CANTELUPE. Mr. O'Connell I remain here almost against my will. I cannot
think quite calmly about this double and doubly heinous sin. Don't listen to
us while we make light of it. If we think of it as a political bother and
ask you to smooth it away ... I am ashamed. But I believe I may not be wrong
if I put it to you that, looking to the future and for the sake of your own
Christian dignity, it may become you to be merciful. And I pray too ... I
think we may believe ... that Mr. Trebell is feeling need of your
forgiveness. I have no more to say. [_He sits down again._]
O'CONNELL. It may be. I have never met Mr. Trebell.
HORSHAM. I tell you, Mr. O'Connell, putting aside Party, that your country
has need of this man just at this time.
_They hang upon_ O'CONNELL'S _reply. It comes with deliberation._
O'CONNELL. I suppose my point of view must be an unusual one. I notice, at
least, that twenty four hours and more has not enabled Farrant to grasp it.
FARRANT. For God's sake, O'Connell, don't be so cold-blooded. You have the
life or death of a man's reputation to decide on.
O'CONNELL. [_With a cold flash of contempt._] That's a petty enough thing
now-a-days it seems to me. There are so many clever men ... and they are all
so alike ... surely one will not be missed.
CANTELUPE. Don't you think that is only sarcasm, Mr. O'Connell?
_The voice is so gently reproving that_ O'CONNELL _must turn to him._
O'CONNELL. Will you please to make allowance, Lord Charles, for a mediaeval
scholar's contempt of modern government? You at least will partly understand
his horror as a Catholic at the modern superstitions in favour of popular
opinion and control which it encourages. You see, Lord Horsham, I am not a
party man, only a little less enthusiastic for the opposite cries than for
his own. You appealed very strangely to my feelings of patriotism for this
country; but you see even my own is--in the twentieth century--foreign to
me. From my point of view neither Mr. Trebell, nor you, nor the men you have
just defeated, nor any discoverable man or body of men will make laws which
matter ... or differ in the slightest. You are all part of your age and you
all voice--though in separate keys, or even tunes they may be--only the
greed and follies of your age. That you should do this and nothing more is,
of course, the democratic ideal. You will forgive my thinking tenderly of
the statesmanship of the first Edward.
_The library door opens and_ RUSSELL BLACKBOROUGH _comes in. He has on
evening clothes, complicated by a long silk comforter and the motoring
cap which he carries._
HORSHAM. You know Russell Blackborough.
O'CONNELL. I think not.
BLACKBOROUGH. How d'you do?
O'CONNELL _having bowed_, BLACKBOROUGH _having nodded, the two men sit
down_, BLACKBOROUGH _with an air of great attention_, O'CONNELL _to
continue his interrupted speech._
O'CONNELL. And you are as far from me in your code of personal morals as in
your politics. In neither do you seem to realise that such a thing as
passion can exist. No doubt you use the words Love and Hatred; but do you
know that love and hatred for principles or persons should come from beyond
a man? I notice you speak of forgiveness as if it were a penny in my pocket.
You have been endeavouring for these two days to rouse me from my
indifference towards Mr. Trebell. Perhaps you are on the point of succeeding
... but I do not know what you may rouse.
HORSHAM. I understand. We are much in agreement, Mr. O'Connell. What can a
man be--who has any pretensions to philosophy--but helplessly indifferent to
the thousands of his fellow creatures whose fates are intertwined with his?
O'CONNELL. I am glad that you understand. But, again ... have I been wrong
to shrink from personal relations with Mr. Trebell? Hatred is as sacred a
responsibility as love. And you will not agree with me when I say that
punishment can be the salvation of a man's soul.
FARRANT. [_With aggressive common sense._] Look here. O'Connell, if you're
indifferent it doesn't hurt you to let him off. And if you hate him...!
Well, one shouldn't hate people ... there's no room for it in this world.
CANTELUPE. [_Quietly as ever._] We have some authority for thinking that the
punishment of a secret sin is awarded by God secretly.
O'CONNELL. We have very poor authority, sir, for using God's name merely to
fill up the gaps in an argument, though we may thus have our way easily with
men who fear God more than they know him. I am not one of those. Yes,
Farrant, you and your like have left little room in this world except for
the dusty roads on which I notice you beginning once more to travel. The
rule of them is the same for all, is it not ... from the tramp and the
labourer to the plutocrat in his car? This is the age of equality; and it's
a fine practical equality ... the equality of the road. But you've fenced
the fields of human joy and turned the very hillsides into hoardings,
Commercial opportunity is painted on them, I think.
FARRANT. [_Not to be impressed._] Perhaps it is O'Connell. My father made
his money out of newspapers and I ride in a motor car and you came from
Holyhead by train. What has all that to do with it? Why can't you make up
your mind? You know in this sort of case one talks a lot ... and then does
the usual thing. You must let Trebell off and that's all about it.
O'CONNELL. Indeed. And do they still think it worth while to administer an
oath to your witnesses?
_He is interrupted by the flinging open of the door and the triumphant
right-this-time-anyhow voice in which_ EDMUNDS _announces_ "Mr.
Trebell, my lord." _The general consternation expresses itself
through_ HORSHAM, _who complains aloud and unreservedly._
HORSHAM. Good God.... No! Charles, I must give him notice at once ... he'll
have to go. [_He apologises to the company._] I beg your pardon.
_By this time_ TREBELL _is in the room and has discovered the
stranger, who stands to face him without emotion or anger_,
BLACKBOROUGH'S _face wears the grimmest of smiles_, CANTELUPE _is
sorry_, FARRANT _recovers from the fit of choking which seemed
imminent and_ EDMUNDS, _dimly perceiving by now some fly in the
perfect amber of his conduct, departs. The two men still face each
other_, FARRANT _is prepared to separate them should they come to
blows, and indeed is advancing in that anticipation when_ O'CONNELL
_speaks._
O'CONNELL. I am Justin O'Connell.
TREBELL. I guess that.
O'CONNELL. There's a dead woman between us, Mr. Trebell.
_A tremor sweeps over_ TREBELL; _then he speaks simply._
TREBELL. I wish she had not died.
O'CONNELL. I am called upon by your friends to save you from the
consequences of her death. What have you to say about that?
TREBELL. I have been wondering what sort of expression the last of your care
for her would find ... but not much. My wonder is at the power over me that
has been given to something I despised.
_Only_ O'CONNELL _grasps his meaning. But he, stirred for the first
time and to his very depths, drives it home._
O'CONNELL. Yes.... If I wanted revenge I have it. She was a worthless woman.
First my life and now yours! Dead because she was afraid to bear your child,
isn't she?
TREBELL. [_In agony._] I'd have helped that if I could.
O'CONNELL. Not the shame ... not the wrong she had done me ... but just
fear--fear of the burden of her woman-hood. And because of her my children
are bastards and cannot inherit my name. And I must live in sin against my
church, as--God help me--I can't against my nature. What are men to do when
this is how women use the freedom we have given them? Is the curse of
barrenness to be nothing to a man? And that's the death in life to which you
gentlemen with your fine civilisation are bringing us. I think we are
brothers in misfortune, Mr. Trebell.
TREBELL. [_Far from responding._] Not at all, sir. If you wanted children
you did the next best thing when she left you. My own problem is neither so
simple nor is it yet anyone's business but my own. I apologise for alluding
to it.