Man and superman; a comedy and a philosophy

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University of California • Berkeley

Gift of

LUCILE HEMING KOSHLAND

and
DANIEL EDWARD KOSHLAND

MAN AND SUPERMAN

Man and Superman. A
Comedy and a Philoso-
phy. By Bernard Shaw.

Westminster : Archibald
Constable & Co., Ltd.,
1903.

TO

ARTHUR BINGHAM WALKLEY

My dear Walkley

You once asked me why I did not
write a Don Juan play. The levity with which you assumed
this frightful responsibility has probably by this time en-
abled you to forget it; but the day of reckoning has
arrived : here is your play ! I say your play, because qui
facit per alium facit per se. Its profits, like its labor,
belong to me : its morals, its manners, its philosophy, its
influence on the young, are for you to justify. You were
of mature age when you made the suggestion ; and you
knew your man. It is hardly fifteen years since, as twin
pioneers of the New Journalism of that time, we two,
cradled in the same new sheets, began an epoch in the
criticism of the theatre and the opera house by making it
the pretext for a propaganda of our own views of life. So
you cannot plead ignorance of the character of the force
you set in motion. You meant me to epater le bourgeois ;
and if he protests, I hereby refer him to you as the
accountable party.

I warn you that if you attempt to repudiate your re-
sponsibility, I shall suspect you of finding the play too
decorous for your taste. The fifteen years have made me
older and graver. In you I can detect no such becoming

vi Epistle Dedicatory-

change. Your levities and audacities are like the loves
and comforts of Florizel and Perdita : they increase, even
as your years do grow. No mere pioneering journal dares
meddle with them now : the stately Times itself is alone
sufficiently above suspicion to act as your chaperone ; and
even the Times must sometimes thank its stars that new
plays are not produced every day, since after each such
event its gravity is compromised, its platitude turned to
epigram, its portentousness to wit, its propriety to ele-
gance, and even its decorum into naughtiness by criticisms
which the traditions of the paper do not allow you to sign
at the end, but which you take care to sign with the most
extravagant flourishes between the lines. I am not sure
that this is not a portent of Revolution. In eighteenth
century France the end was at hand when men bought the
Encyclopedia and found Diderot there. When I buy the
Times and find you there, my prophetic ear catches a
rattle of twentieth century tumbrils.

However, that is not my present anxiety. The ques-
tion is, will you not be disappointed with a Don Juan play
in which not one of that hero's mille e tre adventures is
brought upon the stage? To propitiate you, let me ex-
plain myself. You will retort that I never do anything
else : it is your favorite jibe at me that what I call drama
is nothing but explanation. But you must not expect me
to adopt your inexplicable, fantastic, petulant, fastidious
ways : you must take me as I am, a reasonable, patient,
consistent, apologetic, laborious person, with the tempera-
ment of a schoolmaster and the pursuits of a vestryman.
No doubt that literary knack of mine which happens to
amuse the British public distracts attention from my
character ; but the character is there none the less, solid
as bricks. I have a conscience ; and conscience is always
anxiously explanatory. You, on the contrary, feel that a
man who discusses his conscience is much like a woman
who discusses her modesty. The only moral force you
condescend to parade is the force of your wit : the only

to Arthur Bingham Walkley vii

demand you make in public is the demand of your artistic
temperament for symmetry, elegance, style, grace, refine-
ment, and the cleanliness which comes next to godliness
if not before it. But my conscience is the genuine pulpit
article : it annoys me to see people comfortable when they
ought to be uncomfortable; and I insist on making them
think in order to bring them to conviction of sin. If you
dont like my preaching you must lump it. I really cannot
help it.

In the preface to my Plays for Puritans I explained the
predicament of our contemporary English drama, forced to
deal almost exclusively with cases of sexual attraction, and
yet forbidden to exhibit the incidents of that attraction or
even to discuss its nature. Your suggestion that I should
write a Don Juan play was virtually a challenge to me to
treat this subject myself dramatically. The challenge was
difficult enough to be worth accepting, because, when you
come to think of it, though we have plenty of dramas with
heroes and heroines who are in love and must accordingly
marry or perish at the end of the play, or about people
whose relations with one another have been complicated
by the marriage laws, not to mention the looser sort of
plays which trade on the tradition that illicit love affairs
are at once vicious and delightful, we have no modern
English plays in which the natural attraction of the sexes
for one another is made the mainspring of the action. That
is why we insist on beauty in our performers, differing
herein from the countries our friend William Archer holds
up as examples of seriousness to our childish theatres.
There the Juliets and Isoldes, the Romeos and Tristans,
might be our mothers and fathers. Not so the English
actress. The heroine she impersonates is not allowed to
discuss the elemental relations of men and women : all her
romantic twaddle about novelet-made love, all her purely
legal dilemmas as to whether she was married or " betrayed,"
quite miss our hearts and worry our minds. To console
ourselves we must just look at her. We do so; and her

vili Epistle Dedicatory

beauty feeds our starving emotions. Sometimes we grumble
ungallantly at the lady because she does not act as well as
she looks. But in a drama which, with all its preoccupation
with sex, is really void of sexual interest, good looks are
more desired than histrionic skill.

Let me press this point on you, since you are too clever
to raise the fool's cry of paradox whenever I take hold of
a stick by the right instead of the wrong end. Why are
our occasional attempts to deal with the sex problem on
the stage so repulsive and dreary that even those who are
most determined that sex questions shall be held open and
their discussion kept free, cannot pretend to relish these
joyless attempts at social sanitation ? Is it not because at
bottom they are utterly sexless ? What is the usual formula
for such plays? A woman has, on some past occasion, been
brought into conflict with the law which regulates the
relations of the sexes. A man, by falling in love with her,
or marrying her, is brought into conflict with the social
convention which discountenances the woman. Now the
conflicts of individuals with law and convention can be
dramatized like all other human conflicts ; but they are
purely judicial ; and the fact that we are much more curi-
ous about the suppressed relations between the man and
the woman than about the relations between both and our
courts of law and private juries of matrons, produces that
sensation of evasion, of dissatisfaction, of fundamental
irrelevance, of shallowness, of useless disagreeableness, of
total failure to edify and partial failure to interest, which
is as familiar to you in the theatres as it was to me when I,
too, frequented those uncomfortable buildings, and found
our popular playwrights in the mind to (as they thought)
emulate Ibsen.

