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Kitabı oku: «The Master of Mrs. Chilvers: An Improbable Comedy», sayfa 5

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THE THIRD ACT

Scene: —A room in the Town Hall, Poplar. A high, bare, cold room, unfurnished except for cane-bottomed chairs ranged against the walls. French windows right give on to a balcony overlooking the street. Door in back opens upon a stone passage. A larger door opens into another room, through which one passes to reach the room in which the counting of the votes is taking place. A fire burns—or rather tries to burn. The room is lighted from the centre of the ceiling by an electric sun. A row of hat-pegs is on the wall between the two doors. The time is about 9 p. m.

(People entering from the street wear coats or cloaks, &c., the season being early spring. If passing through or staying in the room, they take off their outdoor things and hang them up, putting them on again before going out.)

(Jawbones is coaxing the reluctant fire by using a newspaper as a blower. He curses steadily under his breath. The door opens. Ginger enters; she is dressed in cheap furs.)

Jawbones. Shut the door, can’t yer!

Ginger. Don’t yer want a draught?

Jawbones. No, I don’t. Not any more than I’ve got.

Ginger. (She shuts the door.) ’Ave they begun counting the votes?

Jawbones. Been at it for the last three-quarters of an hour.

Ginger. Who’s going to win?

Jawbones. One of ’em.

(Lady Mogton has entered. She has come from the room where they are counting the votes.)

Shut that door! (He glances over his shoulder, sees his mistake.) Beg pardon! (To himself.) Thought ’twas the other fool!

Lady Mogton. (She shuts the door. To Ginger.) Have you seen Mrs. Chilvers?

Ginger. Not since the afternoon, your ladyship.

Lady Mogton. She is coming, I suppose?

Ginger. I think so, your ladyship.

Lady Mogton. It’s very cold in here, Gordon.

Jawbones. Yes, my lady. Not what I call a cosy room.

Lady Mogton. (To Ginger.) Jump into a cab. See if you can find her. Perhaps she has been detained at one of the committee-rooms. Tell her she ought to be here.

Ginger. Yes, your ladyship. (She crosses, opens door.)

Jawbones. Shut the door.

Ginger. Oh, shut —

(She finds herself face to face with a Messenger carrying a ballot-box.)

I beg yer pardon! (She goes out, closes door.)

Lady Mogton. (To the Messenger.) Is that the last?

Messenger. Generally is. Isle of Dogs!

(He goes into the other room.)

Lady Mogton. (To Jawbones.) Do you know where Mr. Chilvers is?

(There comes a bloodthirsty yell from the crowd outside.)

Jawbones. Not unless that’s ’im. (He finishes for the time being with the fire. Rises.)

(Janet enters.)

Lady Mogton. Was that you they were yelling at?

Janet. No, it’s Mr. Sigsby.

(Another yell is heard. Out of it a shrill female voice– “Mind ’is fice; yer spoiling it!”)

The Woman’s Laundry Union have taken such a strong dislike to him.

(A final yell. Then a voice: “That’s taken some of the starch out of him!” followed by a shriek of laughter.)

Jawbones. ’E only suggested as ’ow there was enough old washerwomen in Parliament as it was.

Lady Mogton. A most unnecessary remark. It will teach him —

(Sigsby enters, damaged. His appearance is comic. Lady Mogton makes no effort to repress a grim smile.)

Sigsby. Funny, ain’t it?

Lady Mogton. I am sorry.

Sigsby. (He snarls.) “The Mother’s Hand shall Help Us!” One of your posters, I think.

Lady Mogton. You shouldn’t have insulted them – calling them old washerwomen!

Sigsby. Insult! Can’t one indulge in a harmless jeu d’esprit– (he pronounces it according to his own ideas) – without having one’s clothes torn off one’s back? (Fiercely.) What do you mean by it – disgracing your sex?

Lady Mogton. Are you addressing me?

Sigsby. All of you. Upsetting the foundations upon which society has been reared – the natural and lawful subjection of the woman to the man. Why don’t you read St. Paul?

Lady Mogton. St. Paul was addressing Christians. When men behave like Christians there will be no need of Votes for Women. You read St. Paul on men. (To Janet.) I shall want you!

(She goes out, followed by Janet.)

(Sigsby gives vent to a gesture.)

