Man and Superman: A Comedy and a Philosophy
MISS RAMSDEN. I do. It's as plain as the nose on your face, Roebuck,
that she won't go because she doesn't want to be separated from this
man, whoever he is.
ANN. Oh, surely, surely! Octavius: did you speak to her?
OCTAVIUS. She won't tell us anything. She won't make any arrangement
until she has consulted somebody. It can't be anybody else than the
scoundrel who has betrayed her.
TANNER. [to Octavius] Well, let her consult him. He will be glad enough
to have her sent abroad. Where is the difficulty?
MISS RAMSDEN. [Taking the answer out of Octavius's mouth]. The
difficulty, Mr Jack, is that when he offered to help her I didn't offer
to become her accomplice in her wickedness. She either pledges her word
never to see that man again, or else she finds some new friends; and the
sooner the better.
[The parlormaid appears at the door. Ann hastily resumes her seat, and
looks as unconcerned as possible. Octavius instinctively imitates her].
THE MAID. The cab is at the door, ma'am.
MISS RAMSDEN. What cab?
THE MAID. For Miss Robinson.
MISS RAMSDEN. Oh! [Recovering herself] All right. [The maid withdraws].
She has sent for a cab.
TANNER. I wanted to send for that cab half an hour ago.
MISS RAMSDEN. I am glad she understands the position she has placed
herself in.
RAMSDEN. I don't like her going away in this fashion, Susan. We had
better not do anything harsh.
OCTAVIUS. No: thank you again and again; but Miss Ramsden is quite
right. Violet cannot expect to stay.
ANN. Hadn't you better go with her, Tavy?
OCTAVIUS. She won't have me.
MISS RAMSDEN. Of course she won't. She's going straight to that man.
TANNER. As a natural result of her virtuous reception here.
RAMSDEN. [much troubled] There, Susan! You hear! and there's some truth
in it. I wish you could reconcile it with your principles to be a little
patient with this poor girl. She's very young; and there's a time for
everything.
MISS RAMSDEN. Oh, she will get all the sympathy she wants from the men.
I'm surprised at you, Roebuck.
TANNER. So am I, Ramsden, most favorably.
Violet appears at the door. She is as impenitent and self-assured a
young lady as one would desire to see among the best behaved of her sex.
Her small head and tiny resolute mouth and chin; her haughty crispness
of speech and trimness of carriage; the ruthless elegance of her
equipment, which includes a very smart hat with a dead bird in it, mark
a personality which is as formidable as it is exquisitely pretty. She is
not a siren, like Ann: admiration comes to her without any compulsion
or even interest on her part; besides, there is some fun in Ann, but in
this woman none, perhaps no mercy either: if anything restrains her, it
is intelligence and pride, not compassion. Her voice might be the
voice of a schoolmistress addressing a class of girls who had disgraced
themselves, as she proceeds with complete composure and some disgust to
say what she has come to say.
VIOLET. I have only looked in to tell Miss Ramsden that she will find
her birthday present to me, the filagree bracelet, in the housekeeper's
room.
TANNER. Do come in, Violet, and talk to us sensibly.
VIOLET. Thank you: I have had quite enough of the family conversation
this morning. So has your mother, Ann: she has gone home crying. But
at all events, I have found out what some of my pretended friends are
worth. Good bye.
TANNER. No, no: one moment. I have something to say which I beg you
to hear. [She looks at him without the slightest curiosity, but waits,
apparently as much to finish getting her glove on as to hear what he
has to say]. I am altogether on your side in this matter. I congratulate
you, with the sincerest respect, on having the courage to do what you
have done. You are entirely in the right; and the family is entirely in
the wrong.
Sensation. Ann and Miss Ramsden rise and turn toward the two. Violet,
more surprised than any of the others, forgets her glove, and comes
forward into the middle of the room, both puzzled and displeased.
Octavius alone does not move or raise his head; he is overwhelmed with
shame.
ANN. [pleading to Tanner to be sensible] Jack!
MISS RAMSDEN. [outraged] Well, I must say!
VIOLET. [sharply to Tanner] Who told you?
TANNER. Why, Ramsden and Tavy of course. Why should they not?
VIOLET. But they don't know.
TANNER. Don't know what?
VIOLET. They don't know that I am in the right, I mean.
TANNER. Oh, they know it in their hearts, though they think themselves
bound to blame you by their silly superstitions about morality and
propriety and so forth. But I know, and the whole world really knows,
though it dare not say so, that you were right to follow your instinct;
that vitality and bravery are the greatest qualities a woman can have,
and motherhood her solemn initiation into womanhood; and that the fact
of your not being legally married matters not one scrap either to your
own worth or to our real regard for you.
VIOLET. [flushing with indignation] Oh! You think me a wicked woman,
like the rest. You think I have not only been vile, but that I share
your abominable opinions. Miss Ramsden: I have borne your hard words
because I knew you would be sorry for them when you found out the truth.
But I won't bear such a horrible insult as to be complimented by Jack on
being one of the wretches of whom he approves. I have kept my marriage
a secret for my husband's sake. But now I claim my right as a married
woman not to be insulted.
OCTAVIUS. [raising his head with inexpressible relief] You are married!
VIOLET. Yes; and I think you might have guessed it. What business had
you all to take it for granted that I had no right to wear my wedding
ring? Not one of you even asked me: I cannot forget that.
TANNER. [in ruins] I am utterly crushed. I meant well--I
apologize--abjectly apologize.
