Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

Oh, I see, a boy and girl flirtation.

  LADY ANNE.

  Yes, I suppose it was that We used to stand on the terrace and look at the sun setting. He wrote verses which he used to send me. It was a pretty romance while it lasted. (Sits on sofa.)

  STEINBACH.

  And how was it broken off?

  LADY ANNE.

  When I was eighteen. I understood that I could not marry my father’s secretary.

  STEINBACH.

  And John Reid was dismissed, and he told you that you had broken his heart.

  LADY ANNE.

  John Reid was not Lord Elwin’s servant He was just as much a gentleman as my father.

  STEINBACH.

  Ah! that explains a good deal in John Reid. He used to puzzle me; I could see that his plebeian airs were more or less an affectation. I understand it all now.

  LADY ANNE.

  And do you think better of him?

  STEINBACH.

  No, indeed. I should have liked him better as a working-man fighting the battle of his class. So he is a mere parcel of renunciations, a frantic egotism —

  LADY ANNE.

  Egotism! But he surrenders all things for an idea.

  STEINBACH.

  Renunciations are often but the efforts of the feeble to realise themselves. So he is no more than a convert I have little taste for conversions of any kind. You know, my dear Anne —

  LADY ANNE.

  I believe it is disagreeable to you that any one should even try to be good.

  STEINBACH.

  Ah! trying to be good! But I see that you can only think of your old lover. Tell me about him. He said that you had broken his heart LADY ANNE.

  He did say that his heart was broken.

  STEIN BACH.

  And in the following year you married Sir Francis Travers. Five years ago he died leaving you a rich widow, and your old lover heads a strike of your miners, little thinking that Lady Anne Travers is the Anne that he loved. You were a lovely girl; how much you must have meant to him!

  LADY ANNE.

  Yes, he did love me, perhaps as no one else ever did.

  STEINBACH.

  A most romantic situation; and the young man comes here suspecting nothing?

  LADY ANNE.

  He suspected nothing the day before yesterday.

  STEINBACH.

  Then you have written to him?

  LADY ANNE.

  No; I went to see him.

  STEINBACH.

  Where? At his lodgings?

  LADY ANNE.

  No. At the committee rooms.

  STEINBACH.

  And you saw him?

  LADY ANNE.

  No, I didn’t see him. He was not there.

  STEINBACH.

  But you do not care for him?

  LADY ANNE.

  Care for him? No; but I should like to see him again.

  STEINBACH.

  So that, through his influence, you might settle this dispute to your advantage?

  LADY ANNE.

  That is all. (Rises.)

  STEINBACH.

  Did you meet any one at the committee rooms?

  LADY ANNE.

  Yes; his sweetheart, Ellen Sands. They are engaged to be married. I can’t congratulate him on his choice — a most unformed young person. I have heard since that she is a school-mistress turned socialist; the girl who believes she has a mission, and would hang on to a man for its accomplishment.

  STEINBACH.

  I know the type. The feeble who are in earnest.

  LADY ANNE.

  I cannot think what he sees in her.

  STEINBACH.

  Did you leave any message for him?

  LADY ANNE.

  I wrote a note, but fearing she might see it, I tore it up, and left some flowers I had with me.

  STEINBACH.

  How like a woman! You knew that leaving the flowers would cause Ellen Sands extreme annoyance.

  LADY ANNE.

  I did not care whether I annoyed her. It was a bunch of heliotrope, and he always associated that perfume with me. He will think and think. She will describe me over and over again, and then suddenly he will remember. I don’t think I have changed very much.

  STEIN BACH.

  It is a pity in a way, for if he knew nothing at all about it, what would his consternation not have been on finding himself face to face with you!

  LADY ANNE.

  I daresay he will be sufficiently troubled as it is.

  STEINBACH.

  You forget that rejected love turns to hate.

  LADY ANNE.

  Do you mean that you are going to hate me? You know, Edward, that it was not my fault Something went wrong from the first; as you said, we weren’t lucky. Why cannot you be my friend? (Sits.)

