Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 95

CANTELUPE. Mr. O'Connell, I remain here almost against my will. I cannot think quite calmly about this double and doubly heinous sin. Don't listen to us while we make light of it. If we think of it as a political bother and ask you to smooth it away . . I am ashamed. But I believe I may not be wrong if I put it to you that, looking to the future and for the sake of your own Christian dignity, it may become you to be merciful. And I pray too . . I think we may believe . . that Mr. Trebell is feeling need of your forgiveness. I have no more to say. [_He sits down again._]

O'CONNELL. It may be. I have never met Mr. Trebell.

HORSHAM. I tell you, Mr. O'Connell, putting aside Party, that your country has need of this man just at this time.

_They hang upon_ O'CONNELL'S _reply. It comes with deliberation_.

O'CONNELL. I suppose my point of view must be an unusual one. I notice, at least, that twenty four hours and more has not enabled Farrant to grasp it.

FARRANT. For G.o.d's sake, O'Connell, don't be so cold-blooded. You have the life or death of a man's reputation to decide on.

O'CONNELL. [_With a cold flash of contempt._] That's a petty enough thing now-a-days it seems to me. There are so many clever men . . and they are all so alike . . surely one will not be missed.

CANTELUPE. Don't you think that is only sarcasm, Mr. O'Connell?

_The voice is so gently reproving that_ O'CONNELL _must turn to him_.

O'CONNELL. Will you please to make allowance, Lord Charles, for a mediaeval scholar's contempt of modern government? =You= at least will partly understand his horror as a Catholic at the modern superst.i.tions in favour of popular opinion and control which it encourages. You see, Lord Horsham, I am not a party man, only a little less enthusiastic for the opposite cries than for his own. You appealed very strangely to my feelings of patriotism for this country; but you see even my own is--in the twentieth century--foreign to me. From my point of view neither Mr.

Trebell, nor you, nor the men you have just defeated, nor any discoverable man or body of men will make laws which matter . . or differ in the slightest. You are all part of your age and you all voice--though in separate keys, or even tunes they may be--only the greed and follies of your age. That you should do this and nothing more is, of course, the democratic ideal. You will forgive my thinking tenderly of the statesmans.h.i.+p of the =first= Edward.

_The library door opens and_ RUSSELL BLACKBOROUGH _comes in. He has on evening clothes, complicated by a long silk comforter and the motoring cap which he carries._

HORSHAM. You know Russell Blackborough.

O'CONNELL. I think not.

BLACKBOROUGH. How d'you do?

O'CONNELL _having bowed_, BLACKBOROUGH _having nodded, the two men sit down_, BLACKBOROUGH _with an air of great attention_, O'CONNELL _to continue his interrupted speech_.

O'CONNELL. And you are as far from me in your code of personal morals as in your politics. In neither do you seem to realise that such a thing as pa.s.sion can exist. No doubt you use the words Love and Hatred; but do you know that love and hatred for principles or persons should come from beyond a man? I notice you speak of forgiveness as if it were a penny in my pocket. You have been endeavouring for these two days to rouse me from my indifference towards Mr. Trebell. Perhaps you are on the point of succeeding . . but I do not know what you may rouse.

HORSHAM. I understand. We are much in agreement, Mr. O'Connell. What can a man be--who has any pretensions to philosophy--but helplessly indifferent to the thousands of his fellow creatures whose fates are intertwined with his?

O'CONNELL. I am glad that you understand. But, again . . have I been wrong to shrink from personal relations with Mr. Trebell? Hatred is as sacred a responsibility as love. And you will not agree with me when I say that punishment can be the salvation of a man's soul.

FARRANT. [_With aggressive common sense._] Look here, O'Connell, if you're indifferent it doesn't hurt you to let him off. And if you hate him . . ! Well, one shouldn't hate people . . there's no room for it in this world.

CANTELUPE. [_Quietly as ever._] We have some authority for thinking that the punishment of a secret sin is awarded by G.o.d secretly.

