Getting Married (2/2) (3/12)

| Reginald | A nice way of showing your fondness! I had to go out and dig that flower bed all over with my own hands to soften it. I had to pick all the stones out of it. And then she complained that I hadn’t done it properly, because she got a worm down her neck. I had to go to Brighton with a poor creature who took a fancy to me on the way down, and got conscientious scruples about committing perjury after dinner. I had to put her down in the hotel book as Mrs. Reginald Bridgenorth: Leo’s name! Do you know what that feels like to a decent man? Do you know what a decent man feels about his wife’s name? How would you like to go into a hotel before all the waiters and people with⁠—with that on your arm? Not that it was the poor girl’s fault, of course; only she started crying because I couldn’t stand her touching me; and now she keeps writing to me. And then I’m held up in the public court for cruelty and adultery, and turned away from Edith’s wedding by Alice, and lectured by you! a bachelor, and a precious green one at that. What do you know about it? | | The General | Am I to understand that the whole case was one of collusion? | | Reginald | Of course it was. Half the cases are collusions: what are people to do? The General, passing his hand dazedly over his bewildered brow, sinks into the railed chair. And what do you take me for, that you should have the cheek to pretend to believe all that rot about my knocking Leo about and leaving her for⁠—for a⁠—a⁠—Ugh! you should have seen her. | | The General | This is perfectly astonishing to me. Why did you do it? Why did Leo allow it? | | Reginald | You’d better ask her. | | Leo | Still in tears. I’m sure I never thought it would be so horrid for Rejjy. I offered honorably to do it myself, and let him divorce me; but he wouldn’t. And he said himself that it was the only way to do it⁠—that it was the law that he should do it that way. I never saw that hateful creature until that day in Court. If he had only shown her to me before, I should never have allowed it. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | You did all this for Leo’s sake, Rejjy? | | Reginald | With an unbearable sense of injury. I shouldn’t mind a bit if it were for Leo’s sake. But to have to do it to make room for that mushroom-faced serpent⁠—! | | The General | Jumping up. What right had he to be made room for? Are you in your senses? What right? | | Reginald | The right of being a young man, suitable to a young woman. I had no right at my age to marry Leo: she knew no more about life than a child. | | Leo | I knew a great deal more about it than a great baby like you. I’m sure I don’t know how you’ll get on with no one to take care of you: I often lie awake at night thinking about it. And now you’ve made me thoroughly miserable. | | Reginald | Serve you right! She weeps. There: don’t get into a tantrum, Leo. | | Lesbia | May one ask who is the mushroom-faced serpent? | | Leo | He isn’t. | | Reginald | Sinjon Hotchkiss, of course. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | Sinjon Hotchkiss! Why, he’s coming to the wedding! | | Reginald | What! In that case I’m off. He makes for the tower. | | | All four rushing after him and capturing him on the threshold. | | Leo | Seizing him. No you shan’t. You promised to be nice to him. | | The General | No, don’t go, old chap. Not from Edith’s wedding. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | Oh, do stay, Rejjy. I shall really be hurt if you desert us. | | Lesbia | Better stay, Reginald. You must meet him sooner or later. | | Reginald | A moment ago, when I wanted to stay, you were all shoving me out of the house. Now that I want to go, you won’t let me. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | I shall send a note to Mr. Hotchkiss not to come. | | Leo | Weeping again. Oh, Alice! She comes back to her chair, heartbroken. | | Reginald | Out of patience. Oh well, let her have her way. Let her have her mushroom. Let him come. Let them all come. | | | *He crosses the kitchen to the oak chest and sits sulkily on it. Mrs. Bridgenorth shrugs her shoulders and sits at the table in Reginald’s neighborhood listening in placid helplessness. Lesbia, out of patience with Leo’s tears, goes into the garden and sits there near the door, snuffing up the open air in her relief from the domestic stuffness of Reginald’s affairs. | | Leo | It’s so cruel of you to go on pretending that I don’t care for you, Rejjy. | | Reginald | Bitterly. She explained to me that it was only that she had exhausted my conversation. | | The General | Coming paternally to Leo. My dear girl: all the conversation in the world has been exhausted long ago. Heaven knows I have exhausted the conversation of the British Army these thirty years; but I don’t leave it on that account. | | Leo | It’s not that I’ve exhausted it; but he will keep on repeating it when I want to read or go to sleep. And Sinjon amuses me. He’s so clever. | | The General | Stung. Ha! The old complaint. You all want geniuses to marry. This demand for clever men is ridiculous. Somebody must marry the plain, honest, stupid fellows. Have you thought of that? | | Leo | But there are such lots of stupid women to marry. Why do they want to marry us? Besides, Rejjy knows that I’m quite fond of him. I like him because he wants me; and I like