I take it that when you asked me for a Don Juan play
you did not want that sort of thing. Nobody does : the
successes such plays sometimes obtain are due to the
incidental conventional melodrama with which the experi-
enced popular author instinctively saves himself from failure.

to Arthur Bingham Walkley ix

But what did you want? Owing to your unfortunate habit
— you now, I hope, feci its inconvenience — of not explain-
ing yourself, I have had to discover this for myself. First,
then, I have had to ask myself, what is a Don Juan?
Vulgarly, a libertine. But your dislike of vulgarity is pushed
to the length of a defect (universality of character is im-
possible without a share of vulgarity) ; and even if you
could acquire the taste, you would find yourself overfed
from ordinary sources without troubling me. So I took it
that you demanded a Don Juan in the philosophic sense.

Philosophically, Don Juan is a man who, though gifted
enough to be exceptionally capable of distinguishing be-
tween good and evil, follows his own instincts without
regard to the common, statute, or canon law; and there-
fore, whilst gaining the ardent sympathy of our rebellious
instincts (which are flattered by the brilliancies with which
Don Juan associates them) finds himself in mortal conflict
with existing institutions, and defends himself by fraud and
force as unscrupulously as a farmer defends his crops by
the same means against vermin. The prototypic Don Juan,
invented early in the XVI century by a Spanish monk,
was presented, according to the ideas of that time, as the
enemy of God, the approach of whose vengeance is felt
throughout the drama, growing in menace from minute to
minute. No anxiety is caused on Don Juan's account by
any minor antagonist : he easily eludes the police, temporal
and spiritual ; and when an indignant father seeks private
redress with the sword, Don Juan kills him without an
effort. Not until the slain father returns from heaven as
the agent of God, in the form of his own statue, does he
prevail against his slayer and cast him into hell. The moral
is a monkish one : repent and reform now; for tomorrow
it may be too late. This is really the only point on which
Don Juan is sceptical ; for he is a devout believer in an
ultimate hell, and risks damnation only because, as he is
young, it seems so far off that repentance can be postponed
until he has amused himself to his heart's content.

X Epistle Dedicatory

But the lesson intended by an author is hardly ever the
lesson the world chooses to learn from his book. What
attracts and impresses us in El Burlador de Sevilla is not
the immediate urgency of repentance, but the heroism of
daring to be the enemy of God. From Prometheus to my
own Devil's Disciple, such enemies have always been
popular. Don Juan became such a pet that the world could
not bear his damnation. It reconciled him sentimentally to
God in a second version, and clamored for his canonization
for a whole century, thus treating him as English journal-
ism has treated that comic foe of the gods. Punch. Moliere's
Don Juan casts back to the original in point of impenitence ;
but in piety he falls off greatly. True, he also proposes to
repent; but in what terms! "Oui, ma foi ! il faut
s'amender. Encore vingt ou trente ans de cette vie-ci, et
puis nous songerons a nous." After Moliere comes the
artist-enchanter, the master of masters, Mozart, who reveals
the hero's spirit in r;;iagical harmonies, elfin tones, and elate
darting rhythms as of summer lightning made audible. Here
you have freedom in love and in morality mocking ex-
quisitely at slavery to them, and interesting you, attracting
you, tempting you, inexplicably forcing you to range the
hero with his enemy the statue on a transcendant plane,
leaving the prudish daughter and her priggish lover on a
crockery shelf below to live piously ever after.

After these completed works Byron's fragment does not
count for much philosophically. Our vagabond libertines
are no more interesting from that point of view than the
sailor who has a wife in every port ; and Byron's hero is,
after all, only a vagabond libertine. And he is dumb : he
does not discuss himself with a Sganarelle-Leporello or
with the fathers or brothers of his mistresses : he does not
even, like Casanova, tell his own story. In fact he is not a
true Don Juan at all ; for he is no more an enemy of God
than any romantic and adventurous young sower of wild
oats. Had you and I been in his place at his age, who
knows whether we might not have done as he did, unless

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xi

indeed your fastidiousness had saved you from the empress
Catherine. Byron was as little of a philosopher as Peter the
Great : both were instances of that rare and useful, but
unedifying variation, an energetic genius born without the
prejudices or superstitions of his contemporaries. The
resultant unscrupulous freedom of thought made Byron a
greater poet than Wordsworth just as it made Peter a
greater king than George III ; but as it was, after all, only
a negative qualification, it did not prevent Peter from being
an appalling blackguard and an arrant poltroon, nor did it
enable Byron to become a religious force like Shelley. Let
us, then, leave Byron's Don Juan out of account. Mozart's
is the last of the true Don Juans; for by the time he was
of age, his cousin Faust had, in the hands of Goethe, taken
his place and carried both his warfare and his reconciliation
with the gods far beyond mere lovemaking into politics,
high art, schemes for reclaiming new continents from the
ocean, and recognition of an eternal womanly principle in
the universe. Goethe's Faust and Mozart's Don Juan were
the last words of the XVIII century on the subject ; and
by the time the polite critics of the XIX century, ignoring
William Blake as superficially as the XVIII had ignored
Hogarth or the XVII Bunyan, had got past the Dickens-
Macaulay Dumas-Guizot stage and the Stendhal-Meredith-
TurgeniefF stage, and were confronted with philosophic
fiction by such pens as Ibsen's and Tolstoy's, Don Juan
had changed his sex and become Dona Juana, breaking out
of the Doll's House and asserting herself as an individual
instead of a mere item in a moral pageant.

Now it is all very well for you at the beginning of the
XX century to ask me for a Don Juan play; but you will
see from the foregoing survey that Don Juan is a full century
out of date for you and for me ; and if there are millions
of less literate people who are still in the eighteenth century,
have they not Moli^re and Mozart, upon whose art no
human hand can improve? You would laugh at me if at
this time of day I dealt in duels and ghosts and "womanly"

xli Epistle Dedicatory

women. As to mere libertinism, you would be the first to
remind me that the Festin de Pierre of Moliere is not a
play for amorists, and that one bar of the voluptuous senti-
mentality of Gounod or Bizet would appear as a licentious
stain on the score of Don Giovanni. Even the more abstract
parts of the Don Juan play are dilapidated past use : for
instance, Don Juan's supernatural antagonist hurled those
who refuse to repent into lakes of burning brimstone, there
to be tormented by devils with horns and tails. Of that
antagonist, and of that conception of repentance, how much
is left that could be used in a play by me dedicated to you ?
On the otherhand, those forces of middle class public opinion
which hardly existed for a Spanish nobleman in the days of
the first Don Juan, are now triumphant everywhere. Civil-
ized society is one huge bourgeoisie : no nobleman dares now
shock his greengrocer. The women, "marchesane, princi-
pesse, cameriere, cittadlne" and all, are become equally
dangerous : the sex is aggressive, powerful : when women
are wronged they do not group themselves pathetically to
sing "Protegga il giusto cielo" : they grasp formidable legal
and social weapons, and retaliate. Political parties are
wrecked and public careers undone by a single indiscretion.
A man had better have all the statues in London to supper
with him, ugly as they are, than be brought to the bar of
the Nonconformist Conscience by Donna Elvira. Excom-
munication has become almost as serious a business as it was
in the X century.

