Читать книгу The Complete Works - George Bernard Shaw, George Bernard Shaw - Страница 79

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Long before the harvest was home, preparations were made at Towers

Cottage to receive another visitor. The Rev. George Lind was coming.

Lord Carbury drove in the wagonet to the railway station, and met him on

the platform.

“How are you, my dear fellow?” cried the clergyman, shaking the earl’s hand. “Why did you trouble to meet me? I could have taken a fly. Most kind of you, I am sure. How is your dear mother? And Constance: how is she?”

“All quite well, thank you. Just show my fellow your traps; he will see to them.”

“Oh, there is no need to trouble him. I myself or a porter — oh, thank you, I am sure; the brown one with G.L. on it — and that small green metal box too, if you will be so good. Thank you very much. And how are you, Jasper, if I may call you so? Studious still, eh? I hope he will be careful of the box. No, not a word to him, I beg: it does not matter at all. What a charming little trap! What air! Happy man, Jasper! These fields are better than the close alleys and garrets to which my profession leads me.”

“Jump in.”

“Thank you. And how is Marian?”

“Quite well, thank you. Everybody is quite well. The girls are at a tennis party, or they would have come to meet you. Constance desired me particularly to apologize.”

“Oh, needless, most needless. Why should they not enjoy themselves? What a landscape! The smiling beauty of nature in the country is like a — like a message to us. This is indeed a delightful drive.”

“Yes, she is a capital trotter, this mare of mine. What do you think of her?”

“A noble animal, Jasper. Although I never studied horseflesh much, even in my university days, I can admire a spirited nag on occasion. But I have to content myself with humbler means of locomotion in my own calling. A poor parson cannot entertain his friends as a magnate like you can. Have you any one at the hall now, besides the girls?”

“No. The place will be rather dull for you, I am afraid.”

“Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. I shall be satisfied and thankful under all circumstances.”

“We have led a humdrum life for the past month. Marian and Elinor have begun to potter about in my laboratory. They come there every day for an hour to work and study, as they call it.”

“Indeed! I have no doubt Marian will find the study of nature most improving. It is very generous of you to allow her to trespass on you.”

“I occupy myself chiefly with Nelly McQuinch. Marian is my assistant’s pupil, and he has made a very expert workwoman of her already. With a little direction, she can put a machine together as well as I can.”

“I am delighted to hear it. And dear Nelly?”

“Oh, dear Nelly treats the subject in her usual way. But she is very amusing.”

“Ah, Jasper! Ah! An unstable nature there, an unstable nature! Elinor has not been firmly trained. She needs to be tried by adversity.”

“No doubt she will be. Most of us are.”

“And dear Constance? Does she study?”

“No.”

“Ahem! A — have you —— ? That is St. Mildred’s yonder, is it not?”

“It is. They have put a new clock in the tower, worth about sixty pounds. I believe they collected a hundred and fifty for the purpose. But you were going to say something else.”

“No. At least, I intended to ask you about Marmaduke. He is coming down,

I understand.”

“I dont know what he is doing. Last week he wrote to us that he had just returned from Paris; but I happened to know that he had then been back for some time. He has arranged to come twice, but on each occasion, at the last moment, he has made excuses. He can do as he likes now. I wish he would say definitely that he doesnt intend to come, instead of shilly-shallying from week to week. Hallo, Prentice, have the ladies returned yet?” This was addressed to the keeper of the gate-lodge, at which they had now arrived. He replied that the ladies were still absent.

“Then,” said Lord Carbury, “we had better get down and stroll across the lawn. Perhaps you are tired, though?”

“Not at all. I should prefer it. What a lovely avenue! What greenery!

How—”

“We were talking about Marmaduke. Do you know what he is doing at present? He talks of being busy, and of not having a moment to spare. I can understand a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July, but what Marmaduke has to do in London in September is more than I can imagine.”

“I do not care to enquire into these things too closely. I had intended to speak to you on the subject. Marmaduke, as I suppose you know, has taken a house at West Kensington.”

“A house at West Kensington! No, I did not know it. What has he done that for?”