Sinjon because I want him. I feel that I have a duty to Rejjy. | | The General | Precisely: you have. | | Leo | And, of course, Sinjon has the same duty to me. | | The General | Tut, tut! | | Leo | Oh, how silly the law is! Why can’t I marry them both? | | The General | Shocked. Leo! | | Leo | Well, I love them both. I should like to marry a lot of men. I should like to have Rejjy for every day, and Sinjon for concerts and theatres and going out in the evenings, and some great austere saint for about once a year at the end of the season, and some perfectly blithering idiot of a boy to be quite wicked with. I so seldom feel wicked; and, when I do, it’s such a pity to waste it merely because it’s too silly to confess to a real grown up man. | | Reginald | This is the kind of thing, you know. Helplessly. Well, there it is! | | The General | Decisively. Alice: this is a job for the Barmecide. He’s a Bishop: it’s his duty to talk to Leo. I can stand a good deal; but when it comes to flat polygamy and polyandry, we ought to do something. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | Going to the study door. Do come here a moment, Alfred. We’re in a difficulty. | | The Bishop | Within. Ask Collins, I’m busy. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | Collins won’t do. It’s something very serious. Do come just a moment, dear. When she hears him coming she takes a chair at the nearest end of the table. | | | The Bishop comes out of his study. He is still a slim active man, spare of flesh, and younger by temperament than his brothers. He has a delicate skin, fine hands, a salient nose with chin to match, a short beard which accentuates his sharp chin by bristling forward, clever humorous eyes, not without a glint of mischief in them, ready bright speech, and the ways of a successful man who is always interested in himself and generally rather well pleased with himself. When Lesbia hears his voice she turns her chair towards him, and presently rises and stands in the doorway listening to the conversation. | | The Bishop | Going to Leo. Good morning, my dear. Hullo! You’ve brought Reginald with you. That’s very nice of you. Have you reconciled them, Boxer? | | The General | Reconciled them! Why, man, the whole divorce was a put-up job. She wants to marry some fellow named Hotchkiss. | | Reginald | A fellow with a face like⁠— | | Leo | You shan’t, Rejjy. He has a very fine face. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | And now she says she wants to marry both of them, and a lot of other people as well. | | Leo | I didn’t say I wanted to marry them: I only said I should like to marry them. | | The Bishop | Quite a nice distinction, Leo. | | Leo | Just occasionally, you know. | | The Bishop | Sitting down cosily beside her. Quite so. Sometimes a poet, sometimes a Bishop, sometimes a fairy prince, sometimes somebody quite indescribable, and sometimes nobody at all. | | Leo | Yes: that’s just it. How did you know? | | The Bishop | Oh, I should say most imaginative and cultivated young women feel like that. I wouldn’t give a rap for one who didn’t. Shakespeare pointed out long ago that a woman wanted a Sunday husband as well as a weekday one. But, as usual, he didn’t follow up the idea. | | The General | Aghast. Am I to understand⁠— | | The Bishop | Cutting him short. Now, Boxer, am I the Bishop or are you? | | The General | Sulkily. You. | | The Bishop | Then don’t ask me are you to understand. “Your’s not to reason why: your’s but to do and die”⁠— | | The General | Oh, very well: go on. I’m not clever. Only a silly soldier man. Ha! Go on. He throws himself into the railed chair, as one prepared for the worst. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | Alfred: don’t tease Boxer. | | The Bishop | If we are going to discuss ethical questions we must begin by giving the devil fair play. Boxer never does. England never does. We always assume that the devil is guilty; and we won’t allow him to prove his innocence, because it would be against public morals if he succeeded. We used to do the same with prisoners accused of high treason. And the consequence is that we overreach ourselves; and the devil gets the better of us after all. Perhaps that’s what most of us intend him to do. | | The General | Alfred: we asked you here to preach to Leo. You are preaching at me instead. I am not conscious of having said or done anything that calls for that unsolicited attention. | | The Bishop | But poor little Leo has only told the simple truth; whilst you, Boxer, are striking moral attitudes. | | The General | I suppose that’s an epigram. I don’t understand epigrams. I’m only a silly soldier man. Ha! But I can put a plain question. Is Leo to be encouraged to be a polygamist? | | The Bishop | Remember the British Empire, Boxer. You’re a British General, you know. | | The General | What has that to do with polygamy? | | The Bishop | Well, the great majority of our fellow subjects are polygamists. I can’t as a British Bishop insult them by speaking disrespectfully of polygamy. It’s a very interesting question. Many very interesting men have been polygamists: Solomon, Muhammad, and our friend the Duke of⁠—of⁠—hm! I never can remember his name. | | The General | It would become you better, Alfred, to send that silly girl back to her husband and her duty than to talk clever and mock at