The Collected Dramas of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
that was half an hour ago. I didn’t like to borrow five shillings from him and go in with him; so I joined the mob and looked through the railings until Miss Clandon disappeared into the hotel through the window.
GLORIA. So it has come to this, that you follow me about in public to stare at me.
VALENTINE. Yes: somebody ought to chain me up.
Gloria turns her back on him and goes to the fireplace. He takes the snub very philosophically, and goes to the opposite side of the room. The waiter appears at the window, ushering in Mrs. Clandon and McComas.
MRS. CLANDON (hurrying in). I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.
A grotesquely majestic stranger, in a domino and false nose, with goggles, appears at the window.
WAITER (to the stranger). Beg pardon, sir; but this is a private apartment, sir. If you will allow me, sir, I will shew you to the American bar and supper rooms, sir. This way, sir.
He goes into the gardens, leading the way under the impression that the stranger is following him. The majestic one, however, comes straight into the room to the end of the table, where, with impressive deliberation, he takes off the false nose and then the domino, rolling up the nose into the domino and throwing the bundle on the table like a champion throwing down his glove. He is now seen to be a stout, tall man between forty and fifty, clean shaven, with a midnight oil pallor emphasized by stiff black hair, cropped short and oiled, and eyebrows like early Victorian horsehair upholstery. Physically and spiritually, a coarsened man: in cunning and logic, a ruthlessly sharpened one. His bearing as he enters is sufficiently imposing and disquieting; but when he speaks, his powerful, menacing voice, impressively articulated speech, strong inexorable manner, and a terrifying power of intensely critical listening raise the impression produced by him to absolute tremendousness.
THE STRANGER. My name is Bohun. (General awe.) Have I the honor of addressing Mrs. Clandon? (Mrs. Clandon bows. Bohun bows.) Miss Clandon? (Gloria bows. Bohun bows.) Mr. Clandon?
CRAMPTON (insisting on his rightful name as angrily as he dares). My name is Crampton, sir.
BOHUN. Oh, indeed. (Passing him over without further notice and turning to Valentine.) Are you Mr. Clandon?
VALENTINE (making it a point of honor not to be impressed by him). Do I look like it? My name is Valentine. I did the drugging.
BOHUN. Ah, quite so. Then Mr. Clandon has not yet arrived?
WAITER (entering anxiously through the window). Beg pardon, ma’am; but can you tell me what became of that — (He recognizes Bohun, and loses all his self-possession. Bohun waits rigidly for him to pull himself together. After a pathetic exhibition of confusion, he recovers himself sufficiently to address Bohun weakly but coherently.) Beg pardon, sir, I’m sure, sir. Was — was it you, sir?
BOHUN (ruthlessly). It was I.
WAITER (brokenly). Yes, sir. (Unable to restrain his tears.) You in a false nose, Walter! (He sinks faintly into a chair at the table.) I beg pardon, ma’am, I’m sure. A little giddiness —
BOHUN (commandingly). You will excuse him, Mrs. Clandon, when I inform you that he is my father.
WAITER (heartbroken). Oh, no, no, Walter. A waiter for your father on the top of a false nose! What will they think of you?
MRS. CLANDON (going to the waiter’s chair in her kindest manner). I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Bohun. Your father has been an excellent friend to us since we came here. (Bohun bows gravely.)
WAITER (shaking his head). Oh, no, ma’am. It’s very kind of you — very ladylike and affable indeed, ma’am; but I should feel at a great disadvantage off my own proper footing. Never mind my being the gentleman’s father, ma’am: it is only the accident of birth after all, ma’am. (He gets up feebly.) You’ll all excuse me, I’m sure, having interrupted your business. (He begins to make his way along the table, supporting himself from chair to chair, with his eye on the door.)
BOHUN. One moment. (The waiter stops, with a sinking heart.) My father was a witness of what passed to-day, was he not, Mrs. Clandon?
MRS. CLANDON. Yes, most of it, I think.
BOHUN. In that case we shall want him.
WAITER (pleading). I hope it may not be necessary, sir. Busy evening for me, sir, with that ball: very busy evening indeed, sir.
BOHUN (inexorably). We shall want you.
MRS. CLANDON (politely). Sit down, won’t you?
WAITER (earnestly). Oh, if you please, ma’am, I really must draw the line at sitting down. I couldn’t let myself be seen doing such a thing, ma’am: thank you, I am sure, all the same. (He looks round from face to face wretchedly, with an expression that would melt a heart of stone.)
GLORIA. Don’t let us waste time. William only wants to go on taking care of us. I should like a cup of coffee.
WAITER (brightening perceptibly). Coffee, miss? (He gives a little gasp of hope.) Certainly, miss. Thank you, miss: very timely, miss, very thoughtful and considerate indeed. (To Mrs. Clandon, timidly but expectantly.) Anything for you, ma’am?
MRS. CLANDON Er — oh, yes: it’s so hot, I think we might have a jug of claret cup.
WAITER (beaming). Claret cup, ma’am! Certainly, ma’am.
GLORIA Oh, well I’ll have a claret cup instead of coffee. Put some cucumber in it.
WAITER (delighted). Cucumber, miss! yes, miss. (To Bohun.) Anything special for you, sir? You don’t like cucumber, sir.
BOHUN. If Mrs. Clandon will allow me — syphon — Scotch.
WAITER. Right, sir. (To Crampton.) Irish for you, sir, I think, sir? (Crampton assents with a grunt. The waiter looks enquiringly at Valentine.)
VALENTINE. I like the cucumber.
WAITER. Right, sir. (Summing up.) Claret cup, syphon, one Scotch and one Irish?
MRS. CLANDON. I think that’s right.
WAITER (perfectly happy). Right, ma’am. Directly, ma’am. Thank you. (He ambles off through the window, having sounded the whole gamut of human happiness, from the bottom to the top, in a little over two minutes.)
McCOMAS. We can begin now, I suppose?
BOHUN. We had better wait until Mrs. Clandon’s husband arrives.
CRAMPTON. What d’y’ mean? I’m her husband.
BOHUN (instantly pouncing on the inconsistency between this and his previous statement). You said just now your name was Crampton.
CRAMPTON. So it is.
MRS. CLANDON } (all four { I —
GLORIA } speaking { My —
McCOMAS } simul- { Mrs. —
VALENTINE } taneously). { You —
BOHUN (drowning them in two thunderous words). One moment. (Dead silence.) Pray allow me. Sit down everybody. (They obey humbly. Gloria takes the saddlebag chair on the hearth. Valentine slips around to her side of the room and sits on the ottoman facing the window, so that he can look at her. Crampton sits on the ottoman with his back to Valentine’s. Mrs. Clandon, who has all along kept at the opposite side of the room in order to avoid Crampton as much as possible, sits near the door, with McComas beside her on her left. Bohun places himself magisterially in the centre of the group, near the corner of the table on Mrs. Clandon’s side. When they are settled, he fixes Crampton with his eye, and begins.) In this family, it appears, the husband’s name is Crampton: the wife’s Clandon. Thus we have on the very threshold of the case an element of confusion.
VALENTINE (getting up and speaking across to him with one knee on the ottoman). But it’s perfectly simple.
BOHUN (annihilating him with a vocal thunderbolt). It is. Mrs. Clandon has adopted another name. That is the obvious explanation which you feared