O'CONNELL. We have very poor authority, sir, for using G.o.d's name merely to fill up the gaps in an argument, though we may thus have our way easily with men who fear G.o.d more than they know him. I am not one of those. Yes, Farrant, you and your like have left little room in this world except for the dusty roads on which I notice you beginning once more to travel. The rule of them is the same for all, is it not . . from the tramp and the labourer to the plutocrat in his car? This is the age of equality; and it's a fine practical equality . . the equality of the road. But you've fenced the fields of human joy and turned the very hillsides into h.o.a.rdings. Commercial opportunity is painted on them, I think.

FARRANT. [_Not to be impressed._] Perhaps it is O'Connell. My father made his money out of newspapers and I ride in a motor car and you came from Holyhead by train. What has all that to do with it? Why can't you make up your mind? You know in this sort of case one talks a lot . .

and then does the usual thing. You must let Trebell off and that's all about it.

O'CONNELL. Indeed. And do they still think it worth while to administer an oath to your witnesses?

_He is interrupted by the flinging open of the door and the triumphant right-this-time-anyhow voice in which_ EDMUNDS _announces_ "Mr. Trebell, my lord." _The general consternation expresses itself through_ HORSHAM, _who complains aloud and unreservedly_.

HORSHAM. Good G.o.d . . No! Charles, I must give him notice at once . .

he'll have to go. [_He apologises to the company._] I beg your pardon.

_By this time_ TREBELL _is in the room and has discovered the stranger, who stands to face him without emotion or anger_. BLACKBOROUGH'S _face wears the grimmest of smiles_, CANTELUPE _is sorry_, FARRANT _recovers from the fit of choking which seemed imminent and_ EDMUNDS, _dimly perceiving by now some fly in the perfect amber of his conduct, departs.

The two men still face each other._ FARRANT _is prepared to separate them should they come to blows, and indeed is advancing in that antic.i.p.ation when_ O'CONNELL _speaks_.

O'CONNELL. I am Justin O'Connell.

TREBELL. I guess that.

O'CONNELL. There's a dead woman between us, Mr. Trebell.

_A tremor sweeps over_ TREBELL; _then he speaks simply_.

TREBELL. I wish she had not died.

O'CONNELL. I am called upon by your friends to save you from the consequences of her death. What have you to say about that?

TREBELL. I have been wondering what sort of expression the last of your care for her would find . . but not much. My wonder is at the power over me that has been given to something I despised.

_Only_ O'CONNELL _grasps his meaning. But he, stirred for the first time and to his very depths, drives it home._

O'CONNELL. Yes . . If I wanted revenge I have it. She was a worthless woman. First my life and now yours! Dead because she was afraid to bear your child, isn't she?

TREBELL. [_In agony._] I'd have helped that if I could.

O'CONNELL. Not the shame . . not the wrong she had done me . . but just fear--fear of the burden of her woman-hood. And because of her my children are b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and cannot inherit my name. And I must live in sin against my church, as--G.o.d help me--I can't against my nature. What are men to do when this is how women use the freedom we have given them? Is the curse of barrenness to be nothing to a man? And that's the death in life to which you gentlemen with your fine civilisation are bringing us.

I think we are brothers in misfortune, Mr. Trebell.

TREBELL. [_Far from responding._] Not at all, sir. If you wanted children you did the next best thing when she left you. My own problem is neither so simple nor is it yet anyone's business but my own. I apologise for alluding to it.

HORSHAM _takes advantage of the silence that follows_.

HORSHAM. Shall we . .

O'CONNELL. [_Measuring_ TREBELL _with his eyes_.] And by which shall I help you to a solution . . telling lies or the truth to-morrow?

TREBELL. [_Roughly, almost insolently._] If you want my advice . . I should do the thing that comes more easily to you, or that will content you most. If you haven't yet made up your mind as to the relative importance of my work and your conscience, it's too late to begin now.

Nothing you may do can affect =me=.

HORSHAM. [_Fluttering fearfully into this strange dispute._] O'Connell . .

if you and I were to join Wedgecroft . .

O'CONNELL. You value your work more than anything else in the world?

TREBELL. Have I anything else in the world?

O'CONNELL. Have you not? [_With grim ambiguity._] Then I am sorry for you, Mr. Trebell. [_Having said all he had to say, he notices_ HORSHAM.]

Yes, Lord Horsham, by all means . .