As a result, Man is no longer, like Don Juan, victor in
the duel of sex. Whether he has ever really been may be
doubted : at all events the enormous superiority of Woman's
natural position in this matter is telling with greater and
greater force. As to pulling the Nonconformist Conscience
by the beard as Don Juan plucked the beard of the Com-
mandant's statue in the convent of San Francisco, that is
out of the question nowadays : prudence and good manners
alike forbid it to a hero with any mind. Besides, it is Don
Juan's own beard that is in danger of plucking. Far from

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xiii

relapsing into hypocrisy, as Sganarelle feared, he has unex-
pectedly discovered a moral in his immorality. The growing
recognition of his new point of view is heaping responsibility
on him. His former jests he has had to take as seriously as
I have had to take some of the jests of Mr W. S. Gilbert.
His scepticism, once his least tolerated quality, has now
triumphed so completely that he can no longer assert himself
by witty negations, and must, to save himself from cipherdom,
find an affirmative position. His thousand and three affairs
of gallantry, after becoming, at most, two immature intrigues
leading to sordid and prolonged complications and humilia-
tions, have been discarded altogether as unworthy of his
philosophic dignity and compromising to his newly ac-
knowledged position as the founder of a school. Instead of
pretending to read Ovid he does actually read Schopenhaur
and Nietzsche, studies Westermarck, and is concerned for
the future of the race instead of for the freedom of his own
instincts. Thus his profligacy and his dare-devil airs have
gone the way of his sword and mandoline into the rag shop
of anachronisms and superstitions. In fact, he is now more
Hamlet than Don Juan ; for though the lines put into
the actor's mouth to indicate to the pit that Hamlet is a
philosopher are for the most part mere harmonious platitude
which, with a little debasement of the word-music, would
be properer to Pecksniff, yet if you separate the real hero,
inarticulate and unintelligible to himself except in flashes
of inspiration, from the performer who has to talk at any
cost through five acts ; and if you also do what you must
always do in Shakespear's tragedies : that is, dissect out the
absurd sensational incidents and physical violences of the
borrowed story from the genuine Shakespearian tissue, you
will get a true Promethean foe of the gods, whose instinctive
attitude towards women much resembles that to which Don
Juan is now driven. From this point of view Hamlet was a
developed Don Juan whom Shakespear palmed off as a
reputable man just as he palmed poor Macbeth off as a
murderer. To-day the palming off is no longer necessary

XIV Epistle Dedicatory

(at least on your plane and mine) because Don Juanism is
no longer misunderstood as mere Casanovism. Don Juan
himself is almost ascetic in his desire to avoid that mis-
understanding ; and so my attempt to bring him up to date
by launching him as a modern Englishman into a modern
English environment has produced a figure superficially
quite unlike the hero of Mozart.

And yet I have not the heart to disappoint you wholly of
another glimpse of the Mozartian dissoluto punito and
his antagonist the statue. I feel sure you would like to know
more of that statue — to draw him out when he is off duty,
so to speak. To gratify you, I have resorted to the trick of
the strolling theatrical manager who advertizes the panto-
mime of Sinbad the Sailor with a stock of second-hand
picture posters designed for Ali Baba. He simply thrusts a
few oil jars into the valley of diamonds, and so fulfils the
promise held out by the hoardings to the public eye. I have
adapted this easy device to our occasion by thrusting into
my perfectly modern three-act play a totally extraneous
act in which my hero, enchanted by the air of the Sierra,
has a dream in which his Mozartian ancestor appears and
philosophizes at great length in a Shavio-Socratic dialogue
with the lady, the statue, and the devil.

But this pleasantry is not the essence of the play. Over
this essence I have no control. You propound a certain
social substance, sexual attraction to wit, for dramatic dis-
tillation ; and I distil it for you. I do not adulterate the
product with aphrodisiacs nor dilute it with romance and
water ; for I am merely executing your commission, not
producing a popular play for the market. You must there-
fore (unless, like most wise men, you read the play first and
the preface afterwards) prepare yourself to face a trumpery
story of modern London life, a life, in which, as you know,
the ordinary man's main business is to get means to keep
up the position and habits of a gentleman, and the ordinary
woman's business is to get married. In 9,999 cases out of
1 0,000, you can count on their doing nothing, whether noble

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xv

or base, that conflicts with these ends ; and that assurance
is what you rely on as their religion, their morality, their
principles, their patriotism, their reputation, their honor
and so forth.

On the whole, this is a sensible and satisfactory foundation
for societ)\ Money means nourishment and marriage means
children ; and that men should put nourishment first and
women children first is, broadly speaking, the law of Nature
and not the dictate of personal ambition. The secret of the
prosaic man's success, such as it is, is the simplicity with
which he pursues these ends : the secret of the artistic man's
failure, such as that is, is the versatility with which he strays
in all directions after secondary ideals. The artist is either
a poet or a scallawag : as poet, he cannot see, as the prosaic
man does, that chivalry is at bottom only romantic suicide :
as scallawag, he cannot see that it does not pay to spunge
and beg and lie and brag and neglect his person. Therefore
do not misunderstand my plain statement of the fundamental
constitution of London society as an Irishman's reproach to
your nation. From the day I first set foot on this foreign
soil I knew the value of the prosaic qualities of which Irish-
men teach Englishmen to be ashamed as well as I knew
the vanity of the poetic qualities of which Englishmen
teach Irishmen to be proud. For the Irishman instinctively
disparages the quality which makes the Englishman danger-
ous to him ; and the Englishman instinctively flatters the
fault that makes the Irishman harmless and amusing to him.
What is wrong with the prosaic Englishman is what is wrong
with the prosaic men of all countries : stupidity. The vital-
ity which places nourishment and children first, heaven
and hell a somewhat remote second, and the health of society
as an organic whole nowhere, may muddle successfully
through the comparatively tribal stages of gregariousness ;
but in nineteenth century nations and twentieth century
empires the determination of every man to be rich at all
costs, and of every woman to be married at all costs, must,
without a highly scientific social organization, produce a

b

xvi Epistle Dedicatory

ruinous development of poverty, celibacy, prostitution, in-
fant mortality, adult degeneracy, and everything that wise
men most dread. In short, there is no future for men,
however brimming with crude vitality, who are neither
intelligent nor politically educated enough to be Socialists.
So do not misunderstand me in the other direction either:
if I appreciate the vital qualities of the Englishman as I
appreciate the vital qualities of the bee, I do not guarantee
the Englishman against being, like the bee (or the Canaan-
ite) smoked out and unloaded of his honey by beings in-
ferior to himself in simple acquisitiveness, combativeness,
and fecundity, but superior to him in imagination and
cunning.