Jawbones. Getting saucy, ain’t they?

Sigsby. Over-indulgence. That’s what the modern woman is suffering from. Gets an idea on Monday that she’d like the whole world altered; if it isn’t done by Saturday, raises hell! Where’s the guv’nor?

Jawbones. Hasn’t been here.

Sigsby. (Hands Jawbones his damaged hat.) See if they can do anything to that. If not, get me a new one. (He forks out a sovereign.) Sure to be some shops open in the High Street.

(Lamb and St. Herbert enter.)

Lamb. Hallo! have they been mauling you?

Sigsby. (He snatches the damaged hat from Jawbones, to hand it back the next moment; holds it out.) Woman’s contribution to politics. Get me a collar at the same time – sixteen and a half.

(Jawbones takes his cap and goes out. The men hang up their overcoats.)

Sigsby. Where’s it all going to end? That’s what I want to know!

St. Herbert. Where most things end. In the millennium, according to its advocates. In the ruin of the country, according to its opponents. In mild surprise on the part of the next generation that ever there was any fuss about it.

Sigsby. In amazement, you mean, that their fathers were so blind as not to see where it was leading. My boy, this is going to alter the whole relationship between the sexes!

St. Herbert. Is it so perfect as it is?

(A silence.)

Might it not be established on a more workable, a more enduring basis if woman were allowed a share in the shaping of it?

(Some woman in the crowd starts the refrain, “We’ll hang old Asquith on a sour apple tree.” It is taken up with quiet earnestness by others.)

Sigsby. Shaping it! Nice sort of shape it will be by the time that lot (with a gesture, including the crowd, Lady Mogton & Co.) have done knocking it about. Wouldn’t be any next generation to be surprised at anything if some of them had their way.

St. Herbert. The housebreakers come first – not a class of work demanding much intelligence; the builders come later. Have you seen Chilvers?

Lamb. I left him at the House. He couldn’t get away.

Sigsby. There’s your object-lesson for you. We don’t need to go far. A man’s whole career ruined by the wife he nourishes.

St. Herbert. How do you mean, “ruined?”

Sigsby. So it is. If she wins the election and claims the seat. Do you think the Cabinet will want him? Their latest addition compelled to appeal to the House of Commons to fight for him against his own womenfolk. (Grunts.) He’ll be the laughing-stock of the whole country.

St. Herbert. Do you know for certain that they mean to claim the seat?

Sigsby. “Wait and see” is their answer.

Lamb. Hasn’t Chilvers any idea?

Sigsby. Can’t get him to talk. Don’t think he’s seen her since that shindy over the Deputation.

Lamb. Humph!

Sigsby. Even if she herself wished to draw back, the others would overrule her.

Lamb. I’m not so sure of that. She’s got a way of shutting her mouth that reminds me of my old woman.

Sigsby. The arrangement, as he explained it to me, was that the whole thing was to end with the polling. It was to have been a mere joke, a mere ballon d’essai. The mistake he made was thinking he could depend on her.

Lamb. Guess she made the same mistake. You can fight and shake hands afterwards; it doesn’t go with kissing.

Sigsby. Man and woman were not made to fight. It was never intended.

(The woman’s “Marseillaise” has been taken up by the crowd. The chorus has been reached.)

Oh, damn your row! (He slams to the window; it was ajar.)

(Jawbones has entered, with his purchases.)

(Turning from window he sees Jawbones, goes to meet him.) Couldn’t they do anything?

Jawbones. (He has bought a new hat; has also brought back the remains. He shakes his head.) No good for anything else but a memento.

Sigsby. (With a grunt he snatches the thing and flings it into a corner. Tries on the new one.)

Jawbones. ’Ow’s it feel?

(Sigsby, with the help of Jawbones, attends to his appearance.)

Lamb. (To St. Herbert.) No use talking to her, I suppose?

St. Herbert. (Shrugs his shoulders.) She’ll do what she imagines to be her duty. Women are so uncivilised.

(A burst of cheering is heard. A shrill male voice: “Three cheers for Winston Churchill!” It is followed by an explosion of yells.)

St. Herbert. Who’s that?

Lamb. (He has opened the window.) Phoebe Mogton!

Sigsby. What a family!

(Janet has entered.)

