commonly used in this era. 4. I.e., she became socially unacceptable because 3. Interest-bearing government bonds. of her scandalous behavior.
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
pie who can't get into it do that. [To CECILY.] Dear child, of course you know that Algernon has nothing but his debts to depend upon. But I do not approve of mercenary marriages. When I married Lord Bracknell I had no fortune of any kind. But I never dreamed for a moment of allowing that to
stand in my way. Well, I suppose I must give my consent.
ALGERNON Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
Cecily, you may kiss me! CECILY [Kisses her. ] Thank you, Lady Bracknell. LADY BRACKNELL
You may also address me as Aunt Augusta for the future.
CECILY
Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
The marriage, I think, had better take place quite soon.
ALGERNON
Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
CECILY
Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
TO speak frankly, I am not in favour of long engagements.
They give people the opportunity of finding out each other's character before
marriage, which I think is never advisable.
JACK
I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Lady Bracknell, but this engage
ment is quite out of the question. I am Miss Cardew's guardian, and she
cannot marry without my consent until she comes of age. That consent I
absolutely decline to give.
LADY BRACKNELL
Upon what grounds may I ask? Algernon is an extremely, I
may almost say an ostentatiously, eligible young man. He has nothing, but
he looks everything. What more can one desire?
JACK
It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady Bracknell,
about your nephew, but the fact is that I do not approve at all of his moral character. I suspect him of being untruthful. [ALGERNON and CECILY look at him in indignant amazement.]
LADY BRACKNELL Untruthful! My nephew Algernon? Impossible! He is an Oxonian.5
JACK I fear there can be no possible doubt about the matter. This afternoon,
during my temporary absence in London on an important question of
romance, he obtained admission to my house by means of the false pretence
of being my brother. Under an assumed name he drank, I've just been
informed by my butler, an entire pint bottle of my Perrier-Jouet, Brut, '89;6
a wine I was specially reserving for myself. Continuing his disgraceful decep
tion, he succeeded in the course of the afternoon in alienating the affections
of my only ward. He subsequently stayed to tea, and devoured every single
muffin. And what makes his conduct all the more heartless is, that he was
perfectly well aware from the first that I have no brother, that I never had
a brother, and that I don't intend to have a brother, not even of any kind. I
distinctly told him so myself yesterday afternoon.
LADY BRACKNELL
Ahem! Mr. Worthing, after careful consideration I have decided entirely to overlook my nephew's conduct to you.
JACK
That is very generous of you, Lady Bracknell. My own decision, how
ever, is unalterable. I decline to give my consent. LADY BRACKNELL [To CECILY.] Come here, sweet child, [CECILY goes over.] How old are you, dear?
5. I.e., he had been a student at Oxford (in medi-6. An outstanding brand and year of dry chameval Latin, Oxonia). pagne.
.
1 736 / OSCAR WILDE
CECILY
Well, I am really only eighteen, but I always admit to twenty when I
go to evening parties.
LADY BRACKNELL
You are perfectly right in making some slight alteration. Indeed, no woman should ever be quite accurate about her age. It looks so calculating. . . . [In a meditative manner.] Eighteen, but admitting to twenty at evening parties. Well, it will not be very long before you are of age and free from the restraints of tutelage. So I don't think your guardian's consent
is, after all, a matter of any importance.
JACK Pray excuse me, Lady Bracknell, for interrupting you again, but it is
only fair to tell you that according to the terms of her grandfather's will Miss
Cardew does not come legally of age till she is thirty-five.
LADY BRACKNELL
That does not seem to me to be a grave objection. Thirty-
five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very
highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for
years. Lady Dumbleton is an instance in point. To my own knowledge she
has been thirty-five ever since she arrived at the age of forty, which was
many years ago now. I see no reason why our dear Cecily should not be
even still more attractive at the age you mention than she is at present.
There will be a large accumulation of property.
CECILY
Algy, could you wait for me till I was thirty-five?
ALGERNON
Of course I could, Cecily. You know I could.
CECILY
Yes, I felt it instinctively, but I couldn't wait all that time. I hate
waiting even five minutes for anybody. It always makes me rather cross. I
am not punctual myself, I know, but I do like punctuality in others, and
waiting, even to be married, is quite out of the question.
ALGERNON
Then what is to be done, Cecily?
CECILY
I don't know, Mr. Moncrieff.
LADY BRACKNELL
My dear Mr. Worthing, as Miss Cardew states positively
that she cannot wait till she is thirty-five�a remark which I am bound to
say seems to me to show a somewhat impatient nature�I would beg of you
to reconsider your decision.
JACK
But my dear Lady Bracknell, the matter is entirely in your own hands.
The moment you consent to my marriage with Gwendolen, I will most gladly
allow your nephew to form an alliance with my ward. LADY BRACKNELL [Rising and drawing herself up.] You must be quite aware that what you propose is out of the question.
JACK
Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to.
LADY BRACKNELL
This is not the destiny I propose for Gwendolen. Algernon, of course, can choose for himself. [Pidls out her watch.] Come, dear; [GWENDOLEN rises.] we have already missed five, if not six, trains. To miss any more
might expose us to comment on the platform. [Ewier DR.
CHASUBLE.]
CHASUBLE
Everything is quite ready for the christenings.
LADY BRACKNELL
The christenings, sir! Is not that somewhat premature! CHASUBLE [Looking rather puzzled, and pointing to JACK and ALGERNON.] Both these gentlemen have expressed a desire for immediate baptism.
LADY BRACKNELL
At their age? The idea is grotesque and irreligious! Alger
non, I forbid you to be baptized. I will not hear of such excesses. Lord
Bracknell would be highly displeased if he learned that that was the way in
which you wasted your time and money.
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
CHASUBLE
Am I to understand then that there are to be no christenings at
all this afternoon?
JACK
I don't think that, as things are now, it would be of much practical value to either of us, Dr. Chasuble.
CHASUBLE
I am grieved to hear such sentiments from you, Mr. Worthing.
They savour of the heretical views of the Anabaptists,7 views that I have
completely refuted in four of my unpublished sermons. However, as your
present mood seems to be one peculiarly secular, I will return to the church
at once. Indeed, I have just been informed by the pew-opener8 that for the
last hour and a half Miss Prism has been waiting for me in the vestry.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Starting.] Miss Prism! Did I hear you mention a Miss Prism?
CHASUBLE
Yes, Lady Bracknell. I am on my way to join her.
LADY BRACKNELL
Pray allow me to detain you for a moment. This matter
may prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell and myself.
Is this Miss Prism a female of repellent aspect, remotely connected with
education? CHASUBLE [Somewhat indignantly.] She is the most cultivated of ladies, and the very picture of respectability.
LADY BRACKNELL
It is obviously the same person. May I ask what position
she holds in your household? CHASUBLE [Severely.] I am a celibate, madam. JACK [Interposing.] Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the last three
years Miss Cardew's esteemed governess and valued companion.
LADY BRACKNELL
In spite of what I hear of her, I must see her at once. Let
her be sent for. CHASUBLE [Looking off.] She approaches; she is nigh. [Enter MISS PRISM hurriedly.]
MISS PRISM
I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon. I have been waiting for you there for an hour and three quarters. [Catches sight O/ADY BRACKNELL who has fixed her with a stony glare, MISS PRISM grows pale and quails. She looks anxiously round as if desirous to escape.]
LADY BRACKNELL [In a severe, judicial voice.] Prism! [MISS PRISM hows her head in shame.] Come here, Prism! [MISS PRISM approaches in a humble manner.] Prism! Where is that baby? [General consternation, THE CANON starts back in horror. ALGERNON and JACK pretend to be anxious to shield CECILY and GWENDOLEN from hearing the details of a terrible public scandal.]
Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord Bracknell's house, Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a perambulator that contained a baby, of the male sex. You never returned. A few weeks later, through the elaborate investigations of the Metropolitan police, the perambulator was discovered at midnight, standing by itself in a remote corner of Bayswater.9 It contained the manuscript of a three-volume novel of more than usually revolting sentimentality, [MISS PRISM starts in involuntary indignation.] But the baby was not there! [Everyone looks at MISS PRISM.] Prism! Where is that
baby? [A pause.] 7. A radical Protestant sect of the 17th century, worshippers to their pews and open the doors for whose repudiation of infant baptism was regarded them. as heretical by Anglicans. 9. A once fashionable locality in the West End 8. A person employed at church services to usher near Kensington Gardens.
.
1 1738 / OSCAR WILDE
MISS PRISM
Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know. I only
wish I did. The plain facts of the case are these. On the morning of the day
you mention, a day that is forever branded on my memory, I prepared as
usual to take the baby out in its perambulator. I had also with me a some
what old, but capacious handbag, in which I had intended to place the
manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written during my few unoccupied
hours. In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can forgive
myself, I deposited the manuscript in the bassinette, and placed the baby
in the handbag. JACK [Who has been listening attentively.] But where did you deposit the handbag?
MISS PRISM
Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.
JACK
Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me. I insist on
knowing where you deposited the handbag that contained that infant.
MISS PRISM
I left it in the cloak room of one of the larger railway stations in London.
JACK
What railway station? MISS PRISM [Quite crushed.] Victoria. The Brighton line. [Sinks into a chair.] JACK
I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, wait here for me.
GWENDOLEN
If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
[Exit JACK in great excitement. ]
CHASUBLE
What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?
LADY BRACKNELL
I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble. I need hardly tell
you that in families of high position strange coincidences are not supposed
to occur. They are hardly considered the thing. [Noises heard overhead as if someone was throwing trunks about. Everyone looks up.]
CECILY
Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated. CHASUBLE Your guardian has a very emotional nature. LADY BRACKNELL
This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as if he was
having an argument. I dislike arguments of any kind. They are always vulgar,
and often convincing. CHASUBLE [Looking up.] It has stopped now. [The noise is redoubled.] LADY BRACKNELL
I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.
GWENDOLEN
This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.
[Enter JACK with a handbag of black leather in his hand.] JACK [Rushing over to MISS PRISM.1 Is this the handbag, Miss Prism? Examine it carefully before you speak. The happiness of more than one life depends
on your answer. MISS PRISM [Calmly.] It seems to be mine. Yes, here is the injury it received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in younger and happier
days. Here is the stain on the lining caused by the explosion of a temperance
beverage, an incident that occurred at Leamington. And here, on the lock,
are my initials. I had forgotten that in an extravagant mood I had had them
placed there. The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to have it so
unexpectedly restored to me. It has been a great inconvenience being with
out it all these years. JACK [In a pathetic voice.] Miss Prism, more is restored to you than this
handbag. I was the baby you placed in it. MISS PRISM [Amazed.] You! JACK [Embracing her.] Yes . . . mother!
.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, ACT 1 / 17 11
MISS PRISM [Recoiling in indignant astonishment.] Mr. Worthing! I am unmarried!
JACK Unmarried! I do not deny that is a serious blow. But after all, who has
the right to cast a stone1 against one who has suffered? Cannot repentance
wipe out an act of folly? Why should there be one law for men, and another for women? Mother, I forgive you. [Tries to embrace her again.]
MISS PRISM [Still more indignant.] Mr. Worthing, there is some error. [Pointing to LADY BRACKNELL.] There is the lady who can tell you who you really are.
JACK [After a -pause.] Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive, but would you kindly inform me who I am? LADY BRACKNELL I am afraid that the news I have to give you will not altogether please you. You are the son of my poor sister, Mrs. Moncrieff, and consequently Algernon's elder brother.
JACK
Algy's elder brother! Then I have a brother after all. I knew I had a brother! I always said I had a brother! Cecily�how could you have ever doubted that I had a brother? [Seizes hold of ALGERNON.] Dr. Chasuble, my unfortunate brother. Miss Prism, my unfortunate brother. Gwendolen, my unfortunate brother. Algy, you young scoundrel, you will have to treat me with more respect in the future. You have never behaved to me like a brother
in all your life.
ALGERNON
Well, not till today, old boy, I admit. I did my best, however, though I was out of practice. [Shakes hands.] GWENDOLEN [To JACK.] My own! But what own are you? What is your Christian name, now that you have become someone else?
JACK
Good heavens! .. . I had quite forgotten that point. Your decision on the subject of my name is irrevocable, I suppose?
GWENDOLEN
I never change, except in my affections.
CECILY
What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen!
JACK
Then the question had better be cleared up at once. Aunt Augusta, a
moment. At the time when Miss Prism left me in the handbag, had I been
christened already?
LADY BRACKNELL
Every luxury that money could buy, including christening,
had been lavished on you by your fond and doting parents.
JACK
Then I was christened! That is settled. Now, what name was I given?
Let me know the worst.
LADY BRACKNELL
Being the eldest son you were naturally christened after your father.
JACK [Irritably.] Yes, but what was my father's Christian name? LADY BRACKNELL [Meditatively.] I cannot at the present moment recall what the General's Christian name was. But I have no doubt he had one. He was eccentric, I admit. But only in later years. And that was the result of the Indian climate, and marriage, and indigestion, and other things of that kind. JACK Algy! Can't you recollect what our father's Christian name was? ALGERNON
My dear boy, we were never even on speaking terms. He died
before I was a year old.
1. When the scribes and Pharisees brought to answered: "He that is without sin among you, let Jesus an adulterous woman with the reminder that him first cast a stone at her" (John 8.7). the law of Moses required her to be stoned, he
.
1 1740 / OSCAR WILDE
JACK His name would appear in the Army Lists of the period, I suppose, Aunt
Augusta?
LADY BRACKNELL
The General was essentially a man of peace, except in his
domestic life. But I have no doubt his name would appear in any military
directory.
JACK The Army Lists of the last forty years are here. These delightful records should have been my constant study. [Rushes to bookcase and tears the books out.] M. Generals . . . Mallam, Maxbohm,2 Magley, what ghastly names they
have�Markby, Migsby, Mobbs, Moncrieff! Lieutenant 1840, Captain, Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel, General 1869, Christian names, Ernest John. [Pwis book very quietly down and speaks quite calmly.] I always told you, Gwendolen, my name was Ernest, didn't I? Well it is Ernest after all. I mean
it naturally is Ernest.
LADY BRACKNELL
Yes, I remember now that the General was called Ernest. I knew I had some particular reason for disliking the name.
GWENDOLEN
Ernest! My own Ernest! I felt from the first that you could have
no other name!
JACK
Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth. Can you forgive me?
GWENDOLEN
I can. For I feel that you are sure to change.
JACK My own one! CHASUBLE [To MISS PRISM.] Laetitia! [Embraces her.] MISS PRISM
[Enthusiastically.] Frederick! At last!
ALGERNON
Cecily! [Embraces her.] At last!
JACK
Gwendolen! [Embraces her.] At last!
LADY RRACKNELL
My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of triviality.
JACK On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I've now realized for the first time in
my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.
CURTAIN
performed 1895 1899
From De Profundis1
And the end of it all is that I have got to forgive you. I must do so. I don't
write this letter to put bitterness into your heart, but to pluck it out of mine.
For my own sake I must forgive you. One cannot always keep an adder in one's
breast to feed on one, nor rise up every night to sow thorns in the garden of
one's soul. It will not be difficult at all for me to do so, if you help me a little.
