Plays Pleasant

by George Bernard Shaw

  VALENTINE. Come, come! theyre only children. She called you father.

  CRAMPTON. Yes: ‘goodbye, father’. Goodbye! Oh yes: she got at my feelings: with a stab!

  VALENTINE [taking this in very bad part] Now look here, Crampton: you just let her alone: she’s treated you very well. I had a much worse time of it at lunch than you.

  CRAMPTON. You!

  VALENTINE [with growing impetuosity] Yes: I. I sat next her; and I never said a single thing to her the whole time: couldnt think of a blessed word. And not a word did she say to me.

  CRAMPTON. Well?

  VALENTINE. Well? Well??? [Tackling him very seriously, and talking faster and faster] Crampton: do you know whats been the matter with me today? You dont suppose, do you, that I’m in the habit of playing such tricks on my patients as I played on you?

  CRAMPTON. I hope not.

  VALENTINE. The explanation is that I’m stark mad, or rather that Ive never been in my real senses before. I’m capable of anything: Ive grown up at last: I’m a Man; and it’s your daughter thats made a man of me.

  CRAMPTON [incredulously] Are you in love with my daughter?

  VALENTINE [his words now coming in a perfect torrent] Love! Nonsense: it’s something far above and beyond that. It’s life, it’s faith, it’s strength, certainty, paradise –

  CRAMPTON [interrupting him with acrid contempt] Rubbish, man! What have you to keep a wife on? You cant marry her.

  VALENTINE. Who wants to marry her? I’ll kiss her hands; I’ll kneel at her feet; I’ll live for her; I’ll die for her; and thatll be enough for me. Look at her book! See [He kisses the handkerchief]. If you offered me all your money for this excuse for going down to the beach and speaking to her again, I’d only laugh at you. [He rushes buoyantly off to the steps, where he bounces right into the arms of the waiter, who is coming up from the beach. The two save themselves from falling by clutching one another tightly round the waist and whirling one another round].

  WAITER [delicately] Steady, sir, steady!

  VALENTINE [shocked at his own violence] I beg your pardon.

  WAITER. Not at all, sir, not at all. Very natural, sir, I’m sure, sir, at your age. The lady has sent me for her book, sir. Might I take the liberty of asking you to let her have it at once, sir.

  VALENTINE. With pleasure. And if you will allow me to present you with a professional man’s earnings for six weeks – [offering him Dolly’s crown piece] ?

  WAITER [as if the sum were beyond his utmost expectations] Thank you, sir: much obliged. [Valentine dashes down the steps]. Very high-spirited young gentleman, sir: very manly and straight set up.

  CRAMPTON [in grumbling disparagement] And making his fortune in a hurry, no doubt. I know what his six weeks’ earnings come to. [He crosses the terrace to the iron table, and sits down].

  WAITER [philosophically] Well, sir, you never can tell. Thats a principle in life with me, sir, if youll excuse my having such a thing, sir. [Delicately sinking the philosopher in the waiter for a moment] Perhaps you havnt noticed that you hadnt touched that seltzer and Irish, sir, when the party broke up. [He takes the tumbler from the luncheon table and sets it before Crampton]. Yes, sir, you never can tell. There was my son, sir! who ever thought that he would rise to wear a silk gown, sir? And yet, today, sir, nothing less than fifty guineas. What a lesson sir!

  CRAMPTON. Well, I hope he is grateful to you, and recognizes what he owes you, as a son should.

  WAITER. We get on together very well, very well indeed, sir, considering the difference in our stations. [Crampton is about to take a drink]. A small lump of sugar, sir, will take the flatness out of the seltzer without noticeably sweetening the drink, sir. Allow me, sir. [He drops a lump of sugar into the tumbler]. But as I say to him, wheres the difference after all? If I must put on a dress coat to shew what I am, sir, he must put on a wig and gown to shew what he is. If my income is mostly tips, and theres a pretence that I dont get them, why, his income is mostly fees, sir; and I understand theres a pretence that he dont get them! If he likes society, and his profession brings him into contact with all ranks, so does mine too, sir. If it’s a little against a barrister to have a waiter for his father, sir, it’s a little against a waiter to have a barrister for a son: many people consider it a great liberty, sir, I assure you, sir. Can I get you anything else, sir?

