BALSQUITH. We learn from history that men never learn anything from
history. Thats not my own: its Hegel.
MITCHENER. Whos Hegel?
BALSQUITH. Dead. A German philosopher. (He half rises, but recollects
something and sits down again.) Oh confound it: that reminds me. The
Germans have laid down four more Dreadnoughts.
MITCHENER. Then you must lay down twelve.
BALSQUITH. Oh yes: its easy to say that: but think of what theyll cost.
MITCHENER. Think of what it would cost to be invaded by Germany and
forced to pay an indemnity of five hundred millions.
BALSQUITH. But you said that if you got compulsory military service
there would be an end of the danger of invasion.
MITCHENER. On the contrary, my dear fellow, it increases the danger
tenfold, because it increases German jealousy of our military supremacy.
BALSQUITH. After all, why should the Germans invade us?
MITCHENER. Why shouldnt they? What else has their army to do? What else
are they building a navy for?
BALSQUITH. Well, we never think of invading Germany.
MITCHENER. Yes we do. I have thought of nothing else for the last ten
years. Say what you will, Balsquith, the Germans have never recognized,
and until they get a stern lesson, they never WILL recognize, the plain
fact that the interests of the British Empire are paramount, and that
the command of the sea belongs by nature to England.
BALSQUITH. But if they wont recognize it, what can I do?
MITCHENER. Shoot them down.
BALSQUITH. I cant shoot them down.
MITCHENER. Yes you can. You dont realize it; but if you fire a rifle
into a German he drops just as surely as a rabbit does.
BALSQUITH But dash it all, man, a rabbit hasnt got a rifle and a German
has. Suppose he shoots you down.
MITCHENER. Excuse me, Balsquith; but that consideration is what we call
cowardice in the army. A soldier always assumes that he is going to
shoot, not to be shot.
BALSQUITH (jumping up and walking about sulkily). Oh come! I like to
hear you military people talking of cowardice. Why, you spend your lives
in an ecstasy of terror of imaginary invasions. I dont believe you ever
go to bed without looking under it for a burglar.
MITCHENER (calmly). A very sensible precaution, Balsquith. I always take
it. And in consequence Ive never been burgled.
BALSQUITH. Neither have I. Anyhow dont you taunt me with cowardice. (He
posts himself on the hearthrug beside Mitchener on his left.) I never
look under my bed for a burglar. Im not always looking under the
nation's bed for an invader. And if it comes to fighting Im quite
willing to fight without being three to one.
MITCHENER. These are the romantic ravings of a Jingo civilian,
Balsquith. At least youll not deny that the absolute command of the sea
is essential to our security.
BALSQUITH. The absolute command of the sea is essential to the security
of the principality of Monaco. But Monaco isnt going to get it.
MITCHENER. And consequently Monaco enjoys no security. What a frightful
thing! How do the inhabitants sleep with the possibility of invasion,
of bombardment, continually present to their minds? Would you have our
English slumbers broken in the same way? Are we also to live without
security?
BALSQUITH (dogmatically). Yes. Theres no such thing as security in the
world: and there never can be as long as men are mortal. England will be
secure when England is dead, just as the streets of London will be
safe when there is no longer a man in her streets to be run over, or a
vehicle to run over him. When you military chaps ask for security you
are crying for the moon.
MITCHENER (very seriously). Let me tell you, Balsquith, that in these
days of aeroplanes and Zeppelin airships, the question of the moon is
becoming one of the greatest importance. It will be reached at no
very distant date. Can you as an Englishman, tamely contemplate the
possibility of having to live under a German moon? The British flag
must be planted there at all hazards.
BALSQUITH. My dear Mitchener, the moon is outside practical politics. Id
swop it for a cooling station tomorrow with Germany or any other Power
sufficiently military in its way of thinking to attach any importance to
it.
MITCHENER (losing his temper). You are the friend of every country but
your own.
BALSQUITH. Say nobodys enemy but my own. It sounds nicer. You really
neednt be so horribly afraid of the other countries. Theyre all in the
same fix as we are. Im much more interested in the death rate in Lambeth
than in the German fleet.
MITCHENER. You darent say that in Lambeth.
BALSQUITH. Ill say it the day after you publish your scheme for invading
Germany and repealing all the reform Acts.
The Orderly comes in.
MITCHENER. What do you want?
