Trebell. If one time's as good as another for you ... this moment is better than most for me.
Horsham. [A little irritated at the wantonness of this dispute.] There is nothing before us on which we are capable of coming to any decision ... in a technical sense.
Blackborough. That's a quibble. [Poor Horsham gasps.] I'm not going to pretend either now or in a month's time that I think Trebell anything but a most dangerous acquisition to the party. I pay you a compliment in that, Trebell. Now, Horsham proposes that we should go to the country when Disestablishment's through.
Horsham. It's the condition of Nonconformist support.
Blackborough. One condition. Then you'd leave us, Trebell?
Horsham. I hope not.
Blackborough. And carry with you the credit of our one big measure. Consider the effect upon our reputation with the Country.
Farrant. [Waking to Blackborough's line of action.] Why on earth should you leave us, Trebell? You've hardly been a Liberal, even in name.
Blackborough. [Vigorously making his point.] Then what would be the conditions of your remaining? You're not a party man, Trebell. You haven't the true party feeling. You are to be bought. Of course you take your price in measures, not in money. But you are preeminently a man of ideas ... an expert. And a man of ideas is often a grave embarrassment to a government.
Horsham. And vice-versa ... vice-versa!
Trebell. [Facing Blackborough across the room.] Do I understand that you for the good of the Tory party ... just as Cantelupe for the good of his soul ... will refuse to sit in a cabinet with me.
Blackborough. [Unembarrassed.] I don't commit myself to saying that.
Cantelupe. No, Trebell ... it's that I must believe your work could not prosper ... in God's way.
Trebell softens to his sincerity.
Trebell. Cantelupe, I quite understand. You may be right ... it's a very interesting question. Blackborough, I take it that you object first of all to the scheme that I'm bringing you.
Blackborough. I object to those parts of it which I don't think you'll get through the House.
Farrant. [Feeling that he must take part.] For instance?
Blackborough. I've given you one already.
Cantelupe. [His eye on Blackborough.] Understand there are things in that scheme we must stand or fall by.
Suddenly Trebell makes for the door, Horsham gets up concernedly.
Trebell. Horsham, make up your mind to-night whether you can do with me or not. I have to see Percival again to-morrow ... we cut short our argument at the important point. Good-bye ... don't come down. Will you decide to-night?
Horsham. I have made up my own mind.
Trebell. Is that sufficient?
Horsham. A collective decision is a matter of development.
Trebell. Well, I shall expect to hear.
Horsham. By hurrying one only reaches a rash conclusion.
Trebell. Then be rash for once and take the consequences. Good-night.
He is gone before Horsham can compose another epigram.
Blackborough. [Deprecating such conduct.] Lost his temper!
Farrant. [Ruffling considerably.] Horsham, if Trebell is to be hounded out of your cabinet ... he won't go alone.
Horsham. [Bitter-sweet.] My dear Farrant ... I have yet to form my cabinet.
Cantelupe. You are forming it to carry disestablishment, are you not, Cyril? Therefore you will form it in the best interests of the best scheme possible.
Horsham. Trebell was and is the best man I know of for the purpose. I'm a little weary of saying that.
He folds his arms and awaits further developments. After a moment Cantelupe gets up as if to address a meeting.
Cantelupe. Then if you would prefer not to include me ... I shall feel justified in giving independent support to a scheme I have great faith in. [And he sits down again.]
Blackborough. [Impatiently.] My dear Cantelupe, if you think Horsham can form a disestablishment cabinet to include Trebell and exclude you, you're vastly mistaken. I for one....
Farrant. But do both of you consider how valuable, how vital Trebell is to us just at this moment? The Radicals trust him....
Blackborough. They hate him.
Horsham. [Elucidating.] Their front bench hates him because he turned them out. The rest of them hate their front bench. After six years of office, who wouldn't?
Blackborough. That's true.
Farrant. Oh, of course, we must stick to Trebell, Blackborough.
Blackborough is silent; so Horsham turns his attention to his cousin.
Horsham. Well, Charles, I won't ask you for a decision now. I know how hard it is to accept the dictates of other men's consciences ... but a necessary condition of all political work; believe me.
Cantelupe. [Uneasily.] You can form your cabinet without me, Cyril.
At this Blackborough charges down on them, so to speak.
Blackborough. No, I tell you, I'm damned if he can. Leaving the whole high church party to blackmail all they can out of us and vote how they like! Here ... I've got my Yorkshire people to think of. I can bargain for them with you in a cabinet ... not if you've the pull of being out of it.
Horsham. [With charming insinuation.] And have you calculated, Blackborough, what may become of us if Trebell has the pull of being out of it?
Blackborough makes a face.
Blackborough. Yes ... I suppose he might turn nasty.
Farrant. I should hope he would.
Blackborough.[Tackling Farrant with great ease.] I should hope he would consider the matter not from the personal, but from the political point of view ... as I am trying to do.
Horsham. [Tasting his epigram with enjoyment.] Introspection is the only bar to such an honourable endeavour, [Blackborough gapes.] You don't suffer from that as—for instance—Charles here, does.
Blackborough. [Pugnaciously.] D'you mean I'm just pretending not to attack him personally?