Whatever you did to me in old days I always readily forgave. It did you no good
2. A play on the name of Max Beerbohm (1872� cillis (Letter In Prison and in Chains). He was 1956), English essayist, caricaturist, and parodist. given the manuscript on his release and turned it I. Out of the depths (Latin); Psalm 130.1: "Out over to a friend, Robert Ross, who gave it its cur- of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord." rent title and published it in an abridged version in While in prison in Reading Gaol, Wilde was 1905, after Wilde's death. After Douglas's death in allowed a pen and paper only to write letters. Given 1945, a fuller text was published by Wilde's son, one sheet of paper at a time, which was taken away Vyvyan Holland; but only in 1962, when scholars after it was filled, Wilde wrote this work as a letter could consult the original manuscript, did a comto Lord Alfred Douglas, whose nickname was plete version appear. Bosie. Wilde titled it Epistola: In Carcere et Vin
.
DE PROFUNDIS / 1741
then. Only one whose life is without stain of any kind can forgive sins. But
now when I sit in humiliation and disgrace it is different. My forgiveness
should mean a great deal to you now. Some day you will realise it. Whether
you do so early or late, soon or not at all, my way is clear before me. I cannot
allow you to go through life bearing in your heart the burden of having ruined
a man like me. The thought might make you callously indifferent, or morbidly
sad. I must take the burden from you and put it on my own shoulders.
I must say to myself that neither you nor your father, multiplied a thousand
times over, could possibly have ruined a man like me: that I ruined myself:
and that nobody, great or small, can be ruined except by his own hand. I am
quite ready to do so. I am trying to do so, though you may not think it at the
present moment. If I have brought this pitiless indictment against you, think
what an indictment I bring without pity against myself. Terrible as what you did to me was, what I did to myself was far more terrible still.
I was a man who stood in symbolic relations to the art and culture of my age. I had realised this for myself at the very dawn of my manhood, and had forced my age to realise it afterwards. Few men hold such a position in their own lifetime and have it so acknowledged. It is usually discerned, if discerned at all, by the historian, or the critic, long after both the man and his age have passed away. With me it was different. I felt it myself, and made others feel it. Byron2 was a symbolic figure, but his relations were to the passion of his age and its weariness of passion. Mine were to something more noble, more permanent, of more vital issue, of larger scope.
The gods had given me almost everything. I had genius, a distinguished name, high social position, brilliancy, intellectual daring: I made art a philosophy, and philosophy an art: I altered the minds of men and the colours of things: there was nothing I said or did that did not make people wonder: I took the drama, the most objective form known to art, and made it as personal a mode of expression as the lyric or the sonnet, at the same time that I widened its range and enriched its characterization: drama, novel, poem in rhyme, poem in prose, subtle or fantastic dialogue, whatever I touched I made beautiful in a new mode of beauty: to truth itself I gave what is false no less than what is true as its rightful province, and showed that the false and the true
are merely forms of intellectual existence. I treated Art as the supreme reality,
and life as a mere mode of fiction: I awoke the imagination of my century so
that it created myth and legend around me: I summed up all systems in a phrase, and all existence in an epigram.
Along with these things, I had things that were different. I let myself be lured into long spells of senseless and sensual ease. I amused myself with being a flaneur,3 a dandy, a man of fashion. I surrounded myself with the smaller natures and the meaner4 minds. I became the spendthrift of my own genius, and to waste an eternal youth gave me a curious joy. Tired of being on the heights I deliberately went to the depths in the search for new sensations. What the paradox was to me in the sphere of thought, perversity became to me in the sphere of passion. Desire, at the end, was a malady, or a madness, or both. I grew careless of the lives of others. I took pleasure where it pleased me and passed on. I forgot that every little action of the common day makes
2. George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824), 3. Idle stroller (French). Romantic poet. 4. More shallow or more trivial.
.
1 1742 / OSCAR WILDE
or unmakes character, and that therefore what one has done in the secret
chamber one has some day to cry aloud on the housetops. I ceased to be Lord
over myself. I was no longer the Captain of my Soul,' and did not know it. I
allowed you to dominate me, and your father to frighten me. I ended in horrible
disgrace. There is only one thing for me now, absolute Humility: just as there
is only one thing for you, absolute Humility also. You had better come down
into the dust and learn it beside me. I have lain in prison for nearly two years. Out of my nature has come wild
despair; an abandonment to grief that was piteous even to look at: terrible and
impotent rage: bitterness and scorn: anguish that wept aloud: misery that
could find no voice: sorrow that was dumb. I have passed through every pos
sible mood of suffering. Better than Wordsworth himself I know what Words-
worth meant when he said: Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark
And has the nature of Infinity.6 But while there were times when I rejoiced in the idea that my sufferings were
to be endless, I could not bear them to be without meaning. Now I find hidden
away in my nature something that tells me that nothing in the whole world is
meaningless, and suffering least of all. That something hidden away in my
nature, like a treasure in a field, is Humility. It is the last thing left in me, and the best: the ultimate discovery at which
I have arrived: the starting-point for a fresh development. It has come to me
right out of myself, so I know that it has come at the proper time. It could not
have come before, nor later. Had anyone told me of it, I would have rejected
it. Had it been brought to me, I would have refused it. As I found it, I want
to keep it. I must do so. It is the one thing that has in it the elements of life, of a new life, a Vita Nuova7 for me.
ft ft �
Morality does not help me. I am a born antinomian.8 I am one of those who
are made for exceptions, not for laws. But while I see that there is nothing
wrong in what one does, I see that there is something wrong in what one
becomes. It is well to have learned that.
Religion does not help me. The faith that others give to what is unseen, I
give to what one can touch, and look at. My Gods dwell in temples made with
hands, and within the circle of actual experience is my creed made perfect
and complete: too complete it may be, for like many or all of those who have
placed their Heaven in this earth, I have found in it not merely the beauty of
Heaven, but the horror of Hell also. When I think about Religion at all, I feel
as if I would like to found an order for those who cannot believe: the Confra
ternity of the Fatherless one might call it, where on an altar, on which no
taper burned, a priest, in whose heart peace had no dwelling, might celebrate
with unblessed bread and a chalice empty of wine. Everything to be true must
become a religion. And agnosticism should have its ritual no less than faith.
It has sown its martyrs, it should reap its saints, and praise God daily for having
hidden Himself from man. But whether it be faith or agnosticism, it must be
nothing external to me. Its symbols must be of my own creating. Only that is
5. See W. E. Henley's "Invictus" (1888), line 16. 7. New life (Italian); here Dante's earliest work 6. From The Borderers (written 1796�97), lines (1292-94) about his love for Beatrice. I 543^14. 8. Rejecter of moral law.
.
BERNARD SHAW / 1743
spiritual which makes its own form. If I may not find its secret within myself,
I shall never find it. If I have not got it already, it will never come to me.
Reason does not help me. It tells me that the laws under which I am con
victed are wrong and unjust laws, and the system under which I have suffered
a wrong and unjust system. But, somehow, I have got to make both of these
things just and right to me. And exactly as in Art one is only concerned with
what a particular thing is at a particular moment to oneself, so it is also in the
ethical evolution of one's character. I have got to make everything that has
happened to me good for me. The plank-bed, the loathsome food, the hard
ropes shredded into oakum till one's fingertips grow dull with pain, the menial
offices9 with which each day begins and finishes, the harsh orders that routine
seems to necessitate, the dreadful dress that makes sorrow grotesque to look
at, the silence, the solitude, the shame�each and all of these things I have
to transform into a spiritual experience. There is not a single degradation of
the body which I must not try and make into a spiritualizing of the soul. I want to get to the point when I shall be able to say, quite simply and
without affectation, that the two great turning-points of my life were when my
father sent me to Oxford, and when society sent me to prison. I will not say
that it is the best thing that could have happened to me, for that phrase would
savour of too great bitterness towards myself. I would sooner say, or hear it
said of me, that I was so typical a child of my age that in my perversity,1 and
for that perversity's sake, I turned the good things of my life to evil, and the
evil things of my life to good. What is said, however, by myself or by others
matters little. The important thing, the thing that lies before me, the thing
that I have to do, or be for the brief remainder of my days one maimed, marred,
and incomplete, is to absorb into my nature all that has been done to me, to
make it part of me, to accept it without complaint, fear, or reluctance. The
supreme vice is shallowness. Whatever is realized is right.
1897 1962
9. Duties. "Oakum": loose fiber from old hemp 1. I.e., obstinate desire to behave ropes, which prisoners were often made to shred. unconventionally. BERNARD SHAW 1856-1950
Winston Churchill described Bernard Shaw as a "bright, nimble, fierce, and compre
hending being, Jack Frost dancing bespangled in the sunshine." Born and raised in
the Victorian period, this extraordinary character was an important and engaged pub
lic intellectual. His experience encompassed the momentous historical changes of
the last half of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth, and he made
it his business to pronounce on them all in the witty epigrammatic style that char
acterizes his plays. Like Oscar Wilde, the other playwright whose work changed the course of British
drama, Shaw was an Irishman. Born in Dublin, he was, in his own words, "the fruit
of an unsuitable marriage between two quite amiable people who finally separated in
the friendliest fashion." His mother, an aspiring singer, went to London to pursue
her musical career; Shaw followed five years later, in 1876, quitting the job he had
.
174 4 / BERNARD SHAW
held since the age of fifteen at a land agent's office. He intended to become a novelist. He spent much of his time in the Beading Boom of the British Museum, where a young journalist named William Archer introduced himself because he was so intrigued by the combination of things Shaw was studying�Karl Marx's Das Kapital(vol. 1, 1867) and the score of Bichard Wagner's opera Tristan and Isolde (1859). These two works indicate the main involvements of Shaw's life in London. Das
Kapital convinced him that socialism was the answer to society's problems. With the
socialist economist Sidney Webb and his wife, also a socialist economist, Beatrice
Webb, Shaw joined the Fabian Society, a socialist organization that had committed
itself to gradual reform rather than revolution. Shaw quickly became a leader in the
group and its principal spokesperson. His pronouncements and tracts had a wit absent
from most political writing. In Fabian Tract No. 2 (1884), for example, he argued that
nineteenth-century capitalism had divided society "into hostile classes, with large
appetites and no dinners at one extreme and large dinners and no appetites at the
other." Though painfully shy, he disciplined himself to become an accomplished pub
lic speaker. Accepting fees from no one, he spoke everywhere, stipulating only that he could speak on whatever subject he liked.
Meanwhile, his acquaintance with William Archer led him to journalism. He worked first as an art critic, then as a music critic, championing Wagner's operas and
introducing a new standard of wit and judgment to music reviewing, writing for exam
ple of a hapless soprano who "fell fearlessly on Mozart and was defeated with heavy
loss to the hearers," of a corps de ballet that "wandered about in the prompt corner
as if some vivisector had removed from their heads that portion of the brain which
enables us to find our way out the door," and of Schubert's "Death and the Maiden"
quartet, which makes one "reconciled to Death and indifferent to the Maiden." Shaw
then turned to drama criticism, where he later described his work as "a siege laid to
the theatre of the XlXth Century by an author who had to cut his own way into it at
the point of the pen, and throw some of its defenders into the moat." Just as he had
championed Wagner's music, he now championed the plays of the Norwegian dram
atist, Henrik Ibsen. In 1891 he published The Quintessence of Ibsenism, in which, in
setting out the reasons for his admiration of Ibsen, he defined the kind of drama he
wanted to write. In the first ten years of his life in London, Shaw had written five unsuccessful
novels. When he turned to drama in the 1890s, he found his medium. Shaw's first play, Widowers' Houses (1892), dealt with the problem of slum landlords. Though it ran for only two performances, Shaw's career as a dramatist was launched. In the course of his career he wrote more than fifty plays. Among the most famous are Mrs Warren's Profession (1893), Arms and the Man (1894), Candida (1894), The Devil's Disciple (1896), Caesar and Cleopatra (1898), Man and Superman (1903), Major Barbara (1905), Androcles and the Lion (1912), Pygmalion (1912; later the basis of the musical My Fair Lady), Heartbreak House (1919), Back to Methuselah (1920), and Saint Joan (1923). (Because the production and publication history of Shaw's plays is so complex, this list gives the date of composition for each.) Shaw at first had difficulty getting his plays performed. Therefore, in 1898 he decided to publish them in book form as Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant, for which he wrote a didactic preface� the first of many that he provided for his plays. Then, in 1904, the producer and Shakespearean scholar Harley Granville-Barker put on Candida at the Boyal Court Theatre, which he was managing. The play was a success, and Shaw went on to work with Barker in creating the Boyal Court's long-standing reputation as the center for avant-garde drama in London.
In The Quintessence of Ibsenism, Shaw defines the elements of the kind of theater he aspired to create:
first, the introduction of the discussion and its development until it so over
spreads and interpenetrates the action that it finally assimilates it, making play
.
BERNARD SHAW / 1745
and discussion practically identical; and second, as a consequence of making the
spectators themselves the persons of the drama, and the incidents of their own
lives its incidents, the disuse of the old stage tricks by which audiences had to
be induced to take an interest in unreal people and improbable circumstances. Instead of these "tricks," Shaw wished to pioneer "a forensic technique of recrimi
nation, disillusion, and penetration through ideals to the truth, with a free use of all
the rhetorical and lyrical arts of the orator, the preacher, the pleader, and the rhap
sodist." He created a drama of ideas, in which his characters strenuously argue points
of view that justify their social positions�whether that of the prostitute in Mrs War
ren's Profession or of the munitions manufacturer in Major Barbara. His object is to
attack the complacencies and conventional moralism of his audience. By the rhetor
ical brilliance of his dialogue and by surprising reversals of plot conventions, Shaw
manipulates his audience into a position of uncomfortable sympathy with points of
view and characters that violate traditional assumptions. By the end of the first decade of the twentieth century, as a result of the success
of his plays at the Royal Court Theatre, Shaw had become a literary celebrity. Like
Oscar Wilde, he had worked to develop a public persona, but with a substantial
difference in aim. Whereas Wilde used his public image to define an aesthetic point
of view, Shaw used his public personality�iconoclastic, clownish, argumentative�
to advocate social ideas. He was radical in many respects. He was a vegetarian, a
nonsmoker, and a nondrinker. He was courageous enough to be a pacifist in World
War I. He championed the reform of English spelling and punctuation. He believed
in women's rights and the abolition of private property. He also believed in the Life
Force and progressive evolution, driven by the power of the human will, a point of
view that led him to sympathize with Mussolini and other dictators before World War
II. Shaw's insistent rationality made some of his contemporaries view him as bloodless. After seeing Arms and the Man, William Butler Yeats described a nightmare in
which he was haunted by a sewing machine "that clicked and shone, but the incred
ible thing was that the machine smiled, smiled perpetually." However, Yeats goes on
to say, "Yet I delighted in Shaw the formidable man. He could hit my enemies and
the enemies of all I loved, as I could never hit, as no living author that was dear to
me could ever hit."
Shaw wrote Mrs Warren's Profession in 1893; though it was published in Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant in 1898, its public performance was long prohibited by British censors. In 1902 the Stage Society, technically a private club and so not under
the jurisdiction of the censors, gave performances for its own members. The play was
produced in New York in 1905; but it was closed down by the police, and the producer
and his company were arrested. They were eventually acquitted, and the play was
allowed to continue. No legal public performance took place in England until 1926,
the year after Shaw won the Nobel Prize. Shaw's preface to the play attacks the confusions and contradictions involved in
the censorship of plays and contains an eloquent plea for the recognition of the
seriousness and morality of Mrs Warren's Profession. The play was written, he tells
us, "to draw attention to the truth that prostitution is caused, not by female depravity
and male licentiousness, but simply by underpaying, undervaluing, and overworking
women so shamefully that the poorest of them are forced to resort to prostitution to
keep body and soul together." He argues that Mrs. Warren's defense of herself in the
play is "valid and unanswerable." (It is interesting to compare Mrs. Warren's defense
with that of the correspondent to the London Times who, claiming to be a prostitute,
wrote "The Great Social Evil" [p. 1592].) Shaw's discussion of Mrs. Warren's self-
justification continues: But it is no defence at all of the vice which she organizes. It is no defence of an
immoral life to say that the alternative offered by society collectively to poor
women is a miserable life, starved, overworked, fetid, ailing, ugly. Though it is
.