The Don Juan play, however, is to deal with sexual
attraction, and not with nutrition, and to deal with it in a
society in which the serious business of sex is left by men
to women, as the serious business of nutrition is left by
women to men. That the men, to protect themselves against
a too aggressive prosecution of the women's business, have
set up a feeble romantic convention that the initiative in
sex business must always come from the man, is true ; but
the pretence is so shallow that even in the theatre, that last
sanctuary of unreality, it imposes only on the inexperienced.
In Shakespear's plays the woman always takes the initiative.
In his problem plays and his popular plays alike the love
interest is the interest of seeing the woman hunt the man
down. She may do it by blandishment, like Rosalind, or
by stratagem, like Mariana ; but in every case the relation
between the woman and the man is the same : she is the
pursuer and contriver, he the pursued and disposed of.
When she is baffled, like Ophelia, she goes mad and com-
mits suicide ; and the man goes straight from her funeral
to a fencing match. No doubt Nature, with very young
creatures, may save the woman the trouble of scheming:
Prospero knows that he has only to throw Ferdinand and
Miranda together and they will mate like a pair of doves ;
and there is no need for Perdita to capture Florizel as

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xvii

the lady doctor in All's Well That End's Well (an early
Ibsenite heroine) captures Bertram. But the mature cases
all illustrate the Shakespearian law. The one apparent
exception, Petruchio, is not a real one : he is most care-
fully characterized as a purely commercial matrimonial
adventurer. Once he is assured that Katharine has money,
he undertakes to marry her before he has seen her. In
real life we find not only Petruchios, but Mantalinis and
Dobbins who pursue women with appeals to their pity or
jealousy or vanity, or cling to them in a romantically in-
fatuated way. Such effeminates do not count in the world
scheme : even Bunsby dropping like a fascinated bird into
the jaws of Mrs MacStinger is by comparison a true tragic
object of pity and terror. I find in my own plays that
Woman, projecting herself dramatically by my hands (a
process over which I assure you I have no more real control
than I have over my wife), behaves just as Woman did in
the plays of Shakespear.

And so your Don Juan has come to birth as a stage
projection of the tragi-comic love chase of the man by the
woman ; and my Don Juan is the quarry instead of the
huntsman. Yet he is a true Don Juan, with a sense of
reality that disables convention, defying to the last the
fate which finally overtakes him. The woman's need of
him to enable her to carry on Nature's most urgent work,
does not prevail against him until his resistance gathers
her energy to a climax at which she dares to throw away
her customary exploitations of the conventional affection-
ate and dutiful poses, and claim him by natural right for a
purpose that far transcends their mortal personal purposes.

Among the friends to whom I have read this play in
manuscript are some of our own sex who are shocked at
the " unscrupulousness," meaning the total disregard of
masculine fastidiousness, with which the woman pursues
her purpose. It does not occur to them that if women
were as fastidious as men, morally or physically, there
would be an end of the race. Is there anything meaner

xviii Epistle Dedicatory

than to throw necessary work upon other people and then
disparage it as unworthy and indelicate. We laugh at the
haughty American nation because it makes the negro clean
its boots and then proves the moral and physical inferiority
of the negro by the fact that he is a shoeblack ; but we
ourselves throw the whole drudgery of creation on one
sex, and then imply that no female of any womanliness or
delicacy would initiate any effort in that direction. There
are no limits to male hypocrisy in this matter. No doubt
there are moments when man's sexual immunities are
made acutely humiliating to him. When the terrible
moment of birth arrives, its supreme importance and its
superhuman effort and peril, in which the father has no
part, dwarf him into the meanest insignificance : he slinks
out of the way of the humblest petticoat, happy if he be
poor enough to be pushed out of the house to outface his
ignominy by drunken rejoicings. But when the crisis is
over he takes his revenge, swaggering as the breadwinner,
and speaking of Woman's "sphere" with condescension,
even with chivalry, as if the kitchen and the nursery were
less important than the office in the city. When his swagger
is exhausted he drivels into erotic poetry or sentimental
uxoriousness ; and the Tennysonian King Arthur posing
at Guinevere becomes Don Quixote grovelling before
Dulcinea. You must admit that here Nature beats Comedy
out of the field : the wildest hominist or feminist farce
is insipid after the most commonplace "slice of life."
The pretence that women do not take the initiative is
part of the farce. Why, the whole world is strewn with
snares, traps, gins and pitfalls for the capture of men by
women. Give women the vote, and in five years there will
be a crushing tax on bachelors. Men, on the other hand,
attach penalties to marriage, depriving women of property,
of the franchise, of the free use of their limbs, of that
ancient symbol of immortality, the right to make oneself
at home in the house of God by taking off the hat, of
everything that he can force Woman to dispense with

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xix

without compelling himself to dispense with her. All in
vain. Woman must marry because the race must perish
without her travail : if the risk of death and the certainty
of pain, danger and unutterable discomforts cannot deter
her, slavery and swaddled ankles will not. And yet we
assume that the force that carries women through all these
perils and hardships, stops abashed before the primnesses
of our etiquette for young ladies. It is assumed that the
woman must wait, motionless, until she is wooed. Nay,
she often does wait motionless. That is how the spider
waits for the fly. But the spider spins her web. And if the
fly, like my hero, shews a strength that promises to extri-
cate him, how swiftly does she abandon her pretence of
passiveness, and openly fling coil after coil about him until
he is secured for ever !

If the really impressive books and other art-works of
the world were produced by ordinary men, they would
express more fear of women's pursuit than love of their
illusory beauty. But ordinary men cannot produce really
impressive art-works. Those who can are men of genius :
that is, men selected by Nature to carry on the work of build-
ing up an intellectual consciousness of her own instinctive
purpose. Accordingly, we observe in the man of genius all
the unscrupulousness and all the "self-sacrifice" (the two
things are the same) of Woman. He will risk the stake
and the cross ; starve, when necessary, in a garret all his
life ; study women and live on their work and care as
Darwin studied worms and lived upon sheep; work his
nerves into rags without payment, a sublime altruist in his
disregard of himself, an atrocious egotist in his disregard of
others. Here Woman meets a purpose as impersonal, as
irresistible as her own ; and the clash is sometimes tragic.
When it is complicated by the genius being a woman,
then the game is one for a king of critics : your George
Sand becomes a mother to gain experience for the novelist
and to develop her, and gobbles up men of genius, Chopins,
Mussets and the like, as mere hors d'ceuvres.