Horsham. [Safe on his own ground.] It's only a curious metaphysical point. Have you never noticed your distaste for the colour of a man's hair translate itself ultimately into an objection to his religious opinions ... or what not? I am sure—for instance—I could trace Charles's scruples about sitting in a cabinet with Trebell back to a sort of academic reverence for women generally which he possesses. I am sure I could ... if he were not probably now doing it himself. But this does not make the scruples less real, less religious, or less political. We must be humanly biased in expression ... or not express ourselves.
Blackborough. [Whose thoughts have wandered.] The man's less of a danger than he was ... I mean he'll be alone. The Liberals won't have him back. He smashed his following there to come over to us.
Farrant. [Giving a further meaning to this.] Yes, Blackborough, he did.
Blackborough. To gain his own ends! Oh, my dear Horsham, can't you see that if O'Connell had blabbed to-morrow it really would have been a blessing in disguise? I don't pretend to Cantelupe's standard ... but there must be something radically wrong with a man who could get himself into such a mess as that ... now mustn't there? Ah! ... you have a fatal partiality for clever people. I tell you ... though this might be patched up ... Trebell would fail us in some other way before we were six months older.
This speech has its effect; but Horsham looks at him a little sternly.
Horsham. And am I to conclude that you don't want Charles to change his mind?
Blackborough. [On another tack.] Farrant has not yet allowed us to hear Percival's opinion.
Farrant looks rather alarmed.
Farrant. It has very little reference to the scandal.
Blackborough. As that is at an end ... all the more reason we should hear it.
Horsham. [Ranging himself with Farrant.] I called this quite informal meeting, Blackborough, only to dispose of the scandal, if possible.
Blackborough. Well, of course, if Farrant chooses to insult Percival so gratuitously by burking his message to us....
There is an unspoken threat in this, Horsham sees it and without disguising his irritation....
Horsham. Let us have it, Farrant.
Farrant. [With a sort of puzzled discontent.] Well ... I never got to telling him of the O'Connell affair at all. He started talking to me ... saying that he couldn't for a moment agree to Trebell's proposals for the finance of his bill ... I couldn't get a word in edgeways. Then his wife came up....
Horsham takes something in this so seriously that he actually interrupts.
Horsham. Does he definitely disagree? What is his point?
Farrant. He says Disestablishment's a bad enough speculation for the party as it is.
Blackborough. It is inevitable.
Farrant. He sees that. But then he says ... to go to the country again having bolstered up Education and quarrelled with everybody will be bad enough ... to go having spent fifty millions on it will dish us all for our lifetimes.
Horsham. What does he propose?
Farrant. He'll offer to draft another bill and take it through himself. He says ... do as many good turns as we can with the money ... don't put it all on one horse.
Blackborough. He's your man, Horsham. That's one difficulty settled.
Horsham's thoughts are evidently beyond Blackborough, beyond the absent Percival even.
Horsham. Oh ... any of us could carry that sort of a bill.
Cantelupe has heard this last passage with nothing less than horror and pale anger, which he contains no longer.
Cantelupe. I won't have this. I won't have this opportunity frittered away for party purposes.
Blackborough. [Expostulating reasonably.] My dear Cantelupe ... you'll get whatever you think it right for the Church to have. You carry a solid thirty eight votes with you.
Horsham's smooth voice intervenes. He speaks with finesse.
Horsham. Percival, as an old campaigner, expresses himself very roughly. The point is, that we are after all only the trustees of the party. If we know that a certain step will decimate it ... clearly we have no right to take the step.
Cantelupe. [Glowing to white heat.] Is this a time to count the consequences to ourselves?
Horsham. [Unkindly.] By your action this evening, Charles, you evidently think not. [He salves the wound.] No matter, I agree with you ... the bill should be a comprehensive one, whoever brings it in.
Blackborough. [Not without enjoyment of the situation.] Whoever brings it in will have to knuckle under to Percival over its finance.
Farrant. Trebell won't do that. I warned Percival.
Horsham. Then what did he say?
Farrant. He only swore.
Horsham suddenly becomes peevish.
Horsham. I think, Farrant, you should have given me this message before.
Farrant. My dear Horsham, what had it to do with our request to O'Connell?
Horsham. [Scolding the company generally.] Well then, I wish he hadn't sent it. I wish we were not discussing these points at all. The proper time for them is at a cabinet meeting. And when we have actually assumed the responsibilities of government ... then threats of resignation are not things to be played about with.
Farrant. Did you expect Percival's objection to the finance of the scheme?
Horsham. Perhaps ... perhaps. I knew Trebell was to see him last Tuesday. I expect everybody's objections to any parts of every scheme to come at a time when I am in a proper position to reconcile them ... not now.
Having vented his grievances he sits down to recover. Blackborough takes advantage of the ensuing pause.
Blackborough. It isn't so easy for me to speak against Trebell, since he evidently dislikes me personally as much as I dislike him ... but I'm sure I'm doing my duty. Horsham ... here you have Cantelupe who won't stand in with the man, and Percival who won't stand in with his measure, while I would sooner stand in with neither. Isn't it better to face the situation now than take trouble to form the most makeshift of Cabinets, and if that doesn't go to pieces, be voted down in the House by your own party?
There is an oppressive silence, Horsham is sulky. The matter is beyond Farrant. Cantelupe whose agonies have expressed themselves in slight writhings, at last, with an effort, writhes himself to his feet.