  STEINBACH.

  I’m too much a man of the world to quarrel with a woman because she won’t love me. But I understand the whole matter now. When you found that the strike leader was your old lover, you went straight to him, but finding him engaged to be married, you telegraphed to me. Most womanly and most modern.

  LADY ANNE (rises).

  How horrible and cynical you are: you like to misinterpret I wrote to you because I thought you were my friend.

  STEINBACH.

  Don’t let us talk any more about friendship — you make the world odious to me. There are two reasons why I should help you. First, because you are a pretty woman; second, because it is my interest to defeat these socialists whenever I can; on triumphing over you they triumph over me. If you consent to put your affair entirely in my hands, I will do the best I can for you.

  LADY ANNE.

  Will you? And will you stop and receive this deputation?

  STEINBACH.

  On conditions that you do not concede anything above your first offer of five per cent LADY ANNE.

  Very well; and now let us talk of other things. What have you been doing all this long while? Who have you been making love to?

  STEINBACH.

  To no one. You’re the only woman who interests me. (Enter FOOTMAN.)

  FOOTMAN.

  The deputation is waiting, my lady.

  LADY ANNE (to BARON STEINBACH).

  Shall we receive it here?

  STEINBACH.

  Why not?

  LADY ANNE.

  Show them up. (Exit FOOTMAN.) DO you think you’ll be able to get them to accept my offer?

  STEINBACH.

  I think so. These strike leaders are beginning to feel afraid of me.

  FOOTMAN.

  The deputation, my lady.

  (Enter JOHN REID, HAMER, ELLEN SANDS, and six Miners. The Miners are impressed by their surroundings. LAD Y ANNE signs to the deputation to sit; some do, some do not STEINBACH accosts the men.)

  STEINBACH.

  So you’re out on strike, it appears. (ELLEN advances. STEINBACH interrupts her.) Well, I shall be pleased to talk over things with you. (Rolls up his chair, and settles himself comfortably.) Well, what have you to say to me?

  ELLEN SANDS.

  It is with Lady Anne Travers ——

  STEINBACH.

  Lady Anne has placed her business in my hands.

  ELLEN.

  There is no reason whatever, then —

  STEINBACH.

  Oh yes, there is. We have met before, Miss Sands — in the Wattsbury strike, which ended so disastrously for the men. You did not expect to see me here. (Turning from ELLEN to the men.) Now, you look like quiet, industrious fellows. I daresay you were pulled out against your will; you had nothing to do with getting up this strike, and would have been glad to have accepted Lady Anne’s handsome offer of five per cent?

  ELLEN.

  If you think that you are mistaken. It is not the idle and indifferent, it is the real workman that rises against you, and says, “Since you condemn me to starvation, I prefer to be at liberty, and not to die of hunger whilst I am filling your pockets.”

  STEINBACH.

&nb
sp; This is personal animosity, the result of your defeat at Wattsbury. I am not of opinion that these men should suffer to gratify your vanity.

  ELLEN.

  We have not come here to listen to your jibes. John, won’t you speak?

  REID.

  Perhaps, Ellen; but from the tone that Baron Steinbach is taking, I doubt if it is worth our while to enter into discussion with him.

  ELLEN.

  That is my opinion. I never saw any good come of discussion. We are strong enough in Arlingford to dictate our own terms.

  STEINBACH.

  You were of the same opinion at Wattsbury. However, as the men are here, they shall have the facts of the case — they shall know what they are doing. If they then please to sacrifice themselves, they can. You would like to know the facts?

  FOX.

  Yes, yes; let’s ‘ear what e’s to say.

  STEINBACH.

  Now, men, I have gone into the calculation, and am prepared to prove what I say, step by step, to any one you may select At present I will merely state the results. You have had recently a rise of five per cent in wages, which was conceded to you as a rise in prices was anticipated. The rise in prices did not come, and in consequence that rise in wages simply diminished the value of the mine, the property from whose success comes your only chance of livelihood. And in these circumstances you demand a further increase in the rate of wages to the extent of twenty per cent; that, if granted, would again diminish the value of the mine to less than nothing. To work it under such conditions would cost five thousand a year more than it would pay. I can give you the figures for it ELLEN.