  CRAMPTON. No, thank you. [With bitter humility] I suppose theres no objection to my sitting here for a while: I cant disturb the party on the beach here.

  WAITER [with emotion] Very kind of you, sir, to put it as if it was not a compliment and an honor to us, Mr Crampton, very kind indeed. The more you are at home here, sir, the better for us.

  CRAMPTON [in poignant irony] Home!

  WAITER [reflectively] Well, yes, sir: thats a way of looking at it too, sir. I have always said that the great advantage of a hotel is that it’s a refuge from home life, sir.

  CRAMPTON. I missed that advantage today, I think.

  WAITER. You did, sir: you did. Dear me! It’s the unexpected that always happens, isnt it? [Shaking his head] You never can tell, sir: you never can tell. [He goes into the hotel].

  GRAMPTON [his eyes shining hardly as he props his drawn miserable face on his hands] Home! Home!! [Hearing someone approaching he hastily sits bolt upright. It is Gloria, who has come up the steps alone, with her sunshade and her book in her hands. He looks defiantly at her, with the brutal obstinacy of his mouth and the wistfulness of his eyes contradicting each other pathetically. She comes to the corner of the garden seat and stands with her back to it, leaning against the end of it, and looking down at him as if wondering at his weakness: too curious about him to be cold, but supremely indifferent to their kinship. He greets her with a growl]. Well?

  GLORIA. I want to speak to you for a moment.

  CRAMPTON [looking steadily at her] Indeed? Thats surprising. You meet your father after eighteen years; and you actually want to speak to him for a moment! Thats touching: isnt it?

  GLORIA. All that is what seems to me so nonsensical, so uncalled for. What do you expect us to feel for you? to do for you? What is it you want? Why are you less civil to us than other people are? You are evidently not very fond of us: why should you be? But surely we can meet without quarrelling.

  CRAMPTON [Adreadful grey shade passing over his face] Do you realize that I am your father?

  GLORIA. Perfectly.

  CRAMPTON. Do you know what is due to me as your father?

  GLORIA. For instance –?

  CRAMPTON [rising as if to combat a monster] For instance! For instance!! For instance, duty, affection, respect, obedience –

  GLORIA [quitting her careless leaning attitude and confronting him promptly and proudly] I obey nothing but my sense of what is right. I respect nothing that is not noble. That is my duty. [She adds, less firmly] As to affection, it is not within my control. I am not sure that I quite know what affection means. [She turns away with an evident distaste for that part of the subject, and goes to the luncheon table for a comfortable chair, putting down her book and sunshade].

  CRAMPTON [following her with his eyes] Do you really mean what you are saying?

  GLORIA [turning on him quickly and severely] Excuse me: that is an uncivil question. I am speaking seriously to you; and I expect you to take me seriously. [She takes one of the luncheon chairs; turns it away from the table; and sits down a little wearily, saying] Can you not discuss this matter coolly and rationally?

  CRAMPTON. Coolly and rationally! No I cant. Do you understand that? I cant.

  GLORIA [emphatically] No. That I cannot understand. I have no sympathy with –

  CRAMPTON [shrinking nervously] Stop! Dont say anything more yet: you dont know what youre doing. Do you want to drive me mad? [She frowns, finding such petulance intolerable. He adds hastily] No: I’m not angry: indeed I’m not. Wait, wait: give me a little time to think. [He stands for a moment, screwing and clinching his brows and hands in his perplexity; then takes the end ch
air from the luncheon table and sits down beside her, saying, with a touching effort to be gentle and patient] Now I think I have it. At least I’ll try.

  GLORIA [firmly] You see! Everything comes right if we only think it resolutely out.

  CRAMPTON [in sudden dread] No: dont think. I want you to feel: thats the only thing that can help us. Listen! Do you – but first – I forgot. Whats your name? I mean your pet name. They cant very well call you Sophronia.

  GLORIA [with astonished disgust] Sophronia! My name is Gloria. I am always called by it.

  CRAMPTON [his temper rising again] Your name is Sophronia, girl: you were called after your aunt Sophronia, my sister: she gave you your first Bible with your name written in it.