Janet. Is that Mrs. Chilvers? (To Lamb and St. Herbert.) Good evening.

St. Herbert. Good evening.

Lamb. No; it’s her sister.

Janet. I wonder she doesn’t come.

Sigsby. What are the latest figures? Do you know?

(Phoebe enters.)

Janet. I forget the numbers. Mrs. Chilvers is forty ahead.

Phoebe. Forty ahead! (To Janet.) Did you order the band?

Lamb. (To Sigsby.) The Dock division was against him to a man; that Shipping Bill has upset them.

Janet. No. I didn’t think we should want the band.

Phoebe. Not want it! My dear girl —

Janet. Perhaps Lady Mogton has ordered it, I’ll ask her.

(She goes out.)

Sigsby. Hadn’t you better “Wait and see”? It isn’t over yet.

Phoebe. We may as well have it! It can play the Dead March in “Saul” if you win. (She laughs.)

Sigsby. (Grunts. To Lamb.) Are you coming?

(He goes out.)

Lamb. Yes. (To St. Herbert.) Are you coming?

St. Herbert. Hardly worth while; nearly over, isn’t it?

Lamb. It generally takes an hour and a half. (He looks at his watch.) Another forty minutes. Perhaps less.

(He goes out.)

Phoebe. I do love to make him ratty. Wish it wasn’t poor old Geoff we were fighting.

St. Herbert. When I marry, it will be the womanly woman.

Phoebe. No chance for me then?

St. Herbert. I don’t say that. I can see you taking your political opinions from your husband, and thinking them your own.

Phoebe. Good heavens!

St. Herbert. The brainy woman will think for herself. And then I foresee some lively breakfast tables.

Phoebe. Humph! No fear, I suppose, of a man taking his views from his wife and thinking them his own?

St. Herbert. That may be the solution. The brainy woman will have to marry the manly man.

(Ginger enters.)

Jawbones. (He is on his knees blowing the fire. In a low growl.) Shut the door!

Ginger. Can’t till I’m inside, can I? (Shuts it.) Where’s Lady Mogton?

Jawbones. I don’t know.

Phoebe. What do you want her for?

Ginger. Only to tell her that I can’t find Chilvers.

Phoebe. Isn’t she here?

Ginger. Not unless she’s come while I’ve been out.

(Janet enters.)

Janet. Oh, Lady Mogton —

Phoebe. (Interrupting her.) Isn’t Annys here?

Janet. No. (To Ginger.) Haven’t you found her?

Ginger. (Shakes her head.) Been everywhere I could think of.

Phoebe. (To herself.) She couldn’t have gone home? Is there a telephone here?

Janet. The room’s locked up.

Jawbones. There’s one at 118, High Street. Shall I go, miss?

Phoebe. No, thanks. I’ll go myself. Oh, what about the band?

Janet. Lady Mogton says she’d like it. If it isn’t too tired.

Ginger. It’s at Sell’s Coffee-’ouse in Piggott Street. I ’eard them practising.

Phoebe. Good. I shan’t be more than a few minutes.

St. Herbert. I’ll come with you, if I may? I’ve got some news that may be of use to you.

Phoebe. Do. (To Ginger.) Stop here, I may want you.

(Phoebe and St. Herbert go out.)

Janet. How was Mrs. Chilvers seeming this afternoon?

Ginger. Never ’eard ’er speak better, miss.

Janet. Did you stop to the end?

Ginger. Not quite. Mrs. Spender wanted some shopping done.

(Janet goes out.)

Ginger. Can I ’elp yer?

Jawbones. Yer might hold the piper while I blow.

(The fire begins to burn.)

Ginger. It’s getting brighter.

Jawbones. That’s caught it.

Ginger. Wonderful what a little coaxing will do.

Jawbones. (He is still squatting on his heels, folding up the paper. He looks up.) Ain’t yer ever thought of that, instead of worrying about the vote?

Ginger. (She moves away.) You don’t understand us wimmin.

Jawbones. (He has risen. He pauses in his folding of the paper.) Don’t say that.

Ginger. Why should we coax yer – for our rights?

Jawbones. Because it’s the easiest way of getting ’em.

Ginger. (She has become oratorical.) Our appeal is not to man (with upraised hand) but to Justice!

Jawbones. Oh! And what does the lidy say?

