Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 59

PEACEY. Well, as I said, his dealings with his clients were no business of mine. And I speak as I find. He was very kind to me . . always thoughtful and considerate. He grew to be so pleasant and generous to everyone--

EDWARD. That you have great hopes of me yet?

PEACEY. [_who has a simple mind._] No, Mr. Edward, no. You're different from your father . . one must make up one's mind to that. And you may believe me or not but I should be very glad to know that the firm was solvent and going straight. There have been times when I have sincerely regretted my connection with it. If you'll let me say so, I think it's very n.o.ble of you to have undertaken the work you have. [_then, as everything seems smooth again._] And Mr. Edward, if you'll give me enough to cover this year's extra expense I think I may promise you that I shan't expect money again.

EDWARD. [_good-tempered, as he would speak to an importunate child._]

No, Peacey, no!

PEACEY. [_fretful again._] Well, sir, you make things very difficult for me.

EDWARD. Here's a letter from Mr. Cartwright which you might attend to.

If he wants an appointment with me, don't make one till the New Year.

His case can't come on before February.

PEACEY. [_taking the letter._] I am anxious to meet you in every way--[_he is handed another._]

EDWARD. "Perceval Building Estate" . . that's yours too.

PEACEY. [_putting them both down resolutely._] But I refuse to be ignored. I must consider my whole position. I hope I may not be tempted to make use of the power I possess. But if I am driven to proceed to extremities . .

EDWARD. [_breaking in upon this bunch of tags._] My dear Peacey, don't talk nonsense . . you couldn't proceed to an extremity to save your life. You've taken this money irresponsibly for all these years. You'll find you're no longer capable even of such a responsible act as tripping up your neighbour.

_This does completely upset the gentle blackmailer. He loses one grievance in another._

PEACEY. Really, Mr. Edward, I am a considerably older man than you, and I think that whatever our positions--

EDWARD. Don't let us argue, Peacey. You're quite at liberty to do whatever you think worth your while.

PEACEY. It isn't that, sir. But these personalities--

EDWARD. Oh . . I apologise. Don't forget the letters.

PEACEY. I will not, sir.

_He takes them with great dignity and is leaving the room._

PEACEY. Here's Mr. Hugh waiting.

EDWARD. To see me? Ask him in.

PEACEY. Come in, Mr. Hugh, please.

HUGH _comes in_, PEACEY _holding the door for him with a frigid politeness of which he is quite oblivious. At this final slight_ PEACEY _goes out in dudgeon_.

EDWARD. How are you, Hugh?

HUGH. Good Lord!

_And he throws himself into the chair by the fire._ EDWARD _quite used to this sort of thing, goes quietly on with his work, adding encouragingly after a moment_ . .

EDWARD. How's Beatrice?

HUGH. She's very busy.

_He studies his boots with the gloomiest expression. And indeed, they are very dirty and his turned up trousers are muddy at the edge. They are dark trousers and well cut, but he wears with them a loose coat and waistcoat of a peculiar light brown check. Add to this the roughest of overcoats and a very soft hat. Add also the fact that he doesn't shave well or regularly and that his hair wants cutting, and_ HUGH'S _appearance this morning is described. As he is quite capable of sitting silently by the fire for a whole morning_ EDWARD _asks him at last_ . .

EDWARD. What d'you want?

HUGH. [_with vehemence._] I want a machine gun planted in Regent Street . . and one in the Haymarket . . and one in Leicester Square and one in the Strand . . and a dozen in the City. An earthquake would be simpler.

Or why not a nice clean tidal wave? It's no good preaching and patching up any longer, Edward. We must begin afresh. Don't you feel, even in your calmer moments, that this whole country is simply hideous? The other nations must look after themselves. I'm patriotic . . I only ask that we should be destroyed.

EDWARD. It has been promised.

HUGH. I'm sick of waiting. [_then as_ EDWARD _says nothing_.] You say this is the cry just of the weak man in despair! I wouldn't be anything but a weak man in this world. I wouldn't be a king, I wouldn't be rich . .

I wouldn't be a Borough Councillor . . I should be so ashamed. I've walked here this morning from Hampstead. I started to curse because the streets were dirty. You'd think that an Empire could keep its streets clean! But then I saw that the children were dirty too.

EDWARD. That's because of the streets.

HUGH. Yes, it's holiday time. Those that can cross a road safely are doing some work now . . earning some money. You'd think a governing race, grabbing responsibilities, might care for its children.

EDWARD. Come, we educate them now. And I don't think many work in holiday time.

HUGH. [_encouraged by contradiction._] We teach them all that we're not ashamed of . . and much that we ought to be . . and the rest they find out for themselves. Oh, every man and woman I met was muddy eyed! They'd joined the great conspiracy which we call our civilization. They've been educated! They believe in the Laws and the Money-market and Respectability. Well, at least they suffer for their beliefs. But I'm glad I don't make the laws . . and that I haven't any money . . and that I hate respectability . . or I should be so ashamed. By the bye, that's what I've come for.

EDWARD. [_pleasantly._] What? I thought you'd only come to talk.

HUGH. You must take that money of mine for your clients. Of course you ought to have had it when you asked for it. It has never belonged to me.

Well . . it has never done me any good. I have never made any use of it and so it has been just a clog to my life.

EDWARD. [_surprised._] My dear Hugh . . this is very generous of you.

HUGH. Not a bit. I only want to start fresh and free.

EDWARD. [_sitting back from his work._] Hugh, do you really think that money has carried a curse with it?

HUGH. [_with great violence._] Think! I'm the proof of it and look at me. When I said I'd be an artist the governor gave me a hundred and fifty a year . . the rent of a studio and the price of a velvet coat he thought it; that was all he knew about art. Then my respectable training got me engaged and married. Marriage in a studio puzzled the governor, so he guessed it at _two_ hundred and fifty a year . . and looked for lay figure-babies, I suppose. What had I to do with Art? Nothing I've done yet but reflects our drawing-room at Chislehurst.

EDWARD. [_considering._] Yes . . What do you earn in a year? I doubt if you can afford to give this up.

HUGH. Oh, Edward . . you clank the chain with the best of them. That word Afford! I want to be free from my advantages. Don't you see I must find out what I'm worth in myself . . whether I even exist or not?

Perhaps I'm only a pretence of a man animated by an income.

EDWARD. But you can't return to nature on the London pavements.

HUGH. No. Nor in England at all . . it's nothing but a big back garden.

[_now he collects himself for a final outburst._] But if there's no place on this earth where a man can prove his right to live by some other means than robbing his neighbour . . I'd better go and request the next horse I meet to ride me . . to the nearest lunatic asylum.

EDWARD _waits till the effects of this explosion are over_.