by George Moore
REID.
I would not have you think that It was to disabuse your mind of such thought that I stayed to explain — to excuse, if you will, some excesses of language, and to assure you that I shall act with absolute impartiality towards you.
LADY ANNE.
But do you think that you can hold the balance as fairly as you propose to? Can you guard your heart so that nothing, no trifle, no bitter remembrance, shall fall into the scale against me? We are not strangers; do you think it is possible to play at being strangers?
REID.
That I cannot say; we can only endeavour to be just LADY ANNE.
I know there are many with you who hardly desire a settlement of this dispute, who at heart believe that the destruction of my property is the best that could happen. Ellen Sands, the young lady you are engaged to marry, is of this way of thinking, or very nearly.
REID.
I must leave Ellen to answer for herself.
LADY ANNE.
But you would not wish the strike to continue if I could prove by my books that it would be impossible to raise the men’s wages twenty per cent and still work the mine at a profit?
REID.
No, I should not But capitalists are not in the habit of submitting their books to strangers — to their enemies.
LADY ANNE (gently).
We were once friends. I should not mind submitting the books of the mine to you. When will you come and inspect them? Will you come to-morrow?
REID.
I can do nothing without consulting my colleagues. But they will raise no objection — it would be impossible to object.
LADY ANNE.
Then you will come to-morrow?
REID.
To-morrow? I have to speak at several places to-morrow. But I could be here by four in the afternoon, if that will suit you.
LADY ANNE.
That will do very well.
FOOTMAN.
Luncheon is ready, my lady.
LADY ANNE.
You will stop to lunch, I hope?
REID.
That, I regret, is quite impossible.
LADY ANNE.
Surely —
REID.
You must excuse me. (He takes his hat and moves towards the door.) Good-day, Lady Anne.
LADY ANNE.
Are you going to the committee rooms?
REID.
Yes.
LADY ANNE.
Then your shortest way will be through the garden. I will show you the way.
(REID hesitates; STEINBACH and HAMER watch him. He follows LADY ANNE through the window.)
HAMER.
Lady Anne seems of a very forgiving disposition. If one had not been present at the deputation one would think they were old friends.
STEINBACH.
They are old friends. He was her father’s secretary ten years ago. It is said that she broke his heart —
HAMER.
What a remarkable story! It is quite dramatic.... I don’t suppose Lady Anne would mind my writing an article about it (Pause.) The facts are well known, I suppose?
STEINBACH (going towards the door).
Such a matter could not be discussed in a public print.
HAMER.
But really —
STEINBACH (opening the door).
No, Mr. Hamer, I cannot minister to journalistic curiosity.
(Exit HAMER. STEINBACH goes towards the window.)
CURTAIN.
ACT II.
SCENE — THE same as before, Lady Anne’s drawing-room. LADY ANNE discovered. STEINBACH enters, right.
LADY ANNE.
You have finished with the books?
STEINBACH.
Yes.
LADY ANNE.
And they prove all we said?
STEINBACH.
Yes, and something more.
LADY ANNE.
Then surely I did right in wanting John Reid to inspect the books; once convinced of the impossibility of the miners’ demands, he will surely not persevere in an adventure that must end in our mutual ruin — my ruin and their ruin.
STEINBACH.
He will understand that this is so; the testimony of the books is convincing. But I fail to see how the mere opening of Mr. Reid’s eyes will alter things.
LADY ANNE.
Then you don’t believe in Mr. Reid’s honesty?
STEINBACH.
On the contrary, I believe him to be an honest man and a clever man! But that is not sufficient I had an opportunity of studying him the other day.
LADY ANNE.
What do you mean?
STEINBACH.
I may be wrong, but this is what I think! You take Reid for a force! I take him for an eloquent interpreter of a force. Let us suppose that an examination of the books convinces him of the folly of the men’s demands, and that forthwith he goes into the market-place and says—” My poor fellows, I was mistaken, and my advice to you now is to go back to work.”
LADY ANNE.
You think they will not take his advice? But yesterday you saw that he had only to raise his voice and the men followed like sheep.
STEINBACH.
He was then appealing to their brutish instincts; telling them that their homes were not so comfortable as your drawing-room. Besides, you have forgotten Ellen Sands.
LADY ANNE.
You think that it will be impossible to convince her?
STEINBACH.
Her beliefs are not swayed by facts and figures; they are well entrenched in pure theory, and are practically inaccessible to argument.
LADY ANNE.
Then you think that John Reid’s examination of the books will come to nothing?
STEINBACH.
Something comes of everything, but what? Briefly, I do not think that this inspection of the books will prove as easy a solution of your difficulties as you imagine.
LADY ANNE.
But I did not propose this inspection of books until you had failed.
STEINBACH.
Failed! A little vulgar rhetoric answered by a few idiotic cheers; a few caps thrown into the air. Had I had my way, those caps and cheers would have been instantly answered by a withdrawal of your offer of five per cent But instead, you threw yourself on the man’s mercy; you capitulated without terms — you invited him here. This policy may prove successful. He loved you when you were a girl; you come with all the added charms of womanhood. He may lose his head; you may twist him round your finger, but the step is a perilous one.