174 6 / BERNARD SHAW
quite natural and right for Mrs Warren to choose what is, according to her lights,
the least immoral alternative, it is none the less infamous of society to offer such
alternatives. For the alternatives offered are not morality and immorality but two
sorts of immorality. The man who cannot see that starvation, overwork, dirt, and
disease are as anti-social as prostitution�that they are the vices and crimes of
a nation, and not merely its misfortunes�is (to put it as politely as possible) a
hopelessly Private Person. This is Shaw's way of saying that such a man is a hopeless idiot; the word idiot comes
from the Greek idiotes, "a private person," as distinct from one interested in public
affairs.
Shaw's belief in spelling reform led him to introduce simplifications in his own
texts that he insisted on his publishers using. These simplifications (omission of the
apostrophe in a number of contractions, and the use of widely spaced letters rather
than italics to indicate emphasis, for example) are retained in the selection reprinted
here.
Mrs Warren's Profession
Act 1
Summer afternoon in a cottage garden on the eastern slope of a hill a little south of Haslemere in Surrey.1 Looking up the hill, the cottage is seen in the left hand corner of the garden, with its thatched roof and porch, and a large latticed window to the left of the porch. A paling2 completely shuts in the garden, except for a gate on the right. The common3 rises uphill beyond the paling to the sky line. Some folded canvas garden chairs are leaning against the side bench in the porch. A lady's bicycle is propped against the wall, under the window. A little to the right of the porch a hammock is slung from two posts. A big canvas umbrella, stuck in the ground, keeps the sun off the hammock, in which a young lady lies reading and making notes, her head towards the cottage and her feet towards the gate. In front of the hammock, and within reach of her hand, is a common kitchen chair, with a pile of serious-looking books and a supply of writing paper on it.
A gentleman walking on the common comes into sight from behind the cottage. He is hardly past middle age, with something of the artist about him, unconventionally but carefully dressed, and clean-shaven except for a moustache, with an eager susceptible face and very amiable and considerate manners. He has silky black hair, with waves of grey and white in it. His eyebrows are white, his moustache black. He seems not certain of his way. He looks over the paling; takes stock of the place; and sees the young lady.
THE GENTLEMAN
[Taking off his hat.] I beg your pardon. Can you direct me to Hindhead View�Mrs Alison's? THE YOUNG LADY [Glancing up from her book.] This is Mrs Alison's. [She resumes her work.]
THE GENTLEMAN
Indeed! Perhaps�may I ask are you Miss Vivie Warren?
THE YOUNG LADY [Sharply, as she turns on her elbow to get a good look at him.]
Yes.
THE GENTLEMAN [Daunted and conciliatory.] I'm afraid I appear intrusive. My name is Praed. [VIVIE at once throws her books upon the chair, and gets out of the hammock.] Oh, pray dont let me disturb you.
1. County southeast of London. 3. Area of open land for public use. 2. Picket fence.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1747
VIVIE [Striding to the gate and opening it for him.] Come in, Mr Praed. [He comes in. ] Glad to see you. [She proffers her hand and takes his with a resolute and hearty grip. She is an attractive specimen of the sensible, able, highly- educated young middle-class Englishwoman. Age 22. Prompt, strong, confident, self-possessed. Plain business-like dress, but not dowdy. She wears a chatelaine4 at her belt, with a fountain pen and a paper knife among its pendants.]
PRAED a
Very kind of you indeed, Miss Warren. [She shuts the gate withvigorous slam. He passes in to the middle of the garden, exercising his fingers, which are slightly numbed by her greeting.] Has your mother arrived?
VIVIE [Quickly, evidently scenting aggression.] Is she coming? PRAED [Surprised.] Didnt you expect us? VIVIE No.
PRAED
Now, goodness me, I hope Ive not mistaken the day. That would be
just like me, you know. Your mother arranged that she was to come down
from London and that I was to come over from Horsham to be introduced
to you. VIVIE [Not at all pleased. ] Did she? Hm! My mother has rather a trick of taking me by surprise�to see how I behave myself when she's away, I suppose. I
fancy I shall take my mother very much by surprise one of these days, if she
makes arrangements that concern me without consulting me beforehand.
She hasnt come. PRAED [Embarrassed. ] I'm really very sorry. VIVIE [Throwing off her displeasure.] It's not your fault, Mr Praed, is it? And
I'm very glad youve come. You are the only one of my mother's friends I
have ever asked her to bring to see me. PRAED [Relieved and delighted.] Oh, now this is really very good of you, Miss Warren!
VTVIE
Will you come indoors; or would you rather sit out here and talk?
PRAED
It will be nicer out here, dont you think? VIVIE Then I'll go and get you a chair. [She goes to the porch for a garden
chair. ] PRAED [Following her.] Oh, pray, pray! Allow me. [He lays hands on the chair.] VIVIE [Letting him take it.] Take care of your fingers: theyre rather dodgy
things, those chairs. [She goes across to the chair with the books on it; pitches them into the hammock; and brings the chair forward with one swing.] PRAED [Who has just unfolded his chair.] Oh, now d o let me take that hard chair. I like hard chairs.
VIVIE So do I. Sit down, Mr Praed. [This invitation she gives with genial peremptoriness, his anxiety to please her clearly striking her as a sign of weakness of character on his part. But he does not immediately obey.]
PRAED
By the way, though, hadnt we better go to the station to meet your
mother? VTVIE [Coolly.] Why? She knows the way. PRAED [Disconcerted.] Er�I suppose she does. [He sits down.] VTVIE
Do you know, you are just like what I expected. I hope you are disposed
to be friends with me. PRAED [Again beaming.] Thank you, my dea r Miss Warren: thank you. Dear me! I'm glad your mother hasnt spoilt you!
4. A decorative clasp or hook on a girdle or belt, to which a number of short chains are attached bearing household implements or ornaments.
.
174 8 / BERNARD SHAW
VIVIE How?
PRAED
Well, in making you too conventional. You know, my dear Miss War
ren, I am a born anarchist. I hate authority. It spoils the relations between
parent and child: even between mother and daughter. Now I was always
afraid that your mother would strain her authority to make you very con
ventional. It's such a relief to find that she hasnt.
VIVIE
Oh! have I been behaving unconventionally?
PRAED
Oh no; oh dear no. At least not conventionally unconventionally, you understand. [She nods and sits down. He goes on, with a cordial outburst. ] But it was so charming of you to say that you were disposed to be friends
with me! You modern young ladies are splendid: perfectly splendid! VIVIE [Dubiously.] Eh? [Watching him with dawning disappointment as to the quality of his brains and character.]
PRAED
When I was your age, young men and women were afraid of each
other: there was no good fellowship. Nothing real. Only gallantry copied out
of novels, and as vulgar and affected as it could be. Maidenly reserve! gen
tlemanly chivalry! always saying no when you meant yes! simple purgatory
for shy and sincere souls.
VIVIE
Yes, I imagine there must have been a frightful waste of time. Especially
women's time.
PRAED
Oh, waste of life, waste of everything. But things are improving. Do
you know, I have been in a positive state of excitement about meeting you
ever since your magnificent achievements at Cambridge: a thing unheard
of in my day. It was perfectly splendid, you tieing with the third wrangler.'
Just the right place, you know. The first wrangler is always a dreamy, morbid
fellow, in whom the thing is pushed to the length of a disease.
VIVIE
It doesnt pay. I wouldnt do it again for the same money. PRAED [Aghast.] The same money! VIVIE I did it for .50.
PRAED
Fifty pounds!
VIVIE Yes. Fifty pounds. Perhaps you dont know how it was. Mrs. Latham, my tutor at Newnham,6 told my mother that I could distinguish myself in the mathematical tripos if I went in for it in earnest. The papers were full just then of Phillipa Summers beating the senior wrangler.7 You remember
about it, of course.
PRAED [Shakes his head energetically.]\\\ VIVIE
Well anyhow she did; and nothing would please my mother but that I
should do the same thing. I said flatly it was not worth my while to face the
grind since I was not going in for teaching; but I offered to try for fourth
wrangler, or thereabouts, for .50. She closed with me at that, after a little
grumbling; and I was better than my bargain. But I wouldn't do it again for
that. Two hundred pounds would have been nearer the mark. PRAED [Much damped.] Lord bless me! Thats a very practical way of looking at it.
VIVIE
Did you expect to find me an unpractical person?
5. A term unique to Cambridge, denoting distinc-6. Women's college at Cambridge University. tion in the final honors examination (known as the 7. In 1890 Philippa Fawcett was placed above the tripos) leading to a B.A. in mathematics. The per-senior wrangler (although women began taking son who achieved the top mark was the senior examinations in 1882, they were not admitted to wrangler, followed by the junior wrangler and then the university until 1921 and gained full status the third wrangler. only in 1947).
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1749
PRAED
But surely it's practical to consider not only the work these honors
cost, but also the culture they bring.
VTVIE
Culture! My dear Mr Praed: do you know what the mathematical tripos
means? It means grind, grind, grind for six to eight hours a day at mathe
matics, and nothing but mathematics. I'm supposed to know something
about science; but I know nothing except the mathematics it involves. I can
make calculations for engineers, electricians, insurance companies, and so
on; but I know next to nothing about engineering or electricity or insurance.
I dont even know arithmetic well. Outside mathematics, lawn-tennis, eating,
sleeping, cycling, and walking, I'm a more ignorant barbarian than any
woman could possibly be who hadnt gone in for the tripos. PRAED [Revolted.] What a monstrous, wicked, rascally system! I knew it! I felt at once that it meant destroying all that makes womanhood beautiful.
VIVIE
I dont object to it on that score in the least. I shall turn it to very good account, I assure you.
PRAED
Pooh! In what way?
VTVIE
I shall set up in chambers in the City, and work at actuarial calculations
and conveyancing. Under cover of that I shall do some law, with one eye on
the Stock Exchange all the time. Ive come down here by myself to read law:
not for a holiday, as my mother imagines. I hate holidays.
PRAED
YOU make my blood run cold. Are you to have no romance, no beauty in your life?
VTVIE
I don't care for either, I assure you.
PRAED
You cant mean that.
VIVIE
Oh yes I do. I like working and getting paid for it. When I'm tired of
working, I like a comfortable chair, a cigar, a little whisky, and a novel with
a good detective story in it. PRAED [Rising in a frenzy of repudiation.] I dont believe it. I am an artist; and I cant believe it: I refuse to believe it. It's only that you havnt discovered yet
what a wonderful world art can open up to you.
VIVIE
Yes I have. Last May I spent six weeks in London with Honoria Fraser.
Mamma thought we were doing a round of sightseeing together; but I was
really at Honoria's chambers in Chancery Lane8 every day, working away at
actuarial calculations for her, and helping her as well as a greenhorn could.
In the evenings we smoked and talked, and never dreamt of going out except
for exercise. And I never enjoyed myself more in my life. I cleared all my
expenses, and got initiated into the business without a fee into the bargain.
PRAED
But bless my heart and soul, Miss Warren, do you call that discovering
art?
VIVIE
Wait a bit. That wasnt the beginning. I went up to town on an invitation
from some artistic people in Fitzjohn's Avenue:9 one of the girls was a Newn
ham chum. They took me to the National Gallery'� PRAED [Approving.] Ah!! [He sits down, much relieved.] VTVIE
[Continuing.] �to the Opera� PRAED [Still more pleased.] Good! VTVIE �and to a concert where the band played all the evening: Beethoven and
Wagner and so on. I wouldnt go through that experience again for anything
8. I.e., office in the legal quarter of London. collections of western European paintings in the 9. A road in Hampstead (northwest London). world. 1. In Trafalgar Square; it contains one of the finest
.
175 0 / BERNARD SHAW
you could offer me. I held out for civility's sake until the third day; and then
I said, plump out,2 that I couldnt stand any more of it, and went off to
Chancery Lane. No w you know the sort of perfectly splendid modern
young lady I am. How do you think I shall get on with my mother? PRAED [Startled.] Well, I hope�er� vrviE It's not so much what you hope as what you believe, that I want to
know.
PRAED
Well, frankly, I am afraid your mother will be a little disappointed.
Not from any shortcoming on your part, you know: I dont mean that. But
you are so different from her ideal.
VIVIE
Her what?!
PRAED
Her ideal. vrviE Do you mean her ideal of ME?
PRAED Yes. VIVIE What on earth is it like? PRAED
Well, you must have observed, Miss Warren, that people who are
dissatisfied with their own bringing-up generally think that the world would
be all right if everybody were to be brought up quite differently. Now your
mother's life has been�er�I suppose you know�
VIVIE
Dont suppose anything, Mr Praed. I hardly know my mother. Since I
was a child I have lived in England, at school or college, or with people paid
to take charge of me. I have been boarded out all my life. My mother has
lived in Brussels or Vienna and never let me go to her. I only see her when
she visits England for a few days. I dont complain: it's been very pleasant;
for people have been very good to me; and there has always been plenty of
money to make things smooth. But dont imagine I know anything about my
mother. I know far less than you do.
PRAED [Very ill at ease.] In that case�[He stops, quite at a loss. Then, with a forced attempt at gaiety] But what nonsense we are talking! Of course you and your mother will get on capitally. [He rises, and looks abroad at the view.] What a charming little place you have here!
vrviE [Unmoved.] Rather a violent change of subject, Mr Praed. Why wont my mother's life bear being talked about?
PRAED Oh, you really mustnt say that. Isnt it natural that I should have a
certain delicacy in talking to my old friend's daughter about her behind her
back? You and she will have plenty of opportunity of talking about it when
she comes. vrviE No: sh e wont talk about it either. [Rising.] However, I daresay you have good reasons for telling me nothing. Only, mind this, Mr Praed. I
expect there will be a battle royal' when my mother hears of my Chancery
Lane project. PRAED [Ruefully. ] I'm afraid there will. VIVIE
Well, I shall win, because I want nothing but my fare to London to
start there to-morrow earning my own living by devilling4 for Honoria.
Besides, I have no mysteries to keep up; and it seems she has. I shall use
that advantage over her if necessary. PRAED [Greatly shocked.] Oh no! No, pray. Youd not do such a thing.
2. Straight out, without hesitation. 4. Acting as assistant to a barrister (trial lawyer) 3. A fierce fight. as a way of gaining legal experience.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1751
vrviE Then tell me why not.
PRAED I really cannot. I appeal to your good feeling. [She smiles at his sentimentality.] Besides you may be too bold. Your mother is not to be trifled with when she's angry.
VIVIE You cant frighten me, Mr Praed. In that month at Chancery Lane I
had opportunities of taking the measure of one or two women ver y like
my mother. You may back me to win. But if I hit harder in my ignorance
than I need, remember that it is you who refuse to enlighten me. Now, let us drop the subject. [She takes her chair and replaces it near the hammock with the same vigorous swing as before.]
