Mrs. Warren’s Profession · Act II (2/2) (2/3)

| Crofts | Continuing. And a baronet isn’t to be picked up every day. No other man in my position would put up with you for a mother-in-law. Why shouldn’t she marry me? | | Mrs. Warren | You! | | Crofts | We three could live together quite comfortably. I’d die before her and leave her a bouncing widow with plenty of money. Why not? It’s been growing in my mind all the time I’ve been walking with that fool inside there. | | Mrs. Warren | Revolted. Yes; it’s the sort of thing that would grow in your mind. He halts in his prowling; and the two look at one another, she steadfastly, with a sort of awe behind her contemptuous disgust: he stealthily, with a carnal gleam in his eye and a loose grin, tempting her. | | Crofts | Suddenly becoming anxious and urgent as he sees no sign of sympathy in her. Look here, Kitty: you’re a sensible woman: you needn’t put on any moral airs. I’ll ask no more questions; and you need answer none. I’ll settle the whole property on her; and if you want a cheque for yourself on the wedding day, you can name any figure you like⁠—in reason. | | Mrs. Warren | Faugh! So it’s come to that with you, George, like all the other worn-out old creatures. | | Crofts | Savagely. Damn you! She rises and turns fiercely on him; but the door of the inner room is opened just then; and the voices of the others are heard returning. Crofts, unable to recover his presence of mind, hurries out of the cottage. The clergyman comes back. | | Rev. S. | Looking round. Where is Sir George? | | Mrs. Warren | Gone out to have a pipe. She goes to the fireplace, turning her back on him to compose herself. The clergyman goes to the table for his hat. Meanwhile, Vivie comes in, followed by Frank, who collapses into the nearest chair with an air of extreme exhaustion. Mrs. Warren looks round at Vivie and says, with her affectation of maternal patronage even more forced than usual: Well, dearie: have you had a good supper? | | Vivie | You know what Mrs. Alison’s suppers are. She turns to Frank and pets him. Poor Frank! was all the beef gone? did it get nothing but bread and cheese and ginger beer? Seriously, as if she had done quite enough trifling for one evening. Her butter is really awful. I must get some down from the stores. | | Frank | Do, in Heaven’s name! | | | Vivie* goes to the writing-table and makes a memorandum to order the butter. Praed comes in from the inner room, putting up his handkerchief, which he has been using as a napkin. | | Rev. S. | Frank, my boy: it is time for us to be thinking of home. Your mother does not know yet that we have visitors. | | Praed | I’m afraid we’re giving trouble. | | Frank | Rising. Not the least in the world, Praed: my mother will be delighted to see you. She’s a genuinely intellectual, artistic woman; and she sees nobody here from one year’s end to another except the gov’nor; so you can imagine how jolly dull it pans out for her. To the *Rev. S. You’re not intellectual or artistic, are you, pater? So take Praed home at once; and I’ll stay here and entertain Mrs. Warren. You’ll pick up Crofts in the garden. He’ll be excellent company for the bull-pup. | | Praed | Taking his hat from the dresser, and coming close to Frank. Come with us, Frank. Mrs. Warren has not seen Miss Vivie for a long time; and we have prevented them from having a moment together yet. | | Frank | Quite softened, and looking at Praed with romantic admiration. Of course: I forgot. Ever so thanks for reminding me. Perfect gentleman, Praddy. Always were⁠—my ideal through life. He rises to go, but pauses a moment between the two older men, and puts his hand on Praed’s shoulder. Ah, if you had only been my father instead of this unworthy old man! He puts his other hand on his father’s shoulder. | | Rev. S. | Blustering. Silence, sir, silence: you are profane. | | Mrs. Warren | Laughing heartily. You should keep him in better order, Sam. Good night. Here: take George his hat and stick with my compliments. | | Rev. S. | Taking them. Good night. They shake hands. As he passes Vivie he shakes hands with her also and bids her good night. Then, in booming command, to Frank. Come along, sir, at once. He goes out. Meanwhile Frank has taken his cap from the dresser and his rifle from the rack. Praed shakes hands with Mrs. Warren and Vivie and goes out, Mrs. Warren accompanying him idly to the door, and looking out after him as he goes across the garden. Frank silently begs a kiss from Vivie; but she, dismissing him with a stern glance, takes a couple of books and some paper from the writing-table, and sits down with them at the middle table, so as to have the benefit of the lamp. | | Frank | At the door, taking Mrs. Warren’s hand. Good night, dear Mrs. Warren. He squeezes her hand. She snatches it away, her lips tightening, and looks more than half disposed to box his ears. He laughs mischievously and runs off, clapping-to the door behind him. | | Mrs. Warren | Coming back to her place at the table, opposite Vivie, resigning herself to an evening of boredom now that the men are gone. Did you ever in your life hear anyone rattle on so? Isn’t he a tease? She sits down. Now that I think of it, dearie, don’t