60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

It’s false: there can he dwell for ever and there only. It’s in the other moments that he can find no rest, no sense of the silent glory of life. Where would you have me spend my moments, if not on the summits?

      MORELL. In the scullery, slicing onions and filling lamps.

      MARCHBANKS. Or in the pulpit, scrubbing cheap earthenware souls?

      MORELL. Yes, that, too. It was there that I earned my golden moment, and the right, in that moment, to ask her to love me. I did not take the moment on credit; nor did I use it to steal another man’s happiness.

      MARCHBANKS (rather disgustedly, trotting back towards the fireplace). I have no doubt you conducted the transaction as honestly as if you were buying a pound of cheese. (He stops on the brink of the hearthrug and adds, thoughtfully, to himself, with his back turned to Morell) I could only go to her as a beggar.

      MORELL (starting). A beggar dying of cold — asking for her shawl?

      MARCHBANKS (turning, surprised). Thank you for touching up my poetry. Yes, if you like, a beggar dying of cold asking for her shawl.

      MORELL (excitedly). And she refused. Shall I tell you why she refused? I CAN tell you, on her own authority. It was because of —

      MARCHBANKS. She didn’t refuse.

      MORELL. Not!

      MARCHBANKS. She offered me all I chose to ask for, her shawl, her wings, the wreath of stars on her head, the lilies in her hand, the crescent moon beneath her feet —

      MORELL (seizing him). Out with the truth, man: my wife is my wife: I want no more of your poetic fripperies. I know well that if I have lost her love and you have gained it, no law will bind her.

      MARCHBANKS (quaintly, without fear or resistance). Catch me by the shirt collar, Morell: she will arrange it for me afterwards as she did this morning. (With quiet rapture.) I shall feel her hands touch me.

      MORELL. You young imp, do you know how dangerous it is to say that to me? Or (with a sudden misgiving) has something made you brave?

      MARCHBANKS. I’m not afraid now. I disliked you before: that was why I shrank from your touch. But I saw to-day — when she tortured you — that you love her. Since then I have been your friend: you may strangle me if you like.

      MORELL (releasing him). Eugene: if that is not a heartless lie — if you have a spark of human feeling left in you — will you tell me what has happened during my absence?

      MARCHBANKS. What happened! Why, the flaming sword — (Morell stamps with impatience.) Well, in plain prose, I loved her so exquisitely that I wanted nothing more than the happiness of being in such love. And before I had time to come down from the highest summits, you came in.

      MORELL (suffering deeply). So it is still unsettled — still the misery of doubt.

      MARCHBANKS. Misery! I am the happiest of men. I desire nothing now but her happiness. (With dreamy enthusiasm.) Oh, Morell, let us both give her up. Why should she have to choose between a wretched little nervous disease like me, and a pigheaded parson like you? Let us go on a pilgrimage, you to the east and I to the west, in search of a worthy lover for her — some beautiful archangel with purple wings —

      MORELL. Some fiddlestick. Oh, if she is mad enough to leave me for you, who will protect her? Who will help her? who will work for her? who will be a father to her children? (He sits down distractedly on the sofa, with his elbows on his knees and his head propped on his clenched fists.)

      MARCHBANKS (snapping his fingers wildly). She does not ask those silly questions. It is she who wants somebody to protect, to help, to work for — somebody to give her children to protect, to help and to work for. Some grown up man who has become as a little child again. Oh, you fool, you fool, you triple fool! I am the man, Morell: I am the man. (He dances about excitedly, crying.) You don’t understand what a woman is. Send for her, Morell: send for her and let her choose between — (The door opens and Candida enters. He stops as if petrified.)

      CANDIDA (amazed, on the threshold). What on earth are you at, Eugene?

      MARCHBANKS (oddly). James and I are having a preaching match; and he is getting the worst of it. (Candida looks quickly round at Morell. Seeing that he is distressed, she hurries down to him, greatly vexed, speaking with vigorous reproach to Marchbanks.)

      CANDIDA. You have been annoying him. Now I won’t have it, Eugene: do you hear? (Putting her hand on Morell’s shoulder, and quite forgetting her wifely tact in her annoyance.) My boy shall not be worried: I will protect him.

      MORELL (rising proudly). Protect!

      CANDIDA (not heeding him — to Eugene). What have you been saying?

      MARCHBANKS (appalled). Nothing —

      CANDIDA. Eugene! Nothing?

      MARCHBANKS (piteously). I mean — I — I’m very sorry. I won’t do it again: indeed I won’t. I’ll let him alone.

      MORELL (indignantly, with an aggressive movement towards Eugene). Let me alone! You young —

      CANDIDA (Stopping him). Sh — no, let me deal with him, James.

      MARCHBANKS. Oh, you’re not angry with me, are you?

      CANDIDA (severely). Yes, I am — very angry. I have a great mind to pack you out of the house.

      MORELL (taken aback by Candida’s vigor, and by no means relishing the sense of being rescued by her from another man). Gently, Candida, gently. I am able to take care of myself.

      CANDIDA (petting him). Yes, dear: of course you are. But you mustn’t be annoyed and made miserable.

      MARCHBANKS (almost in tears, turning to the door). I’ll go.

      CANDIDA. Oh, you needn’t go: I can’t turn you out at this time of night. (Vehemently.) Shame on you! For shame!

      MARCHBANKS (desperately). But what have I done?

      CANDIDA. I know what you have done — as well as if I had been here all the time. Oh, it was unworthy! You are like a child: you cannot hold your tongue.

      MARCHBANKS. I would die ten times over sooner than give you a moment’s pain.

      CANDIDA (with infinite contempt for this puerility). Much good your dying would do me!

      MORELL. Candida, my dear: this altercation is hardly quite seemingly. It is a matter between two men; and I am the right person to settle it.

      CANDIDA. Two MEN! Do you call that a man? (To Eugene.) You bad boy!

      MARCHBANKS (gathering a whimsically affectionate courage from the scolding). If I am to be scolded like this, I must make a boy’s excuse. He began it. And he’s bigger than I am.

      CANDIDA (losing confidence a little as her concern for Morell’s dignity takes the alarm). That can’t be true. (To Morell.) You didn’t begin it, James, did you?

      MORELL (contemptuously). No.

      MARCHBANKS (indignant). Oh!

      MORELL (to Eugene). YOU began it — this morning. (Candida, instantly connecting this with his mysterious allusion in the afternoon to something told him by Eugene in the morning, looks quickly at him, wrestling with the enigma. Morell proceeds with the emphasis of offended superiority.) But your other point is true. I am certainly the bigger of the two, and, I hope, the stronger, Candida. So you had better leave the matter in my hands.

      CANDIDA (again soothing him). Yes, dear; but — (Troubled.) I don’t understand about this morning.

      MORELL (gently snubbing her). You need not understand, my dear.

      CANDIDA. But, James, I — (The street bell rings.) Oh, bother! Here they all come. (She goes out to let them in.)

      MARCHBANKS (running to Morell ). Oh, Morell, isn’t it dreadful? She’s angry with us: she hates me. What shall I do?

      MORELL (with quaint desperation,