Ginger. (Descending.) ’Ow do yer mean?

Jawbones. To your appeal. Is she goin’ to give ’em to yer? You tike my tip: if yer in a ’urry, you get a bit on account – from Man. ’Ere. (He dives into his pocket, produces, wrapped up in tissue paper, a ring, which he exhibits to her.) That’s a bit more in your line.

Ginger. (Her eyes sparkle. She takes the ring in her hand. Then problems come to her.) Why do yer want me, William?

Jawbones. Because, in spite of all, I love yer.

Ginger. (She looks into the future.) What will I be? A general servant, without wages.

Jawbones. The question, as it seems to me, is, which of us two is the biggest fool? Instead of thirty bob a week in my pocket to spend as I like – guess I’ll ’ave to be content with three ’alf-crowns.

Ginger. Seven an’ six! Rather a lot, Bill, out o’ thirty bob. Don’t leave much for me an’ the children.

Jawbones. I shall ’ave to get my dinners.

Ginger. I could mike yer somethin’ tasty to tike with yer. Then with, say – three shillings —

Jawbones. ’Ere – (He is on the point of snatching back the ring. He encounters her eyes. There is a moment’s battle. The Eternal Feminine conquers.) Will yer always look as sweet as yer do now?

Ginger. Always, Bill. So long as yer good to me!

(She slips the ring over her finger, still with her eyes drawing him. He catches her to him in fierce passion, kisses her.)
(A loud shrill female cheer comes from the crowd. The cheer is renewed and renewed.)

Jawbones. (He breaks away and goes to the window.) ’Ullo! What are they shoutin’ about now? (He looks out.) It’s the Donah!

Ginger. Mrs. Chilvers?

Jawbones. Yus. Better not get wearin’ it – may shock their feelings.

Ginger. (She gazes rapturously at the ring as she draws it off.) It is a beauty! I do love yer, Bill.

(There enter Annys and Elizabeth. Annys is excited; she is laughing and talking.)

Annys. (Laughing while she rearranges her hat and hair.) A little embarrassing. That red-haired girl – she carried me right up the steps. I was afraid she would —

(Jawbones has been quick enough to swing a chair into place just in time to receive her.)

(She recovers herself.) Thank you.

Elizabeth. (She hands Annys a smelling-bottle. To Jawbones.) Open the window a few inches.

(He does so. Some woman, much interrupted, is making a speech.)
(Janet opens the door a little way and looks in.)

Janet. Oh, it is you! I am glad!

(She goes out again.)

Elizabeth. Are the others all here?

Ginger. ’Er ladyship is watching the counting. Miss Phoebe ’as just gone out —

(Phoebe enters.)

Oh, ’ere she is.

Phoebe. Hullo! (She is taking off her things.) Wherever have you been? We’ve been scouring the neighbourhood —

(Lady Mogton enters, followed by Janet.)

I say, you’re looking jolly chippy.

Elizabeth. We had an extra enthusiastic meeting. She spoke for rather a long time. I made her come home with me and lie down. I think she is all right now.

Lady Mogton. Would you like to see a doctor?

Phoebe. There is a very good man close here. (She turns to Jawbones, who is still near the window.) Gordon —

Annys. (Interrupting.) No. Please don’t. I am quite all right. I hate strange doctors.

Phoebe. Well, let me send for Whitby; he could be here in twenty minutes.

Annys. I wish you would all leave me alone. There’s absolutely nothing to fuss about whatever. We pampered women – we can’t breathe the same air that ordinary mortals have to. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves.

Phoebe. (To herself.) Obstinate pig.

(She catches Jawbones’ eye; unnoticed by the others, she takes him aside. They whisper.)

Annys. How is it going?

Lady Mogton. You must be prepared for winning. (She puts again the question that Annys has frequently been asked to answer during the last few days.) What are you going to do?

(Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers enters, as usual in a flutter of excitement.)

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Am I late?

(They brush her back into silence. Elizabeth takes charge of her.)

Annys. (She has risen.) You think it wise tactics, to make it impossible for Geoffrey to be anything else in the future but our enemy?

Lady Mogton. (Contemptuously.) You are thinking of him, and not of the cause.

