Plays Pleasant

by George Bernard Shaw

  GLORIA [contemptuously] Nonsense!

  VALENTINE. Of course it’s nonsense, you stupid girl. [Gloria recoils in outraged surprise]. Yes, stupid girl: thats a scientific fact, anyhow. Youre a prig: a feminine prig: thats what you are. [Rising] Now I suppose youve done with me for ever. [He goes to the iron table and takes up his hat].

  GLORIA [with elaborate calm, sitting up like a High-school-mistress posing to be photographed] That shews how very little you understand my real character. I am not in the least offended. [He pauses and puts his hat down again]. I am always willing to be told my own defects, Mr Valentine, by my friends, even when they are as absurdly mistaken about me as you are. I have many faults – very serious faults – of character and temper; but if there is one thing that I am not, it is what you call a prig. [She closes her lips trimly and looks steadily and challengingly at him as she sits more collectedly than ever].

  VALENTINE [returning to the end of the garden seat to confront her more emphatically] Oh yes, you are. My reason tells me so: my knowledge tells me so: my experience tells me so.

  GLORIA. Excuse my reminding you that your reason and your knowledge and your experience are not infallible. At least I hope not.

  VALENTINE. I must believe them. Unless you wish me to believe my eyes, my heart, my instincts, my imagination, which are all telling me the most monstrous lies about you.

  GLORIA [the collectedness beginning to relax] Lies!

  VALENTINE [obstinately] Yes, lies. [He sits down again beside her] Do you expect me to believe that you are the most beautiful woman in the world?

  GLORIA. That is ridiculous, and rather personal.

  VALENTINE. Of course it’s ridiculous. Well, thats what my eyes tell me. [Gloria makes a movement of contemptuous protest]. No: I’m not flattering. I tell you I dont believe it. [She is ashamed to find that this does not quite please her either]. Do you think that if you were to turn away in disgust from my weakness, I should sit down here and cry like a child?

  GLORIA [beginning to find that she must speak shortly and pointedly to keep her voice steady] Why should you, pray?

  VALENTINE. Of course not: I’m not such an idiot. And yet my heart tells me I should: my fool of a heart. But I’ll argue with my heart and bring it to reason. If I loved you a thousand times, I’ll force myself to look the truth steadily in the face. After all, it’s easy to be sensible: the facts are the facts. Whats this place? it’s not heaven: it’s the Marine Hotel. Whats the time? it’s not eternity: it’s about half past one in the afternoon. What am I? a dentist: a five shilling dentist!

  GLORIA. And I am a feminine prig.

  VALENTINE [passionately] No, no: I cant face that: I must have one illusion left: the illusion about you. I love you. [He turns towards her as if the impulse to touch her were ungovernable: she rises and stands on her guard wrathfully. He springs up impatiently and retreats a step]. Oh, what a fool I am! an idiot! You dont understand: I might as well talk to the stones on the beach. [He turns away, discouraged].

  GLORIA [reassured by his withdrawal, and a little remorseful] I am sorry. I do not mean to be unsympathetic, Mr Valentine; but what can I say?

  VALENTINE [returning to her with all his recklessness of manner replaced by an engaging and chivalrous respect] You can say nothing, Miss Clandon. I beg your pardon: it was my own fault, or rather my own bad luck. You see, it all depended on your naturally liking me. [She is about to speak: he stops her deprecatingly] Oh, I know you mustnt tell me whether you like me or not; but –

  GLORIA [her principles up in arms at once] Must not! Why not? I am a free woman: why should I not tell you?

  VALENTINE [pleading in terror, and retreating] Dont. I’m afraid to hear.

  GLORIA [no longer scornful] You need not be afraid. I think you are sentimental, and a little foolish; but I like you.

  VALENTINE [dropping into the nearest chair as if crushed] Then it’s all over. [He becomes the picture of despair].

  GLORIA [puzzled, approaching him] But why?

  VALENTINE. Because liking is not enough. Now that I think down into it seriously, I dont know whether I like you or not.

  GLORIA [looking down at him with wondering concern] I’m sorry.

  VALENTINE [in an agony of restrained passion] Oh, dont pity me. Your voice is tearing my heart to pieces. Let me alone, Gloria. You go down into the very depths of me, troubling and stirring me. I cant struggle with it. I cant tell you –

  GLORIA [breaking down suddenly] Oh, stop telling me what you feel: I cant bear it.