XX Epistle Dedicatory

I state the extreme case, of course ; but what is true of
the great man who incarnates the philosophic conscious-
ness of Life and the woman who incarnates its fecundity,
is true in some degree of all geniuses and all women.
Hence it is that the world's books get written, its pictures
painted, its statues modelled, its symphonies composed, by
people who are free from the otherwise universal dominion
of the tyranny of sex. Which leads us to the conclusion,
astonishing to the vulgar, that art, instead of being before
all things the expression of the normal sexual situation, is
really the only department in which sex is a superseded
and secondary power, with its consciousness so confused
and its purpose so perverted, that its ideas are mere fantasy
to common men. Whether the artist becomes poet or
philosopher, moralist or founder of a religion, his sexual
doctrine is nothing but a barren special pleading for plea-
sure, excitement, and knowledge when he is young, and
for contemplative tranquillity when he is old and satiated.
Romance and Asceticism, Amorism and Puritanism are
equally unreal in the great Philistine world. The world
shewn us in books, whether the books be confessed epics
or professed gospels, or in codes, or in political orations,
or in philosophic systems, is not the main world at all : it
is only the self-consciousness of certain abnormal people
who have the specific artistic talent and temperament. A
serious matter this for you and me, because the man whose
consciousness does not correspond to that of the majority
is a madman ; and the old habit of worshipping madmen
is giving way to the new habit of locking them up. And
since what we call education and culture is for the most
part nothing but the substitution of reading for experience,
of literature for life, of the obsolete fictitious for the con-
temporary real, education, as you no doubt observed at
Oxford, destroys, by supplantation, every mind that is not
strong enough to see through the imposture and to use the
great Masters of Arts as what they really are and no
more ; that is, patentees of highly questionable methods of

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxi

thinking, and manufacturers of highly questionable, and
for the majority but half valid representations of life. The
schoolboy who uses his Homer to throw at his fellow's
head makes perhaps the safest and most rational use of
him ; and I observe with reassurance that you occasionally
do the same, in your prime, with your Aristotle.

Fortunately for us, whose minds have been so over-
whelmingly sophisticated by literature, what produces all
these treatises and poems and scriptures of one sort or
another is the struggle of Life to become divinely conscious
of itself instead of blindly stumbling hither and thither in
the line of least resistance. Hence there is a driving towards
truth in all books on matters where the writer, though
exceptionally gifted, is normally constituted, and has no
private axe to grind. Copernicus had no motive for mis-
leading his fellowmen as to the place of the sun in the
solar system : he looked for it as honestly as a shepherd
seeks his path in a mist. But Copernicus would not have
written love stories scientifically. When it comes to sex
relations, the man of genius does not share the common
man's danger of capture, nor the woman of genius the
common woman's overwhelming specialization. And that
is why our scriptures and other art works, when they deal
with love, turn from honest attempts at science in physics
to romantic nonsense, erotic ecstasy, or the stern asceticism
of satiety (" the road of excess leads to the palace of
wisdom'* said William Blake; for "you never know what
is enough unless you know what is more than enough ").

There is a political aspect of this sex question which
is too big for my comedy, and too momentous to be passed
over without culpable frivolity. It is impossible to demon-
strate that the initiative in sex transactions remains with
Woman, and has been confirmed to her, so far, more and more
by the suppression of rapine and discouragement of impor-
tunity, without being driven to very serious reflections on
the fact that this initiative is politically the most important
of all the initiatives, because our political experiment of

xxii Epistle Dedicatory

democracy, the last refuge of cheap misgovernment, will
ruin us if our citizens are ill bred.

When we two were born, this country was still domin-
ated by a selected class bred by political marriages. The
commercial class had not then completed the first twenty-
five years of its new share of political power; and it was
itself selected by money qualification, and bred, if not
by political marriage, at least by a pretty rigorous class
marriage. Aristocracy and plutocracy still furnish the
figureheads of politics ; but they are now dependent on
the votes of the promiscuously bred masses. And this, if
you please, at the very moment when the political problem,
having suddenly ceased to mean a very limited and occa-
sional interference, mostly by way of jobbing public
appointments, in the mismanagement of a tight but
parochial little island, with occasional meaningless prose-
cution of dynastic wars, has become the industrial re-
organization of Britain, the construction of a practically
international Commonwealth, and the partition of the
whole of Africa and perhaps the whole of Asia by the
civilized Powers. Can you believe that the people whose
conceptions of society and conduct, whose power of atten-
tion and scope of interest, are measured by the British
theatre as you know it to-day, can either handle this
colossal task themselves, or understand and support the
sort of mind and character that is (at least comparatively)
capable of handling it ? For remember : what our voters
are in the pit and gallery they are also in the polling
booth. We are all now under what Burke called "the
hoofs of the swinish multitude." Burke's language gave
great offence because the implied exceptions to its universal
application made it a class insult ; and it certainly was not
for the pot to call the kettle black. The aristocracy he
defended, in spite of the political marriages by which it
tried to secure breeding for itself, had its mind undertrained
by silly schoolmasters and governesses, its character cor-
rupted by gratuitous luxury, its self-respect adulterated to

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxiil

complete spuriousness by flattery and flunkeyism. It is no
better to-day and never will be any better : our very peasants
have something morally hardier in them that culminates
occasionally in a Bunyan, a Burns, or a Carlyle. But
observe, this aristocracy, which was overpowered from
1832 to 1885 by the middle class, has come back to
power by the votes of "the swinish multitude." Tom
Paine has triumphed over Edmund Burke ; and the swine
are now courted electors. How many of their own class
have these electors sent to parliament? Hardly a dozen
out of 670, and these only under the persuasion of con-
spicuous personal qualifications and popular eloquence.
The multitude thus pronounces judgment on its own
units : it admits itself unfit to govern, and will vote only
for a man morphologically and generically transfigured by
palatial residence and equipage, by transcendent tailoring,
by the glamor of aristocratic kinship. Well, we two know
these transfigured persons, these college passmen, these
well groomed monocular Algys and Bobbies, these cricketers
to whom age brings golf instead of wisdom, these pluto-
cratic products of " the nail and sarspan business as he got
his money by." Do you know whether to laugh or cry at
the notion that they, poor devils ! will drive a team of
continents as they drive a four-in-hand; turn a jostling
anarchy of casual trade and speculation into an ordered
productivity ; and federate our colonies into a world-
Power of the first magnitude ? Give these people the most
perfect political constitution and the soundest political
program that benevolent omniscience can devise for them ;
and they will interpret it into mere fashionable folly or
canting charity as infallibly as a savage converts the philo-
sophical theology of a Scotch missionary into crude African
idolatry.