  We know that argument, and dispute it no more. We say: — You have convinced us beyond the shadow of a doubt that you cannot give us twenty per cent. We say we don’t doubt your word; we say we don’t doubt your figures; and then we say, nevertheless, we want our twenty per cent, and somehow the capitalists manage in the end to concede it STEINBACH.

  This is mere violence. I appeal to you men that if your leaders’ demand was granted the mine would have to be worked at a loss of five thousand a year for your benefit, and I ask you if you think it likely that we shall do this?

  MINERS.

  Not likely, not likely.

  (REID steps forward as if to speak. LADY ANNE rises.)

  LADY ANNE.

  Excuse me a moment I should like to say a word. Three generations ago no one dreamed there was coal here. The land was waste. My husband’s grandfather was a great mineralogist; he found in the soil the signs that told his practised eye that coal lay hidden far beneath it He had saved a little money by the hard labour of half a lifetime, and with that — all he had — he bought the land we stand on.... His son, and subsequently my husband, devoted their lives to the mine, and by dint of patience, courage, and self-denial they forced it at length to yield a profit You did not do this; it was not your brains; — it was not your money that created this property.

  ELLEN.

  The sophistries of all capitalists; there is nothing of value in the world save the labour of man.

  LADY ANNE.

  And now to matters that concern you as much as they concern me, for our fortunes are inextricably bound together. Remember, before you decide, that the thing once done cannot be undone. If the furnaces are once stopped, I am ruined, and so are you. The mine will be closed, and your chance of changing your minds will be gone then. In place of some fancied benefit, you will have brought this upon yourselves, that you, your wives and children, will have to go among strangers and beg of them for that work that you will have made it impossible for me to give you here. (Goes up to Miners.)

  A MINER.

  I say, boys, what do you think of it?

  ELLEN.

  Steady, men. Take time.

  FOX.

  I’d be main sorry to see the mine closed. I’ve worked there from a lad — my father and uncle was killed in it SIMON.

  Say, master, what about Billy Fairplay? Will you say the dross shall be paid for?

  STEINBACH.

  Our offer is the same as before. Five per cent, rise, or if you like better, three per cent rise and twopence a ton for the dross.

  FOX.

  That’s good enough for us; what do ye say, lads?

  (Applause, and murmurs of acquiescence among the Miners.)

  ELLEN.

  John, John! (They come down together.) They are all falling away from us. Speak as you did the other day in the market-place.

  REID.

  I never approved of this deputation, Ellen. Such a question as this is not to be discussed in Lady Anne’s drawing-room.

  ELLEN.

  There’s no better place. (She turns to the Miners.) It is here they should tell her the Story of their wrongs; of the despair of their wives, of the hungry complaining of their little ones. It is here that they should ask her if she wishes to destroy them utterly.

  (LADY ANNE has been talking to the Miners, who are overcome by her condescension; she listens with a look of contempt to ELLEN’S speech)

  There is a word to be said, and if you speak it you’ll be listened to.

  REID (with the air of a man who has come to a sudden decision).

  Lady Anne, I must remind you that a deputation can only be addressed through its responsible, spokesman.

  LADY ANNE.

  Do you dictate to me my behaviour in my own house?

  REID.

  No; but I am responsible for these men. (He pushes back the men to whom LADY ANNE has been speaking.) I speak for them; and I say that though they are overwhelmed by your consideration in noticing their existence after years of neglect, that though for the moment they are confused by the laws of arithmetic, yet they are not cowards, but men. They come out of your mine because their burden was too heavy to be borne! They will not take it on their shoulders again unless you can lighten it LADY ANNE.

  But it is my wish to do so. I was telling them that their property and mine were linked together.

  REID.