Annys. And if I were! Haven’t I made sacrifice enough? – more than any of you will ever know. Ay – and would make more, if I felt it was demanded of me. I don’t! (Her burst of anger is finished. She turns, smiling.) I’m much more cunning than you think. There will be other elections we shall want to fight. With the Under-Secretary for Home Affairs in sympathy with us, the Government will find it difficult to interfere. Don’t you see how clever I am?

(Jawbones, having received his instructions from Phoebe, has slipped out unobserved. He has beckoned to Ginger; she has followed him. Phoebe has joined the group.)

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. There’s something in that.

Janet. Is Mr. Chilvers still in sympathy with us?

Phoebe. Of course he is. A bit rubbed up the wrong way just at present; that’s our fault. When Annys goes down, early next mouth, to fight the Exchange Division of Manchester, we shall have him with us.

(A moment.)

Lady Mogton. Where do you get that from?

Phoebe. From St. Herbert. The present member is his cousin. They say he can’t live more than a week.

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. It really seems like Providence.

Annys. (Has taken the opportunity of giving Phoebe a grateful squeeze of the hand.)

Lady Mogton. You will fight Manchester?

Annys. Yes. (Laughs.) And make myself a public nuisance if I win.

Lady Mogton. Well, must be content with that, I suppose. Better not come in; the room’s rather crowded. I’ll keep you informed how things are going.

(She goes out, followed by Janet.)

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. I’ll stay with you, dear.

Phoebe. I want you to come and be photographed for the Daily Mirror. The man’s waiting downstairs.

Elizabeth. I’ll stop with Annys.

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. I’m not quite sure, you know, that I take well by flashlight.

Phoebe. You wait till you’ve seen mamma! We must have you. They want you for the centre of the page.

Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Well, if it’s really —

Phoebe. (To the others.) Shall see you again. (She winks. Then to Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.) We mustn’t keep them waiting. They are giving us a whole page.

(Phoebe takes Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers out. Elizabeth has followed to the door; she closes it. Annys has reseated herself, facing the fire.)

Elizabeth. When did you see your husband last?

Annys. Not since – Tuesday, wasn’t it, that we went round to his rooms. Why?

Elizabeth. I’m thinking about Manchester. What was it he said to you?

Annys. Oh, we were, both of us, a little over-excited, I suppose. He has – (she hesitates, finally answers) – he has always been so eager for children.

Elizabeth. Yes. So many men are; not having to bear the pain and inconvenience themselves.

Annys. Oh, well, they have to provide for them when they do come. That’s fair enough division, I su – (Suddenly she turns fiercely.) Why do you talk like that? As if we women were cowards. Do you think if God sent me a child I should grudge Him the price!

Elizabeth. Do you want Him to?

Annys. I don’t know; prayed Him to, once.

Elizabeth. (She lays her hand upon her.) It isn’t a few more mothers that the world has need of. It is the women whom God has appointed – to whom He has given freedom, that they may champion the cause of the mothers, helpless by reason of their motherhood.

(A moment. Geoffrey enters.)

Geoffrey. Good evening.

Annys. (Rises; a smile struggles for possession. But he only shakes hands, and it dies away.)

Elizabeth. Good evening.

(They shake hands.)

Geoffrey. You are not interested in the counting?

Annys. The room is rather crowded. Mamma thought I would be better out here. How have you been?

Geoffrey. Oh, all right. It’s going to be a very near thing, they tell me.

Annys. Yes, I shall be glad when it’s over.

Geoffrey. It’s always a trying time. What are you going to do, if you win?

(Lady Mogton looks in.)

Lady Mogton. (Seeing Geoffrey.) Oh, good evening.

Geoffrey. Good evening.

Lady Mogton. Chilvers, 2,960 – Annys Chilvers, 2,874.

(She disappears – closes door.)

Annys. Perhaps I’m not going to win. (She goes to him, smiling.) I hope you’ll win. I would so much rather you won.

Geoffrey. Very kind of you. I’m afraid that won’t make it a certainty.

Annys. (His answer has hardened her again.) How can I? It would not be fair. Without your consent I should never have entered upon it. It was understood that the seat, in any case, would be yours.

Geoffrey. I would rather you considered yourself quite free. In warfare it doesn’t pay to be “fair” to one’s enemy.

Annys. (Still hardening.) Besides, there is no need. There will be other opportunities. I can contest some other constituency. If I win, claim the seat for that.