PRAED [Taking a desperate resolution.] One word, Miss Warren. I had better tell you. It's very difficult; but� [MRS WARREN and SIR GEORGE CROFTS arrive at the gate. MRS WARREN is between 40 and 50, formerly pretty, showily dressed in a brilliant hat and a gay blouse fitting tightly over her bust and flanked by fashionable sleeves. Rather spoilt and domineering, and decidedly vulgar, but, on the whole, a genial and fairly presentable old blackguard5 of a woman. CROFTS is a tall powerfully-built man of about 50, fashionably dressed in the style of a young man. Nasal voice, reedier than might be expected from his strong frame. Clean-shaven bulldog jaws, large flat ears, and thick neck: gentlemanly combination of the most brutal types of city man, sporting man, and man about town. ]
vrviE Here they are. [Coming to them as they enter the garden.] How do, mater?6 Mr Praed's been here this half hour waiting for you.
MRS WARREN
Well, if youve been waiting, Praddy, it's your own fault: I
thought youd have the gumption7 to know I was coming by the 3.10 train.
Vivie: put your hat on, dear: youll get sunburnt. Oh, I forgot to introduce
you. Sir George Crofts: my little Vivie.
[CROFTS advances to VIVIE with his most courtly manner. She nods, but makes no motion to shake hands.]
CROFTS
May I shake hands with a young lady whom I have known by repu
tation very long as the daughter of one of my oldest friends?
VIVIE [Who has been looking him up and down sharply.] If you like. [She takes his tenderly proffered hand and gives it a squeeze that makes him open his eyes; then turns away, and says to her mother] Will you come in, or shall I get a couple more chairs? [She goes into the porch for the chairs.] MRS WARREN
Well George, what do you think of her? CROFTS [Ruefully.] She has a powerful fist. Did you shake hands with her, Praed?
PRAED
Yes: it will pass off presently.
CROFTS I hope so. [VTVIE reappears with two more chairs. He hurries to her assistance.] Allow me. MRS WARREN [Patronizingly.] Let Sir George help you with the chairs, dear. VIVIE [Pitching them into his arms.] Here you are. [She dusts her hands and
turns to MRS WARREN.] Youd like some tea, wouldnt you? MRS WARREN [Sitting in PRAED'S chair and fanning herself] I'm dying for a drop to drink. VIVIE I'll see about it. [She goes into the cottage.]
5. Rogue. 7. Here common sense. 6. Mother (Latin).
.
175 2 / BERNARD SHAW
[SIR GEORGE has by this time managed to unfold a chair and plant it heside MRS WARREN, on her left. He throws the other on the grass and sits down, looking dejected and rather foolish, with the handle of his stick in his mouth, PRAED, still very uneasy, fidgets ahout the garden on their right. ]
MRS WARREN [To PRAED, looking at CROFTS.] Just look at him, Praddy: he looks cheerful, dont he? He's been worrying my life out these three years to have that little girl of mine shewn to him; and now that Ive done it, he's quite out of countenance. [Briskly.] Come! sit up, George; and take your stick out of your mouth, [CROFTS sulkily oheys.]
PRAED I think, you know�if you dont mind my saying so�that we had better
get out of the habit of thinking of her as a little girl. You see she has really
distinguished herself; and I'm not sure, from what I have seen of her, that
she is not older than any of us. MRS WARREN [Greatly amused.] Only listen to him, George! Older than any of us! Well, she has been stuffing you nicely with her importance.
PRAED But young people are particularly sensitive about being treated in that
way.
MRS WARREN Yes; and young people have to get all that nonsense taken out of them, and a good deal more besides. Dont you interfere, Praddy: I know how to treat my own child as well as you do. [PRAED, with a grave shake of his head, walks up the garden with his hands behind his hack, MRS WARREN pretends to laugh, hut looks after him with perceptible concern. Then she whispers to CROFTS] Whats the matter with him? What does he take it like that for?
CROFTS [Morosely.] Youre afraid of Praed.
MRS WARREN
What! Me! Afraid of dear old Praddy! Why, a fly wouldnt be
afraid of him.
CROFTS
Your e afraid of him.
MRS WARREN [Angry.] I'll trouble you to mind your own business, and not try any of your sulks on me. I'm not afraid of you , anyhow. If you cant make yourself agreeable, youd better go home. [She gets up, and turning her back on him, finds herself face to face with PRAED.] Come, Praddy, I know it was only your tender-heartedness. Youre afraid I'll bully her.
PRAED
My dear Kitty: you think I'm offended. Dont imagine that: pray dont.
But you know I often notice things that escape you; and though you never
take my advice, you sometimes admit afterwards that you ought to have
taken it.
MRS WARREN
Well, what do you notice now?
PRAED
Only that Vivie is a grown woman. Pray, Kitty, treat her with every
respect.
MRS WARREN
[With genuine amazement.] Respect! Treat my own daughter with respect! What next, pray! VTVIE [Appearing at the cottage door and calling to MRS WARREN.] Mother: will you come to my room before tea?
MRS WARREN Yes, dearie. [She laughs indulgently at PRAED'S gravity, and pats him on the cheek as she passes him on her way to the porch.] Dont be cross, Praddy. [She follows VTVIE into the cottage.]
CROFTS [Furtively.] I say, Praed. PRAED Yes.
CROFTS
I want to ask you a rather particular question.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1753
PRAED Certainly. [He takes MRS WARREN'S chair and sits close to CROFTS.] CROFTS
Thats right: they might hear us from the window. Look here: did
Kitty ever tell you who that girl's father is?
PRAED
Never.
CROFTS
Have you any suspicion of who it might be?
PRAED
None. CROFTS [Not believing him.] I know, of course, that you perhaps might feel bound not to tell if she had said anything to you. But it's very awkward to
be uncertain about it now that we shall be meeting the girl every day. We
dont exactly know how we ought to feel towards her.
PRAED
What difference can that make? We take her on her own merits. What
does it matter who her father was? CROFTS [Suspiciously.] Then you know who he was? PRAED [With a touch of temper.] I said no just now. Did you not hear me? CROFTS
Look here, Praed. I ask you as a particular favor. If you do know [Movement of protest from PRAED.]�I only say, if you know you might at least set my mind at rest about her. The fact is, I feel attracted.
PRAED [Sternly.] What do you mean? CROFTS
Oh, dont be alarmed: it's quite an innocent feeling. Thats what puz
zles me about it. Why, for all I know, I might be her father.
PRAED
You! Impossible! CROFTS [Catching him up cunningly.] You know for certain that I'm not? PRAED
I know nothing about it, I tell you, any more than you. But really,
Crofts�oh no, it's out of the question. Theres not the least resemblance.
CROFTS
As to that, theres no resemblance between her and her mother that
I can see. I suppose she's not you r daughter, is she? PRAED [Rising indignantly.] Really, Crofts�! CROFTS
No offence, Praed. Quite allowable as between two men of the world.
PRAED [Recovering himself with an effort and speaking gently and gravely.] Now listen to me, my dear Crofts. [He sits down again.] I have nothing to do with that side of Mrs Warren's life, and never had. She has never spoken
to me about it; and of course I have never spoken to her about it. Your
delicacy8 will tell you that a handsome woman needs som e friends who
are not�well, not on that footing with her. The effect of her own beauty
would become a torment to her if she could not escape from it occasionally.
You are probably on much more confidential terms with Kitty than I am.
Surely you can ask her the question yourself.
CROFTS
I have asked her, often enough. But she's so determined to keep the
child all to herself that she would deny that it ever had a father if she could. [Rising.] I'm thoroughly uncomfortable about it, Praed. PRAED [Rising also.] Well, as you are, at all events, old enough to be her dont mind agreeing that we both regard Miss Vivie in a parental way, as a young
girl whom we are bound to protect and help. What do you say? CROFTS [Aggressively.] I'm no older than you, if you come to that. PRAED
Yes you are, my dear fellow: you were born old. I was born a boy: Ive
never been able to feel the assurance of a grown-up man in my life. [He
folds his chair and carries it to the porch. ] MRS WARREN [Calling from within the cottage.] Prad-dee! George! Tea-ea-eaea!
8. Sensitivity, tact.
.
175 4 / BERNARD SHAW
CROFTS [Hastily.] She's calling us. [He hurries in.] f PRAED shakes his head hodingly, and is following CROFTS when he is hailed by a young gentleman who has just appeared on the common, and is making for the gate. He is pleasant, pretty, smartly dressed, cleverly good-for-nothing, not long turned 20, with a charming voice and agreeably disrespectfid manners. He carries a light sporting magazine rifle.]
THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN
Hallo! Praed! PRAED Why, Frank Gardner! [FRANK comes in and shakes hands cordially.] What on earth are you doing here?
FRANK
Staying with my father.
PRAED
The Roman father?9
FRANK
He's rector here. I'm living with my people this autumn for the sake
of economy. Things came to a crisis in July: the Roman father had to pay
my debts. He's stony broke in consequence; and so am I. What are you up
to in these parts? Do you know the people here?
PRAED
Yes: I'm spending the day with a Miss Warren.
FRANK [Enthusiastically.] What! Do you know Vivie? Isnt she a jolly girl? I'm teaching her to shoot with this. [Putting down the rifle.] I'm so glad she knows you: youre just the sort of fellow she ought to know. [He smiles, and raises the charming voice almost to a singing tone as he exclaims] It's ever so jolly to find you here, Praed.
PRAED
I'm an old friend of her mother. Mrs Warren brought me over to make her daughter's acquaintance.
FRANK
The mother! Is s h e here?
PRAED
Yes: inside, at tea.
MRS WARREN
[Calling from within.] Prad-dee-ee-ee-eee! The tea-cake'Il be
cold. PRAED [Calling.] Yes, Mrs Warren. In a moment. Ive just met a friend here. MRS WARREN
A what? PRAED [Louder.] A friend. MRS WARREN
Bring him in.
PRAED
All right, [to FRANK] Will you accept the invitation? FRANK [Incredulous, but immensely amused.] Is that Vivie's mother? PRAED Yes.
FRANK
By jove! What a lark! Do you think she'll like me?
PRAED
Ive no doubt youll make yourself popular, as usual. Come in and try.
[Moving towards the house.]
FRANK
Stop a bit. [Seriously.] I want to take you into my confidence.
PRAED
Pray dont. It's only some fresh folly, like the barmaid at Redhill.1
FRANK
It's ever so much more serious than that. You say youve only just met
Vivie for the first time?
PRAED Yes. FRANK [Rhapsodically.] Then you can have no idea what a girl she is. Such character! Such sense! And her cleverness! Oh, my eye, Praed, but I can
tell you she is clever! And�need I add?�she loves me.
9. I.e., a father with a Roman (strong) sense of Church of England, duty, not a Roman Catholic priest. We learn in the 1. A nearby town, next line that Franks father is a clergyman in the
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1755
CROFTS [Putting his head out of the window.] I say, Praed: what are you about? D o come along. [He disappears.]
FRANK
Hallo! Sort of chap that would take a prize at a dog show, aint he?
Who's he?
PRAED
Sir George Crofts, an old friend of Mrs Warren's. I think we had better
come in.
[On their way to the porch they are interrupted by a call from the gate.
Turning, they see an elderly clergyman looking over it.] THE CLERGYMAN [Calling.] Frank! FRANK Hallo! [To PRAED.] The Roman father. [To the clergyman.] Yes,
gov'nor:2 all right: presently. [To PRAED.] Look here, Praed: youd better go in to tea. I'll join you directly.
PRAED Very good. [He goes into the cottage.] [The clergyman remains outside the gate, with his hands on the top of it. The REV. SAMUEL GARDNER, a beneficed clergyman3 of the Established Church, is over 50. Externally he is pretentious, booming, noisy, important. Really he is that obsolescent social phenomenon the fool of the
family dumped on the Church by his father, the patron, clamorously asserting himself as father and clergyman without being able to command respect in either capacity.]
REV. SAMUEL
Well, sir. Who are your friends here, if I may ask?
FRANK
Oh, it's all right, gov'nor! Come in.
REV. SAMUEL
No sir; not until I know whose garden I am entering.
FRANK
It's all right. It's Miss Warren's.
REV. SAMUEL
I have not seen her at church since she came.
FRANK
Of course not: she's a third wrangler. Ever so intellectual. Took a
higher degree than you did; so why should she go to hear you preach?
REV. SAMUEL
Dont be disrespectful, sir.
FRANK
Oh, it dont matter: nobody hears us. Come in. [He opens the gate, unceremoniously pidling his father with it into the garden. ] I want to introduce you to her. Do you remember the advice you gave me last July, gov'nor?
REV. SAMUEL
[Severely.] Yes, I advised you to conquer your idleness and flippancy, and to work your way into an honorable profession and live on it and
not upon me.
FRANK
No; thats what you thought of afterwards. What you actually said was
that since I had neither brains nor money, I'd better turn my good looks to
account by marrying somebody with both. Well, look here. Miss Warren
has brains: you cant deny that.
REV. SAMUEL
Brains are not everything.
FRANK
NO, of course not: theres the money�
REV. SAMUEL
[Interrupting him austerely.] I was not thinking of money, sir. I was speaking of higher things. Social position, for instance.
FRANK
I dont care a rap about that.
REV. SAMUEL But I do, sir.
FRANK
Well, nobody wants you to marry her. Anyhow, she has what amounts
to a high Cambridge degree; and she seems to have as much money as she
wants.
2. I.e., governor, a common nickname given to a from which he receives income. Such positions father or other male authority figure. were generally controlled by major landowners. 3. I.e., the recipient of an endowed Church office
.
175 6 / BERNARD SHAW
REV. SAMUEL [Sinking into a feeble vein of humor.] I greatly doubt whether she has as much money as y o u will want.
FRANK Oh, come; I havnt been so very extravagant. I live ever so quietly; I dont drink; I dont bet much; and I never go regularly on the razzle-dazzle4 as you did when you were my age.
REV. SAMUEL [Booming hollowly.] Silence, sir.
FRANK
Well, you told me yourself, when I was making ever such an ass of
myself about the barmaid at Redhill, that you once offered a woman .50
for the letters you wrote to her when�
REV. SAMUEL [Terrified.] Sh-sh-sh, Frank, for heaven's sake! [He looks round apprehensively. Seeing no one Within earshot he plucks up courage to boom again, but more subduedly.] You are taking an ungentlemanly advantage of what I confided to you for your own good, to save you from an error you would have repented all your life long. Take warning by your father's follies, sir; and dont make them an excuse for your own. FRANK
Did you ever hear the story of the Duke of Wellington5 and his letters?
REV. SAMUEL
NO, sir; and I dont want to hear it.
FRANK
The old Iron Duke didnt throw away .50: not he. He just wrote: "Dear
Jenny: publish and be damned! Yours affectionately, Wellington." Thats
what you should have done.
REV. SAMUEL
[Piteously. ] Frank, my boy: when I wrote those letters I put myself into that woman's power. When I told you about them I put myself,
to some extent, I am sorry to say, in your power. She refused my money with
these words, which I shall never forget. "Knowledge is power" she said; "and
I never sell power." Thats more than twenty years ago; and she has never
made use of her power or caused me a moment's uneasiness. You are behav
ing worse to me than she did, Frank.
FRANK
Oh yes I dare say! Did you ever preach at her the way you preach at
me every day?
REV. SAMUEL
[Wounded almost to tears.] I leave you sir. You are incorrigible. [He turns towards the gate.]
FRANK [Utterly unmoved.] Tell them I shant be home to tea, will you, gov'nor, like a good fellow? [He moves towards the cottage door and is met by PFIAED and VIVIE coming out. ]
VIVIE. [To FRANK.] Is that your father, Frank? I do so want to meet him. FRANK Certainly. [Calling after his father.] Gov'nor. Youre wanted. [The parson turns at the gate, fumbling nervously at his hat. PRAED crosses the garden to the opposite side, beaming in anticipation of civilities.] iMy father: Miss Warren.
