Pygmalion and Other Plays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
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Burgess. [They shake hands and Burgess goes to the door.]
CANDIDA. [Intercepting Morell, who is following Burgess.] Stay here, dear: I’ll put on papa’s coat for him. [She goes out with Burgess.]
MARCHBANKS. Morell: there’s going to be a terrible scene. Aren’t you afraid?
MORELL. Not in the least.
MARCHBANKS. I never envied you your courage before. [He rises timidly and puts his hand appealingly on Morell’s forearm.] Stand by me, won’t you?
MORELL. [Casting him off gently, but resolutely.] Each for himself, Eugene. She must choose between us now. [He goes to the other side of the room as Candida returns. Eugene sits down again on the sofa like a guilty schoolboy on his best behaviour.]
CANDIDA. [Between them, addressing Eugene.] Are you sorry?
MARCHBANKS. [Earnestly.] Yes, heartbroken.
CANDIDA. Well, then, you are forgiven. Now go off to bed like a good little boy: I want to talk to James about you.
MARCHBANKS. [Rising in great consternation.] Oh, I can’t do that, Morell. I must be here. I’ll not go away. Tell her.
CANDIDA. [With quick suspicion.] Tell me what? [His eyes avoid hers furtively. She turns and mutely transfers the question to Morell.]
MORELL. [Bracing himself for the catastrophe.] I have nothing to tell her, except. [Here his voice deepens to a measured and mournful tenderness] that she is my greatest treasure on earth—if she is really mine.
CANDIDA. [Coldly, offended by his yielding to his orator’s instinct and treating her as if she were the audience at the Guild of St. Matthew.] I am sure Eugene can say no less, if that is all.
MARCHBANKS. [Discouraged.] Morell: she’s laughing at us.
MORELL. [With a quick touch of temper.] There is nothing to laugh at. Are you laughing at us, Candida?
CANDIDA. [With quiet anger.] Eugene is very quick-witted, James. I hope I am going to laugh; but I am not sure that I am not going to be very angry. [She goes to the fireplace, and stands there leaning with her arm on the mantelpiece and her foot on the fender, whilst Eugene steals to Morell and plucks him by the sleeve.]
MARCHBANKS. [Whispering.] Stop Morell. Don’t let us say anything.
MORELL. [Pushing Eugene away without deigning to look at him.] I hope you don’t mean that as a threat, Candida.
CANDIDA. [With emphatic warning.] Take care, James. Eugene: I asked you to go. Are you going?
MORELL. [Putting his foot down.] He shall not go. I wish him to remain.
MARCHBANKS. I’ll go. I’ll do whatever you want. [He turns to the door.]
CANDIDA. Stop! [He obeys.] Didn’t you hear James say he wished you to stay? James is master here. Don’t you know that?
MARCHBANKS. [Flushing with a young poet’s rage against tyranny.] By what right is he master?
CANDIDA. [Quietly.] Tell him, James.
MORELL. [Taken aback.] My dear: I don’t know of any right that makes me master. I assert no such right.
CANDIDA. [With infinite reproach.] You don’t know! Oh, James, James! [To Eugene, musingly.] I wonder do you understand, Eugene! No: you’re too young. Well, I give you leave to stay—to stay and learn. [She comes away from the hearth and places herself between them.] Now, James: what’s the matter? Come: tell me.
MARCHBANKS. [Whispering tremulously across to him.] Don’t.
CANDIDA. Come. Out with it!
MORELL. [Slowly.] I meant to prepare your mind carefully, Candida, so as to prevent misunderstanding.
CANDIDA. Yes, dear: I am sure you did. But never mind: I shan’t misunderstand.
MORELL. Well—er—[He hesitates, unable to find the long explanation which he supposed to be available.]
CANDIDA. Well?
MORELL. [Baldly.] Eugene declares that you are in love with him.
MARCHBANKS. [Frantically.] No, no, no, no, never. I did not, Mrs. Morell: it’s not true. I said I loved you, and that he didn’t. I said that I understood you, and that he couldn’t. And it was not after what passed there before the fire that I spoke: it was not, on my word. It was this morning.
CANDIDA. [Enlightened.] This morning!
MARCHBANKS. Yes. [He looks at her, pleading for credence, and then adds, simply] That was what was the matter with my collar.
CANDIDA. [After a pause; for she does not take in his meaning at once.] His collar! [She turns to Morell, shocked.] Oh, James: did you—[She stops]?
MORELL. [Ashamed.] You know, Candida, that I have a temper to struggle with. And he said. [Shuddering] that you despised me in your heart.
CANDIDA. [Turning quickly on Eugene.] Did you say that?
MARCHBANKS. [Terrified.] No!
CANDIDA. [Severely.] Then James has just told me a falsehood. Is that what you mean?
MARCHBANKS. No, no: I—I—[Blurting out the explanation desperately]—it was David’s wife. And it wasn’t at home: it was when she saw him dancing before all the people.
MORELL. [Taking the cue with a debater’s adroitness.] Dancing before all the people, Candida; and thinking he was moving their hearts by his mission when they were only suffering from—Prossy’s complaint. [She is about to protest: he raises his hand to silence her, exclaiming] Don’t try to look indignant, Candida:—
CANDIDA. [Interjecting.] Try!
MORELL. [Continuing.] Eugene was right. As you told me a few hours after, he is always right. He said nothing that you did not say far better yourself. He is the poet, who sees everything; and I am the poor parson, who understands nothing.
CANDIDA. [Remorsefully.] Do you mind what is said by a foolish boy, because I said something like it again in jest?
MORELL. That foolish boy can speak with the inspiration of a child and the cunning of a serpent. He has claimed that you belong to him and not to me; and, rightly or wrongly, I have come to fear that it may be true. I will not go about tortured with doubts and suspicions. I will not live with you and keep a secret from you. I will not suffer the intolerable degradation of jealousy. We have agreed—he and I—that you shall choose between us now. I await your decision.
CANDIDA. [Slowly recoiling a step, her heart hardened by his rhetoric in spite of the sincere feeling behind it.] Oh! I am to choose, am I? I suppose it is quite settled that I must belong to one or the other.
MORELL. [Firmly.] Quite. You must choose definitely.
MARCHBANKS. [Anxiously.] Morell: you don’t understand. She means that she belongs to herself.
CANDIDA. [Turning on him.] I mean that and a good deal more, Master Eugene, as you will both find out presently. And pray, my lords and masters, what have you to offer for my choice? I am up for auction, it seems. What do you bid, James?
MORELL. [Reproachfully.] Cand—[He breaks down: his eyes and throat fill with tears: the orator becomes the wounded animal.] I can’t speak—
CANDIDA. [Impulsively going to him.] Ah, dearest—
MARCHBANKS. [In wild alarm.] Stop: it’s not fair. You mustn’t show her that you suffer, Morell. I am on the rack, too; but I am not crying.
MORELL. [Rallying all his forces.] Yes: you are right. It is not for pity that I am bidding. [He disengages himself from Candida.]
CANDIDA. [Retreating, chilled.] I beg your pardon, James; I did not mean to touch you. I am waiting to hear your bid.
MORELL. [With proud humility.] I have nothing to offer you but my strength for your defence, my honesty of purpose for your surety, my ability and industry