  VALENTINE [springing up triumphantly, the agonized voice now solid, ringing, and jubilant] Ah, it’s come at last: my moment of courage. [He seizes her hands: she looks at him in terror]. Our moment of courage! [He draws her to him; kisses her with impetuous strength; and laughs boyishly]. Now youve done it, Gloria. It’s all over: we’re in love with one another. [She can only gasp at him]. But what a dragon you were! And how hideously afraid I was!

  PHILIP’S VOICE [calling from the beach] Valentine!

  DOLLY’S VOICE. Mr Valentine!

  VALENTINE. Goodbye. Forgive me. [He rapidly kisses her hands and runs away to the steps, where he meets Mrs Clandon ascending].

  Gloria, quite lost, can only stare after him.

  MRS CLANDON. The children want you, Mr Valentine. [She looks anxiously round]. Is he gone?

  VALENTINE [puzzled] He? [Recollecting] Oh, Crampton. Gone this long time, Mrs Clandon. [He runs off buoyantly down the steps].

  GLORIA [sinking upon the bench] Mother!

  MRS CLANDON [hurrying to her in alarm] What is it, dear?

  GLORIA [with heartfelt appealing reproach] Why didnt you educate me properly?

  MRS CLANDON [amazed] My child: I did my best.

  GLORIA. Oh, you taught me nothing: nothing.

  MRS CLANDON. What is the matter with you?

  GLORIA [with the most intense expression] Only shame! shame!! shame!!! [Blushing unendurably, she covers her face with her hands and turns away from her mother].

  ACT III

  The Clandons’ sitting room in the hotel. An expensive apartment on the ground floor, with a French window leading to the gardens. In the centre of the room is a substantial table, surrounded by chairs, and draped with a maroon cloth on which opulently bound hotel and railway guides are displayed. A visitor entering through the window and coming down to this central table would have the fireplace on his left, and a writing table against the wall on his right, next the door, which is further down. He would, if his taste lay that way, admire the wall decoration of Lincrusta Walton in plum color and bronze lacquer, with dado and cornice; the ormolu consoles in the corners; the vases on pillar pedestals of veined marble with bases of polished black wood, one on each side of the window; the ornamental cabinet next the vase on the side nearest the fireplace, its centre compartment closed by an inlaid door, and its corners rounded off with curved panes of glass protecting shelves of cheap blue and white pottery; the bamboo tea table, with folding shelves, in the corresponding space on the other side of the window; the photogravures after Burton and Stacy Marks; the saddlebag ottoman in line with the door but on the other side of the room; the two comfortable seats of the same pattern on the hearth-rug; and finally, on turning round and looking up, the massive brass pole above the window, sustaining a pair of maroon rep curtains with decorated borders of staid green. Altogether, a room well arranged to flatter the middle-class occupant’s sense of gentility, and reconcile him to a charge of a pound a day for its use.

  Mrs Clandon sits at the writing table, correcting proofs. Gloria is standing at the window, looking out in a tormented revery.

  The clock on the mantelpiece strikes five with a sickly clink, the bell being unable to bear up against the black marble cenotaph in which it is immured.

  MRS CLANDON. Five! I dont think we need wait any longer for the children. They are sure to get tea somewhere.

  GLORIA [wearily] Shall I ring?

  MRS CLANDON. Do, my dear. [Glor
ia goes to the hearth and rings]. I have finished these proofs at last, thank goodness!

  GLORIA [strolling listlessly across the room and coming behind her mother’s chair] What proofs?

  MRS CLANDON. The new edition of Twentieth Century Women.

  GLORIA [with a bitter smile] Theres a chapter missing.

  MRS CLANDON [beginning to hunt among her proofs] Is there? Surely not.

  GLORIA. I mean an unwritten one. Perhaps I shall write it for you – when I know the end of it. [She goes back to the window].

  MRS CLANDON. Gloria! More enigmas!

  GLORIA. Oh no. The same enigma.

  MRS CLANDON [puzzled and rather troubled; after watching her for a moment] My dear?

  GLORIA [returning] Yes.

  MRS CLANDON. YOU know I never ask questions.

  GLORIA [kneeling beside her chair] I know, I know. [She suddenly throws her arm about her mother and embraces her almost passionately].

  MRS CLANDON [gently, smiling but embarrassed] My dear: you are getting quite sentimental.