Cantelupe. I think I am prepared to reconsider my decision.
Farrant. That's all right then!
He looks round wonderingly for the rest of the chorus to find that neither Blackborough nor Horsham have stirred.
Blackborough. [Stealthily.] Is it, Horsham?
Horsham. [Sotto voce.] Why did you ever make it?
Blackborough leaves him for Cantelupe.
Blackborough. You're afraid for the integrity of the bill.
Cantelupe. It must be comprehensive ... that's vital. Blackborough. [Very forcefully.] I give you my word to support its integrity, if you'll keep with me in persuading Horsham that the inclusion of Trebell in his cabinet will be a blow to the whole Conservative Cause. Horsham, I implore you not to pursue this short-sighted policy. All parties have made up their minds to Disestablishment ... surely nothing should be easier than to frame a bill which will please all parties.
Farrant. [At last perceiving the drift of all this.] But good Lord, Blackborough ... now Cantelupe has come round and will stand in ...
Blackborough. That's no longer the point. And what's all this nonsense about going to the country again next year?
Horsham. [Mildly.] After consulting me Percival said at Bristol....
Blackborough. [Quite unchecked.] I know. But if we pursue a thoroughly safe policy and the bye-elections go right ... there need be no vote of censure carried for three or four years. The Radicals want a rest with the country and they know it. And one has no right, what's more, to go wantonly plunging the country into the expenses of these constant general elections. It ruins trade.
Farrant. [Forlornly sticking to his point.] What has all this to do with Trebell?
Horsham. [Thoughtfully.] Farrant, beyond what you've told us, Percival didn't recommend me to throw him over.
Farrant. No, he didn't ... that is, he didn't exactly.
Horsham. Well ... he didn't?
Farrant. I'm trying to be accurate! [Obviously their nerves are now on edge.] He said we should find him tough to assimilate—as he warned you.
Horsham with knit brows, loses himself in thought again, Blackborough quietly turns his attention to Farrant.
Blackborough. Farrant, you don't seriously think that ... outside his undoubted capabilities ... Trebell is an acquisition to the party?
Farrant. [Unwillingly.] Perhaps not. But if you're going to chuck a man ... don't chuck him when he's down.
Blackborough. He's no longer down. We've got him O'Connell's promise and jolly grateful he ought to be. I think the least we can do is to keep our minds clear between Trebell's advantage and the party's.
Cantelupe. [From the distant music-stool.] And the party's and the Country's.
Blackborough. [Countering quite deftly.] Cantelupe, either we think it best for the country to have our party in power or we don't.
Farrant. [In judicious temper.] Certainly, I don't feel our responsibility towards him is what it was ten minutes ago. The man has other careers besides his political one.
Blackborough. [Ready to praise.] Clever as paint at the Bar—best Company lawyer we've got.
Cantelupe. It is not what he loses, I think ... but what we lose in losing him.
He says this so earnestly that Horsham pays attention.
Horsham. No, my dear Charles, let us be practical. If his position with us is to be made impossible it is better that he shouldn't assume it.
Blackborough. [Soft and friendly.] How far are you actually pledged to him?
Horsham looks up with the most ingenuous of smiles.
Horsham. That's always such a difficult sort of point to determine, isn't it? He thinks he is to join us. But I've not yet been commanded to form a cabinet. If neither you—nor Percival—nor perhaps others will work with him ... what am I to do? [He appeals to them generally to justify this attitude.]
Blackborough. He no longer thinks he's to join us ... it's the question he left us to decide.
He leaves Horsham, whose perplexity is diminishing. Farrant makes an effort.
Farrant. But the scandal won't weaken his position with us now. There won't be any scandal ... there won't, Blackborough.
Horsham. There may be. Though, I take it we're all guiltless of having mentioned the matter.
Blackborough. [Very detached.] I've only known of it since I came into this house ... but I shall not mention it.
Farrant. Oh, I'm afraid my wife knows. [He adds hastily.] My fault ... my fault entirely.
Blackborough. I tell you Rumour's electric.
Horsham has turned to Farrant with a sweet smile and with the air of a man about to be relieved of all responsibility.
Horsham. What does she say?
Farrant. [As one speaks of a nice woman.] She was horrified.
Horsham. Of course. [Once more he finds refuge and comfort on the hearthrug, to say, after a moment, with fine resignation.] I suppose I must let him go.
Cantelupe. [On his feet again.] Cyril!
Horsham. Yes, Charles?
With this query he turns an accusing eye on Cantelupe, who is silenced.
Blackborough. Have you made up your mind to that?
Farrant. [In great distress.] You're wrong, Horsham. [Then in greater.] That is ... I think you're wrong.
Horsham. I'd sooner not let him know to-night.
Blackborough. But he asked you to.
Horsham. [All show of resistance gone.] Did he? Then I suppose I must. [He sighs deeply.]
Blackborough. Then I'll get back to Aylesbury.
He picks up his motor-cap from the table and settles it on his head with immense aplomb.
Horsham. So late?
Blackborough. Really one can get along quicker at night if one knows the road. You're in town, aren't you, Farrant? Shall I drop you at Grosvenor Square?
Farrant. [Ungraciously.] Thank you.