VIVIE [Going to the clergyman and shaking his hand.] Very glad to see you here, Mr Gardner. [Calling to the cottage.] Mother: come along: youre wanted. [MRS WARREN appears on the threshold, and is immediately transfixed recognizing the clergyman.] VIVIE [Continuing.] Let me introduce� MRS WARREN [Swooping on the REVEREND SAMUEL.] Why, it's Sam Gardner, gone into the Church! Well, I never! Dont you know us, Sam? This is George Crofts, as large as life and twice as natural. Dont you remember me?
4. I.e., out on the town. 5. Arthur Wellesley (1769�1852), military hero and statesmen.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 2 / 1757
REV. SAMUEL [Very red. ] I really�er�
MRS WARREN
Of course you do. Why, 1 have a whole album of your letters
still: I came across them only the other day.
REV. SAMUEL
[Miserably confused.] Miss Vavasour, I believe. MRS WARREN [Correcting him quickly in a loud whisper.] Tch! Nonsense! Mrs Warren: dont you see my daughter there?
Act 2
Inside the cottage after nightfall. Looking eastward from within instead of westward from without, the latticed window, with its curtains drawn, is now seen in the middle of the front wall of the cottage, with the porch door to the left of it. In the left-hand side wall is the door leading to the kitchen. Farther back against the same wall is a dresser with a candle and matches on it, and FRANKS rifle standing beside them, with the barrel resting in the plate-rack. In the centre a table stands with a lighted lamp on it. vrviE's books and writing materials are on a table to the right of the window, against the wall. The fireplace is on the right, with a settle:6 there is no fire. Two of the chairs are set right and left of the table. The cottage door opens, shewing a fine starlit night without; and MRS WARREN, her shoidders wrapped in a shawl borrowed from VIVIE, enters, followed by FRANK, who t hrows his cap on the window seat. She has had enough of walking, and gives a gasp of relief as she unpins her hat; takes it off ; sticks the pin through the crown; and puts it on the table.
MRS WARREN O Lord! I dont know which is the worst of the country, the walking or the sitting at home with nothing to do. I could do with a whisky
and soda now very well, if only they had such a thing in this place.
FRANK
Perhaps Vivie's got some.
MRS WARREN
Nonsense! What would a young girl like her be doing with such
things! Never mind: it dont matter. I wonder how she passes her time here!
I'd a good deal rather be in Vienna. FRANK Let me take you there. [He helps her to take off her shawl, gallantly giving her shoulders a very perceptible squeeze as he does so.]
MRS WARREN
Ah! would you? I'm beginning to think youre a chip of the old
block. FRANK Like the gov'nor, eh? [He hangs the shawl on the nearest chair, and sits down.]
MRS WARREN
Never you mind. What do you know about such things? Youre
only a boy. [She goes to the hearth, to be farther from temptation.] FRANK Do come to Vienna with me? It'd be ever such larks. MRS WARREN No, thank you. Vienna is no place for you�at least not until
youre a little older. [She nods at him to emphasize this piece of advice. He makes a mock-piteous face, belied by his laughing eyes. She looks at him; then comes back to him.] Now, look here, little boy [taking his face in her hands and turning it up to her]; I know you through and through by your likeness to your father, better than you know yourself. Dont you go taking any silly
ideas into your head about me. Do you hear? FRANK [Gallantly wooing her with his voice.] Cant help it, my dear Mrs Warren: it runs in the family.
[She pretends to box his ears; then looks at the pretty laughing upturned
6. A high-backed wooden bench.
.
1 75 8 / BERNARD SHAW
face for a moment, tempted. At last she kisses him, and immediately turns away, out of patience with herself]
MRS WARREN There! I shouldnt have done that. I am wicked. Never you mind,
my dear: it's only a motherly kiss. Go and make love to7 Vivie. FRANK So I have. MRS WARREN [Turning on him with a sharp note of alarm in her voice.] What! FRANK Vivie and I are ever such chums. MRS WARREN What do you mean? Now see here: I wont have any young
scamp tampering with my little girl. Do you hear? I wont have it.
FRANK [Quite unabashed.] My dear Mrs Warren: dont you be alarmed. My intentions are honorable: ever so honorable; and your little girl is jolly well able to take care of herself. She dont need looking after half so much as her mother. She aint so handsome, you know.
MRS WARREN [Taken aback by his assurance.] Well, you have got a nice healthy two inches thick of cheek all over you.8 I dont know where you got it. Not from your father, anyhow.
CROFTS [In the garden.] The gipsies, I suppose? REV. SAMUEL [Replying.] The broomsquires9 are far worse. MRS WARREN [To FRANK.] S-sh! Remember! youve had your warning.
[CROFTS and the REVEREND SAMUEL come in from the garden, the clergyman continuing his conversation as he enters.]
REV. SAMUEL The perjury at the Winchester assizes1 is deplorable. MRS WARREN Well? What became of you two? And wheres Praddy and Vivie? CROFTS [Putting his hat on the settle and his stick in the chimney corner.] They
went up the hill. We went to the village. I wanted a drink. [He sits down on the settle, putting his legs up along the seat.]
MRS WARREN Well, she oughtnt to go off like that without telling me. [To FRANK.] Get your father a chair, Frank: where are your manners? [FRANK
springs up and gracefully offers his father his chair; and then takes another from the wall and sits down at the table, in the middle, with his father on his right and MRS WARREN on his left.] George: where are you going to stay tonight? You cant stay here. And whats Praddy going to do?
CROFTS Gardner'll put me up. MRS WARREN Oh no doubt youve taken care of yourself! But what about
Praddy? CROFTS Dont know. I suppose he can sleep at the inn. MRS WARREN Havnt you room for him, Sam? REV. SAMUEL Well�er�you see, as rector here, I am not free to do as I like.
Er�what is Mr Praed's social position? MRS. WARREN Oh, he's all right: he's an architect. What an old stick-in-themud you are, Sam!
FRANK Yes, it's all right, gov'nor. He built that place down in Wales for the Duke. Caernarvon Castle2 they call it. You must have heard of it. [He winks with lightning smartness at MRS WARREN, and regards his father blandly.]
REV. SAMUEL Oh, in that case, of course we shall only be too happy. I suppose he knows the Duke personally. FRANK Oh, ever so intimately! We can stick him in Georgina's old room.
7. Woo, court. 1. Law courts. 8. I.e., you are very cheeky (presumptuous). 2. Frank here plays on his father's ignorance and 9. Minor country landowners. snobbery: the castle was built in the 13th century.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1759
MRS WARREN Well, thats settled. Now if those two would only come in and
let us have supper. Theyve no right to stay out after dark like this. CROFTS [Aggressively.] What harm are they doing you? MRS WARREN Well, harm or not, I dont like it. FRANK Better not wait for them, Mrs Warren. Praed will stay out as long as
possible. He has never known before what it is to stray over the heath on a
summer night with my Vivie. CROFTS [Sitting up in some consternation.] I say, you know! Come! REV. SAMUEL [Rising, startled out of his professional manner into real force and
sincerity.] Frank, once for all, it's out of the question. Mrs Warren will tell
you that it's not to be thought of. CROFTS Of course not. FRANK [With enchanting placidity.] Is that so, Mrs Warren? MRS WARREN [Reflectively.] Well, Sam, I dont know. If the girl wants to get
married, no good can come of keeping her unmarried. REV. SAMUEL [Astounded.] But married to him!�your daughter to my son!
Only think: it's impossible. CROFTS Of course it's impossible. Dont be a fool, Kitty. MRS WARREN [Nettled.] Why not? Isnt my daughter good enough for your
son? REV. SAMUEL But surely, my dear Mrs Warren, you know the reasons� MRS WARREN [Defiantly.] I know no reasons. If you know any, you can tell
them to the lad, or to the girl, or to your congregation, if you like.
REV. SAMUEL [Collapsing helplessly into his chair.] You know very well that I couldnt tell anyone the reasons. But my boy will believe me when I tell him there ar e reasons.
FRANK Quite right, Dad: he will. But has your boy's conduct ever been influenced by your reasons? CROFTS You cant marry her: and thats all about it. [He gets up and stands on
the hearth, with his back to the fireplace, frowning determinedly.] MRS WARREN [Turning on him sharply.] What have you got to do with it, pray? FRANK [With his prettiest lyrical cadence.] Precisely what I was going to ask,
myself, in my own graceful fashion.
CROFTS [To MRS WARREN.] I suppose you dont want to marry the girl to a man younger than herself and wdthout either a profession or twopence to keep her on. Ask Sam, if you dont believe me. [To the parson.] How much more money are you going to give him?
REV. SAMUEL Not another penny. He has had his patrimony; and he spent the last of it in July, [MRS WARREN'S face falls. ] CROFTS [Watching her.] There! I told you. [He resumes his place on the settle up his legs on the seat again, as if the matter were finally disposed of.] FRANK [Plaintively.] This is ever so mercenary. Do you suppose Miss Warren's going to marry for money? If we love one another� MRS WARREN Thank you. Your love's a pretty cheap commodity, my lad. If
you have no means of keeping a wife, that settles it: you cant have Vivie. FRANK [Much amused.] What do y o u say, gov'nor, eh? REV. SAMUEL I agree with Mrs Warren. FRANK And good old Crofts has already expressed his opinion. CROFTS [Turning angrily on his elbow.] Look here: I want none of y o u r
cheek. FRANK [Pointedly.] I'm ever so sorry to surprise you, Crofts, but you allowed
.
1 176 0 / BERNARD SHAW
yourself the liberty of speaking to me like a father a moment ago. One father
is enough, thank you. CROFTS [Contemptuously.] Yah! [He turns away again.] FRANK [Rising.] Mrs Warren: I cannot give my Vivie up, even for your sake. MRS WARREN [Muttering.] Young scamp! FRANK [Continuing. ] And as you no doubt intend to hold out other prospects
to her, I shall lose no time in placing my case before her. [They stare at him; and he begins to declaim gracefully.]
He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all.3
[The cottage door opens whilst he is reciting; and VIVIE and PRAED come in. He breaks off. PRAED puts his hat on the dresser. There is an immediate improvement in the company's behavior, CROFTS takes down his legs from the settle and pulls himself together as PRAED joins him at the fireplace, MRS WARREN loses her ease of manner and takes refuge in querulousness. ]
MRS WARREN Wherever have you been, Vivie? VIVIE [Taking of f her hat and throwing it carelessly on the table.] On the hill. MRS WARREN Well, you shouldnt go off like that without letting me know.
How could I tell what had become of you? And night coming on too!
vrviE [Going to the door of the kitchen and opening it, ignoring her mother.] Now, about supper? [All rise except MRS WARREN.] We shall be rather crowded in here, I'm afraid.
MRS WARREN Did you hear what I said, Vivie?
VIVIE [Quietly.] Yes, mother. [Reverting to the supper difficidty.] How many are we? [Counting.] One, two, three, four, five, six. Well, two will have to wait until the rest are done: Mrs Alison has only plates and knives for four.
PRAED Oh, it doesnt matter about me. I �
VTVIE You have had a long walk and are hungry, Mr Praed: you shall have your supper at once. I can wait myself. I want one person to wait with me. Frank: are you hungry?
FRANK Not the least in the world. Completely off my peck,4 in fact. MRS WARREN [To CROFTS.] Neither are you, George. You can wait. CROFTS Oh, hang it. Ive eaten nothing since tea-time. Cant Sam do it? FRANK Would you starve my poor father? REV. SAMUEL [Testily. ] Allow me to speak for myself, sir. I am perfectly willing
to wait.
VIVIE [Decisively.] Theres no need. Only two are wanted. [She opens the door of the kitchen.] Will you take my mother in, Mr Gardner. [The parson takes MRS WARREN; and they pass into the kitchen, PRAED and CROFTS follow. All except PRAED clearly disapprove of the arrangement, but do not know how to resist it. vrviE stands at the door looking in at them.] Can you squeeze past to that corner, Mr Praed: it's rather a tight fit. Take care of your coat against the white-wash: thats right. Now, are you all comfortable?
3. From the poem "My Dear and Only Love," by 4. Food (slang), the marquess of Montrose (1612�1650).
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1761
PRAED [Within.] Quite, thank you.
MRS WARREN [Within.] Leave the door open, dearie. [VW\E frowns; hut FRANK checks her with a gesture, and steals to the cottage door, which he softly sets wide open.] Oh Lor, what a draught! Youd better shut it, dear.
[VIVIE shuts it with a slam, and then, noting with disgust that her mother's hat and shawl are lying about, takes them tidily to the window seat, whilst FRANK noiselessly shuts the cottage door. ]
FRANK [Extdting.] Aha! Got rid of em. Well, Viwums: what do you think of my governor? VIVIE [Preoccupied and serious.] Ive hardly spoken to him. He doesnt strike me as being a particularly able person.
FRANK Well, you know, the old man is not altogether such a fool as he looks. You see, he was shoved into the Church rather; and in trying to live up to it he makes a much bigger ass of himself than he really is. I dont dislike him as much as you might expect. He means well. How do you think youll get on with him?
VIVIE [Rather grimly.] I dont think my future life will be much concerned with him, or with any of that old circle of my mother's, except perhaps Praed. [She sits down on the settle.] What do you think of my mother?
FRANK Really and truly? vrviE Yes, really and truly. FRANK Well, she's ever so jolly. But she's rather a caution, isn't she? And
Crofts! Oh my eye, Crofts! [He sits beside her.] VIVIE What a lot, Frank! FRANK What a crew! VIVIE [With intense contempt for them.] If I thought that I was like that�
that I was going to be a waster, shifting along from one meal to another with no purpose, and no character, and no grit in me, I'd open an artery and bleed to death without one moment's hesitation.
FRANK Oh no, you wouldnt. Why should they take any grind when they can afford not to? I wish I had their luck. No: what I object to is their form. It isnt the thing: it's slovenly, ever so slovenly.
VIVIE Do you think your form will be any better when youre as old as Crofts, if you dont work? FRANK Of course I do. Ever so much better. Viwums mustnt lecture: her little boy's incorrigible. [He attempts to take her face caressingly in his hands.]
vrviE [Striking his hands down sharply.] Off with you: Viwums is not in a humor for petting her little boy this evening. [She rises and comes forward to the other side of the room.]
FRANK [Following her.] How unkind! VIVIE [Stamping at him.] Re serious. I'm serious. FRANK Good. Let us talk learnedly. Miss Warren: do you know that all the
most advanced thinkers are agreed that half the diseases of modern civilization are due to starvation of the affections in the young. Now, I� VIVIE [Cutting him short.] You are very tiresome. [She opens the inner door.] Have you room for Frank there? He's complaining of starvation.
MRS WARREN [Within. ] Of course there is. [Clatter of knives and glasses as she moves the things on the table.] Here! theres room now beside me. Come along, Mr Frank.
FRANK Her little boy will be ever so even with his Viwums for this. [He passes into the kitchen.]
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1 176 2 / BERNARD SHAW
MRS WARREN [Within.] Here, Vivie: come on you too, child. You must be famished. [She enters, followed by CROFTS, who holds the door open for VTVIE with marked deference. She goes out without looking at him; and he shuts the door after her.] Why, George, you cant be done: youve eaten nothing. Is there anything wrong with you?
CROFTS Oh, all I wanted was a drink. [He thrusts his hands in his pockets, and begins prowling about the room, restless and sidky.]
MRS WARREN Well, I like enough to eat. But a little of that cold beef and cheese and lettuce goes a long way. [With a sigh of only half repletion she sits down lazily on the settle.]
CROFTS What do you go encouraging that young pup for?