LADY ANNE.
Why perilous for me?
STEINBACH.
Supposing your names were scandalously connected together — your name and the name of a socialist leader! Think of it; all help from your family would be at an end. Your father, Lord Elwin, who might assist you —
LADY ANNE.
But you’ll tell no one of our boy and girl flirtation — that silly love-story which I told you of.
STEINBACH.
When you took Reid through the garden, that newspaper fellow — Hamer is his name, I think — and I were standing by the window — you passed out before us.
LADY ANNE.
But you told him nothing!
STEINBACH.
I had to say something. I told him that Reid had been your father’s secretary. It seemed the least compromising thing I could say.
LADY ANNE.
I wish you hadn’t done this!
STEINBACH.
I had to say something.
LADY ANNE.
It was wrong of me; I didn’t think of what I was doing. If it becomes known it will irritate that girl Ellen Sands still further against me. If I fail it will be through her. She’ll prove my stumbling-block.
STEINBACH.
Then woman proves woman’s stumbling-block as well as man’s.
LADY ANNE.
Oh! Edward, let me be! This is no time for epigrams — ruin hangs like a sword above me. The overseers are workin
g fifteen hours a day.
Only this morning I heard that they will not be able to bear the strain much longer; the mine will be flooded, and I shall be ruined! Oh! it is cruel! Why was I selected? Why do they attack a woman? Why do they choose the weakest?
STEINBACH.
The weakest is Nature’s instinctive selection. It is the weakest that goes to the wall first (Seeing there are tears in LADY ANNE’S eyes, his manner softens.) But why does the weak refuse association with the strong? Dearest Anne, you know that my fortune as well as my heart is at your disposal. ( Takes her in his arms and kisses her!)
LADY ANNE.
Money, my dear Baron, has never influenced my choice. We may be worldly and not as good as we might be, but for our sakes we must keep ourselves free from that taint I told you yesterday that I was in too great trouble to think of love or lovers. After the battle, who knows? During the battle I want you to be my friend.
STEINBACH.
Well, let it be so. I’ll be your friend, and if chance should favour me I shall deem myself the most fortunate of men.
LADY ANNE.
Is this a compact?
STEINBACH.
Yes; and I should be satisfied if I thought, if I were sure, you didn’t care for this socialist chief.
LADY ANNE.
I in love with John Reid! How absurd!
STEINBACH.
It does seem absurd, but I half fancied that this socialist chief — this man you had loved long ago, who comes up to you from an unknown world, halo of poetry about him — had inspired in you some sort of fantastic caprice, some sort of capricious interest.
LADY ANNE (absent-mindedly).
No, I’m not in love with John Reid; that is all over and done with. He hates me. If you were to ask him, he would describe me as a cruel, heartless woman. I did treat him cruelly, I know I did; but it was not all my fault He’s now going to marry Ellen Sands. Oh, no, I’m not in love with him. That is quite an absurd idea.
STEINBACH.
Sweetheart, swear that you do not love him.
LADY ANNE.
I do not care for him.
STEINBACH.
Then you’ll love me. You once did — you will again. (Putting his arms round her. LADY ANNE moves away.)
LADY ANNE.
Hush, some one’s coming.
(The door opens and servant announces that JOHN REID is downstairs.)
FOOTMAN.
Mr. John Reid wishes to see your ladyship. Is your ladyship at home?
STEINBACH.
My advice is not to receive him.
LADY ANNE.
I cannot do that What excuse can I give?
STEINBACH.
Excuse! The usual excuse — a sick headache.
LADY ANNE.
He wouldn’t believe it. It would only incense him still further against me. I must see him. (To Servant.) Show Mr. Reid up.
(Exit Servant.)
Believe me that I do this only in the hope of obtaining a settlement of this dispute.
STEINBACH.
In the hope of alienating him from his party?
LADY ANNE.
Yes; that is my only reason. I shall expect you this evening to dinner, and will tell you all about it (STEINBACH looks at her doubtfully. REID enters. The men bow to each other.)
REID (a suspicion of shyness).
I’m afraid I’m disturbing you. You’re engaged, I see.
LADY ANNE.
Not at all; Baron Steinbach was just leaving. He’s been good enough to put my books in order. He has explained them to me so that I can explain them to you.
STEINBACH.
Your books are excellently well kept; they can be read at a glance. But perhaps a lady and a poet will not read them as easily as a financier.
REID.
I’ve had some practice with accounts, and unless they’re very difficult indeed, I shall be able to understand them. Poets are not such impracticable beings as financiers imagine.
LADY ANNE.
Mr. Reid’s poetry is as well known to the world as his socialism. The world prefers his poetry.
REID.
One half the world.
STEINBACH.
A strange alliance, poetry and socialism; and yet I don’t know, in the modern world mysticism finds expression in socialism and science.