  GLORIA. Then my mother gave me a new name.

  CRAMPTON [angrily] She had no right to do it. I will not allow this.

  GLORIA. You had no right to give me your sister’s name. I dont know her.

  CRAMPTON. Youre talking nonsense. There are bounds to what I will put up with. I will not have it. Do you hear that?

  GLORIA [rising warningly] Are you resolved to quarrel?

  CRAMPTON [terrified, pleading] No, no: sit down. Sit down, wont you? [She looks at him, keeping him in suspense. He forces himself to utter the obnoxious name]. Gloria. [She marks her satisfaction with a slight tightening of the lips, and sits down]. There! You see I only want to shew you that I am your father, my – my dear child. [The endearment is so plaintively inept that she smiles in spite of herself, and resigns herself to indulge him a little]. Listen now. What I want to ask you is this. Dont you remember me at all? You were only a tiny child when you were taken away from me; but you took plenty of notice of things. Cant you remember someone whom you loved, or [shyly] at least liked in a childish way? Come! someone who let you stay in his study and look at his toy boats, as you thought them? [He looks anxiously into her face for some response, and continues less hopefully and more urgently] Someone who let you do as you liked there, and never said a word to you except to tell you that you must sit still and not speak? Someone who was something that no one else was to you – who was your father?

  GLORIA [unmoved] If you describe things to me, no doubt I shall presently imagine that I remember them. But I really remember nothing.

  CRAMPTON [wistfully] Has your mother never told you anything about me?

  GLORIA. She has never mentioned your name to me. [Hegroans involuntarily. She looks at him rather contemptuously and continues] Except once; and then she did remind me of something I had forgotten.

  CRAMPTON [looking up hopefully] What was that?

  GLORIA [mercilessly] The whip you bought to beat me with.

  CRAMPTON [gnashing his teeth] Oh! To bring that up against me! To turn you from me! When you need never have known. [Under a grinding, agonized breath] Curse her!

  GLORIA [springing up] You wretch! [With intense emphasis] You wretch! You dare curse my mother!

  CRAMPTON. Stop; or youll be sorry afterwards. I’m your father.

  GLORIA. HOW I hate the name! How I love the name of Mother! You had better go.

  CRAMPTON. I – I’m choking. You want to kill me. Some –I – [His voice stifles: he is almost in a fit].

  GLORIA [going up to the balustrade with cool quick resourcefulness, and calling over it to the beach] Mr Valentine!

  VALENTINE [answering from below] Yes.

  GLORIA. Come here for a moment, please. Mr Crampton wants you. [She returns to the table and pours out a glass of water].

  CRAMPTON [recovering his speech] No: let me alone. I dont want him. I’m all right, I tell you. I need neither his help nor yours. [He rises and pulls himself together]. As you say, I had better go. [He puts on his hat]. Is that your last word?

  GLORIA. I hope so.

  He looks stubbornly at her for a moment; nods grimly, as if he agreed to that; and goes into the hotel. She looks at him with equal steadiness until he disappears, when, with a gesture of relief, she turns to Valentine, who comes running up the steps.

  VALENTINE [panting] Whats the matter? [Looking round] Wheres Crampton?

  GLORIA. Gone. [Valentine’s face lights up with sudden joy, dread, and mischief as he realizes that he is alone with Gloria. She continues indifferently] I thought he was ill; but he recovered himself. He wouldnt wait for you. I am sorry. [She goes for her book and parasol].

  VALENTINE. So much the better. He gets on my nerves after a while. [Pretending to forget himself] How could that man have so beautiful a daughter!

  GLORIA [taken aback for a moment; then answering him with polite but intentional contempt] That seems to be an attempt at what is called a pretty speech. Let me say at once, Mr Valentine, that pretty speeches make very sickly conversation. Pray let us be friends, if we are to be friends, in a sensible and wholesome way. I have no intention of getting married; and unless you are content to accept that state of things, we had much better not cultivate each other’s acquaintance.

  VALENTINE [cautiously] I see. May I ask just this one question? Is your objection an objection to marriage as an institution, or merely an objection to marrying me personally?

