Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 70

EDWARD. One can't believe it was merely through weakness . .

BEATRICE. [_with artistic enthusiasm._] Of course not. He was a great financier . . a man of imagination. He had to find scope for his abilities or die. He despised these fat little clients living so snugly on their unearned incomes . . and put them and their money to the best use he could.

EDWARD. [_shaking his head solemnly._] That's all a fine phrase for robbery.

BEATRICE _turns her clever face to him and begins to follow up her subject keenly_.

BEATRICE. My dear Edward . . I understand you've been robbing your rich clients for the benefit of the poor ones?

ALICE. [_who hasn't missed a word._] That's true.

EDWARD. [_gently._] Well . . we're all a bit in debt to the poor, aren't we?

BEATRICE. Quite so. And you don't possess and your father didn't possess that innate sense of the sacredness of property . . . [_she enjoys that phrase._] which alone can make a truly honest man. Nor did the man possess it who picked my pocket last Friday week . . nor does the tax-gatherer . . . nor do I. Your father's freedom from prejudice was tempered by a taste for Power and Display. Yours is by Charity. But that's all the difference I'll admit between you. Robbery! . . it's a beautiful word.

EDWARD. [_a little pained by as much of this as he takes to be serious._] I think he might have told me the truth.

BEATRICE. Perhaps he didn't know it! Would you have believed him?

EDWARD. Perhaps not. But I loved him.

BEATRICE _looks again at the gentle, earnest face_.

BEATRICE. After as well as before?

EDWARD. Yes. And not from mere force of habit either.

BEATRICE. [_with reverence in her voice now._] That should silence a bench of judges. Well . . well . .

_Her sewing finished, she stuffs the things into her basket, gets up in her abrupt unconventional way and goes without another word. Her brain is busy with the Voysey Inheritance._ EDWARD _and_ ALICE _are left in chairs by the fire, facing each other like an old domestic couple_.

EDWARD. Stay and speak to me.

ALICE. I want to. Something more serious has happened since dinner.

EDWARD. I'm glad you can see that.

ALICE. What is it?

EDWARD. [_with sudden exultation._] The smash has come . . and not by my fault. Old George Booth--

ALICE. Has he been here?

EDWARD. Can you imagine it? That old man forced me into telling him the truth. I told him to take what money of his there was, and prosecute. He won't prosecute, but he bargains to take the money . . and further to bleed us, sovereign by sovereign, as I earn sovereign by sovereign with the sweat of my soul. I'll see him in his Christian Heaven first . . the Jew!

ALICE. [_keeping her head._] You can't reason with him?

EDWARD. He thinks he has the whip hand and he means to use it. Also the Vicar has been told . . who has told his wife. She knows how not to keep a secret. The smash has come at last.

ALICE. So you're glad?

EDWARD. Thankful. My conscience is clear. I've done my best. [_then as usual with him, his fervour collapses._] And oh, Alice . . has it been worth doing?

ALICE. [_encouragingly._] Half a dozen people pulled out of the fire.

EDWARD. If only that isn't found out! I've bungled this job, Alice. I feared all along I should. It was work for a strong man . . not for me.

ALICE. Work for a patient man.

EDWARD. You use kind words. But I've never shirked the truth about myself. My father said mine was a weak nature. He knew.

ALICE. You have a religious nature.

EDWARD. [_surprised._] Oh no!

ALICE. [_proceeding to explain._] Therefore you're not fond of creeds and ceremonies. Therefore . . as the good things of this wordly world don't satisfy you, you shirk contact with it all you can. I understand this temptation to neglect and despise practical things. But if one yields to it one's character narrows and cheapens. That's a pity . . but it's so.

EDWARD. [_his eyes far away._] D'you ever feel that there aren't enough windows in a house?

ALICE. [_prosaically._] In this weather . . too many.

EDWARD. Well then . . in a house--especially in a big city--in my office at work, then . . one is out of hearing of all the music of the world.

And when one does get back to Nature, instead of being all curves to her roundness, one is all corners.

ALICE. [_smiling at him._] Yes, you love to think idly . . just as Hugh does. You do it quite well, too. [_then briskly._] Edward, may I scold you?

EDWARD. For that?

ALICE. Because of that. You're grown to be a sloven lately . .

deliberately letting yourself be unhappy.

EDWARD. Is happiness under one's control?

ALICE. My friend, you shouldn't neglect your happiness any more than you neglect to wash your face. Here has the squalour of your work been making you poor. Because it was liable to be stopped at any moment uncompleted . . why should that let your life be incomplete? Edward, for the last eighteen months you've been more like a moral portent than a man. You've not had a smile to throw to a friend . . or an opinion upon any subject. You've dropped your Volunteering. [_he protests._] I know there's something comic in volunteering . . though Heaven knows what it is! I suppose you found it out of keeping with your unhappy fate. And how slack you were in your politics last November. I don't believe you even voted . .

EDWARD. [_contrite at this._] That was wrong of me!

ALICE. Yes, I expect a man to be a good citizen. And you don't even eat properly.

_With that she completes the accusation and_ EDWARD _searches round for a defence_.

EDWARD. Alice, it was always an effort with me to do all those things . .

and lately every effort has had to go to my work.

ALICE. You did them . . on principle.

EDWARD. Don't laugh at me.