VIOLET. I hope you will be more careful in future about the things
you say. Of course one does not take them seriously. But they are very
disagreeable, and rather in bad taste.
TANNER. [bowing to the storm] I have no defence: I shall know better in
future than to take any woman's part. We have all disgraced ourselves in
your eyes, I am afraid, except Ann, SHE befriended you. For Ann's sake,
forgive us.
VIOLET. Yes: Ann has been very kind; but then Ann knew.
TANNER. Oh!
MISS RAMSDEN. [stiffly] And who, pray, is the gentleman who does not
acknowledge his wife?
VIOLET. [promptly] That is my business, Miss Ramsden, and not yours. I
have my reasons for keeping my marriage a secret for the present.
RAMSDEN. All I can say is that we are extremely sorry, Violet. I am
shocked to think of how we have treated you.
OCTAVIUS. [awkwardly] I beg your pardon, Violet. I can say no more.
MISS RAMSDEN. [still loth to surrender] Of course what you say puts
a very different complexion on the matter. All the same, I owe it to
myself--
VIOLET. [cutting her short] You owe me an apology, Miss Ramsden: that's
what you owe both to yourself and to me. If you were a married woman you
would not like sitting in the housekeeper's room and being treated like
a naughty child by young girls and old ladies without any serious duties
and responsibilities.
TANNER. Don't hit us when we're down, Violet. We seem to have made fools
of ourselves; but really it was you who made fools of us.
VIOLET. It was no business of yours, Jack, in any case.
TANNER. No business of mine! Why, Ramsden as good as accused me of being
the unknown gentleman.
Ramsden makes a frantic demonstration; but Violet's cool keen anger
extinguishes it.
VIOLET. You! Oh, how infamous! how abominable! How disgracefully you
have all been talking about me! If my husband knew it he would never let
me speak to any of you again. [To Ramsden] I think you might have spared
me, at least.
RAMSDEN. But I assure you I never--at least it is a monstrous perversion
of something I said that--
MISS RAMSDEN. You needn't apologize, Roebuck. She brought it all on
herself. It is for her to apologize for having deceived us.
VIOLET. I can make allowances for you, Miss Ramsden: you cannot
understand how I feel on this subject though I should have expected
rather better taste from people of greater experience. However, I quite
feel that you have all placed yourselves in a very painful position;
and the most truly considerate thing for me to do is to go at once. Good
morning.
She goes, leaving them staring.
Miss RAMSDEN. Well, I must say--!
RAMSDEN. [plaintively] I don't think she is quite fair to us.
TANNER. You must cower before the wedding ring like the rest of us,
Ramsden. The cup of our ignominy is full.
ACT II
On the carriage drive in the park of a country house near Richmond a
motor car has broken down. It stands in front of a clump of trees round
which the drive sweeps to the house, which is partly visible through
them: indeed Tanner, standing in the drive with the car on his right
hand, could get an unobstructed view of the west corner of the house on
his left were he not far too much interested in a pair of supine legs
in blue serge trousers which protrude from beneath the machine. He is
watching them intently with bent back and hands supported on his knees.
His leathern overcoat and peaked cap proclaim him one of the dismounted
passengers.
THE LEGS. Aha! I got him.
TANNER. All right now?
THE LEGS. All right now.
Tanner stoops and takes the legs by the ankles, drawing their owner
forth like a wheelbarrow, walking on his hands, with a hammer in his
mouth. He is a young man in a neat suit of blue serge, clean shaven,
dark eyed, square fingered, with short well brushed black hair and
rather irregular sceptically turned eyebrows. When he is manipulating
the car his movements are swift and sudden, yet attentive and
deliberate. With Tanner and Tanner's friends his manner is not in the
least deferential, but cool and reticent, keeping them quite effectually
at a distance whilst giving them no excuse for complaining of him.
Nevertheless he has a vigilant eye on them always, and that, too, rather
cynically, like a man who knows the world well from its seamy side. He
speaks slowly and with a touch of sarcasm; and as he does not at all
affect the gentleman in his speech, it may be inferred that his smart
appearance is a mark of respect to himself and his own class, not to
that which employs him.
He now gets into the car to test his machinery and put his cap and
overcoat on again. Tanner takes off his leather overcoat and pitches
it into the car. The chauffeur (or automobilist or motoreer or whatever
England may presently decide to call him) looks round inquiringly in the
act of stowing away his hammer.
THE CHAUFFEUR. Had enough of it, eh?
TANNER. I may as well walk to the house and stretch my legs and calm my
nerves a little. [Looking at his watch] I suppose you know that we have
come from Hyde Park Corner to Richmond in twenty-one minutes.
THE CHAUFFEUR. I'd have done it under fifteen if I'd had a clear road
all the way.
TANNER. Why do you do it? Is it for love of sport or for the fun of
terrifying your unfortunate employer?
THE CHAUFFEUR. What are you afraid of?
TANNER. The police, and breaking my neck.
THE CHAUFFEUR. Well, if you like easy going, you can take a bus, you
know. It's cheaper. You pay me to save your time and give you the value
of your thousand pound car. [He sits down calmly].
TANNER. I am the slave of that car and of you too. I dream of the
accursed thing at night.
THE CHAUFFEUR. You'll get over that. If you're going up to the house,
may I ask how long you're goin to stay there? Because if you mean to
put in the whole morning talkin to the ladies, I'll put the car in the