“I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on the subject. I think he tried to prevent the matter coming to my ears; and when I asked him about it, he certainly implied — in fact, I grieve to say he left me under the impression that he had taken the house with a view to marrying dear Constance, and settling down. I expressed some surprise at his going so far out of town; but he did not volunteer any further explanation, and so the matter dropped.” The Rev. George paused, and then continued in a lower tone, “Not long afterward I met him at a very late hour. He had perhaps exceeded a little in his cups; for he spoke to me with the most shocking cynicism, inviting me to supper at this house of his, and actually accusing me of knowing perfectly well the terrible truth about his occupation of it. He assured me that she — meaning, I presume, the unhappy person with whom he lives there — was exceptionally attractive; and I have since discovered that she is connected with the theatre, and of great notoriety. I need not tell you how dreadful all this is to me, Jasper; but to the best of my judgment, which I have fortified by earnest prayers for guidance, it is my imperative duty to tell you of it.”

“The vagabond! It is exactly as I have always said: Constance is too tame for him. He does not care a d — —”

“Jasper, my dear fellow, gently,” said the clergyman, pressing his arm.

“Pshaw!” said the Earl, “I dont care. I think Constance is well out of it. Let us drop the subject for the present. I hear the carriage.”

“Yes, here it is. Dear Lady Carbury has recognized me, and is waving her hand.” The Rev. George stood on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished his low-crowned soft felt hat.

During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, looking at the horses with an expression that made the coachman uneasy. At dinner he ate sedulously, and left the task of entertaining the visitor to his mother and the girls. The clergyman was at no loss for conversation. He was delighted with the dinner, delighted with the house, delighted to see the Countess looking so well, and delighted to hear that the tennis party that day had been a pleasant one. The Earl listened with impatience, and was glad when his mother rose. Before she quitted the dining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon returned, leaving Marian, Constance, and Elinor in the drawingroom.

“You will not mind my staying, I hope, George,” she said, as she resumed her seat.

“A delightful precedent, and from a distinguished source,” said the Rev.

George. “Allow me to pass the bottle. Ha! ha!”

“Thank you, no,” said the Countess. “I never take wine.” Her tone was inconclusive, as if she intended to take something else.

“Will you take brandy-and-soda?” said her son, rather brusquely.

Lady Carbury lowered her eyelids in protest. Then she said: “A very little, if you please, Jasper. I dare not touch wine,” she continued to the clergyman. “I am the slave of my medical man in all matters relating to my unfortunate digestion.”

“Mother,” said Jasper, “George has brought us a nice piece of news concerning your pet Marmaduke.”

The clergyman became solemn and looked steadily at his glass.

“I do not know that it is fair to describe him as my pet exactly,” said the Countess, a little troubled. “I trust there is nothing unpleasant the matter.”

“Oh, nothing! He has settled down domestically in a mansion at West

Kensington, that is all.”

“What! Married!”

“Unhappily,” said the Rev. George, “no, not married.”

“Oh!” said the Countess slowly, as an expression of relief. “It is very shocking, of course; very wrong indeed. Young men will do these things. It is especially foolish in Marmaduke’s case, for he really cannot afford to make any settlement such as this kind of complication usually involves when the time comes for getting rid of it. Pray do not let it come to Constance’s ears. It is not a proper subject for a girl.”

“Quite as proper a subject as marriage with a fellow like Marmaduke,” said Jasper, rising coolly and lighting a cigaret. “However, it will be time enough to trouble about that when there is any sign of his having the slightest serious intentions toward Constance. For my part I dont believe, and I never did believe, that there was anything real in the business. This last move of his proves it — to my satisfaction, at any rate.”

Lady Carbury, with a slight but impressive bridling, and yet with an evident sense of discomfiture, proceeded to assert herself before the clergyman. “I beg you will control yourself, Jasper,” she said. “I do not like to be spoken to in that tone. In discharging the very great responsibility which rests with a mother, I am compelled to take the world as I find it, and to acknowledge that certain very deplorable tendencies must be allowed for in society. You, in the solitude of your laboratory, contemplate an ideal state of things that we all, I am sure, long for, but which unhappily does not exist. I have never enquired into Marmaduke’s private life, and I think you ought not to have done so. I could not disguise from myself the possibility of his having entered into some such relations as those you have alluded to.”

Jasper, without the slightest appearance of having heard this speech, strolled casually out of the room. The Countess, baffled, turned to her sympathetic guest.

