The Collected Dramas of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
takes. They look sadly at him, and go out gravely, arm in arm. Valentine stares after them, puzzled; then looks at Mrs. Clandon for an explanation.)
MRS. CLANDON (rising and leaving the tea table). Will you sit down, Mr. Valentine. I want to speak to you a little, if you will allow me. (Valentine sits down slowly on the ottoman, his conscience presaging a bad quarter of an hour. Mrs. Clandon takes Phil’s chair, and seats herself deliberately at a convenient distance from him.) I must begin by throwing myself somewhat at your consideration. I am going to speak of a subject of which I know very little — perhaps nothing. I mean love.
VALENTINE. Love!
MRS. CLANDON. Yes, love. Oh, you need not look so alarmed as that, Mr. Valentine: I am not in love with you.
VALENTINE (overwhelmed). Oh, really, Mrs. — (Recovering himself.) I should be only too proud if you were.
MRS. CLANDON. Thank you, Mr. Valentine. But I am too old to begin.
VALENTINE. Begin! Have you never — ?
MRS. CLANDON. Never. My case is a very common one, Mr. Valentine. I married before I was old enough to know what I was doing. As you have seen for yourself, the result was a bitter disappointment for both my husband and myself. So you see, though I am a married woman, I have never been in love; I have never had a love affair; and to be quite frank with you, Mr. Valentine, what I have seen of the love affairs of other people has not led me to regret that deficiency in my experience. (Valentine, looking very glum, glances sceptically at her, and says nothing. Her color rises a little; and she adds, with restrained anger) You do not believe me?
VALENTINE (confused at having his thought read). Oh, why not? Why not?
MRS. CLANDON. Let me tell you, Mr. Valentine, that a life devoted to the Cause of Humanity has enthusiasms and passions to offer which far transcend the selfish personal infatuations and sentimentalities of romance. Those are not your enthusiasms and passions, I take it? (Valentine, quite aware that she despises him for it, answers in the negative with a melancholy shake of the head.) I thought not. Well, I am equally at a disadvantage in discussing those so-called affairs of the heart in which you appear to be an expert.
VALENTINE (restlessly). What are you driving at, Mrs. Clandon?
MRS. CLANDON. I think you know.
VALENTINE. Gloria?
MRS. CLANDON. Yes. Gloria.
VALENTINE (surrendering). Well, yes: I’m in love with Gloria. (Interposing as she is about to speak.) I know what you’re going to say: I’ve no money.
MRS. CLANDON. I care very little about money, Mr. Valentine.
VALENTINE. Then you’re very different to all the other mothers who have interviewed me.
MRS. CLANDON. Ah, now we are coming to it, Mr. Valentine. You are an old hand at this. (He opens his mouth to protest: she cuts him short with some indignation.) Oh, do you think, little as I understand these matters, that I have not common sense enough to know that a man who could make as much way in one interview with such a woman as my daughter, can hardly be a novice!
VALENTINE. I assure you —
MRS. CLANDON (stopping him). I am not blaming you, Mr. Valentine. It is Gloria’s business to take care of herself; and you have a right to amuse yourself as you please. But —
VALENTINE (protesting). Amuse myself! Oh, Mrs. Clandon!
MRS. CLANDON (relentlessly). On your honor, Mr. Valentine, are you in earnest?
VALENTINE (desperately). On my honor I am in earnest. (She looks searchingly at him. His sense of humor gets the better of him; and he adds quaintly) Only, I always have been in earnest; and yet — here I am, you see!
MRS. CLANDON. This is just what I suspected. (Severely.) Mr. Valentine: you are one of those men who play with women’s affections.
VALENTINE. Well, why not, if the Cause of Humanity is the only thing worth being serious about? However, I understand. (Rising and taking his hat with formal politeness.) You wish me to discontinue my visits.
MRS. CLANDON. No: I am sensible enough to be well aware that Gloria’s best chance of escape from you now is to become better acquainted with you.
VALENTINE (unaffectedly alarmed). Oh, don’t say that, Mrs. Clandon. You don’t think that, do you?
MRS. CLANDON. I have great faith, Mr. Valentine, in the sound training Gloria’s mind has had since she was a child.
VALENTINE (amazingly relieved). O-oh! Oh, that’s all right. (He sits down again and throws his hat flippantly aside with the air of a man who has no longer anything to fear.)
MRS. CLANDON (indignant at his assurance). What do you mean?
VALENTINE (turning confidentially to her). Come: shall I teach you something, Mrs. Clandon?
MRS. CLANDON (stiffly). I am always willing to learn.
VALENTINE. Have you ever studied the subject of gunnery — artillery — cannons and warships and so on?
MRS. CLANDON. Has gunnery anything to do with Gloria?
VALENTINE. A great deal — by way of illustration. During this whole century, my dear Mrs. Clandon, the progress of artillery has been a duel between the maker of cannons and the maker of armor plates to keep the cannon balls out. You build a ship proof against the best gun known: somebody makes a better gun and sinks your ship. You build a heavier ship, proof against that gun: somebody makes a heavier gun and sinks you again. And so on. Well, the duel of sex is just like that.
MRS. CLANDON. The duel of sex!
VALENTINE. Yes: you’ve heard of the duel of sex, haven’t you? Oh, I forgot: you’ve been in Madeira: the expression has come up since your time. Need I explain it?
MRS. CLANDON (contemptuously). No.
VALENTINE. Of course not. Now what happens in the duel of sex? The old fashioned mother received an old fashioned education to protect her against the wiles of man. Well, you know the result: the old fashioned man got round her. The old fashioned woman resolved to protect her daughter more effectually — to find some armor too strong for the old fashioned man. So she gave her daughter a scientific education — your plan. That was a corker for the old fashioned man: he said it wasn’t fair — unwomanly and all the rest of it. But that didn’t do him any good. So he had to give up his old fashioned plan of attack — you know — going down on his knees and swearing to love, honor and obey, and so on.
MRS. CLANDON. Excuse me: that was what the woman swore.
VALENTINE. Was it? Ah, perhaps you’re right — yes: of course it was. Well, what did the man do? Just what the artillery man does — went one better than the woman — educated himself scientifically and beat her at that game just as he had beaten her at the old game. I learnt how to circumvent the Women’s Rights woman before I was twenty-three: it’s all been found out long ago. You see, my methods are thoroughly modern.
MRS. CLANDON (with quiet disgust). No doubt.
VALENTINE. But for that very reason there’s one sort of girl against whom they are of no use.
MRS. CLANDON. Pray which sort?
VALENTINE. The thoroughly old fashioned girl. If you had brought up Gloria in the old way, it would have taken me eighteen months to get to the point I got to this afternoon in eighteen minutes. Yes, Mrs. Clandon: the Higher Education of Women delivered Gloria into my hands; and it was you who taught her to believe in the Higher Education of Women.
MRS. CLANDON (rising). Mr. Valentine: you are very clever.
VALENTINE (rising also). Oh, Mrs. Clandon!
MRS. CLANDON And you have taught me n o t h i n g. Goodbye.
VALENTINE (horrified). Goodbye! Oh, mayn’t I see her before I go?
MRS. CLANDON. I am afraid she will not return until you have gone Mr.