  GLORIA [recoiling] Ah no, no. Oh, dont say that. Oh! [She rises and turns away with a gesture as if tearing herself].

  MRS CLANDON [mildly] My dear: what is the matter? What – The waiter enters with the tea-tray.

  WAITER [balmily] Was this what you rang for, maam?

  MRS CLANDON. Thank you, yes. [She turns her chair away from the writing table, and sits down again. Gloria crosses to the hearth and sits crouching there with her face averted].

  WAITER [placing the tray temporarily on the centre table] I thought so, maam. Curious how the nerves seem to give out in the afternoon without a cup of tea. [He fetches the tea table and places it in front of Mrs Clandon, conversing meanwhile]. The young lady and gentleman have just come back, maam: they have been out in a boat, maam. Very pleasant on a fine afternoon like this: very pleasant and invigorating indeed. [He takes the tray from the centre table and puts it on the tea table]. Mr M’Comas will not come to tea, maam: he has gone to call upon Mr Crampton. [He takes a couple of chairs and sets one at each end of the tea table].

  GLORIA [looking round with an impulse of terror] And the other gentleman?

  WAITER [reassuringly, as he unconsciously drops for a moment into the measure of ‘Ive been roaming,’ which he sang when a boy] Oh, he’s coming, miss: he’s coming. He has been rowing the boat, miss, and has just run down the road to the chemist’s for something to put on the blisters. But he will be here directly, miss: directly. [Gloria, in ungovernable apprehension, rises and hurries towards the door].

  MRS CLANDON [half rising] Glo –

  Gloria goes out. Mrs Clandon looks perplexedly at the waiter, whose composure is unruffled.

  WAITER [cheerfully] Anything more, maam?

  MRS CLANDON. Nothing, thank you.

  WAITER. Thank you, maam. [As he withdraws, Phil and Dolly, in the highest spirits, come tearing in. He holds the door open for them: then goes out and closes it].

  DOLLY [ravenously] Oh, give me some tea. [Mrs Clandon pours out a cup for her]. Weve been out in a boat. Valentine will be here presently.

  PHILIP. He is unaccustomed to navigation. Wheres Gloria?

  MRS CLANDON [anxiously, as she pours out his tea] Phil: there is something the matter with Gloria. Has anything happened? [Phil and Dolly look at one another and stifle a laugh]. What is it?

  PHILIP [sitting down on her left] Romeo –

  DOLLY [sitting down on her right] – and Juliet.

  PHILIP [taking his cup of tea from Mrs Clandon] Yes, my dear mother: the old, old story. Dolly: dont take all the milk [he deftly takes the jug from her]. Yes: in the spring –

  DOLLY. – a young man’s fancy –

  PHILIP. – lightly turns to – thank you [to Mrs Clandon, who has passed the biscuits] – thoughts of love. It also occurs in the autumn. The young man in this case is –

  DOLLY. Valentine.

  PHILIP. And his fancy has turned to Gloria to the extent of –

  DOLLY. – kissing her –

  PHILIP. – on the terrace –

  DOLLY [correcting him] – on the lips, before everybody.

  MRS CLANDON [incredulously] Phil! Dolly! Are you joking? [They shake their heads]. Did she allow it?

  PHILIP. We waited to see him struck to earth by the lightning of her scorn; but –

  DOLLY. – but he wasnt.

  PHILIP. She appeared to like it.

  DOLLY. As far as we could judge. [Stopping Phil, who is about to pour out another cup] No: youve sworn off two cups.

  MRS CLANDON [much troubled] Children: you must not be here when Mr Valentine comes. I must speak very seriously to him about this.

  PHILIP. To ask him his intentions? What a violation of Twentieth Century principles!

  DOLLY. Quite right, mamma: bring him to book. Make the most of the nineteenth century while it lasts.

  PHILIP. Sh! Here he is.

  VALENTINE [entering] Very sorry to be late, Mrs Clandon. [She takes up the tea-pot]. No, thank you: I never take any. No doubt Miss Dolly and Phil have explained what happened to me.

  PHILIP [momentously, rising] Yes, Valentine: we have explained.

  DOLLY [significantly, also rising] We have explained very thoroughly.

  PHILIP. It was our duty. [Very seriously] Come, Dolly. [He offers Dolly his arm, which she takes. They look sadly at him, and go out gravely arm in arm, leaving Valentine staring].