your religion. “What God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” Remember that. | | The Bishop | Don’t be afraid, Boxer. What God hath joined together no man ever shall put asunder: God will take care of that. To Leo. By the way, who was it that joined you and Reginald, my dear? | | Leo | It was that awful little curate that afterwards drank, and travelled first class with a third-class ticket, and then tried to go on the stage. But they wouldn’t have him. He called himself Egerton Fotheringay. | | The Bishop | Well, whom Egerton Fotheringay hath joined, let Sir Gorell Barnes put asunder by all means. | | The General | I may be a silly soldier man; but I call this blasphemy. | | The Bishop | Gravely. Better for me to take the name of Mr. Egerton Fotheringay in earnest than for you to take a higher name in vain. | | Lesbia | Can’t you three brothers ever meet without quarrelling? | | The Bishop | Mildly. This is not quarrelling, Lesbia: it’s only English family life. Good morning. | | Leo | You know, Bishop, it’s very dear of you to take my part; but I’m not sure that I’m not a little shocked. | | The Bishop | Then I think I’ve been a little more successful than Boxer in getting you into a proper frame of mind. | | The General | Snorting. Ha! | | Leo | Not a bit; for now I’m going to shock you worse than ever. I think Solomon was an old beast. | | The Bishop | Precisely what you ought to think of him, my dear. Don’t apologize. | | The General | More shocked. Well, but hang it! Solomon was in the Bible. And, after all, Solomon was Solomon. | | Leo | And I stick to it: I still want to have a lot of interesting men to know quite intimately⁠—to say everything I think of to them, and have them say everything they think of to me. | | The Bishop | So you shall, my dear, if you are lucky. But you know you needn’t marry them all. Think of all the buttons you would have to sew on. Besides, nothing is more dreadful than a husband who keeps telling you everything he thinks, and always wants to know what you think. | | Leo | Struck by this. Well, that’s very true of Rejjy: In fact, that’s why I had to divorce him. | | The Bishop | Condoling. Yes: he repeats himself dreadfully, doesn’t he? | | Reginald | Look here, Alfred. If I have my faults, let her find them out for herself without your help. | | The Bishop | She has found them all out already, Reginald. | | Leo | A little huffily. After all, there are worse men than Reginald. I daresay he’s not so clever as you; but still he’s not such a fool as you seem to think him! | | The Bishop | Quite right, dear: stand up for your husband. I hope you will always stand up for all your husbands. He rises and goes to the hearth, where he stands complacently with his back to the fireplace, beaming at them all as at a roomful of children. | | Leo | Please don’t talk as if I wanted to marry a whole regiment. For me there can never be more than two. I shall never love anybody but Rejjy and Sinjon. | | Reginald | A man with a face like a⁠— | | Leo | I won’t have it, Rejjy. It’s disgusting. | | The Bishop | You see, my dear, you’ll exhaust Sinjon’s conversation too in a week or so. A man is like a phonograph with half-a-dozen records. You soon get tired of them all; and yet you have to sit at table whilst he reels them off to every new visitor. In the end you have to be content with his common humanity; and when you come down to that, you find out about men what a great English poet of my acquaintance used to say about women: that they all taste alike. Marry whom you please: at the end of a month he’ll be Reginald over again. It wasn’t worth changing: indeed it wasn’t. | | Leo | Then it’s a mistake to get married. | | The Bishop | It is, my dear; but it’s a much bigger mistake not to get married. | | The General | Rising. Ha! You hear that, Lesbia? He joins her at the garden door. | | Lesbia | That’s only an epigram, Boxer. | | The General | Sound sense, Lesbia. When a man talks rot, that’s epigram: when he talks sense, then I agree with him. | | Reginald | Coming off the oak chest and looking at his watch. It’s getting late. Where’s Edith? Hasn’t she got into her veil and orange blossoms yet? | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | Do go and hurry her, Lesbia. | | Lesbia | Going out through the tower. Come with me, Leo. | | Leo | Following Lesbia out. Yes, certainly. | | | The Bishop goes over to his wife and sits down, taking her hand and kissing it by way of beginning a conversation with her. | | The Bishop | Alice: I’ve had another letter from the mysterious lady who can’t spell. I like that woman’s letters. There’s an intensity of passion in them that fascinates me. | | Mrs. Bridgenorth | Do you mean Incognita Appassionata? | | The Bishop | Yes. | | The General | Turning abruptly; he has been looking out into the garden. Do you mean to say that women write love-letters to you? | | The Bishop | Of course. | | The General | They never do to me. | | The Bishop | The army doesn’t attract women: the Church does. | | Reginald | Do you consider it right to let them? They may be married women, you know. | | The Bishop | They always are. This one is. To Mrs. Bridgenorth*. Don’t you think her letters are quite the best love-letters I get? To the two men. Poor Alice has to read my love-letters aloud to me at breakfast, when they’re worth it. |