I do not know whether you have any illusions left on
the subject of education, progress, and so forth. 1 have
none. Any pamphleteer can shew the way to better things;
but when there is no will there is no way. My nurse was

xxiv Epistle Dedicatory

fond of remarking that you cannot make a silk purse out
of a sow's ear ; and the more I see of the efforts of our
churches and universities and literary sages to raise the
mass above its own level, the more convinced I am that
my nurse was right. Progress can do nothing but make the
most of us all as we are, and that most would clearly not
be enough even if those who are already raised out of the
lowest abysses would allow the others a chance. The
bubble of Heredity has been pricked : the certainty that
acquirements are negligible as elements in practical heredity
has demolished the hopes of the educationists as well as
the terrors of the degeneracy mongers ; and we know now
that there is no hereditary " governing class " any more
than a hereditary hooliganism. We must either breed
political capacity or be ruined by Democracy, which was
forced on us by the failure of the older alternatives. Yet
if Despotism failed only for want of a capable benevolent
despot, what chance has Democracy, which requires a
whole population of capable voters : that is, of political
critics who, if they cannot govern in person for lack of
spare energy or specific talent for administration, can at
least recognize and appreciate capacity and benevolence
in others, and so govern through capably benevolent
representatives ? Where are such voters to be found today ?
Nowhere. Promiscuous breeding has produced a weakness
of character that is too timid to face the full stringency of
a thoroughly competitive struggle for existence and too
lazy and petty to organize the commonwealth co-opera-
tively. Being cowards, we defeat natural selection under
cover of philanthropy : being sluggards, we neglect arti-
ficial selection under cover of delicacy and morality.

Yet we must get an electorate of capable critics or
collapse as Rome and Egypt collapsed. At this moment
the Roman decadent phase of panem et circenses is
being inaugurated under our eyes. Our newspapers and
melodramas are blustering about our imperial destiny ; but
our eyes and hearts turn eagerly to the American million-

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxv

aire. As his hand goes down to his pocket, our fingers go
up to the brims of our hats by instinct. Our ideal pros-
perity is not the prosperity of the industrial north, but
the prosperity of the Isle of Wight, of Folkestone and
Ramsgate, of Nice and Monte Carlo. That is the only
prosperity you see on the stage, where the workers are all
footmen, parlourmaids, comic lodging-letters and fashion-
able professional men, whilst the heroes and heroines are
miraculously provided with unlimited dividends, and eat
gratuitously, like the knights in Don Quixote's books of
chivalry. The city papers prate of the competition of
Bombay with Manchester and the like. The real compe-
tition is the competition of Regent Street with the Rue
de Rivoli, of Brighton and the south coast with the
Riviera, for the spending money of the American Trusts.
What is all this growing love of pageantry, this effusive
loyalty, this officious rising and uncovering at a wave from
a flag or a blast from a brass band? Imperialism? Not a
bit of it. Obsequiousness, servility, cupidity roused by the
prevailing smell of money. When Mr Carnegie rattled
his millions in his pockets all England became one
rapacious cringe. Only, when Rhodes (who had probably
been reading my Socialism for Millionaires) left word
that no idler was to inherit his estate, the bent backs
straightened mistrustfully for a moment. Could it be that
the Diamond King was no gentleman after all ? However,
it was easy to ignore a rich man's solecism. The un-
gentlemanly clause was not mentioned again ; and the
backs soon bowed themselves back into their natural
shape.

But I hear you asking me in alarm whether I have
actually put all this tub thumping into a Don Juan
comedy. I have not. But I have made my Don Juan a
political pamphleteer, and have given his pamphlet in full
by way of appendix. You will find it at the end of the
book. I am sorry to say that it is a common practice with
romancers to announce their hero as a man of extraordinary

xxvi Epistle Dedicatory

genius, and then leave his works entirely to the reader's
imagination ; so that at the end of the book you whisper
to yourself ruefully that but for the author's solemn pre-
liminary assurance you should hardly have given the
gentleman credit for ordinary good sense. You cannot
accuse me of this pitiable barrenness, this feeble evasion.
I not only tell you that my hero wrote a revolutionists'
handbook : I give you the handbook at full length for
your edification if you care to read it. And in that hand-
book you will find the politics of the sex question as I
conceive Don Juan's descendant to understand them. Not
that I disclaim the fullest responsibility for his opinions
and for those of all my characters, pleasant and unpleasant.
They are all right from their several points of view ; and
their points of view are, for the dramatic moment, mine
also. This may puzzle the people who believe that there
is such a thing as an absolutely right point of view, usually
their own. It may seem to them that nobody who doubts
this can be in a state of grace. However that may be, it
is certainly true that nobody who agrees with them can
possibly be a dramatist, or indeed anything else that turns
upon a knowledge of mankind. Hence it has been pointed
out that Shakespear had no conscience. Neither have I,
in that sense.

You may, however, remind me that this digression of
mine into politics was preceded by a very convincing
demonstration that the artist never catches the point of
view of the common man on the question of sex, because
he is not in the same predicament. I first prove that
anything I write on the relation of the sexes is sure to be
misleading; and then I proceed to write a Don Juan play.
Well, if you insist on asking me why I behave in this
absurd way, I can only reply that you asked me to, and
that in any case my treatment of the subject may be valid
for the artist, amusing to the amateur, and at least intel-
ligible and therefore possibly suggestive to the Philistine.
Every man who records his illusions is providing data for

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxvii

the genuinely scientific psychology which the world still
waits for. I plank down my view of the existing relations
of men to women in the most highly civilized society for
what it is worth. It is a view like any other view and no
more, neither true nor false, but, I hope, a way of looking
at the subject which throws into the familiar order of
cause and effect a sufficient body of fact and experience
to be interesting to you, if not to the playgoing public of
London. I have certainly shewn little consideration for
that public in this enterprise ; but I know that it has the
friendliest disposition towards you and me as far as it has
any consciousness of our existence, and quite understands
that what I write for you must pass at a considerable
height over its simple romantic head. It will take my
books as read and my genius for granted, trusting me to
put forth work of such quality as shall bear out its verdict.
So we may disport ourselves on our own plane to the top
of our bent ; and if any gentleman points out that neither
this epistle dedicatory nor the dream of Don Juan in the
third act of the ensuing comedy is suitable for immediate
production at a popular theatre we need not contradict
him. Napoleon provided Talma with a pit of kings, with
what effect on Talma's acting is not recorded. As for me,
what I have always wanted is a pit of philosophers ; and
this is a play for such a pit.