Blackborough. [With a conqueror's geniality.] I don't mind telling you now, Horsham, that ever since we met at Shapters I've been wondering how you'd escape from this association with Trebell. Thought he was being very clever when he crossed the House to us! It's needed a special providence. You'd never have got a cabinet together to include him.
Horsham. [With much intention.] No.
Farrant. [Miserably.] Yes, I suppose that intrigue was a mistake from the beginning.
Blackborough. Well, good-night. [As he turns to go he finds Cantelupe upright, staring very sternly at him.] Good-night, Cantelupe.
Cantelupe. From what motives have we thrown Trebell over?
Blackborough. Never mind the motives if the move is the right one. [Then he nods at Horsham.] I shall be up again next week if you want me.
And he flourishes out of the room; a man who has done a good hour's work, Farrant, who has been mooning depressedly around, now backs towards the door.
Farrant. In one way, of course, Trebell won't care a damn. I mean, he knows as well as we do that office isn't worth having ... he has never been a place-hunter. On the other hand ... what with one thing and the other ... Blackborough is a sensible fellow. I suppose it can't be helped.
Horsham. Blackborough will tell you so. Good-night.
So Farrant departs, leaving the two cousins together. Cantelupe has not moved and now faces Horsham just as accusingly.
Cantelupe. Cyril, this is tragic.
Horsham. [More to himself than in answer.] Yes ... most annoying.
Cantelupe. Lucifer, son of the morning! Why is it always the highest who fall?
Horsham shies fastidiously at this touch of poetry.
Horsham. No, my dear Charles, let us above all things keep our mental balance. Trebell is a most capable fellow. I'd set my heart on having him with me ... he'll be most awkward to deal with in opposition. But we shall survive his loss and so would the country.
Cantelupe. [Desperately.] Cyril, promise me there shall be no compromise over this measure.
Horsham. [Charmingly candid.] No ... no unnecessary compromise, I promise you.
Cantelupe. [With a sigh.] If we had done what we have done to-night in the right spirit! Blackborough was almost vindictive.
Horsham. [Smiling without amusement.] Didn't you keep thinking ... I did ... of that affair of his with Mrs. Parkington ... years ago?
Cantelupe. There was never any proof of it.
Horsham. No ... he bought off the husband.
Cantelupe. [Uneasily.] His objections to Trebell were—political.
Horsham. Yours weren't.
Cantelupe. [More uneasily still.] I withdrew mine.
Horsham. [With elderly reproof.] I don't think, Charles, you have the least conception of what a nicely balanced machine a cabinet is.
Cantelupe. [Imploring comfort.] But should we have held together through Trebell's bill?
Horsham. [A little impatient.] Perhaps not. But once I had them all round a table ... Trebell is very keen on office for all his independent airs ... he and Percival could have argued the thing out. However, it's too late now.
Cantelupe. Is it?
For a moment Horsham is tempted to indulge in the luxury of changing his mind; but he puts Satan behind him with a shake of the head.
Horsham. Well, you see ... Percival I can't do without. Now that Blackborough knows of his objections to the finance he'd go to him and take Chisholm and offer to back them up. I know he would ... he didn't take Farrant away with him for nothing. [Then he flashes out rather shrilly.] It's Trebell's own fault. He ought not to have committed himself definitely to any scheme until he was safely in office. I warned him about Percival ... I warned him not to be explicit. One cannot work with men who will make up their minds prematurely. No, I shall not change my mind. I shall write to him.
He goes firmly to his writing desk leaving Cantelupe forlorn.
Cantelupe. What about a messenger?
Horsham. Not at this time of night. I'll post it.
Cantelupe. I'll post it as I go.
He seeks comfort again in the piano and this time starts to play, with one finger and some hesitation, the first bars of a Bach fugue, Horsham's pen-nib is disappointing him and the letter is not easy to phrase.
Horsham. But I hate coming to immediate decisions. The administrative part of my brain always tires after half an hour. Does yours, Charles?
Cantelupe. What do you think Trebell will do now?
Horsham. [A little grimly.] Punish us all he can.
On reaching the second voice in the fugue Cantelupe's virtuosity breaks down.
Cantelupe. All that ability turned to destructiveness ... what a pity! That's the paradox of human activities....
Suddenly Horsham looks up and his face is lighted with a seraphic smile.
Horsham. Charles ... I wish we could do without Blackborough.
Cantelupe. [Struck with the idea.] Well ... why not?
Horsham. Yes ... I must think about it. [They both get up, cheered considerably.] You won't forget this, will you?
Cantelupe. [The letter in Horsham's hand accusing him.] No ... no. I don't think I have been the cause of your dropping Trebell, have I?
Horsham, rid of the letter, is rid of responsibility and his charming equable self again. He comforts his cousin paternally.
Horsham. I don't think so. The split would have come when Blackborough checkmated my forming a cabinet. It would have pleased him to do that ... and he could have, over Trebell. But now that question's out of the way ... you won't get such a bad measure with Trebell in opposition. He'll frighten us into keeping it up to the mark, so to speak.
Cantelupe. [A little comforted.] But I shall miss one or two of those ideas ...