  Words without meaning. (Murmurs.) We have a distinct demand; do you grant that?

  LADY ANNE.

  It is unreasonable. It would ruin me.

  REID.

  So it has been said. Then this concession of five per cent is the only one?

  STEINBACH.

  Five per cent, or three per cent and twopence for the refuse.

  REID.

  We cannot accept that.

  A MINER.

  Why not?

  ELLEN.

  Mr. Reid will tell you. John, speak as you did the other day! Explain — tell them how this lady’s wealth is the result of their labour.

  REID.

  You want to know why you should refuse her ladyship’s offer. Because you’ve taken it into your heads that you intend to live like men and not like beasts. But you’re told that if you do not live like beasts, that this lady will be ruined. Look round you, mates; this is a nice place to be ruined in. Never were you in such a place before; feast your eyes upon it, and feel the tread of the carpet under your feet, and breathe the soft scented air. All your homes taken together would not suffice to purchase this room. And the rings on the fingers of that delicate lady are worth more than you can earn in a year of labour. Look at Baron Steinbach and look at yourselves! Look at her, and think of your sisters and wives! She has told you what her husband, her husband’s father, and her husband’s grandfather did for the mine; but she has not said a word about what your fathers and your grandfathers did for it From her ancestors, she inherited the right to live in idleness, but yours could only bequeath to you the right to labour for her benefit You’ve taken up arms against this injustice; you’re fighting not only for yourselves, but for your wives and children. You’re fighting to give them decent meals and decent homes, and when we’ve led you within sight of victory, you hesitate... Have you brought me here to tell her that you’d starve like brutes rather than she should want for anything? I want to know. Now which is it going to be?r />
  FOX.

  Say, Master John, but thee do speak fine; let’s ‘ave a word about the strike fund. We cannot see the bairns starve afore our eyes.

  REID.

  This morning’s post brought us help and promise of help. The money is all right SIMON:

  If Mr. Reid says the money is right, I’m for the strike.

  REID.

  Will you hold out now, lads? —

  A MINER.

  Of course we will; give us yer ‘and ANOTHER MINER.

  Hurrah, boys!

  MINERS.

  Never fear, sir; we’ll hold out Hurrah for the strike, boys! {Cheers!)

  (Exeunt Miners.)

  LADY ANNE.

  This is disgraceful (To ELLEN.) Will you persuade your friend to make a bear-garden of some other place than my drawing-room?

  ELLEN.

  The men have done no harm to your drawingroom; a few cheers won’t hurt your furniture.

  STEINBACH.

  Then the strike is to go on at all costs.

  ELLEN.

  Certainly. Come, John, you’ve done excellently well; come.

  REID.

  I will follow you in a moment I have a word to say to Baron Steinbach.

  (Exit ELLEN.)

  STEINBACH.

  You are mistaken, Mr. Reid. I have nothing to say to you.

  REID.

  Is Lady Anne determined that this battle should be fought out to the end? (Catching LADY ANNE’S eye.) I am sorry if the violence of my words has prejudiced you against the men; I was never in favour of the deputation.

  LADY ANNE.

  You mistook my drawing-room for a tavern. (Pauses.) Your manner was once more courteous. Have you forgotten? Perhaps you do not know —

  REID.

  I have not forgotten. I wish you to understand that personal motives do not count with me in this matter; circumstances forced me to go further than! Intended; but when I meet my comrades in council, your interest shall not unduly suffer.

  (HAMER comes down the stage and advances towards STEINBACH, who is standing near LADY ANNE.)

  HAMER.

  Excuse me, Baron Steinbach. You could not state your case to ignorant men. Now the advantage of the press is —

  LADY ANNE (eagerly).

  I should hot like any incorrect statement to get into the papers, Baron; you will oblige me if you give Mr. Hamer all necessary information.

  (STEINBACH and HAMER go up stage.)

  So you have not forgotten me? There is no need to ask, for you would not have attacked me as you did if you had forgotten — that we were once friends.