THE ORDERLY. I dont want anything, Governor, thank you. The secretary
and president of the Anti-Suffraget League say they had an appointment
with the Prime Minister, and that theyve been sent on here from Downing
Street.
BALSQUITH (going to the table). Quite right. I forgot them. (To
Mitchener.) Would you mind my seeing them here? I feel extraordinarily
grateful to these women for standing by us and facing the suffragets,
especially as they are naturally the gentler and timid sort of women.
(The Orderly moans.) Did you say anything?
THE ORDERLY. No, Sir.
BALSQUITH. Did you catch their names.
THE ORDERLY. Yes, Sir. The president is Lady Corinthia Fanshawe; and the
secretary is Mrs. Banger.
MITCHENER (abruptly). Mrs. what?
THE ORDERLY. Mrs. Banger.
BALSQUITH. Curious that quiet people always seem to have violent names.
THE ORDERLY. Not much quiet about her, sir.
MITCHENER (outraged). Attention. Speak when youre spoken to. Hold your
tongue when youre not. Right about face. March. (The Orderly obeys.)
Thats the way to keep these chaps up to the mark. (The Orderly returns.)
Back again! What do you mean by this mutiny?
THE ORDERLY. What am I to say to the ladies, sir?
BALSQUITH. You dont mind my seeing them somewhere, do you?
MITCHENER. Not at all. Bring them in to see me when youve done with
them: I understand that Lady Corinthia is a very fascinating woman. Who
is she, by the way?
BALSQUITH. Daughter of Lord Broadstairs, the automatic turbine man. Gave
quarter of a million to the party funds. Shes musical and romantic and
all that--dont hunt: hates politics: stops in town all the year round:
one never sees her anywhere except at the opera and at musical at-homes
and so forth.
MITCHENER. What a life! Still, if she wants to see me I dont mind. (To
the Orderly.) Where are the ladies?
THE ORDERLY. In No. 17, Sir.
MITCHENER. Show Mr. Balsquith there. And send Mrs. Farrell here.
THE ORDERLY (calling into the corridor). Mrs. Farrell! (To Balsquith.)
This way sir. (He goes out with Balsquith.)
Mrs. Farrell, a lean, highly respectable Irish Charwoman of about 50
comes in.
MITCHENER. Mrs. Farrell: Ive a very important visit to pay: I shall want
my full dress uniform and all my medals and orders and my presentation
sword. There was a time when the British Army contained men capable of
discharging these duties for their commanding officer. Those days are
over. The compulsorily enlisted soldier runs to a woman for everything.
Im therefore reluctantly obliged to trouble you.
MRS FARRELL. Your meddles n ordhers n the crooked sword with the ivory
handle n your full dress uniform is in the waxworks in the Chamber o
Military Glory over in the place they used to call the Banquetin Hall.
I told you youd be sorry for sendin them away; n you told me to mind me
own business. Youre wiser now.
MITCHENER. I am. I had not at that time discovered that you were the
only person in the whole military establishment of this capital who
could be trusted to remember where anything was, or to understand an
order and obey it.
MRS. FARRELL. Its no good flattherin me. Im too old.
MITCHENER. Not at all, Mrs. Farrell. How is your daughter?
MRS. FARRELL. Which daughther.
MITCHENER. The one who has made such a gratifying success in the Music
Halls.
MRS. FARRELL. Theres no music halls nowadays: theyre Variety Theatres.
Shes got an offer of marriage from a young jook.
MITCHENER. Is it possible? What did you do?
MRS. FARRELL. I told his mother on him.
MITCHENER. Oh! what did she say?
MRS. FARRELL. She was as pleased as Punch. Thank Heaven, she says, hes
got somebody thatll be able to keep him when the supertax is put up to
twenty shillings in the pound.
MITCHENER. But your daughter herself? What did she say?
MRS. FARRELL. Accepted him, of course. What else would a young fool like
her do? He inthrojooced her to the Poet Laureate, thinking shed inspire
him.
MITCHENER. Did she?
MRS. FARRELL. Faith I dunna. All I know is she walked up to him as bold
as brass n said "Write me a sketch, dear." Afther all the trouble I took
with that chills manners shes no more notion how to behave herself than
a pig. Youll have to wear General Sandstones uniform: its the ony one in
the place, because he wont lend it to the shows.