Horsham. [So pleasantly sceptical.] Do you think they'd have outlasted the second reading? Dullness in the country one expects. Dullness in the House one can cope with. But do you know, I have never sat in a cabinet yet that didn't greet anything like a new idea in chilling silence.
Cantelupe. Well, I should regret to have caused you trouble, Cyril.
Horsham. [His hand on the other's shoulder.] Oh ... we don't take politics so much to heart as that, I hope.
Cantelupe. [With sweet gravity.] I take politics very much to heart. Yes, I know what you mean ... but that's the sort of remark that makes people call you cynical. [Horsham smiles as if at a compliment and starts with Cantelupe towards the door. Cantelupe, who would not hurt his feelings, changes the subject.] By the bye, I'm glad we met this evening! Do you hear Aunt Mary wants to sell the Burford Holbein? Can she?
Horsham. [Taking as keen, but no keener, an interest in this than in the difficulty he has just surmounted.] Yes, by the will she can, but she mustn't. Dear me, I thought I'd put a stop to that foolishness. Well now, we must take that matter up very seriously ...
They go out talking arm in arm.
THE FOURTH ACT
At Trebell's again; later, the same evening.
His room is in darkness but for the flicker the fire makes and the streaks of moonlight between the curtains. The door is open, though, and you see the light of the lamp on the stairs. You hear his footstep too. On his way he stops to draw back the the curtains of the passage-way window; the moonlight makes his face look very pale. Then he serves the curtains of his own window the same; flings it open, moreover, and stands looking out. Something below draws his attention. After leaning over the balcony with a short "Hullo" he goes quickly downstairs again. In a minute Wedgecroft comes up. Trebell follows, pausing by the door a moment to light up the room. Wedgecroft is radiant.
Trebell. [With a twist of his mouth.] Promised, has he?
Wedgecroft. Suddenly broke out as we walked along, that he liked the look of you and that men must stand by one another nowadays against these women. Then he said good-night and walked away.
Trebell. Back to Ireland and the thirteenth century.
Wedgecroft. After to-morrow.
Trebell. [Taking all the meaning of to-morrow.] Yes. Are you in for perjury, too?
Wedgecroft. [His thankfulness checked a little.] No ... not exactly.
Trebell walks away from him.
Trebell. It's a pity the truth isn't to be told, I think. I suppose the verdict will be murder.
Wedgecroft. They won't catch the man.
Trebell. You don't mean ... me.
Wedgecroft. No, no ... my dear fellow.
Trebell. You might, you know. But nobody seems to see this thing as I see it. If I were on that jury I'd say murder too and accuse ... so many circumstances, Gilbert, that we should go home ... and look in the cupboards. What a lumber of opinions we inherit and keep!
Wedgecroft. [Humouring him.] Ought we to burn the house down?
Trebell. Rules and regulations for the preservation of rubbish are the laws of England ... and I was adding to their number.
Wedgecroft. And so you shall ... to the applause of a grateful country.
Trebell. [Studying his friend's kindly encouraging face.] Gilbert, it is not so much that you're an incorrigible optimist ... but why do you subdue your mind to flatter people into cheerfulness?
Wedgecroft. I'm a doctor, my friend.
Trebell. You're a part of our tendency to keep things alive by hook or by crook ... not a spark but must be carefully blown upon. The world's old and tired; it dreads extinction. I think I disapprove ... I think I've more faith.
Wedgecroft. [Scolding him.] Nonsense ... you've the instinct to preserve your life as everyone else has ... and I'm here to show you how.
Trebell. [Beyond the reach of his kindness.] I assure you that these two days while you've been fussing around O'Connell—bless your kind heart—I've been waiting events, indifferent enough to understand his indifference.
Wedgecroft. Not indifferent.
Trebell. Lifeless enough already, then. [Suddenly a thought strikes him.] D'you think it was Horsham and his little committee persuaded O'Connell?
Wedgecroft. On the contrary.
Trebell. So you need not have let them into the secret?
Wedgecroft. No.
Trebell. Think of that.
He almost laughs; but Wedgecroft goes on quite innocently.
Wedgecroft. Yes ... I'm sorry.
Trebell. Upsetting their moral digestion for nothing.
Wedgecroft. But when O'Connell wouldn't listen to us we had to rope in the important people.
Trebell. With their united wisdom. [Then he breaks away again into great bitterness.] No ... what do they make of this woman's death? I saw them in that room, Gilbert, like men seen through the wrong end of a telescope. D'you think if the little affair with Nature ... her offence and mine against the conveniences of civilization ... had ended in my death too ... then they'd have stopped to wonder at the misuse and waste of the only force there is in the world ... come to think of it, there is no other ... than this desire for expression ... in words ... or through children. Would they have thought of that and stopped whispering about the scandal?
Through this Wedgecroft has watched him very gravely.
Wedgecroft. Trebell ... if the inquest to-morrow had put you out of action ...
Trebell. Should I have grown a beard and travelled abroad and after ten years timidly tried to climb my way back into politics? When public opinion takes its heel from your face it keeps it for your finger-tips. After twenty years to be forgiven by your more broad-minded friends and tolerated as a dotard by a new generation....
Wedgecroft. Nonsense. What age are you now ... forty-six ... forty-seven?
Trebell. Well ... let's instance a good man. Gladstone had done his best work by sixty-five. Then he began to be popular. Think of his last years of oratory.