“I am sure that you, George, must feel that it is absolutely necessary for us to keep this matter to ourselves.”

The Rev. George said, gravely, “I do not indeed see what blessing can rest on our interference in such an inexpressibly shocking business. It is for Marmaduke to wrestle with his own conscience.”

“Quite so,” said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders as if to invite her absent son’s attention to this confirmation of her judgment. “Is it not absurd of Jasper to snatch at such an excuse for breaking off the match?”

“I can sympathize with Jasper’s feeling, I trust. It is natural for a candid nature to recoil from duplicity. But all our actions need charitable construction; and, remembering that, we should take heed to prevent our forebearance toward others from wavering. Who knows that the alliance with your pure and lovely daughter may not be the means specially ordained to rescue him from his present condition.”

“I think it very possible,” drawled the Countess, looking at him, nevertheless, with a certain contempt for what she privately considered his priggish, underbred cant. “Besides, such things are recognized, though of course they are not spoken of. No lady could with common decency pretend to know that such connexions are possible, much less assign one of them as a reason for breaking off an engagement.”

“Pardon me,” said the Rev. George; “but can these worldly considerations add anything to the approval of our consciences? I think not. We will keep our own counsel in this matter in the sight of Heaven. Then, whatever the world may think, all will surely come right in the end.”

“Oh, it is sure to come right in the end: these wretched businesses always do. I cannot imagine men having such low tastes — as if there were anything in these women more than in anybody else! Come into the drawingroom, George.”

They went into the drawingroom and found it deserted. The ladies were in the veranda. The Countess took up the paper and composed herself for a nap. George went into the porch, where the girls, having seen the sun go down, were now watching the deepening gloom among the trees that skirted the lawn. Marian proposed that they should walk through the plantation whilst there was still a little light left, and the clergyman readily assented. He rather repented of this when they got into the deep gloom under the trees, and Elinor began to tell stories about adders, wild cats, poachers, and anything else that could possibly make a nervous man uncomfortable under such circumstances. He was quite relieved when they saw the spark of a cigaret ahead of them and heard the voices of Jasper and Conolly coming toward them through the darkness.

“Oh, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Conolly,” said the

Rev. George, formally, when they met. “I am glad to see you.”

“Thank you,” said Conolly. “If you ladies have thin shoes on as usual, we had better come out of this.”

“As we ladies happen to have our boots on,” said Marian, “we shall stay as long as we like.”

Nevertheless, they soon turned homeward, and as the path was narrow, they walked in pairs. The clergyman, with Constance, led the way. Lord Jasper followed with Elinor. Conolly and Marian came last.

“Does that young man — Mr. Conolly — live at the Hall?” was the Rev.

George’s first remark to Constance.

“No. He has rooms in Rose Cottage, that little place on Quilter’s farm.”

“Ha! Then he is very well off here.”

“A great deal too well off. Jasper allows him to speak to him as though he were an equal. However, I suppose Jasper knows his own business best.”

“I have observed that he is rather disposed to presume upon any encouragement he receives. It is a bad sign in a young man, and one, I fear, that will greatly interfere with his prospects.”

“He is an American, and I suppose thinks it a fine thing to be republican. But it is Jasper’s fault. He spoils him. He once wanted to have him in the drawingroom in the evenings to play accompaniments; but mamma positively refused to allow it. Jasper is excessively obstinate, and though he did not make a fuss, he got quite a habit of going over to Rose Cottage and spending his evenings there singing and playing. Everybody about the place used to notice it. Mamma was greatly disgusted.”

“Do you find him unpleasant — personally, I mean?”

“I! Oh dear, no! I should never dream of speaking to him. His presence is unpleasant, because he exercises a bad influence on Jasper; so I wish, on that account alone, that he would go.”

“I trust Marian is careful to limit her intercourse with him as much as possible.”

“Well, Marian learns electricity from him; and of course that makes a difference. I do not care about such things; and I never go into the laboratory when he is there; so I do not know whether Marian lets him be familiar with her or not. She is rather easygoing; and he is insufferably conceited. However, if she wants to learn electricity, I suppose she must put up with him. He is no worse, after all, than the rest of the people one has to learn things from. They are all impossible.”

“It is a strange fancy of the girls, to study science.”