MRS WARREN [On the alert at once.] Now see here, George: what are you up to about that girl? Ive been watching your way of looking at her. Remember: I know you and what your looks mean.
CROFTS Theres no harm in looking at her, is there?
MRS WARREN I'd put you out and pack you back to London pretty soon if I saw any of your nonsense. My girl's little finger is more to me than your whole body and soul, [CROFTS receives this with a sneering grin, MRS WARREN, flushing a little at her failure to impose on him in the character of a theatrically devoted mother, adds in a lower fee}'] Make your mind easy: the young pup has no more chance than you have.
CROFTS Maynt a man take an interest in a girl?
MRS WARREN Not a man like you.
CROFTS How old is she?
MRS WARREN Never you mind how old she is.
CROFTS Why do you make such a secret of it?
MRS WARREN Because I choose.
CROFTS Well, I'm not fifty yet; and my property is as good as ever it was�
MRS WARREN [Interrupting him.] Yes; because youre as stingy as youre vicious.
CROFTS [Continuing.] And a baronet isnt to be picked up every day. No other man in my position would put up with you for a mother-in-law. Why shouldnt she marry me?
MRS WARREN YOU!
CROFTS We three could live together quite comfortably. I'd die before her and leave her a bouncing widow with plenty of money. Why not? It's been growing in my mind all the time Ive been walking with that fool inside there. MRS WARREN [Revolted.] Yes; it's the sort of thing that would grow in your mind. [He halts in his prowling; and the two look at one another, she steadfastly, with a sort of awe behind her contemptuous disgust: he stealthily, with a carnal gleam in his eye and a loose grin. ] CROFTS [Suddenly becoming anxious and urgent as he sees no sign of sympathy in her.] Look here, Kitty: youre a sensible woman: you neednt put on any moral airs. I'll ask no more questions; and you need answer none. I'll settle the whole property on her; and if you want a cheque for yourself on the wedding day, you can name any figure you like-�in reason. MRS WARREN So it's come to that with you, George, like all the other worn- out old creatures! CROFTS [Savagely.] Damn you! [Before she can retort the door of the kitchen is opened; and the voices
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1763
of the others are heard returning, CROFTS, unable to recover his presence of mind, hurries out of the cottage. The clergyman appears at the kitchen door. ]
REV. SAMUEL [Looking around.] Where is Sir George?
MRS WARREN Gone out to have a pipe. [The clergyman takes his hat from the table, and joins MRS WARREN at the fireside. Meanwhile VIVIE comes in, followed by FRANK, who collapses into the nearest chair with an air of extreme exhaustion. MRS WARREN looks round at VIVIE and says, with her affectation of maternal patronage even more forced than usual] Well, dearie: have you had a good supper?
VIVIE YOU know what Mrs Alison's suppers are. [She turns to FRANK and pets him.] Poor Frank! was all the beef gone? did it get nothing but bread and cheese and ginger beer? [Seriously, as if she had done quite enough trifling for one evening.] Her butter is really awful. I must get some down from the stores. FRANK DO, in heaven's name! [VIVIE goes to the writing-table and makes a memorandum to order the butter, PRAED comes in from the kitchen, putting up his handkerchief, which he has been using as a napkin.] REV. SAMUEL Frank, my boy: it is time for us to be thinking of home. Your mother does not know yet that we have visitors. PRAED I'm afraid we're giving trouble. FRANK [Rising.] Not the least in the world; my mother will be delighted to see you. She's a genuinely intellectual artistic woman; and she sees nobody here from one year's end to another except the gov'nor; so you can imagine how jolly dull it pans out for her. [To his father.] Y o u r e not intellectual or artistic are you, pater?5 So take Praed home at once; and I'll stay here and entertain Mrs Warren. Youll pick up Crofts in the garden. He'll be excellent company for the bull-pup. PRAED [Taking his hat from the dresser, and coming close to FRANK.] Come with us, Frank. Mrs Warren has not seen Miss Vivie for a long time; and we have prevented them from having a moment together yet. FRANK [Quite softened, and looking at PRAED with romantic admiration.] Of course. I forgot. Ever so thanks for reminding me. Perfect gentleman, Praddy. Always were. My ideal through life. [He rises to go, but pauses a moment between the two older men, and puts his hand on PRAED'S shoidder.] Ah, if you had only been my father instead of this unworthy old man! [He puts his other hand on his father's shoulder.] REV. SAMUEL [Blustering.] Silence, sir, silence; you are profane. MRS WARREN [Laughing heartily.] You should keep him in better order, Sam. Goodnight. Here: take George his hat and stick with my compliments. REV. SAMUEL [Taking them.] Goodnight. [They shake hands. As he passes VTVIE he shakes hands with her also and bids her goodnight. Then, in booming command, to FRANK.] Come along, sir, at once. [He goes out.] MRS WARREN Byebye, Praddy. PRAED Byebye, Kitty. [They shake hands affectionately and go out together, she accompanying him to the garden gate.] FRANK [To VTVIE.] Kissums?
5. Father (Latin).
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1 176 4 / BERNARD SHAW
VIVIE [Fiercely.] No. I hate you. [S/ie takes a couple of books and some paper from the writing-table, and sits down with them at the middle table, at the end next the fireplace. ]
FRANK [Grimacing.] Sorry. [He goes for his cap and rifle, MRS WARREN returns. He takes her hand.] Goodnight, dea r Mrs Warren. [He kisses her hand. She snatches it away, her lips tightening, and looks more than half disposed to box his ears. He laughs mischievously and runs off , clapping-to the door behind him.]
MRS WARREN [Resigning herself to an evening of boredom now that the men are gone.] Did you ever in your life hear anyone rattle on so? Isnt he a tease? [She sits at the table.] Now that I think of it, dearie, dont you go on encouraging him. I'm sure he's a regular good-for-nothing.
VIVIE [Rising to fetch more books.] I'm afraid so. Poor Frank! I shall have to get rid of him; but I shall feel sorry for him, though he's not worth it. That man Crofts does not seem to me to be good for much either: is he? [She throws the books on the table rather roughly.]
MRSWARREN [Galled by VIVIE'S indifference.] What do you know of men, child, to talk that way about them? Youll have to make up your mind to see a good deal of Sir George Crofts, as he's a friend of mine.
VIVIE [Quite unmoved.] Why? [She sits down and opens a book.] Do you expect that we shall be much together? You and I, I mean? MRS WARREN [Staring at her.] Of course: until youre married. Youre not going back to college again.
VIVIE Do you think my way of life would suit you? I doubt it. MRS WARREN You r way of life! What do you mean?
vrviE [Cutting a page of her hook with the paper knife on her chatelaine.] Has it really never occurred to you, mother, that I have a way of life like other people? MRS WARREN What nonsense is this youre trying to talk? Do you want to shew your independence, now that youre a great little person at school? Dont be a fool, child.
VIVIE [Indulgently.] Thats all you have to say on the subject, is it, mother? MRS WARREN [Puzzled, then angry.] Dont you keep on asking me questions like that. [Violently.] Hold your tongue, [VIVIE works on, losing no time, and saying nothing.] You and your way of life, indeed! What next? [She looks at VTVIE again. No reply.] Your way of life will be what I please, so it will. [Another pause. ] Ive been noticing these airs in you ever since you got that tripos or whatever you call it. If you think I'm going to put up with them youre mistaken; and the sooner you find it out, the better. [Muttering.] All I have to say on the subject, indeed! [Again raising her voice angrily.] Do you know who youre speaking to, Miss? VTVIE [Looking across at her without raising her head from her book. ] No. Who are you? What are you? MRS WARREN [Rising breathless.] You young imp! VIVIE Everybody knows my reputation, my social standing, and the profession I intend to pursue. I know nothing about you. What is that way of life which you invite me to share with you and Sir George Crofts, pray? MRS WARREN Take care. I shall do something I'll be sorry for after, and you too. VTVIE [Putting aside her books with cool decision. ] Well, let us drop the subject until you are better able to face it. [Looking critically at her mother.] You
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1765
want some good walks and a little lawn tennis to set you up. You are shockingly out of condition: you were not able to manage twenty yards uphill today without stopping to pant; and your wrists are mere rolls of fat. Look at mine. [She holds out her ivrists.]
MRS WARREN [After looking at her helplessly, begins to whimper.] Vivie� VIVIE [Springing up sharply.] Now pray dont begin to cry. Anything but that. I really cannot stand whimpering. I will go out of the room if you do. MRS WARREN [Piteously.] Oh, my darling, how can you be so hard on me? Have I no rights over you as your mother?
VTVIE Are you my mother?
MRS WARREN [Appalled.] Am I your mother! Oh, Vivie!
VIVIE Then where are our relatives? my father? our family friends? You claim the rights of a mother: the right to call me fool and child; to speak to me as no woman in authority over me at college dare speak to me; to dictate my way of life; and to force on me the acquaintance of a brute whom anyone can see to be the most vicious sort of London man about town. Before I give myself the trouble to resist such claims, I may as well find out whether they have any real existence.
MRS WARREN [Distracted, throwing herself on her knees.] Oh no, no. Stop, stop. 1 am your mother: I swear it. Oh, you cant mean to turn on me�my own child! It's not natural. You believe me, dont you? Say you believe me.
VIVIE Who was my father? MRS WARREN You dont know what youre asking. I cant tell you.
VIVIE [Determinedly.] Oh yes you can, if you like. I have a right to know; and you know very well that I have that right. You can refuse to tell me, if you please; but if you do, you will see the last of me tomorrow morning. MRS WARREN Oh, it's too horrible to hear you talk like that. You wouldnt� you c o u 1 d n t leave me. VIVIE [Ruthlessly.] Yes, without a moment's hesitation, if you trifle with me about this. [Shivering with disgust.] How can I feel sure that 1 may not have the contaminated blood of that brutal waster in my veins? MRS WARREN No, no. On my oath it's not he, nor any of the rest that you have ever met. I'm certain of that, at least. [VIVIE'S eyesfasten sternly on her mother as the significance of this flashes on her.] VIVIE [Slowiy.] You are certain of that, a t least . Ah! You mean that that is all you are certain of. [Thoughtfully.] I see. [MRS WARREN buries her face in her hands.] Dont do that, mother: you know you dont feel it a bit. [MRS WARREN takes down her hands and looks up deplorably at VIVIE, ivho takes out her watch and says] Well, that is enough for tonight. At what hour would you like breakfast? Is half-past eight too early for you? MRS WARREN [Wildly.] My God, what sort of woman are you? VIVIE [Coolly.] The sort the world is mostly made of, I should hope. Otherwise I dont understand how it gets its business done. Come [taking her mother by the wrist, and pidling her tip pretty resolutely]: pull yourself together. Thats right. MRS WARREN [Querulously.] Youre very rough with me, Vivie. VIVIE Nonsense. What about bed? It's past ten. MRS WARREN [Passionately.] Whats the use of my going to bed? Do you think I could sleep? VIVIE Why not? I shall.
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1 176 6 / BERNARD SHAW
MRS WARREN YOU! youve no heart. [She suddenly breaks out vehemently in her natural tongue�the dialect of a woman of the -people�with all her affectations of maternal authority and conventional manners gone, and an overwhelming inspiration of true conviction and scorn in her.] Oh, I wont bear it: I wont put up with the injustice of it. What right have you to set yourself up above me like this? You boast of what you are to me�to m e, who gave you the chance of being what you are. What chance had I! Shame on you for a bad daughter and a stuck-up prude!
VIVIE [Sitting down with a shrug, no longer confident; for her replies, which have sounded sensible and strong to her so far, now begin to ring rather woodenly and even priggishly against the new tone of her mother.] Dont think for a moment I set myself above you in any way. You attacked me with the conventional authority of a mother: I defended myself with the conventional superiority of a respectable woman. Frankly, I am not going to stand any of your nonsense; and when you drop it I shall not expect you to stand any of mine. I shall always respect your right to your own opinions and your own way of life. MRS WARREN My own opinions and my own way of life! Listen to her talking! Do you think I was brought up like you? able to pick and choose my own way of life? Do you think I did what I did because I liked it, or thought it right, or wouldnt rather have gone to college and been a lady if I'd had the chance?
VTVIE Everybody has some choice, mother. The poorest girl alive may not be able to choose between being Queen of England or Principal of Newnham; but she can choose between ragpicking and flower-selling, according to her taste. People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I dont believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they cant find them, make them. MRS WARREN Oh, it's easy to talk, very easy, isnt it? Here! would you like to know what my circumstances were?
VIVIE Yes: you had better tell me. Wont you sit down? MRS WARREN Oh, I'll sit down: dont you be afraid. [She plants her chair farther forward with brazen energy, and sits down, VIVIE is impressed in spite of herself] D'you know what your gran'mother was?
VTVIE NO.
MRS WARREN No you dont. I do. She called herself a widow and had a fried- fish shop down by the Mint,6 and kept herself and four daughters out of it. Two of us were sisters: that was me and Liz; and we were both good-looking and well made. I suppose our father was a well-fed man: mother pretended he was a gentleman; but I dont know. The other two were only half sisters: undersized, ugly, starved looking, hard working, honest poor creatures: Liz and I would have half-murdered them if mother hadnt half-murdered us to keep our hands off them. They were the respectable ones. Well, what did they get by their respectability? I'll tell you. One of them worked in a whitelead7 factory twelve hours a day for nine shillings a week until she died of lead poisoning. She only expected to get her hands a little paralyzed; but she died. The other was always held up to us as a model because she married
6. The Royal Mint (where coins were produced) this time a poor area of the city. was close to the Tower in the east of London, at 7. A pigment used in paints.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1767
a Government laborer in the Deptford victualling yard, and kept his room and the three children neat and tidy on eighteen shillings a week�until he took to drink. That was worth being respectable for, wasnt it?
VIVIE [NOW thoughtfully attentive.] Did you and your sister think so?
MRS WARREN Liz didnt, I can tell you: she had more spirit. We both went to a church school�that was part of the ladylike airs we gave ourselves to be superior to the children that knew nothing and went nowhere�and we stayed there until Liz went out one night and never came back. I know the school-mistress thought I'd soon follow her example; for the clergyman was always warning me that Lizzie'd end by jumping off Waterloo Bridge.8 Poor fool: that was all he knew about it! But I was more afraid of the whitelead factory than I was of the river; and so would you have been in my place. That clergyman got me a situation as a scullery maid in a temperance restaurant where they sent out for anything you liked. Then I was waitress; and then I went to the bar at Waterloo station: fourteen hours a day serving drinks and washing glasses for four shillings a week and my board. That was considered a great promotion for me. Well, one cold, wretched night, when I was so tired I could hardly keep myself awake, who should come up for a half of Scotch but Lizzie, in a long fur cloak, elegant and comfortable, with a lot of sovereigns9 in her purse.
VTVIE [Grimly.] My aunt Lizzie!
MRS WARREN. Yes; and a very good aunt to have, too. She's living down at Winchester now, close to the cathedral, one of the most respectable ladies there. Chaperones girls at the county ball, if you please. No river for Liz, thank you! You remind me of Liz a little: she was a first-rate business woman�saved money from the beginning�never let herself look too like what she was�never lost her head or threw away a chance. When she saw I'd grown up good-looking she said to me across the bar "What are you doing there, you little fool? wearing out your health and your appearance for other people's profit!" Liz was saving money then to take a house for herself in Brussels; and she thought we two could save faster than one. So she lent me some money and gave me a start; and I saved steadily and first paid her back, and then went into business with her as her partner. Why shouldnt I have done it? The house in Brussels was real high class: a much better place for a woman to be in than the factory where Anne Jane got poisoned. None of our girls were ever treated as I was treated in the scullery of that temperance place, or at the Waterloo bar, or at home. Would you have had me stay in them and become a worn out old drudge before I was forty?