MITCHENER. But Sandstones clothes wont fit me.
MRS. FARRELL (unmoved). Then youll have to fit THEM. Why shouldnt they
fitcha as well as they fitted General Blake at the Mansion House?
MITCHENER. They didnt fit him. He looked a frightful guy.
MRS. FARRELL. Well, you must do the best you can with them. You cant
exhibit your clothes and wear them too.
MITCHENER. And the public thinks the lot of a commanding officer a happy
one! Oh, if they could only see the seamy side of it. (He returns to his
table to resume work.)
MRS. FARRELL. If they could only see the seamy side of General
Sandstones uniform, where his flask rubs agen the buckle of his braces,
theyll tell him he ought to get a new one. Let alone the way he swears
at me.
MITCHENER. When a man has risked his life on eight battlefields, Mrs.
Farrell, he has given sufficient proof of his self-control to be excused
a little strong language.
MRS. FARRELL. Would you put up with bad language from me because Ive
risked my life eight times in childbed?
MITCHENER. My dear Mrs. Farrell, you surely would not compare a risk of
that harmless domestic kind to the fearful risks of the battlefield?
MRS. FARRELL. I wouldnt compare risks run to bear living people into the
world to risks run to blow them out of it. A mother's risk is jooty: a
soldier's nothin but divilmint.
MITCHENER (nettled). Let me tell you, Mrs. Farrell, that if the men did
not fight, the women would have to fight themselves. We spare you that,
at all events.
MRS. FARRELL. You cant help yourselves. If three-quarters of you was
killed we could replace you with the help of the other quarter. If
three-quarters of us was killed, how many people would there be in
England in another generation? If it wasnt for that, the man d put the
fightin on us just as they put all the other dhrudgery. What would YOU
do if we was all kilt? Would you go to bed and have twins?
MITCHENER. Really, Mrs. Farrell, you must discuss these questions with a
medical man. You make me blush, positively.
MRS. FARRELL. A good job too. If I could have made Farrell blush I
wouldnt have had to risk me life too often. You n your risks n your
bravery n your selfcontrol indeed! "Why don't you conthrol yourself?" I
sez to Farrell. "Its agen me religion," he sez.
MITCHENER (plaintively). Mrs. Farrell, youre a woman of very powerful
mind. Im not qualified to argue these delicate matters with you. I ask
you to spare me, and to be good enough to take these clothes to Mr.
Balsquith when the ladies leave.
The Orderly comes in.
THE ORDERLY. Lady Corinthia Fanshawe and Mrs. Banger wish to see you,
sir. Mr. Balsquith told me to tell you.
MRS. FARRELL. Theyve come about the vote. I dont know whether its them
that want it or them that doesnt want it: anyhow, they're all alike
when they get into a state about it. (She goes out, having gathered
Balsquith's suffraget disguise from the desk.)
MITCHENER. Is Mr. Balsquith not with them?
THE ORDERLY. No, Sir. Couldnt stand Mrs. Banger, I expect. Fair caution
she is. (He chuckles.) Couldnt help larfin when I sor im op it.
MITCHENER. How dare you indulge in this unseemly mirth in the presence
of your commanding officer? Have you no sense of a soldier's duty?
THE ORDERLY (sadly). Im afraid I shant ever get the ang of it, sir. You
see my father has a tidy little barbers business down off Shoreditch;
and I was brought up to be chatty and easy like with everybody. I tell
you, when I drew the number in the conscription it gave my old mother
the needle and it gev me the ump. I should take it very kind, sir, if
youd let me off the drill and let me shave you instead. Youd appreciate
my qualities then: you would indeed sir. I shant never do myself justice
at soljering, sir: I cant bring myself to think of it as proper work
for a man with an active mind, as you might say, sir. Arf of its only
ousemaidin; and the other arf is dress-up and make-believe.
MITCHENER. Stuff, Sir. Its the easiest life in the world. Once you
learn your drill all you have to do is to hold your tongue and obey your
orders.