“I am sure I dont know why they do it. It is great nonsense for Jasper to do it, either. He will never keep up his position properly until he shuts up that stupid workshop. He ought to hunt and shoot and entertain a great deal more than he does. It is very hard on us, for we are altogether in Jasper’s hands for such matters. I think he is very foolish.”

“Not foolish. Dont say that. Excuse my giving you a little lecture; but it is not right to speak, even without thought, of your brother as a fool. No doubt he is a little injudicious; but all men are not called to the same pursuits.”

“If people have a certain position, they ought to make up their minds to the duties of their position, whether they are called to them or not.”

The Rev. George, missing the deference with which ladies not related to him usually received his admonitions, changed the subject.

Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly than the rest, had fallen far behind. They had been silent at first. She seemed to be in trouble. At last, after some wistful glances at him, she said:

“Have you resolved to go to London tomorrow; or will you wait until

Friday?”

“Tomorrow, Miss Lind. Can I do anything for you in town?”

Marian hesitated painfully.

“Do not mind giving me plenty of bother,” he said. “I am so accustomed to superintend the transit of machines as cumbersome as trunks and as fragile as bonnet boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary luggage would be a mere amusement for me.”

“Thank you; but it is not that. I was only thinking — Are you likely to see my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whilst you are in London?”

“N — no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing.”

“Oh! I thought you knew him.”

“I met him at that concert.”

“But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least, I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre together.”

“So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I have never seen him since.”

“Oh, indeed! I quite mistook.”

“If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will.

It will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him?

It will be no trouble to me.”

“No, oh no. I wanted — it was something that could only be told to him indirectly by an intimate friend — by some one with influence over him. More a hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it cannot be helped.”

Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in silence. Then he said: “If the matter is of serious importance to you, Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a person who has influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that I can; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty.”

Marian looked at him in some surprise. “I hardly know what I ought to do,” she said, doubtfully.

“Then do nothing,” said Conolly bluntly. “Or, if you want anything said to this gentleman, write to him yourself.”

“But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to write to him. I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be told something that may prevent a great deal of unhappiness. It seems so unfeeling to sit down quietly and say, ‘It is not my business to interfere,’ when the mischief might so easily be prevented.”

“I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking care of other people’s happiness is thankless and dangerous. You dont know your cousin’s address, you say?”

“No. I thought you did.”

Conolly shook his head. “Who does know it?” he said.

“My brother George does; but he refused to tell me. I shall not ask him again.”

“Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of what use will that be, since you think you ought not to write to him?”

“I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned myself, I would not hesitate to tell you the whole story, and ask your advice. I feel sure you would shew me what was right. But this is a matter which concerns other people only.”

“Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont meddle in it.”

“But—”

“But what?”

“After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring about mischief. If Marmaduke could be given a hint to come down here at once — he has been invited, and is putting off his visit from week to week — it would be sufficient. He will get into trouble if he makes any more excuses. And he can set everything right by coming down now.”

“Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth matters over for the present?”

“No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth matters over as to rescue him from a bad influence that is ruining him. There is a person in London from whom he must he got away at all hazards. If you only knew — I wish you knew.”

“Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss Lind, let us understand one another. Your family want your cousin to marry Lady Constance. I know that. She does not object. I know that too. He does.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Marian, “you are wrong. He does not.”

“Anyhow,” continued Conolly, “he acts with a certain degree of indifference toward her — keeps away at present, for instance. I infer that the bad influence you have mentioned is the cause of his remissness.”

“Yes, you are right; only, looking at it all from without as you do, you are mistaken as to Marmaduke’s character. He is easily led away, and very careless about the little attentions that weigh so much with women; but he is thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with Lady Constance. Unfortunately, he is easily imposed on, and impatient of company in which he cannot be a little uproarious. I fear that somebody has taken advantage of this part of his character to establish a great ascendency over him. I” — here Marian became nervous, and controlled her voice with difficulty— “I saw this person once in a theatre; and I can imagine how she would fascinate Marmaduke. She was so clever, so handsome, and — and so utterly abominable. I was angry with Duke for bringing us to the place; and I remember now that he was angry with me because I said she made me shudder.”

“Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman to say of another,” said Conolly, with a certain sternness. “However, I can understand your having that feeling about her. I know her; and it is through her that I hope to find out his address for you.”