He has gone to his table and now very methodically starts to tidy his papers, Wedgecroft still watching him.
Wedgecroft. You'd have had to thank Heaven for a little that there were more lives than one to lead.
Trebell. That's another of your faults, Gilbert ... it's a comfort just now to enumerate them. You're an anarchist ... a kingdom to yourself. You make little treaties with Truth and with Beauty, and what can disturb you? I'm a part of the machine I believe in. If my life as I've made it is to be cut short ... the rest of me shall walk out of the world and slam the door ... with the noise of a pistol shot.
Wedgecroft. [Concealing some uneasiness.] Then I'm glad it's not to be cut short. You and your cabinet rank and your disestablishment bill!
Trebell starts to enjoy his secret.
Trebell. Yes ... our minds have been much relieved within the last half hour, haven't they?
Wedgecroft. I scribbled Horsham a note in a messenger office and sent it as soon as O'Connell had left me.
Trebell. He'd be glad to get that.
Wedgecroft. He has been most kind about the whole thing.
Trebell. Oh, he means well.
Wedgecroft. [Following up his fancied advantage.] But, my friend ... suicide whilst of unsound mind would never have done.... The hackneyed verdict hits the truth, you know.
Trebell. You think so?
Wedgecroft. I don't say there aren't excuses enough in this miserable world, but fundamentally ... no sane person will destroy life.
Trebell. [His thoughts shifting their plane.] Was she so very mad? I'm not thinking of her own death.
Wedgecroft. Don't brood, Trebell. Your mind isn't healthy yet about her and—
Trebell. And my child.
Even Wedgecroft's kindness is at fault before the solemnity of this.
Wedgecroft. Is that how you're thinking of it?
Trebell. How else? It's very inexplicable ... this sense of fatherhood. [The eyes of his mind travel down—what vista of possibilities. Then he shakes himself free.] Let's drop the subject. To finish the list of shortcomings, you're a bit of an artist too ... therefore I don't think you'll understand.
Wedgecroft. [Successfully decoyed into argument.] Surely an artist is a man who understands.
Trebell. Everything about life, but not life itself. That's where art fails a man.
Wedgecroft. That's where everything but living fails a man. [Drifting into introspection himself.] Yes, it's true. I can talk cleverly and I've written a book ... but I'm barren. [Then the healthy mind re-asserts itself.] No, it's not true. Our thoughts are children ... and marry and intermarry. And we're peopling the world ... not badly.
Trebell. Well ... either life is too little a thing to matter or it's so big that such specks of it as we may be are of no account. These are two points of view. And then one has to consider if death can't be sometimes the last use made of life.
There is a tone of menace in this which recalls Wedgecroft to the present trouble.
Wedgecroft. I doubt the virtue of sacrifice ... or the use of it.
Trebell. How else could I tell Horsham that my work matters? Does he think so now?... not he.
Wedgecroft. You mean if they'd had to throw you over?
Once again Trebell looks up with that secretive smile.
Trebell. Yes ... if they'd had to.
Wedgecroft. [Unreasonably nervous, so he thinks.] My dear fellow, Horsham would have thought it was the shame and disgrace if you'd shot yourself after the inquest. That's the proper sentimental thing for you so-called strong men to do on like occasions. Why, if your name were to come out to-morrow, your best meaning friends would be sending you pistols by post, requesting you to use them like a gentleman. Horsham would grieve over ten dinner-tables in succession and then return to his philosophy. One really mustn't waste a life trying to shock polite politicians. There'd even be a suspicion of swagger in it.
Trebell. Quite so ... the bomb that's thrown at their feet must be something otherwise worthless.
Frances comes in quickly, evidently in search of her brother. Though she has not been crying, her eyes are wide with grief.
Frances. Oh, Henry ... I'm so glad you're still up. [She notices Wedgecroft.] How d'you do, Doctor?
Trebell. [Doubling his mask of indifference.] Meistersinger's over early.
Frances. Is it?
Trebell. Not much past twelve yet.
Frances. [The little gibe lost on her.] It was Tristan to-night. I'm quite upset. I heard just as I was coming away ... Amy O'Connell's dead. [Both men hold their breath. Trebell is the first to find control of his and give the cue.]
Trebell. Yes ... Wedgecroft has just told me.
Frances. She was only taken ill last week ... it's so extraordinary. [She remembers the doctor.] Oh ... have you been attending her?
Wedgecroft. Yes.
Frances. I hear there's to be an inquest.
Wedgecroft. Yes.
Frances. But what has been the matter?
Trebell. [Sharply forestalling any answer.] You'll know to-morrow.
Frances. [The little snub almost bewildering her.] Anything private? I mean....
Trebell. No ... I'll tell you. Don't make Gilbert repeat a story twice.... He's tired with a good day's work.
Wedgecroft. Yes ... I'll be getting away.
Frances never heeds this flash of a further meaning between the two men.
Frances. And I meant to have gone to see her to-day. Was the end very sudden? Did her husband arrive in time?
Wedgecroft. Yes.
Frances. They didn't get on ... he'll be frightfully upset.
Trebell resists a hideous temptation to laugh.
Wedgecroft. Good night, Trebell.
Trebell. Good night, Gilbert. Many thanks.