  MRS CLANDON [rising and leaving the tea table] Will you sit down, Mr Valentine. I want to speak to you a little, if you will allow me. [Valentine goes slowly to the ottoman, his conscience presaging a bad quarter of an hour. Mrs Clandon takes Phil’s chair, and seats herself with gentle dignity. Valentine sits down]. I must begin by throwing myself somewhat on your consideration. I am going to speak of a subject of which I know very little: perhaps nothing. I mean love.

  VALENTINE. Love!

  MRS CLANDON. Yes, love. Oh, you need not look so alarmed as that, Mr Valentine: I am not in love with you.

  VALENTINE [overwhelmed] Oh, really, Mrs – [Recovering himself] I should be only too proud if you were.

  MRS CLANDON. Thank you, Mr Valentine. But I am too old to begin.

  VALENTINE. Begin! Have you never –?

  MRS CLANDON. Never. My case is a very common one, Mr Valentine. I married before I was old enough to know what I was doing. As you have seen for yourself, the result was a bitter disappointment for both my husband and myself. So you see, though I am a married woman, I have never been in love; I have never had a love affair; and, to be quite frank with you Mr Valentine, what I have seen of the love affairs of other people has not led me to regret that deficiency in my experience. [Valentine, looking very glum, glances sceptically at her, and says nothing. Her color rises a little; and she adds, with restrained anger] You do not believe me?

  VALENTINE [confused at having his thought read] Oh, why not? Why not?

  MRS CLANDON. Let me tell you, Mr Valentine, that a life devoted to the Cause of Humanity has enthusiasms and passions to offer which far transcend the selfish personal infatuations and sentimentalities of romance. Those are not your enthusiasms and passions, I take it? [Valentine, quite aware that she despises him for it, answers in the negative with a melancholy shake of his head]. I thought not. Well, I am equally at a disadvantage in discussing those so-called affairs of the heart in which you appear to be an expert.

  VALENTINE [restlessly] What are you driving at, Mrs Clandon?

  MRS CLANDON. I think you know.

  VALENTINE. Gloria?

  MRS CLANDON. Yes. Gloria.

  VALENTINE [surrendering] Well, yes: I’m in love with Gloria. [Interposing as she is about to speak] I know what youre going to say: Ive no money.

  MRS CLANDON. I care very little about money, Mr Valentine.

  VALENTINE. Then youre very different to all the other mothers who have interviewed me.

  MRS CLANDON. Ah, now we are coming to it, Mr Valentine. You are an old hand at this. [He ope
ns his mouth to protest: she cuts him short with some indignation]. Oh, do you think, little as I understand these matters, that I have not common sense enough to know that a man who could make as much way in one interview with such a woman as my daughter, can hardly be a novice?

  VALENTINE. I can assure you –

  MRS CLANDON [stopping him] I am not blaming you, Mr Valentine. It is Gloria’s business to take care of herself, and you have a right to amuse yourself as you please. But –

  VALENTINE [protesting] Amuse myself! Oh, Mrs Clandon!

  MRS CLANDON [relentlessly] On your honor, Mr Valentine, are you in earnest?

  VALENTINE [desperately] On my honor I am in earnest. [She looks searchingly at him. His sense of humor gets the better of him; and he adds quaintly] Only, I always have been in earnest; and yet –! Well, here I am, you see.

  MRS CLANDON. This is just what I suspected. [Severely] Mr Valentine: you are one of those men who play with women’s affections.

  VALENTINE. Well, why not, if the Cause of Humanity is the only thing worth being serious about? However, I understand. [Rising and taking his hat with formal politeness] You wish me to discontinue my visits.

  MRS CLANDON. NO: I am sensible enough to be well aware that Gloria’s best chance of escape from you now is to become better acquainted with you.

  VALENTINE [unaffectedly alarmed] Oh, dont say that, Mrs Clandon. You dont think that, do you?

  MRS CLANDON. I have great faith, Mr Valentine, in the sound training Gloria’s mind has had since she was a child.

  VALENTINE [amazingly relieved] O-oh! Oh, thats all right. [He sits down again and throws his hat flippantly aside with the air of a man who has no longer anything to fear].

  MRS CLANDON [indignant at his assurance] What do you mean?

  VALENTINE [turning confidentially to her] Come! shall I teach you something, Mrs Clandon?

  MRS CLANDON [stiffly] I am always willing to learn.

  VALENTINE. Have you ever studied the subject of gunnery? artillery? cannons and war-ships and so on?