Man and Superman, George Bernard Shaw [hardest books to read txt] 📗

take the poker to her. I should be a mere slave. Mrs. Whitefield No: she’s afraid of you. At all events, you would tell her the truth about herself. She wouldn’t be able to slip out of it as she does with me. Tanner Everybody would call me a brute if I told Ann the truth about herself in terms of her own moral code. To begin with, Ann says things that are not strictly true. Mrs. Whitefield I’m glad somebody sees she is not an angel. Tanner In short⁠—to put it as a husband would put it when exasperated to the point of speaking out⁠—she is a liar. And since she has plunged Tavy head over ears in love with her without any intention of marrying him, she is a coquette, according to the standard definition of a coquette as a woman who rouses passions she has no intention of gratifying. And as she has now reduced you to the point of being willing to sacrifice me at the altar for the mere satisfaction of getting me to call her a liar to her face, I may conclude that she is a bully as well. She can’t bully men as she bullies women; so she habitually and unscrupulously uses her personal fascination to make men give her whatever she wants. That makes her almost something for which I know no polite name. Mrs. Whitefield In mild expostulation. Well, you can’t expect perfection, Jack. Tanner I don’t. But what annoys me is that Ann does. I know perfectly well that all this about her being a liar and a bully and a coquette and so forth is a trumped-up moral indictment which might be brought against anybody. We all lie; we all bully as much as we dare; we all bid for admiration without the least intention of earning it; we all get as much rent as we can out of our powers of fascination. If Ann would admit this I shouldn’t quarrel with her. But she won’t. If she has children she’ll take advantage of their telling lies to amuse herself by whacking them. If another woman makes eyes at me, she’ll refuse to know a coquette. She will do just what she likes herself whilst insisting on everybody else doing what the conventional code prescribes. In short, I can stand everything except her confounded hypocrisy. That’s what beats me. Mrs. Whitefield Carried away by the relief of hearing her own opinion so eloquently expressed. Oh, she is a hypocrite. She is: she is. Isn’t she? Tanner Then why do you want to marry me to her? Mrs. Whitefield Querulously. There now! Put it on me, of course. I never thought of it until Tavy told me she said I did. But, you know, I’m very fond of Tavy: he’s a sort of son to me; and I don’t want him to be trampled on and made wretched. Tanner Whereas I don’t matter, I suppose. Mrs. Whitefield Oh, you are different, somehow: you are able to take care of yourself. You’d serve her out. And anyhow, she must marry somebody. Tanner Aha! There speaks the life instinct. You detest her; but you feel that you must get her married. Mrs. Whitefield Rising, shocked. Do you mean that I detest my own daughter! Surely you don’t believe me to be so wicked and unnatural as that, merely because I see her faults. Tanner Cynically. You love her, then? Mrs. Whitefield Why, of course I do. What queer things you say, Jack! We can’t help loving our own blood relations. Tanner Well, perhaps it saves unpleasantness to say so. But for my part, I suspect that the tables of consanguinity have a natural basis in a natural repugnance. He rises. Mrs. Whitefield You shouldn’t say things like that, Jack. I hope you won’t tell Ann that I have been speaking to you. I only wanted to set myself right with you and Tavy. I couldn’t sit mumchance and have everything put on me. Tanner Politely. Quite so. Mrs. Whitefield Dissatisfied. And now I’ve only made matters worse. Tavy’s angry with me because I don’t worship Ann. And when it’s been put into my head that Ann ought to marry you, what can I say except that it would serve her right? Tanner Thank you. Mrs. Whitefield Now don’t be silly and twist what I say into something I don’t mean. I ought to have fair play⁠— Ann comes from the villa, followed presently by Violet, who is dressed for driving. Ann Coming to her mother’s right hand with threatening suavity. Well, Mamma darling, you seem to be having a delightful chat with Jack. We can hear you all over the place. Mrs. Whitefield Appalled. Have you overheard⁠— Tanner Never fear: Ann is only⁠—well, we were discussing that habit of hers just now. She hasn’t heard a word. Mrs. Whitefield Stoutly. I don’t care whether she has or not: I have a right to say what I please. Violet Arriving on the lawn and coming between Mrs. Whitefield and Tanner. I’ve come to say goodbye. I’m off for my honeymoon. Mrs. Whitefield Crying. Oh don’t say that, Violet. And no wedding, no breakfast, no clothes, nor anything. Violet Petting her. It won’t be for long. Mrs. Whitefield Don’t let him take you to America. Promise me that you won’t. Violet Very decidedly. I should think not, indeed. Don’t cry, dear: I’m only going to the hotel. Mrs. Whitefield But going in that dress, with your luggage, makes one realize⁠—She chokes, and then breaks out again. How I wish you were my daughter, Violet! Violet Soothing her. There, there: so I am. Ann will be jealous. Mrs. Whitefield Ann doesn’t care a bit for me. Ann Fie, mother! Come, now: you mustn’t cry any more: you know Violet doesn’t like it. Mrs. Whitefield dries her eyes, and subsides. Violet Goodbye, Jack. Tanner Goodbye, Violet. Violet The sooner you get married too, the better. You will be much less misunderstood. Tanner Restively. I quite expect to get married in the course of the afternoon. You all seem to have set your minds on it. Violet You might do