you go encouraging him. I’m sure he’s a regular good-for-nothing. | | Vivie | Yes: I’m afraid poor Frank is a thorough good-for-nothing. I shall have to get rid of him; but I shall feel sorry for him, though he’s not worth it, poor lad. That man Crofts does not seem to me to be good for much either: is he? | | Mrs. Warren | Galled by Vivie’s cool tone. What do you know of men, child, to talk that way of them? You’ll have to make up your mind to see a good deal of Sir George Crofts, as he’s a friend of mine. | | Vivie | Quite unmoved. Why? Do you expect that we shall be much together⁠—you and I, I mean? | | Mrs. Warren | Staring at her. Of course⁠—until you’re married. You’re not going back to college again. | | Vivie | Do you think my way of life would suit you? I doubt it. | | Mrs. Warren | Your way of life! What do you mean? | | Vivie | Cutting a page of her book with the paper knife on her chatelaine. Has it really never occurred to you, mother, that I have a way of life like other people? | | Mrs. Warren | What nonsense is this you’re trying to talk? Do you want to show your independence, now that you’re a great little person at school? Don’t be a fool, child. | | Vivie | Indulgently. That’s all you have to say on the subject, is it, mother? | | Mrs. Warren | Puzzled, then angry. Don’t you keep on asking me questions like that. Violently. Hold your tongue. Vivie works on, losing no time, and saying nothing. You and your way of life, indeed! What next? *She looks at Vivie again. No reply. Your way of life will be what I please, so it will. Another pause. I’ve been noticing these airs in you ever since you got that tripos or whatever you call it. If you think I’m going to put up with them you’re mistaken; and the sooner you find it out, the better. Muttering. All I have to say on the subject, indeed! Again raising her voice angrily. Do you know who you’re speaking to, Miss? | | Vivie | Looking across at her without raising her head from her book. No. Who are you? What are you? | | Mrs. Warren | Rising breathless. You young imp! | | Vivie | Everybody knows my reputation, my social standing, and the profession I intend to pursue. I know nothing about you. What is that way of life which you invite me to share with you and Sir George Crofts, pray? | | Mrs. Warren | Take care. I shall do something I’ll be sorry for after, and you, too. | | Vivie | Putting aside her books with cool decision. Well, let us drop the subject until you are better able to face it. Looking critically at her mother. You want some good walks and a little lawn tennis to set you up. You are shockingly out of condition: you were not able to manage twenty yards uphill today without stopping to pant; and your wrists are mere rolls of fat. Look at mine. She holds out her wrists. | | Mrs. Warren | After looking at her helplessly, begins to whimper. Vivie⁠— | | Vivie | Springing up sharply. Now pray don’t begin to cry. Anything but that. I really cannot stand whimpering. I will go out of the room if you do. | | Mrs. Warren | Piteously. Oh, my darling, how can you be so hard on me? Have I no rights over you as your mother? | | Vivie | Are you my mother? | | Mrs. Warren | Appalled. Am I your mother! Oh, Vivie! | | Vivie | Then where are our relatives⁠—my father⁠—our family friends? You claim the rights of a mother: the right to call me fool and child; to speak to me as no woman in authority over me at college dare speak to me; to dictate my way of life; and to force on me the acquaintance of a brute whom anyone can see to be the most vicious sort of London man about town. Before I give myself the trouble to resist such claims, I may as well find out whether they have any real existence. | | Mrs. Warren | Distracted, throwing herself on her knees. Oh, no, no. Stop, stop. I am your mother: I swear it. Oh, you can’t mean to turn on me⁠—my own child: it’s not natural. You believe me, don’t you? Say you believe me. | | Vivie | Who was my father? | | Mrs. Warren | You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t tell you. | | Vivie | Determinedly. Oh, yes, you can, if you like. I have a right to know; and you know very well that I have that right. You can refuse to tell me, if you please; but if you do, you will see the last of me tomorrow morning. | | Mrs. Warren | Oh, it’s too horrible to hear you talk like that. You wouldn’t⁠—you couldn’t leave me. | | Vivie | Ruthlessly. Yes, without a moment’s hesitation, if you trifle with me about this. Shivering with disgust. How can I feel sure that I may not have the contaminated blood of that brutal waster in my veins? | | Mrs. Warren | No, no. On my oath it’s not he, nor any of the rest that you have ever met. I’m certain of that, at least. | | | Vivie’s eyes fasten sternly on her mother as the significance of this flashes on her. | | Vivie | Slowly. You are certain of that, at least. Ah! You mean that that is all you are certain of. Thoughtfully. I see. Mrs. Warren buries her face in her hands. Don’t do that, mother: you know you don’t feel it a bit. Mrs. Warren takes down her hands and looks up deplorably at Vivie, who takes out her watch and says: Well, that is enough for tonight. At what hour would you like breakfast? Is