REID.
Mysticism! So we seem to you like mystics a recrudescence of the Middle Ages. And you wonder if we really believe that the future will differ from the present STEINBACH.
I certainly wonder that an intelligence like yours should never doubt the possibility of man’s regeneration.
REID.
You believe man to be utterly base.
STEINBACH.
The mass of mankind, certainly.
REID.
A cruel creed, an ignoble creed. I could not live if I did not hold to some hope of earthly salvation.
STEIN BACH.
I wonder if your speech comes from conviction, or if it is a mere habit of eloquence. There is one question that I put to men like you. If the capitalists were abolished to-morrow, tell me what you would do with the incorrigibly idle; those who would say, “We will not work, we prefer to beg,” and wander the world over.
REID.
Not long ago I met an old couple on a country road. They had worked forty years in the factory; they could work no more, and were on their way to the Poor-house; yet Baron Steinbach wonders why the poor are not more industrious.
STEINBACH.
In every system there must be failures.
REID.
You think that the successes of the system should reconcile us to its failures?
STEINBACH.
There is neither present nor past system; it is human passion that blocks your way. But argument is useless. Lady Anne, the accounts are in the library.
LADY ANNE.
I shall expect you to dinner at eight, Baron.
STEINBACH.
I’m not leaving. I’ve some letters to write. I shall find what I want in the morning-room.
(Exit)
REID.
A strange man. He seems to take pleasure in the knowledge that evil exists.
LADY ANNE.
He’s a man without illusions.
REID.
Has he taught you to think like him?
LADY ANNE.
No; I always try to look on the pleasant side.
(LADY ANNE shows signs of emotion, her handkerchief is in her hand.)
REID.
You seem troubled, Lady Anne. Perhaps you’re not feeling well, and would like to postpone the examination of accounts?
LADY ANNE.
No, I’m well enough. Even so, I should not allow health to interfere, however distraught I may feel.
REID.
Distraught!
LADY ANNE.
The difficulty of knowing what to do, how to act Whatever course I take, it seems to be the wrong one.
REID.
I think you have acted wisely in submitting to an inspection of your books. For after all it is but a question of facts and figures. I may say that when I reported your decision the majority of the committee was impressed in your favour.
LADY ANNE.
But if the books vindicate my position, do you guarantee that the men return to work at once?
REID.
I shall certainly advise that the strike be discontinued.
LADY ANNE.
Perhaps that advice will be opposed.
REID.
Maybe; but the extreme views do not carry a majority of votes.
LADY ANNE.
You’re alluding to Ellen Sands.
REID.
Miss Sands, I admit, holds extreme views; but so does your friend Baron Steinbach. Ellen Sands and Baron Steinbach represent the poles of the social question. Both are for war to the knife.
LADY ANNE.
Baron Steinbach anticipates Miss Sands’ opposition, and sa
ys that this inspection of the books will only end in useless publication of my affairs. (Pause.) On certain conditions he would help me with all his wealth to fight the demands of the miners, and with his money I could not fail to force them to accept the terms I was pleased to impose.
REID.
And you have declined his aid?
LADY ANNE.
I hesitated to accept his offer. (Pause.) I do not wish to crush these poor people utterly. I do not believe them to be dissatisfied with their condition; they are merely ill-advised. Nor do I believe that the advice that they follow is altogether disinterested.
REID.
Lady Anne!
LADY ANNE.
I do not wish to accuse either you or your associates of dishonesty, but did you not tell me just now that Ellen Sands was opposed to an inspection of my books? In other words, was opposed to any amicable settlement of this dispute. Ellen Sands hates me.
REID.
No; she merely hates the class to which you belong.
LADY ANNE.
Does she know, have you told her, that we were once — well — shall I say sweethearts?
REID.
I have told her nothing. She knows nothing for certain. The flowers you left for me seemed to rouse some suspicion in her mind. But it has passed away.
LADY ANNE.
Did the perfume tell you who had left the flowers for you?
REID.
Not at first I could not remember where I had met that perfume. It seemed to recall a far-off time, a dead past; but when I tried to define what it did recall, the illusion vanished. Ellen’s description of you did not help me. It was when my thoughts were occupied with other things that the haunting odour seemed on the point of whispering its secret I put the flowers away, but the soft, insinuating odour pursued me, held me sleepless.... Suddenly I cried out— “It is she!”
LADY ANNE.
I remember the day you left Torrington Park. I saw you walk across the park in the rain; you had told me that I had broken your heart.
REID.
I did not speak false. You were a cruel, heartless girl, as you are now a cruel, heartless woman.
LADY ANNE (dashes the tears aside).
I am sorry you think so badly of me, but it can’t be helped.... I did treat you cruelly, I know.
REID.
But have we not other things to discuss?
LADY ANNE.
No; this matter demands settlement before all others. How was I circumstanced at the time? Have you forgotten that I was no more than a child, hardly seventeen, when you first told me that you loved me? I was true to my love until —