“But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I think it is somewhere in West Kensington.”

Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled a step, frightened.

“Since when, pray?”

“Very lately, I think. I do not know.”

They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regretting that she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terrible darkness. He walked on at last faster than before. No more words passed between them until they came out into the moonlight close to the veranda. Then he stopped again, and took off his hat.

“Permit me to leave you now,” he said, with an artificial politeness worthy of Douglas himself. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” faltered Marian.

He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she found

Jasper and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the drawingroom.

“Hallo!” said Jasper, “where is Conolly? I want to say a word to him before he goes.”

“He has just gone,” said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasper immediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two cousins alone together.

“Well, Marian,” said Elinor, “do you know that you have taken more than quarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did, and that you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls her, has been making some kind remarks about it.”

“Do I look disturbed? I hope Auntie wont notice it. I wish I could go straight to bed without seeing anybody.”

“Why? What is the matter?”

“I will tell you tonight when you come in to me. I am disgusted with myself; and I think Conolly is mad.”

“Mad!”

“On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad,” said Lord Jasper, returning at this moment out of breath and laughing.

Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian.

“He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of the yellow field when I caught sight of him. Just as I was about to hail him, he started off and cleared the fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furious rate, swinging his arms about, and laughing as if he was enjoying some uncommonly good joke. I am not sure that I did not see him dance a hornpipe; but as it is so dark I wont swear to that.”

“You had better not,” said Elinor, sceptically. “Let us go in; and pray do not encourage George to talk. I have a headache, and want to go to bed.”

“You have been in very good spirits, considering your headache,” he replied, in the same incredulous tone. “It has come on rather suddenly, has it not?”

When they went into the drawingroom they found that Constance had awakened her mother, and had already given her an account of their walk. Jasper added a description of what he had just witnessed. “I have not laughed so much for a long time,” he said, in conclusion. “He is usually such a steady sort of fellow.”

“I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken workman,” said the Countess. “How you could have left Marian in his care even for a moment I am at a loss to conceive.”

“He was not drunk, indeed,” said Marian.

“Certainly not,” said Jasper, rather indignantly. “I was walking with him for some time before we met the girls. You are very pale, Marian. Have you also a headache?”

“I have been playing tennis all day; and I am quite tired out.”

Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss McQuinch, according to a nightly custom of theirs, was seated on the coverlet with her knees doubled up to her chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventure very earnestly.

“Dont understand him at all, I confess,” said Elinor, when Marian had related what had passed in the plantation. “Wasnt it rather rash to make a confidant of him in such a delicate matter?”

“That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He might have known that I only wanted to do good. I thought he was so entirely above false delicacy.”

“I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is true? You only have it from Mrs. Leith Fairfax’s letter; and she is perhaps the greatest liar in the world.”

“Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about people. She would never venture to tell me a made-up tale about Marmaduke.”

“In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for the sake of using her tongue or pen.”

“It is so hard to know what to do. There was nobody whom I could trust, was there? Jasper has always been against Marmaduke; and Constance, of course, was out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not like to tell her.”

“Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no nice woman would talk to on such a subject,” said Elinor, giving the bed a kick with her heel.

“Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should say something like that before other people, out of sheer habit.”

“Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. No use regretting what cannot be recalled. You cannot have the security of conventionality along with the selfrespect of sincerity. By the bye, do you remember that Jasper and his fond mamma and George had a family council after dinner? You may be sure that George has told them everything.”

“What! Then my wretched attempt to have Marmaduke warned was useless. Oh, Nelly, this is too bad. Do you really think so? When I told him before dinner what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he feared it was true, and refused to give me the address.”

“And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the responsibility rests with George. He knew very well that it was true; for he had only just been telling Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. Master Georgy has no right to be your brother. He is worse than a dissenter. Dissenters try to be gentlemen; but George has no misgivings about himself on that score; so he gives his undivided energy to his efforts to be parsonic. He is an arrant hypocrite.”

“I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely believes that his duty to the Church requires him to behave as he does.”

“Then he is a donkey, which is worse.”

“I wish he were more natural in his manner.”

“He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: ‘it is their nature to.’ Goodnight. Men are all the same, my dear, all the same.”

“How do you mean?”

“Never mind. Goodnight.”