half-past eight too early for you? | | Mrs. Warren | Wildly. My God, what sort of woman are you? | | Vivie | Coolly. The sort the world is mostly made of, I should hope. Otherwise I don’t understand how it gets its business done. Come: taking her mother by the wrist and pulling her up pretty resolutely pull yourself together. That’s right. | | Mrs. Warren | Querulously. You’re very rough with me, Vivie. | | Vivie | Nonsense. What about bed? It’s past ten. | | Mrs. Warren | Passionately. What’s the use of my going to bed? Do you think I could sleep? | | Vivie | Why not? I shall. | | Mrs. Warren | You! you’ve no heart. She suddenly breaks out vehemently in her natural tongue⁠—the dialect of a woman of the people⁠—with all her affectations of maternal authority and conventional manners gone, and an overwhelming inspiration of true conviction and scorn in her. Oh, I won’t bear it: I won’t put up with the injustice of it. What right have you to set yourself up above me like this? You boast of what you are to me⁠—to me, who gave you the chance of being what you are. What chance had I? Shame on you for a bad daughter and a stuck-up prude! | | Vivie | Cool and determined, but no longer confident; for her replies, which have sounded convincingly sensible and strong to her so far, now begin to ring rather woodenly and even priggishly against the new tone of her mother. Don’t think for a moment I set myself above you in any way. You attacked me with the conventional authority of a mother: I defended myself with the conventional superiority of a respectable woman. Frankly, I am not going to stand any of your nonsense; and when you drop it I shall not expect you to stand any of mine. I shall always respect your right to your own opinions and your own way of life. | | Mrs. Warren | My own opinions and my own way of life! Listen to her talking! Do you think I was brought up like you⁠—able to pick and choose my own way of life? Do you think I did what I did because I liked it, or thought it right, or wouldn’t rather have gone to college and been a lady if I’d had the chance? | | Vivie | Everybody has some choice, mother. The poorest girl alive may not be able to choose between being Queen of England or Principal of Newnham; but she can choose between ragpicking and flowerselling, according to her taste. People are always blaming circumstances for what they are. I don’t believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can’t find them, make them. | | Mrs. Warren | Oh, it’s easy to talk, isn’t it? Here!⁠—would you like to know what my circumstances were? | | Vivie | Yes: you had better tell me. Won’t you sit down? | | Mrs. Warren | Oh, I’ll sit down: don’t you be afraid. She plants her chair farther forward with brazen energy, and sits down. Vivie* is impressed in spite of herself. D’you know what your gran’mother was? | | Vivie | No. | | Mrs. Warren | No, you don’t. I do. She called herself a widow and had a fried-fish shop down by the Mint, and kept herself and four daughters out of it. Two of us were sisters: that was me and Liz; and we were both good-looking and well made. I suppose our father was a well-fed man: mother pretended he was a gentleman; but I don’t know. The other two were only half sisters⁠—undersized, ugly, starved looking, hardworking, honest poor creatures: Liz and I would have half-murdered them if mother hadn’t half-murdered us to keep our hands off them. They were the respectable ones. Well, what did they get by their respectability? I’ll tell you. One of them worked in a white lead factory twelve hours a day for nine shillings a week until she died of lead poisoning. She only expected to get her hands a little paralyzed; but she died. The other was always held up to us as a model because she married a Government laborer in the Deptford victualling yard, and kept his room and the three children neat and tidy on eighteen shillings a week⁠—until he took to drink. That was worth being respectable for, wasn’t it? | | Vivie | Now thoughtfully attentive. Did you and your sister think so? | | Mrs. Warren | Liz didn’t, I can tell you: she had more spirit. We both went to a church school⁠—that was part of the ladylike airs we gave ourselves to be superior to the children that knew nothing and went nowhere⁠—and we stayed there until Liz went out one night and never came back. I know the schoolmistress thought I’d soon follow her example; for the clergyman was always warning me that Lizzie’d end by jumping off Waterloo Bridge. Poor fool: that was all he knew about it! But I was more afraid of the white lead factory than I was of the river; and so would you have been in my place. That clergyman got me a situation as scullery maid in a temperance restaurant where they sent out for anything you liked. Then I was waitress; and then I went to the bar at Waterloo station⁠—fourteen hours a day serving drinks and washing glasses for four shillings a week and my board. That was considered a great promotion for me. Well, one cold, wretched night, when I was so tired I could hardly keep myself awake, who should come up for a half of Scotch but Lizzie, in a long fur cloak, elegant and comfortable, with a lot of sovereigns in her purse. |