There is enough of a caress in Trebell's tone to turn Frances towards their friend, a little remorseful for treating him so casually, now as always.
Frances. He's always thanking you. You're always doing things for him.
Wedgecroft. Good night. [Seeing the tears in her eyes.] Oh, don't grieve.
Frances. One shouldn't be sorry when people die, I know. But she liked me more than I liked her ... [This time Trebell does laugh, silently.] ... so I somehow feel in her debt and unable to pay now.
Trebell. [An edge on his voice.] Yes ... people keep on dying at all sorts of ages, in all sorts of ways. But we seem never to get used to it ... narrow-minded as we are.
Wedgecroft. Don't you talk nonsense.
Trebell. [One note sharper yet.] One should occasionally test one's sanity by doing so. If we lived in the logical world we like to believe in, I could also prove that black was white. As it is ... there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it.
Wedgecroft. Had I better give you a sleeping draught?
Frances. Are you doctoring him for once? Henry, have you at last managed to overwork yourself?
Trebell. No ... I started the evening by a charming little dinner at the Van Meyer's ... sat next to Miss Grace Cutler, who is writing a vie intime of Louis Quinze and engaged me with anecdotes of the same.
Frances. A champion of her sex, whom I do not like.
Wedgecroft. She's writing such a book to prove that women are equal to anything.
He goes towards the door and Frances goes with him. Trebell never turns his head.
Trebell. I shall not come and open the door for you ... but mind you shut it.
Frances comes back.
Frances. Henry ... this is dreadful about that poor little woman.
Trebell. An unwelcome baby was arriving. She got some quack to kill her.
These exact words are like a blow in the face to her, from which, being a woman of brave common sense, she does not shrink.
Trebell. What do you say to that?
She walks away from him, thinking painfully.
Frances. She had never had a child. There's the common-place thing to say.... Ungrateful little fool! But....
Trebell. If you had been in her place?
Frances. [Subtly.] I have never made the mistake of marrying. She grew frightened, I suppose. Not just physically frightened. How can a man understand?
Trebell. The fear of life ... do you think it was ... which is the beginning of all evil?
Frances. A woman must choose what her interpretation of life is to be ... as a man must too in his way ... as you and I have chosen, Henry.
Trebell. [Asking from real interest in her.] Was yours a deliberate choice and do you never regret it?
Frances. [Very simply and clearly.] Perhaps one does nothing quite deliberately and for a definite reason. My state has its compensations ... if one doesn't value them too highly. I've travelled in thought over all this question. You mustn't blame a woman for wishing not to bear children. But ... well, if one doesn't like the fruit one mustn't cultivate the flower. And I suppose that saying condemns poor Amy ... condemned her to death ... [Then her face hardens as she concentrates her meaning.] and brands most men as ... let's unsentimentally call it illogical, doesn't it?
He takes the thrust in silence.
Trebell. Did you notice the light in my window as you came in?
Frances. Yes ... in both as I got out of the cab. Do you want the curtains drawn back?
Trebell. Yes ... don't touch them.
He has thrown himself into his chair by the fire. She lapses into thought again.
Frances. Poor little woman.
Trebell. [In deep anger.] Well, if women will be little and poor....
She goes to him and slips an arm over his shoulder.
Frances. What is it you're worried about ... if a mere sister may ask?
Trebell. [Into the fire.] I want to think. I haven't thought for years.
Frances. Why, you have done nothing else.
Trebell. I've been working out problems in legal and political algebra.
Frances. You want to think of yourself.
Trebell. Yes.
Frances. [Gentle and ironic.] Have you ever, for one moment, thought in that sense of anyone else?
Trebell. Is that a complaint?
Frances. The first in ten years' housekeeping.
Trebell. No, I never have ... but I've never thought selfishly either.
Frances. That's a paradox I don't quite understand.
Trebell. Until women do they'll remain where they are ... and what they are.
Frances. Oh, I know you hate us.
Trebell. Yes, dear sister, I'm afraid I do. And I hate your influence on men ... compromise, tenderness, pity, lack of purpose. Women don't know the values of things, not even their own value.
For a moment she studies him, wonderingly.
Frances. I'll take up the counter-accusation to-morrow. Now I'm tired and I'm going to bed. If I may insult you by mothering you, so should you. You look tired and I've seldom seen you.
Trebell. I'm waiting up for a message.
Frances. So late?
Trebell. It's a matter of life and death.
Frances. Are you joking?
Trebell. Yes. If you want to spoil me find me a book to read.
Frances. What will you have?
Trebell. Huckleberry Finn. It's on a top shelf towards the end somewhere ... or should be.
She finds the book. On her way back with it she stops and shivers.
Frances. I don't think I shall sleep to-night. Poor Amy O'Connell!
Trebell. [Curiously.] Are you afraid of death?
Frances. [With humorous stoicism.] It will be the end of me, perhaps.
She gives him the book, with its red cover; the '86 edition, a boy's friend evidently. He fingers it familiarly.
Trebell. Thank you. Mark Twain's a jolly fellow. He has courage ... comic courage. That's what's wanted. Nothing stands against it. You be-little yourself by laughing ... then all this world and the last and the next grow little too ... and so you grow great again. Switch off some light, will you?