VIVIE [Intensely interested by this time.] No; but why did you choose that business? Saving money and good management will succeed in any business. MRS WARREN Yes, saving money. But where can a woman get the money to save in any other business? Could you save out of four shillings a week and keep yourself dressed as well? Not you. Of course, if youre a plain woman and cant earn anything more; or if you have a turn for music, or the stage, or newspaper writing; thats different. But neither Liz nor I had any turn for
8. I.e., become a prostitute, and then throw her-9. Gold coins, each worth one pound. "'A half": a self into the river Thames (traditionally presented half gill (two fluid ounces). as the fate of fallen women).
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1 176 8 / BERNARD SHAW
such things: all we had was our appearance and our turn for pleasing men. Do you think we were such fools as to let other people trade in our good looks by employing us as shopgirls, or barmaids, or waitresses, when we could trade in them ourselves and get all the profits instead of starvation wages? Not likely.
VIVIE YOU were certainly quite justified�from the business point of view.
MRS WARREN Yes; or any other point of view. What is any respectable girl brought up to do but to catch some rich man's fancy and get the benefit of his money by marrying him?�as if a marriage ceremony could make any difference in the right or wrong of the thing! Oh! the hypocrisy of the world makes me sick! Liz and I had to work and save and calculate just like other people; elseways we should be as poor as any good-for-nothing drunken waster of a woman that thinks her luck will last for ever. [With great energy. ] I despise such people: theyve no character; and if theres a thing 1 hate in a woman, it's want of character.
VIVIE Come now, mother: frankly! Isnt it part of what you call character in a woman that she should greatly dislike such a way of making money? MRS WARREN Why, of course. Everybody dislikes having to work and make money; but they have to do it all the same. I'm sure Ive often pitied a poor girl; tired out and in low spirits, having to try to please some man that she doesnt care two straws for�some half-drunken fool that thinks he's making himself agreeable when he's teasing and worrying and disgusting a woman so that hardly any money could pay her for putting up with it. But she has to bear with disagreeables and take the rough with the smooth, just like a nurse in a hospital or anyone else. It's not work that any woman would do for pleasure, goodness knows; though to hear the pious people talk you would suppose it was a bed of roses. VTVIE Still, you consider it worth while. It pays. MRS WARREN Of course it's worth while to a poor girl, if she can resist temptation and is good-looking and well conducted and sensible. It's far better than any other employment open to her. I always thought that oughtnt to be. It c a n t be right, Vivie, that there shouldnt be better opportunities for women. I stick to that: it's wrong. But it's so, right or wrong; and a girl must make the best of it. But of course it's not worth while for a lady. If you took to it youd be a fool; but I should have been a fool if I'd taken to anything else. VIVIE [More and more deeply moved.] Mother; suppose we were both as poor as you were in those wretched old days, are you quite sure that you wouldnt advise me to try the Waterloo bar, or marry a laborer, or even go into the factory? MRS WARREN [Indignantly.] Of course not. What sort of mother do you take me for! How could you keep your self-respect in such starvation and slavery? And whats a woman worth? whats life worth? without self-respect! Why am I independent and able to give my daughter a first-rate education, when other women that had just as good opportunities are in the gutter? Because I always knew how to respect myself and control myself. Why is Liz looked up to in a cathedral town? The same reason. Where would we be now if we'd minded the clergyman's foolishness? Scrubbing floors for one and sixpence1 a day and nothing to look forward to but the workhouse infirmary.
1. I.e., one and a half shillings.
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MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1769
Dont you be led astray by people who dont know the world, my girl. The only way for a woman to provide for herself decently is for her to be good to some man that can afford to be good to her. If she's in his own station of life, let her make him marry her; but if she's far beneath him she cant expect it: why should she? it wouldn't be for her own happiness. Ask any lady in London society that has daughters; and she'll tell you the same, except that I tell you straight and she'll tell you crooked. Thats all the difference.
VIVIE [Fascinated, gazing at her.] My dear mother; you are a wonderful woman: you are stronger than all England. And are you really and truly not one wee bit doubtful�or�or�ashamed?
MRS WARREN Well, of course, dearie, it's only good manners to be ashamed of it; it's expected from a woman. Women have to pretend to feel a great deal that they dont feel. Liz used to be angry with me for plumping out the truth about it. She used to say that when every woman could learn enough from what was going on in the world before her eyes, there was no need to talk about it to her. But then Liz was such a perfect lady! She had the true instinct of it; while I was always a bit of a vulgarian. I used to be so pleased when you sent me your photos to see that you were growing up like Liz: youve just her ladylike, determined way. But I cant stand saying one thing when everyone knows I mean another. Whats the use in such hypocrisy? If people arrange the world that way for women, theres no good pretending it's arranged the other way. No: I never was a bit ashamed really. I consider 1 had a right to be proud of how we managed everything so respectably, and never had a word against us, and how the girls were so well taken care of. Some of them did very well: one of them married an ambassador. But of course now I darent talk about such things: whatever would they think of us! [She yawns.] Oh dear! I do believe I'm getting sleepy after all. [She stretches herself lazily, thoroughly relieved by her explosion, and placidly ready for her night's rest.] vrviE I believe it is I who will not be able to sleep now. [She goes to the dresser and lights the candle. Then she extinguishes the lamp, darkening the room a good deal.] Better let in some fresh air before locking up. [She opens the cottage door, and finds that it is broad moonlight.] What a beautiful night! Look! [She draws aside the curtains of the window. The landscape is seen bathed in the radiance of the harvest moon rising over Blackdown.2] MRS WARREN [With a perfunctory glance at the scene.] Yes, dear; but take care you dont catch your death of cold from the night air. vrviE [Contemptuously.] Nonsense. MRS WARREN [Querulously.] Oh yes: everything I say is nonsense, according to you. VIVIE [Turning to her quickly.] No: really that is not so, mother. You have got completely the better of me tonight, though I intended it to be the other way. Let us be good friends now. MRS WARREN [Shaking her head a little ruefully.] So it has been the other way. But I suppose I must give in to it. I always got the worst of it from Liz; and now I suppose it'll be the same with you. VIVIE Well, never mind. Come: goodnight, dear old mother. [She takes her mother in her arms.]
2. A hill near Haslemere.
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1 177 0 / BERNARD SHAW
MRS WARREN [Fondly.] I brought you up well, didnt I, dearie? VTVIE Yo u did. MRS WARREN And youll be good to your poor old mother for it, wont you? VTVIE I will, dear. [Kissing her.] Goodnight. MRS WARREN [With unction.] Blessings on my own dearie darling! a mother's
blessing!
[She embraces her daughter -protectingly, instinctively looking upward for divine sanction. ]
Act 3
In the Rectory garden next morning, with the sun shining from a cloudless sky. The garden wall has a five-barred wooden gate, wide enough to admit a carriage, in the middle. Beside the gate hangs a bell on a coiled spring, communicating with a pull outside. The carriage drive comes down the middle of the garden and then swerves to its left, where it ends in a little gravelled circus3 opposite the Rectory porch. Beyond the gate is seen the dusty high road, parallel with the wall, bounded on the farther side by a strip of turf and an unfenced pine wood. On the lawn, between the house and the drive, is a clipped yew tree, with a garden bench in its shade. On the opposite side the garden is shut in by a box hedge; and there is a sundial on the turf, with an iron chair near it. A little path leads off through the box hedge, behind the sundial.
FRANK seated on the chair near the sundial, on which he has placed the morning papers, is reading The Standard. His father comes from the house, red-eyed and shivery, and meets FRANK'S eye with misgiving.
FRANK [Looking at his watch.] Half-past eleven. Nice hour for a rector to
come down to breakfast! REV. SAMUEL Dont mock, Frank: dont mock. I am a little�er�[Shivering.]� FRANK Off color? REV. SAMUEL [Repudiating the expression.] No, sir: unwell this morning.
Wheres your mother?
FRANK Dont be alarmed: she's not here. Gone to town by the 11.13 with Bessie. She left several messages for you. Do you feel equal to receiving them now, or shall I wait til youve breakfasted?
REV. SAMUEL I hav e breakfasted, sir. I am surprised at your mother going to town when we have people staying with us. Theyll think it very strange.
FRANK Possibly she has considered that. At all events, if Crofts is going to stay here, and you are going to sit up every night with him until four, recalling the incidents of your fiery youth, it is clearly my mother's duty, as a prudent housekeeper, to go up to the stores and order a barrel of whisky and few hundred siphons.
REV. SAMUEL I did not observe that Sir George drank excessively. FRANK You were not in a condition to, gov'nor. REV. SAMUEL Do you mean to say that I�? FRANK [Calmly.] I never saw a beneficed clergyman less sober. The anecdotes
you told about your past career were so awful that I really dont think Praed
3. A round open space.
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MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1771
would have passed the night under your roof if it hadnt been for the way my mother and he took to one another. REV. SAMUEL Nonsense, sir. I am Sir George Crofts' host. I must talk to him
about something; and he has only one subject. Where is Mr Praed now? FRANK He is driving my mother and Bessie to the station. REV. SAMUEL Is Crofts up yet? FRANK Oh, long ago. He hasnt turned a hair: he's in much better practice
than you. Has kept it up ever since, probably. He's taken himself off somewhere to smoke.
[FRANK resumes his paper. The parson turns disconsolately towards the gate; then comes hack irresolutely.]
REV. SAMUEL Er�Frank. FRANK Yes. REV. SAMUEL DO you think the Warrens will expect to be asked here after
yesterday afternoon? FRANK Theyve been asked already. REV. SAMUEL [Appalled.] What!!! FRANK Crofts informed us at breakfast that you told him to bring Mrs Warren
and Vivie over here today, and to invite them to make this house their home. My mother then found she must go to town by the 11.13 train. REV. SAMUEL [With despairing vehemence.] I never gave any such invitation. I never thought of such a thing. FRANK [Compassionately.] How do you know, gov'nor, what you said and
thought last night? PRAED [Coming in through the hedge.] Good morning. REV. SAMUEL Good morning. I must apologize for not having met you at break
fast. I have a touch of�of� FRANK Clergyman's sore throat, Praed. Fortunately not chronic. PRAED [Changing the subject.] Well, 1 must say your house is in a charming
spot here. Really most charming.
REV. SAMUEL Yes: it is indeed. Frank will take you for a walk, Mr Praed, if you like. I'll ask you to excuse me: I must take the opportunity to write my sermon while Mrs Gardner is away and you are all amusing yourselves. You wont mind, will you?
PRAED Certainly not. Dont stand on the slightest ceremony with me. REV. SAMUEL Thank you. I'll�er�er�[He stammers his way to the porch and vanishes into the house.]
PRAED Curious thing it must be writing a sermon every week. FRANK Ever so curious, if he did it. He buys em. He's gone for some soda water. PRAED My dear boy: I wish you would be more respectful to your father. You know you can be so nice when you like.
FRANK My dear Praddy: you forget that I have to live with the governor. When two people live together�it doesnt matter whether theyre father and son or husband and wife or brother and sister�they cant keep up the polite humbug thats so easy for ten minutes on an afternoon call. Now the governor, who unites to many admirable domestic qualities the irresoluteness of a sheep and the pompousness and aggressiveness of a jackass�
PRAED NO, pray, pray, my dear Frank, remember! He is your father. FRANK I give him due credit for that. [Rising and flinging down his paper.]
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1 177 2 / BERNARD SHAW
But just imagine his telling Crofts to bring the Warrens over here! He must have been ever so drunk. You know, my dear Praddy, my mother wouldnt stand Mrs Warren for a moment. Vivie mustnt come here until she's gone back to town.
PRAED But your mother doesnt know anything about Mrs Warren, does she?
[He picks up the paper and sits down to read it.]
FRANK I don't know. Her journey to town looks as if she did. Not that my mother would mind in the ordinary way: she has stuck like a brick to lots of women who had got into trouble. But they were all nice women. Thats what makes the real difference. Mrs Warren, no doubt, has her merits; but she's ever so rowdy; and my mother simply wouldnt put up with her. So � hallo! [This exclamation is provoked by the reappearance of the clergyman, who comes out of the house in haste and dismay. ]
REV. SAMUEL Frank: Mrs Warren and her daughter are coming across the heath with Crofts: I saw them from the study windows. What am I to say about your mother? FRANK Stick on your hat and go out and say how delighted you are to see them; and that Frank's in the garden; and that mother and Bessie have been called to the bedside of a sick relative, and were ever so sorry they couldnt stop; and that you hope Mrs Warren slept well; and�and�say any blessed thing except the truth, and leave the rest to Providence. REV. SAMUEL But how are we to get rid of them afterwards? FRANK Theres no time to think of that now. Here! [He bounds into the house.] REV. SAMUEL He's so impetuous. I dont know what to do with him, Mr Praed. FRANK [Returning with a clerical felt hat, which he claps on his father's head.] Now: off with you. [Rushing him through the gate.] Praed and I'll wait here, to give the thing an unpremeditated air. [The clergyman, dazed but obedient, hurries off.] FRANK We must get the old girl back to town somehow, Praed. Come! Honestly, dear Praddy, do you like seeing them together? PRAED Oh, why not? FRANK [His teeth on edge. ] Dont it make your flesh creep ever so little? that wicked old devil, up to every villainy under the sun, I'll swear, and Vivie� ugh! PRAED Hush, pray. Theyre coming. [The clergyman and CROFTS are seen coming along the road, followed by MRS WARREN and vrviE walking affectionately together.] FRANK Look: she actually has her arm round the old woman's waist. It's her right arm: she began it. She's gone sentimental, by God! Ugh! ugh! Now do you feel the creeps? [The clergyman opens the gate; and MRS WARREN and VIVIE pass him and stand in the middle of the garden looking at the house. FRANK, in an ecstasy of dissimulation, turns gaily to MRS WARREN, exclaiming] Ever so delighted to see you, Mrs Warren. This quiet old rectory garden becomes you perfectly. MRS WARREN Well, I never! Did you hear that, George? He says I look well in a quiet old rectory garden. REV. SAMUEL [Still holding the gate for CROFTS, who loafs through it, heavily bored.] You look well everywhere, Mrs Warren. FRANK Bravo, gov'nor! Now look here: lets have a treat before lunch. First lets see the church. Everyone has to do that. It's a regular old thirteenth century church, you know: the gov'nor's ever so fond of it, because he got
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1773
up a restoration fund and had it completely rebuilt six years ago. Praed will
be able to shew its points. PRAED [Rising.] Certainly, if the restoration has left any to shew. REV. SAMUEL [Mooning hos-pitably at them..] I shall be pleased, I'm sure, if Sir
George and Mrs Warren really care about it. MRS WARREN Oh, come along and get it over. CROFTS [Turning back towards the gate.] Ive no objection. REV. SAMUEL Not that way. We go through the fields, if you dont mind. Round
here. [He leads the way by the little path through the box hedge.]
CROFTS Oh, all right. [He goes with the parson.] [PRAED follows with MRS WARREN, VTVIE does not stir: she watches them until they have gone, with all the lines of purpose in her face marking it strongly.]
FRANK Aint you coming?
VIVIE NO. I want to give you a warning, Frank. You were making fun of my mother just now when you said that about the rectory garden. That is barred in future. Please treat my mother with as much respect as you treat your own.