THE ORDERLY. But I do assure you, sir, arf the time they're the wrong
orders; and I get into trouble when I obey them. The sergeants orders is
all right; but the officers dont know what theyre talkin about. Why the
orses knows better sometimes. "Fours" says Lieutenant Trevor at the
gate of Bucknam Palace only this morning when we was on duty for a State
visit to the Coal Trust. I was fourth man like in the first file;
and when I started the orse eld back; and the sergeant was on to me
straight. Threes, you bally fool, he whispers. And he was on to me again
about it when we came back, and called me a fathead, he did. What am I
to do, I says: the lieutenant's orders was fours, I says. Ill show you
whos lieutenant here, e says. In future you attend to my orders and not
to iz, e says: what does he know about it? You didnt give me any orders,
I says. Couldnt you see for yourself there wasnt room for fours, e says:
why cant you THINK? General Mitchener tells me Im not to think but to
obey orders, I says. Is Mitchener your sergeant or am I, e says in his
bullyin way. You are, I says. Well, he says, youve got to do what your
sergeant tells you: thats discipline, he says. What am I to do for the
General I says. Youre to let im talk, e says: thats what es for.
MITCHENER (groaning). It is impossible for the human mind to conceive
anything more dreadful than this. Youre a disgrace to the service.
THE ORDERLY (deeply wounded). The service is a disgrace to me. When my
mother's people pass me in the street with this uniform on, I ardly know
which way to look. There never was a soldier in my family before.
MITCHENER. There never was anything else in mine, sir.
THE ORDERLY. My mother's second cousin was one of the Parkinsons of
Stepney. (Almost in tears.) What do you know of the feelings of a
respectable family in the middle station of life? I cant bear to be
looked down on as a common soldier. Why cant my father be let buy
my discharge? Youve done away with the soldier's right to have his
discharge bought for him by his relations. The country didnt know you
were going to do that or it would never have stood it. Is an Englishman
to be made a mockery like this?
MITCHENER. Silence. Attention. Right about face. March.
THE ORDERLY (retiring to the standing desk and bedewing it with
passionate tears). Oh that I should have lived to be spoke to as if I
was the lowest of the low. Me! that has shaved a City of London aldermen
wiv me own hand.
MITCHENER. Poltroon. Crybaby. Well, better disgrace yourself here than
disgrace your country on the field of battle.
THE ORDERLY (angrily coming to the table). Whos going to disgrace
his country on the field of battle? Its not fightin I object to: its
soljerin. Show me a German and Ill have a go at him as fast as you or
any man. But to ave me time wasted like this, an be stuck in a sentry
box at a street corner for an ornament to be stared at; and to be told
"right about face: march" if I speak as one man to another: that aint
pluck: that aint fightin: that aint patriotism: its bein made a bloomin
sheep of.
MITCHENER. A sheep has many valuable military qualities. Emulate them:
dont disparage them.
THE ORDERLY. Oh, wots the good of talkin to you? If I wasnt a poor
soldier I could punch your head for forty shillins for a month. But
because youre my commanding officer you deprive me of my right to a
magistrate and make a compliment of giving me two years ard sted of
shootin me. Why cant you take your chance the same as any civilian does?
MITCHENER (rising majestically). I search the pages of history in vain
for a parallel to such a speech made by a Private to a general. But for
the coherence of your remarks I should conclude that you were drunk.
As it is, you must be mad. You shall be placed under restraint at once.
Call the guard.
THE ORDERLY. Call your grandmother. If you take one man off the doors
the place'll be full of Suffragets before you can wink.
MITCHENER. Then arrest yourself; and off with you to the guardroom.
THE ORDERLY. What am I to arrest myself for?
MITCHENER. Thats nothing to you. You have your orders: obey them. Do you
hear? Right about face. March.
THE ORDERLY. How would you feel yourself if you was told to
right-about-face and march as if you was a doormat?
MITCHENER. I should feel as if my country had spoken through the voice
of my officer. I should feel proud and honored to be able to serve
my country by obeying its commands. No thought of self--no vulgar
preoccupation with my own petty vanity could touch my mind at such a
moment. To me my officer would not be a mere man: he would be for the
moment--whatever his personal frailties--the incarnation of our national
destiny.
THE ORDERLY. What Im saying to you is the voice of old England a jolly
sight more than all this rot that you get out of books. Id rather be
spoke to by a sergeant than by you. He tells me to go to hell when
I challenges him to argue it out like a man. It aint polite; but its
English. What you say aint anything at all. You dont act on it yourself.
You dont believe in it. Youd punch my head if I tried it on you; and
serve me right. And look here. Heres another point for you to argue.