I should make formal acknowledgment to the authors
whom I have pillaged in the following pages if I could
recollect them all. The theft of the brigand-poetaster from
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is deliberate ; and the meta-
morphosis of Leporello into Enry Straker, motor engineer
and New Man, is an intentional dramatic sketch of the
contemporary embryo of Mr H. G. Wells's anticipation
of the efficient engineering class which will, he hopes,
finally sweep the jabberers out of the way of civilization.
Mr Barric has also, whilst I am correcting my proofs,
delighted London with a servant who knows more than
his masters. The conception of Mendoza Limited I trace

xxviii Epistle Dedicatory

back to a certain West Indian colonial secretary, who,
at a period when he and I and Mr Sidney Webb were
sowing our political wild oats as a sort of Fabian Three
Musketeers, without any prevision of the surprising re-
spectability of the crop that followed, recommended
Webb, the encyclopedic and inexhaustible, to form him-
self into a company for the benefit of the shareholders.
Octavius I take over unaltered from Mozart ; and I hereby
authorize any actor who impersonates him, to sing " Dalla
sua pace" (if he can) at any convenient moment during
the representation. Ann was suggested to me by the
fifteenth century Dutch morality called Everyman, which
Mr William Poel has lately resuscitated so triumphantly.
I trust he will work that vein further, and recognize that
Elizabethan Renascence fustian is no more bearable after
medieval poesy than Scribe after Ibsen. As I sat watch-
ing Everyman at the Charterhouse, I said to myself Why
not Everywoman? Ann was the result: every woman is
not Ann ; but Ann is Everywoman.

That the author of Everyman was no mere artist, but
an artist-philosopher, and that the artist-philosophers are
the only sort of artists I take quite seriously, will be no
news to you. Even Plato and Boswell, as the dramatists
who invented Socrates and Dr Johnson, impress me more
deeply than the romantic playwrights. Ever since, as a boy,
I first breathed the air of the transcendental regions at a
performance of Mozart's Zauberflote, I have been proof
against the garish splendors and alcoholic excitements of
the ordinary stage combinations of Tappertitian romance
with the police intelligence. Bunyan, Blake, Hogarth
and Turner (these four apart and above all the English
classics), Goethe, Shelley, Schopenhaur, Wagner, Ibsen,
Morris, Tolstoy, and Nietzsche are among the writers
whose peculiar sense of the world I recognize as more or
less akin to my own. Mark the word peculiar. I read
Dickens and Shakespear without shame or stint ; but their
pregnant observations and demonstrations of life are not

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxix

co-ordinated into any philosophy or religion : on the
contrary, Dickens's sentimental assumptions are violently
contradicted by his observations ; and Shakespear's pessim-
ism is only his wounded humanity. Both have the specific
genius of the fictionist and the common sympathies of
human feeling and thought in pre-eminent degree. They
are often saner and shrewder than the philosophers just as
Sancho-Panza was often saner and shrewder than Don
Quixote. They clear away vast masses of oppressive gravity
by their sense of the ridiculous, which is at bottom a com-
bination of sound moral judgment with lighthearted good
humor. But they are concerned with the diversities of the
world instead of with its unities : they are so irreligious
that they exploit popular religion for professional purposes
without delicacy or scruple (for example, Sydney Carton
and the ghost in Hamlet !) : they are anarchical, and
cannot balance their exposures of Angelo and Dogberry,
Sir Leicester Dedlock and Mr Tite Barnacle, with any
portrait of a prophet or a worthy leader : they have no
constructive ideas : they regard those who have them as
dangerous fanatics : in all their fictions there is no leading
thought or inspiration for which any man could conceivably
risk the spoiling of his hat in a shower, much less his life.
Both are alike forced to borrow motives for the more
strenuous actions of their personages from the common
stockpot of melodramatic plots ; so that Hamlet has to be
stimulated by the prejudices of a policeman and Macbeth
by the cupidities of a bushranger. Dickens, without the
excuse of having to manufacture motives for Hamlets
and Macbeths, superfluously punts his crew down the
stream of his monthly parts by mechanical devices which
I leave you to describe, my own memory being quite
baffled by the simplest question as to Monks in Oliver
Twist, or the long lost parentage of Smike, or the relations
between the Dorrit and Clennam families so inopportune-
ly discovered by Monsieur Rigaud Blandois. The truth
is, the world was to Shakespear a great "stage of fools" on

XXX Epistle Dedicatory

which he was utterly bewildered. He could see no sort of
sense in living at all ; and Dickens saved himself from the
despair of the dream in The Chimes by taking the world
for granted and busying himself with its details. Neither of
them could do anything with a serious positive character :
they could place a human figure before you with perfect
verisimilitude ; but when the moment came for making
it live and move, they found, unless it made them laugh,
that they had a puppet on their hands, and had to invent
some artificial external stimulus to make it work. This is
what is the matter with Hamlet all through : he has no
will except in his bursts of temper. Foolish Bardolaters
make a virtue of this after their fashion : they declare that
the play is the tragedy of irresolution ; but all Shakespear's
projections of the deepest humanity he knew have the
same defect: their characters and manners are lifelike;
but their actions are forced on them from without, and
the external force is grotesquely inappropriate except when
it is quite conventional, as in the case of Henry V.
Falstaff is more vivid than any of these serious reflective
characters, because he is self-acting : his motives are his
own appetites and instincts and humors. Richard IH, too,
is delightful as the whimsical comedian who stops a funeral
to make love to the corpse's widow; but when, in the
next act, he is replaced by a stage villain who smothers
babies and offs with people's heads, we are revolted at the
imposture and repudiate the changeling. Faulconbridge,
Coriolanus, Leontes are admirable descriptions of instinc-
tive temperaments : indeed the play of Coriolanus is the
greatest of Shakespear's comedies ; but description is not
philosophy; and comedy neither compromises the author
nor reveals him. He must be judged by those characters
into which he puts what he knows of himself, his Hamlets
and Macbeths and Lears and Prosperos. If these characters
are agonizing in a void about factitious melodramatic
murders and revenges and the like, whilst the comic
characters walk with their feet on solid ground, vivid and

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxxi

amusing, you know that the author has much to shew and
nothing to teach. The comparison between FalstafF and
Prospero is like the comparison between Micawber and
David Copperiield. At the end of the book you know
Micawber, whereas you only know what has happened to
David, and are not interested enough in him to wonder
what his politics or religion might be if anything so
stupendous as a religious or political idea, or a general
idea of any sort, were to occur to him. He is tolerable as
a child ; but he never becomes a man, and might be left
out of his own biography altogether but for his usefulness
as a stage confidant, a Horatio or '* Charles his friend" —
what they call on the stage a feeder.