  GLORIA. I do not know you well enough, Mr Valentine, to have any opinion on the subject of your personal merits. [She turns away from him with infinite indifference, and sits down with her book on the garden seat]. I do not think the conditions of marriage at present are such as any self-respecting woman can accept.

  VALENTINE [instantly changing his tone for one of cordial sincerity, as if he frankly accepted her terms and was delighted and reassured by her principles] Oh, then thats a point of sympathy between us already. I quite agree with you: the conditions are most unfair. [He takes off his hat and throws it gaily on the iron table]. No: what I want is to get rid of all that nonsense. [He sits down beside her, so naturally that she does not think of objecting, and proceeds, with enthusiasm] Dont you think it a horrible thing that a man and a woman can hardly know one another without being supposed to have designs of that kind? As if there were no other interests! no other subjects of conversation! As if women were capable of nothing better!

  GLORIA [interested] Ah, now you are beginning to talk humanly and sensibly, Mr Valentine.

  VALENTINE [with a gleam in his eye at the success of his hunter’s guile] Of course! two intelligent people like us! Isnt it pleasant, in this stupid convention-ridden world, to meet with someone on the same plane? someone with an unprejudiced enlightened mind?

  GLORIA [earnestly] I hope to meet many such people in England.

  VALENTINE [dubiously] Hm! there are a good many people here: nearly forty millions. Theyre not all consumptive members of the highly educated classes like the people in Madeira.

  GLORIA [now full of her subject] Oh, everybody is stupid and prejudiced in Madeira; weak sentimental creatures. I hate weakness; and I hate sentiment.

  VALENTINE. Thats what makes you so inspiring.

  GLORIA [with a slight laugh] Am I inspiring?

  VALENTINE. Yes. Strength’s infectious.

  GLORIA. Weakness is, I know.

  VALENTINE [with conviction] Youre strong. Do you know that you changed the world for me this morning? I was in the dumps, thinking of my unpaid rent, frightened about the future. When you came in, I was dazzled. [Her brow clouds a little. He goes on quickly] That was silly, of course; but really and truly something happened to me. Explain it how you will, my blood got – [he hesitates, trying to think of a sufficiently unimpassioned word] – oxygenated: my muscles braced; my mind cleared; my courage rose. Thats odd, isnt it? considering that I am not at all a sentimental man.

  GLORIA [uneasily, rising] Let us go back to the beach.

  VALENTINE [darkly: looking up at her] What! you feel it too?

  GLORIA. Feel what?

  VALENTINE. Dread.

  GLORIA. Dread?

  VALENTINE. As if something were going to happen. It came over me suddenly just before you proposed that we should run away to the others.

  GLORIA [am
azed] Thats strange: very strange! I had the same presentiment.

  VALENTINE [solemnly] How extraordinary. [Rising] Well: shall we run away?

  GLORIA. Run away! Oh no: that would be childish. [She sits down again. He resumes his seat beside her, and watches her with a gravely sympathetic air. She is thoughtful and a little troubled as she adds] I wonder what is the scientific explanation of those fancies that cross us occasionally!

  VALENTINE. Ah, I wonder! It’s a curiously helpless sensation: isnt it?

  GLORIA [rebelling against the word] Helpless?

  VALENTINE. Yes, helpless. As if Nature, after letting us belong to ourselves and do what we judged right and reasonable for all these years, were suddenly lifting her great hand to take us – her two little children – by the scruffs of our little necks, and use us, in spite of ourselves, for her own purposes, in her own way.

  GLORIA. Isnt that rather fanciful?

  VALENTINE [with a new and startling transition to a tone of utter recklessness] I dont know. I dont care. [Bursting out reproachfully] Oh, Miss Clandon, Miss Clandon: how could you?

  GLORIA. What have I done?

  VALENTINE. Thrown this enchantment on me. I’m honestly trying to be sensible and scientific and everything that you wish me to be. But – but – oh, dont you see what you have set to work in my imagination?

  GLORIA. I hope you are not going to be so foolish – so vulgar – as to say love.

  VALENTINE. No, no, no, no. Not love: we know better than that. Let’s call it chemistry. You cant deny that there is such a thing as chemical action, chemical affinity, chemical combination: the most irresistible of all natural forces. Well, youre attracting me irresistibly. Chemically.