Frances. [Clicking off all but his reading lamp.] So?
Trebell. Thanks. Good night, Frankie.
She turns at the door, with a glad smile.
Frances. Good night. When did you last use that nursery name?
Then she goes, leaving him still fingering the book, but looking into the fire and far beyond. Behind him through the open window one sees how cold and clear the night is.
At eight in the morning he is still here. His lamp is out, the fire is out and the book laid aside. The white morning light penetrates every crevice of the room and shows every line on Trebell's face. The spirit of the man is strained past all reason. The door opens suddenly and Frances comes in, troubled, nervous. Interrupted in her dressing, she has put on some wrap or other.
Frances. Henry ... Simpson says you've not been to bed all night.
He turns his head and says with inappropriate politeness—
Trebell. No. Good morning.
Frances. Oh, my dear ... what is wrong?
Trebell. The message hasn't come ... and I've been thinking.
Frances. Why don't you tell me? [He turns his head away.] I think you haven't the right to torture me.
Trebell. Your sympathy would only blind me towards the facts I want to face.
Simpson, the maid, undisturbed in her routine, brings in the morning's letters. Frances rounds on her irritably.
Frances. What is it, Simpson?
Maid. The letters, Ma'am.
Trebell is on his feet at that.
Trebell. Ah ... I want them.
Frances. [Taking the letters composedly enough.] Thank you.
Simpson departs and Trebell comes to her for his letters. She looks at him with baffled affection.
Frances. Can I do nothing? Oh, Henry!
Trebell. Help me to open my letters.
Frances. Don't you leave them to Mr. Kent?
Trebell. Not this morning.
Frances. But there are so many.
Trebell. [For the first time lifting his voice from its dull monotony.] What a busy man I was.
Frances. Henry ... you're a little mad.
Trebell. Do you find me so? That's interesting.
Frances. [With the ghost of a smile.] Well ... maddening.
By this time he is sitting at his table; she near him watching closely. They halve the considerable post and start to open it.
Trebell. We arrange them in three piles ... personal ... political ... and preposterous.
Frances. This is an invitation ... the Anglican League.
Trebell. I can't go.
She looks sideways at him, as he goes on mechanically tearing the envelopes.
Frances. I heard you come upstairs about two o'clock.
Trebell. That was to dip my head in water. Then I made an instinctive attempt to go to bed ... got my tie off even.
Frances. [Her anxiety breaking out.] If you'd tell me that you're only ill....
Trebell. [Forbiddingly commonplace.] What's that letter? Don't fuss ... and remember that abnormal conduct is sometimes quite rational.
Frances returns to her task with misty eyes.
Frances. It's from somebody whose son can't get into something.
Trebell. The third heap ... Kent's ... the preposterous. [Talking on with steady monotony.] But I saw it would not do to interrupt that logical train of thought which reached definition about half past six. I had then been gleaning until you came in.
Frances. [Turning the neat little note in her hand.] This is from Lord Horsham. He writes his name small at the bottom of the envelope.
Trebell. [Without a tremor.] Ah ... give it me.
He opens this as he has opened the others, carefully putting the envelope to one side. Frances has ceased for the moment to watch him.
Frances. That's Cousin Robert's handwriting. [She puts a square envelope at his hand.] Is a letter marked private from the Education Office political or personal?
By this he has read Horsham's letter twice. So he tears it up and speaks very coldly.
Trebell. Either. It doesn't matter.
In the silence her fears return.
Frances. Henry, it's a foolish idea ... I suppose I have it because I hardly slept for thinking of her. Your trouble is nothing to do with Amy O'Connell, is it?
Trebell. [His voice strangled in his throat.] Her child should have been my child too.
Frances. [Her eyes open, the whole landscape of her mind suddenly clear.] Oh, I ... no, I didn't think so ... but....
Trebell. [Dealing his second blow as remorselessly as dealt to him.] Also I'm not joining the new Cabinet, my dear sister.
Frances. [Her thoughts rushing now to the present—the future.] Not! Because of...? Do people know? Will they...? You didn't...?
As mechanically as ever he has taken up Cousin Robert's letter and, in some sense, read it. Now he recapitulates, meaninglessly, that his voice may just deaden her pain and his own.
Trebell. Robert says ... that we've not been to see them for some time ... but that now I'm a greater man than ever I must be very busy. The vicarage has been painted and papered throughout and looks much fresher. Mary sends you her love and hopes you have no return of the rheumatism. And he would like to send me the proof sheets of his critical commentary on First Timothy ... for my alien eye might possibly detect some logical lapses. Need he repeat to me his thankfulness at my new attitude upon Disestablishment ... or assure me again that I have his prayers. Could we not go and stay there only for a few days? Possibly his opinion—
She has borne this cruel kindness as long as she can and she breaks out....
Frances. Oh ... don't ... don't!
He falls from his seeming callousness to the very blankness of despair.
Trebell. No, we'll leave that ... and the rest ... and everything.
Her agony passes.
Frances. What do you mean to do?
Trebell. There's to be no public scandal.
Frances. Why has Lord Horsham thrown you over then ... or hasn't that anything to do with it?
Trebell. It has to do with it.
Frances. [Lifting her voice; some tone returning to it.] Unconsciously ... I've known for years that this sort of thing might happen to you.