FRANK My dear Viv: she wouldnt appreciate it: the two cases require different treatment. But what on earth has happened to you? Last night we were perfectly agreed as to your mother and her set. This morning I find you attitudinizing sentimentally with your arm round your parent's waist.
VTVIE [Flushing.] Attitudinizing! FRANK That was how it struck me. First time I ever saw you do a second-rate thing. VIVTE [Controlling herself] Yes, Frank: there has been a change; but I dont
think it a change for the worse. Yesterday I was a little prig. FRANK And today? VIVIE [Wincing; then looking at him steadily.] Today I know my mother better
than you do. FRANK Heaven forbid! VTVIE What do you mean? FRANK Viv: theres a freemasonry4 among thoroughly immoral people that you
know nothing of. Youve too much character. Thats the bond between your mother and me: thats why I know her better than youll ever know her. VIVIE You are wrong: you know nothing about her. If you knew the circumstances against which my mother had to struggle�
FRANK [Adroitly finishing the sentence for her. ] I should know why she is what she is, shouldnt I? What difference would that make? Circumstances or no circumstances, Viv, you wont be able to stand your mother.
VTVIE [Very angrily.] Why not?
FRANK Because she's an old wretch, Viv. If you ever put your arm round her waist in my presence again, I'll shoot myself there and then as a protest against an exhibition which revolts me.
VTVIE Must I choose between dropping your acquaintance and dropping my mother's?
FRANK [Gracefully.] That would put the old lady at ever such a disadvantage. No, Viv: your infatuated little boy will have to stick to you in any case. But he's all the more anxious that you shouldnt make mistakes. It's no use, Viv:
4. A secret understanding.
.
1 177 4 / BERNARD SHAW
your mother's impossible. She may be a good sort; but she's a bad lot, a very bad lot.
VRVIE [Hotly.] Frank�! [He stands his ground. She turns away and sits down on the bench under the yew tree, struggling to recover her self-command. Then she says] Is she to be deserted by all the world because she's what you call a bad lot? Has she no right to live?
FRANK No fear of that, Viv: she wont ever be deserted. [He sits on the bench beside her.]
VIVIE But I am to desert her, I suppose.
FRANK [Babyishly, lulling her and making love to her with his voice.] Mustnt go live with her. Little family group of mother and daughter wouldnt be a success. Spoil our little group.
VTVIE [Falling under the spell.] What little group? FRANK The babes in the wood:5 Vivie and little Frank. [He nestles against her like a weary child.] Lets go and get covered up with leaves. VTVIE [Rhythmically, rocking him like a nurse.] Fast asleep, hand in hand,
under the trees. FRANK The wise little girl with her silly little boy. VIVIE The dear little boy with his dowdy little girl. FRANK Ever so peaceful, and relieved from the imbecility of the little boy's
father and the questionableness of the little girl's�
VIVIE [Smothering the word against her breast.] Sh-sh-sh-sh! little girl wants to forget all about her mother. [They are silent for some moments, rocking one another. Then VTVIE wakes up with a shock, exclaiming] What a pair of fools we are! Come: sit up. Gracious! your hair. [She smoothes it.] I wonder do all grown up people play in that childish way when nobody is looking. I never did it when I was a child.
FRANK Neither did I. You are my first playmate. [He catches her hand to kiss it, but checks himself to look round first. Very unexpectedly, he sees CROFTS emerging from the box hedge.] Oh damn!
VTVIE Why damn, dear? FRANK [Whispering.] Sh! Here's this brute Crofts. [He sits farther away from her with an unconcerned air.]
CROFTS. Could I have a few words with you, Miss Vivie? VIVIE Certainly. CROFTS [To FRANK.] Youll excuse me, Gardner. Theyre waiting for you in the
church, if you don't mind.
FRANK [Rising.] Anything to oblige you, Crofts�except church. If you should happen to want me, Viwums, ring the gate bell. [He goes into the house with unruffled suavity.]
CROFTS [Watching him with a crafty air as he disappears, and speaking to VIVIE with an assumption of being on privileged terms with her.] Pleasant young fellow that, Miss Vivie. Pity he has no money, isnt it?
VTVIE DO you think so? CROFTS Well, whats he to do? No profession. No property. Whats he good for? VIVIE I realize his disadvantages, Sir George.
5. Frank refers to the story of a brother and sister Based on an incident in 16th-century Norfolk, the who are abandoned by their cruel uncle in the tale was first popularized as a ballad, and then in woods, then covered with leaves by the birds. nursery stories and pantomimes.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1775
CROFTS [A little taken aback at being so -precisely interpreted.] Oh, it's not that. But while we're in this world we're in it; and money's money. [Vivie does not answer.] Nice day, isnt it?
VTVIE [With scarcely veiled contempt for this effort at conversation.] Very.
CROFTS [With brutal good humor, as if he liked her pluck.] Well, thats not what I came to say. [Sitting down beside her.] Now listen, Miss Vivie. I'm quite aware that I'm not a young lady's man.
VTVIE Indeed, Sir George?
CROFTS No; and to tell you the honest truth I dont want to be either. But when I say a thing I mean it; when I feel a sentiment I feel it in earnest; and what I value I pay hard money for. Thats the sort of man I am.
VTVIE It does you great credit, I'm sure.
CROFTS Oh, I dont mean to praise myself. I have my faults, Heaven knows: no man is more sensible of that than I am. I know I'm not perfect: thats one of the disadvantages of being a middle-aged man; for I'm not a young man, and I know it. But my code is a simple one, and, I think, a good one. Honor between man and man; fidelity between man and woman; and no cant about this religion or that religion, but an honest belief that things are making for good on the whole.
VTVIE [With biting irony.] "A power, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness," eh?6 CROFTS [Taking her seriously.] Oh certainly. Not ourselves, of course. You understand what I mean. Well, now as to practical matters. You may have an idea that Ive flung my money about; but I havnt: I'm richer today than when I first came into the property. Ive used my knowledge of the world to invest my money in ways that other men have overlooked; and whatever else I may be, I'm a safe man from the money point of view. VIVIE It's very kind of you to tell me all this. CROFTS Oh well, come, Miss Vivie: you neednt pretend you dont see what I'm driving at. I want to settle down with a Lady Crofts. I suppose you think me very blunt, eh?
VIVIE Not at all: I am much obliged to you for being so definite and businesslike. I quite appreciate the offer: the money, the position, LadyCrofts , and so on. But I think I will say no, if you dont mind. I'd rather not. [She rises, and strolls across to the sundial to get out of his immediate neighborhood.] CROFTS [Not at all discouraged, and taking advantage of the additional room left him on the seat to spread himself comfortably, as if a few preliminary refusals were part of the inevitable routine of courtship.] I'm in no hurry. It was only just to let you know in case young Gardner should try to trap you. Leave the question open. VTVIE [Sharply.] My no is final. I wont go back from it. [CROFTS is not impressed. He grins; leans forward with his elbows on his knees to prod with his stick at some unfortunate insect in the grass; and looks cunningly at her. She turns away impatiently.] CROFTS I'm a good deal older than you. Twenty-five years; quarter of a century. I shant live for ever; and I'll take care that you shall be well off when I'm gone.
6. Vivie refers to Matthew Arnold's much-quoted words: "an abstract, an eternal power, or only a stream of tendency, not ourselves, and making for righteousness" (Literature and Dogma [1873], chap. 1).
.
1 177 6 / BERNARD SHAW
VTVIE I am proof against even that inducement, Sir George. Dont you think youd better take your answer? There is not the slightest chance of my altering it. CROFTS [Rising after a final slash at a daisy, and coming nearer to her.] Well, no matter. I could tell you some things that would change your mind fast enough; but I wont, because I'd rather win you by honest affection. I was a good friend to your mother: ask her whether I wasnt. She'd never have made the money that paid for your education if it hadnt been for my advice and help, not to mention the money I advanced her. There are not many men would have stood by her as I have. I put not less than .40,000 into it, from first to last. VTVIE [Staring at him.] Do you mean to say you were my mother's business partner? CROFTS Yes. Now just think of all the trouble and the explanations it would save if we were to keep the whole thing in the family, so to speak. Ask your mother whether she'd like to have to explain all her affairs to a perfect stranger. VTVIE I see no difficulty, since I understand that the business is wound up, and the money invested. CROFTS [Stopping short, amazed.] Wound up! Wind up a business thats paying 35 per cent in the worst years! Not likely. Who told you that? VIVIE [Her color quite gone.] Do you mean that it is still�? [She stops abruptly, and puts her hand on the sundial to support herself. Then she gets quickly to the iron chair and sits down.] What business are you talking about? CROFTS Well, the fact is it's not what would be considered exactly a high- class business in my set�the county set, you know�our set it will be if you think better of my offer. Not that theres any mystery about it: dont think that. Of course you know by your mother's being in it that it's perfectly straight and honest. Ive known her for many years; and I can say of her that she'd cut off her hands sooner than touch anything that was not what it ought to be. I'll tell you all about it if you like. I dont know whether youve found in travelling how hard it is to find a really comfortable private hotel. VIVIE [Sickened, averting her face.] Yes: go on. CROFTS Well, thats all it is. Your mother has a genius for managing such things. We've got two in Brussels, one in Ostend, one in Vienna, and two in Budapest. Of course there are others besides ourselves in it; but we hold most of the capital; and your mother's indispensable as managing director. Youve noticed, I daresay, that she travels a good deal. But you see you cant mention such things in society. Once let out the word hotel and everybody says you keep a public-house.7 You wouldnt like people to say that of your mother, would you? Thats why we're so reserved about it. By the way, youll keep it to yourself, wont you? Since it's been a secret so long, it had better remain so. VTVIE And this is the business you invite me to join you in? CROFTS Oh, no. My wife shant be troubled with business. Youll not be in it more than youve always been. VTVIE I always been! What do you mean? CROFTS Only that youve always lived on it. It paid for your education and the
7. I.e., a bar.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1777
dress you have on your back. Dont turn up your nose at business, Miss
Vivie: where would your Newnhams and Girtons8 be without it?
VTVIE [Rising, almost beside herself.] Take care. I know what this business is.
CROFTS [Staring, with a suppressed oath.] Who told you?
VIVIE Your partner. My mother.
CROFTS [Black with rage.] The old�
VIVIE Just so. [He swallows the epithet and stands for a vioment swearing and raging foully to himself. But he knows that his cue is to be sympathetic. He takes refuge in generous indignation. ]
CROFTS She ought to have had more consideration for you. I'd never have told you. VIVIE I think you would probably have told me when we were married; it would have been a convenient weapon to break me in with. CROFTS [Quite sincerely.] I never intended that. On my word as a gentleman
I didnt. [VIVIE wonders at him. Her sense of the irony of his protest cools and braces her. She replies with contemptuous self-possession.]
VTVIE It does not matter. I suppose you understand that when we leave here today our acquaintance ceases. CROFTS Why? Is it for helping your mother?
VTVIE My mother was a very poor woman who had no reasonable choice but to do as she did. You were a rich gentleman; and you did the same for the sake of 35 per cent. You are a pretty common sort of scoundrel, I think. That is my opinion of you. CROFTS [After a stare: not at all displeased, and much more at ease on these frank terms than on their former ceremonious ones.] Ha! ha! ha! ha! Go it, little missie, go it: it doesnt hurt me and it amuses you. Why the devil shouldnt I invest my money that way? I take the interest on my capital like other people: I hope you dont think I dirty my own hands with the work. Come! you wouldnt refuse the acquaintance of my mother's cousin the Duke of Belgravia because some of the rents he gets are earned in queer ways. You wouldnt cut9 the Archbishop of Canterbury, I suppose, because the Ecclesiastical Commissioners have a few publicans and sinners among their tenants. Do you remember your Crofts scholarship at Newnham? Well, that was founded by my brother the M.P.1 He gets his 22 per cent out of a factory with 600 girls in it, and not one of them getting wages enough to live on. How d'ye suppose they manage when they have no family to fall back on? Ask your mother. And do you expect me to turn my back on 35 per cent when all the rest are pocketing what they can, like sensible men? No such fool! If youre going to pick and choose your acquaintances on moral principles, youd better clear out of this country, unless you want to cut yourself out of all decent society. VTVIE [Conscience stricken.] You might go on to point out that I myself never asked where the money I spent came from. I believe I am just as bad as you. CROFTS [Greatly reassured.] Of course you are; and a very good thing too! What harm does it do after all? [Rallying her jocularly.] So you dont think
8. Girton, like Newnham, is a women's college at 9. Break off acquaintance with. Cambridge University. 1. Member of Parliament.
.
1 177 8 / BERNARD SHAW
me such a scoundrel now you come to think it over. Eh?
vrviE I have shared profits with you; and I admitted you just now to the familiarity of knowing what I think of you.
CROFTS [With serious friendliness.] To be sure you did. You wont find me a bad sort: I dont go in for being superfine intellectually; but Ive plenty of honest human feeling; and the old Crofts breed comes out in a sort of instinctive hatred of anything low, in which I'm sure youll sympathize with me. Believe me, Miss Vivie, the world isnt such a bad place as the croakers2 make out. As long as you dont fly openly in the face of society, society doesnt ask any inconvenient questions; and it makes precious short work of the cads who do. There are no secrets better kept than the secrets everybody guesses. In the class of people I can introduce you to, no lady or gentleman would so far forget themselves as to discuss my business affairs or your mother's. No man can offer you a safer position.
VIVIE [Studying him curiously.] I suppose you really think youre getting on famously with me. CROFTS Well, I hope I may flatter myself that you think better of me than you did at first.
VTVIE [Quietly.] I hardly find you worth thinking about at all now. When I think of the society that tolerates you, and the laws that protect you! when I think of how helpless nine out of ten young girls would be in the hands of you and my mother! the unmentionable woman and her capitalist bully� CROFTS [Livid.] Damn you! VIVIE You need not. I feel among the damned already. [She raises the latch of the gate to open it and go out. He follows her and puts his hand heavily on the top bar to prevent its opening.] CROFTS [Panting with fury.] Do you think I'll put up with this from you, you young devil? VTVIE [Unmoved.] Be quiet. Some one will answer the bell. [Withoutflinching a step she strikes the bell with the back of her hand. It clangs harshly; and he starts back involuntarily. Almost immediately FRANK appears at the porch with his rifle.] FRANK [With cheerful politeness.] Will you have the rifle, Viv; or shalloperate? VIVIE Frank: have you been listening? FRANK [Coming down into the garden.] Only for the bell, I assure you; so that you shouldn't have to wait. I think I shewed great insight into your character, Crofts. CROFTS For two pins I'd take that gun from you and break it across your head. FRANK [Stalking him cautiously.] Pray dont. I'm ever so careless in handling firearms. Sure to be a fatal accident, with a reprimand from the coroner's jury for my negligence. VTVIE Put the rifle away, Frank: it's quite unnecessary. FRANK Quite right, Viv. Much more sportsmanlike to catch him in a trap. [CROFTS, understanding the insidt, makes a threatening movement.] Crofts: there are fifteen cartridges in the magazine here; and I am a dead shot at the present distance and at an object of your size. CROFTS Oh, you neednt be afraid. I'm not going to touch you.
2. Those that prophesy doom.
.
MRS WARREN'S PROFESSION, ACT 1 / 1779
FRANK Ever so magnanimous of you under the circumstances! Thank you!
CROFTS I'll tell you this before I go. It may interest you, since youre so fond of one another. Allow me, Mister Frank, to introduce you to your half-sister, the eldest daughter of the Reverend Samuel Gardner. Miss Vivie: your half- brother. Good morning. [He goes out through the gate and along the road.]
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