Now you cannot say thi« of the works of the artist-philo-
sophers. You cannot say it, for instance, of The Pilgrim's
Progress. Put your Shakespearian hero and coward, Henry V
and Pistol or Parolles, beside Mr Valiant and Mr Fearing, and
you have a sudden revelation of the abyss that lies between
the fashionable author who could see nothing in the world
but personal aims and the tragedy of their disappointment
or the comedy of their incongruity, and the field preacher
who achieved virtue and courage by identifying himself
with the purpose of the world as he understood it. The
contrast is enormous : Bunyan's coward stirs your blood
more than Shakespear's hero, who actually leaves you cold
and secretly hostile. You suddenly see that Shakespear,
with all his flashes and divinations, never understood virtue
and courage, never conceived how any man who was not
a fool could, like Bunyan's hero, look back from the brink
of the river of death over the strife and labor of his pil-
grimage, and say "yet do I not repent me " ; or, with the
panache of a millionaire, bequeath "my sword to him that
shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and
skill to him that can get it." This is the true joy in
life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself
as a mighty one ; the being thoroughly worn out before
you are thrown on the scrap heap ; the being a force of

c

xxxii Epistle Dedicatory-

Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments
and grievances complaining that the w^orld will not devote
itself to making you happy. And also the only real tragedy
in life is the being used by personally minded men for
purposes which you recognize to be base. All the rest is at
worst mere misfortune or mortality : this alone is misery,
slavery, hell on earth; and the revolt against it is the only
force that offers a man's work to the poor artist, whom
our personally minded rich people would so willingly
employ as pandar, buffoon, beauty monger, sentimentalizer
and the like.

It may seem a long step from Bunyan to Nietzsche ;
but the difference between their conclusions is merely
formal. Bunyan's perception that righteousness is filthy
rags, his scorn for Mr Legality in the village of Morality,
his defiance of the Church as the supplanter of religion,
his insistence on courage as the virtue of virtues, his de-
scription of the career of a conventionally respectable and
successful man (Mr Torvald Helmer as it were) as the life
and death of Mr Badman : all this, expressed by Bunyan
in the terms of a tinker's theology, is what Nietzsche has
expressed in terms of post-Darwinian, post-Schopenhaurian
philosophy ; Wagner in terms of polytheistic mythology ;
and Ibsen in terms of mid-XIX century Parisian drama-
turgy. Nothing is new in these matters except their
novelties : for instance, it is a novelty to call Justification
by Faith " Wille," and Justification by Works " Vorstel-
lung." The sole use of the novelty is that you and I buy
and read Schopenhaur's treatise on Will and Representa-
tion when we should not dream of buying a set of ser-
mons on Faith versus Works. At bottom the controversy
is the same, and the dramatic results are the same.
Bunyan makes no attempt to present his pilgrims as
more sensible or better conducted than Mr Worldly
Wiseman. Mr W.W.'s worst enemies, Mr Embezzler, Mr
Never -go -to -Church -on -Sunday, Mr Bad Form, Mr
Murderer, Mr Burglar, Mr Co-respondent, Mr Blackmailer,

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxxiii

Mr Cad, Mr Drunkard, Mr Labor Agitator and so forth,
can read the Pilgrim's Progress without finding a word
said against them ; whereas the respectable people who
snub them and put them in prison, such as Mr W. W.
himself and his young friend Civility; Formalist and
Hypocrisy; Wildhead, Inconsiderate, and Pragmatick
(who were clearly young university men of good family
and high feeding) ; that brisk lad Ignorance, Talkative,
By-Ends of Fairspeech and his mother-in-law Lady
Feigning, and other reputable gentlemen and citizens,
catch it very severely. Even Little Faith, though he gets to
Heaven at last, is given to understand that it served him
right to be mobbed by the brothers Faint Heart, Mistrust,
and Guilt, all three recognized members of respectable
society and veritable pillars of the law. The whole allegory
is a consistent attack on morality and respectability, with-
out a word that one can remember against vice and crime.
Exactly what is complained of in Nietzsche and Ibsen, is
it not? And also exactly what would be complained of in
all the literature which is great enough and old enough to
have attained canonical rank, officially or unofficially, were
it not that books are admitted to the canon by a compact
which confesses their greatness in consideration of abrogat-
ing their meaning ; so that the reverend rector can agree
with the prophet Micah as to his inspired style without
being committed to any complicity in Micah's furiously
Radical opinions. Why, even I, as I force myself, pen in
hand, into recognition and civility, find all the force of my
onslaught destroyed by a simple policy of non-resistance.
In vain do I redouble the violence of the language in
which I proclaim my heterodoxies. I rail at the theistic
credulity of Voltaire, the amoristic superstition of Shelley,
the revival of tribal soothsaying and idolatrous rites which
Huxley called Science and mistook for an advance on the
Pentateuch, no less than at the welter of ecclesiastical and
professional humbug which saves the face of the stupid
system of violence and robbery which we call Law and

C 2

xxxiv Epistle Dedicatory

Industry. Even atheists reproach me with infidelity and
anarchists with nihilism because I cannot endure their
moral tirades. And yet, instead of exclaiming " Send this
inconceivable Satanist to the stake," the respectable news-
papers pith me by announcing "another book by this brilliant
and thoughtful writer." And the ordinary citizen, knowing
that an author who is well spoken of by a respectable
newspaper must be all right, reads me, as he reads Micah,
with undisturbed edification from his own point of view.
It is narrated that in the eighteenseventies an old lady, a
very devout Methodist, moved from Colchester to a house
in the neighborhood of the City Road, in London, where,
mistaking the Hall of Science for a chapel, she sat at the
feet of Charles Bradlaugh for many years, entranced by
his eloquence, without questioning his orthodoxy or moult-
ing a feather of her faith. I fear I shall be defrauded of
my just martyrdom in the same way.

However, I am digressing, as a man with a grievance
always does. And after all, the main thing in determining the
artistic quality of a book is not the opinions it propagates,
but the fact that the writer has opinions. The old lady from
Colchester was right to sun her simple soul in the energetic
radiance of Bradlaugh's genuine beliefs and disbeliefs rather
than in the chill of such mere painting of light and heat as
elocution and convention can achieve. My contempt for
belles lettres, and for amateurs who become the heroes of
the fanciers of literary virtuosity, is not founded on any
illusion of mind as to the permanence of those forms of
thought (call them opinions) by which I strive to com-
municate my bent to my fellows. To younger men they
are already outmoded ; for though they have no more lost
their logic than an eighteenth century pastel has lost its
drawing or its color, yet, like the pastel, they grow inde-
finably shabby, and will grow shabbier until they cease to
count at all, when my books will either perish, or, if the
world is still poor enough to want them, will have to
stand, with Bunyan's, by quite amorphous qualities of

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxxv

temper and energy. With this conviction I cannot be a
bellettrist. No doubt I must recognize, as even the Ancient
Mariner did, that I must tell my story entertainingly if I
am to hold the wedding guest spellbound in spite of the
siren sounds of the loud bassoon. But "for art's sake" alone
I would not face the toil of writing a single sentence.
I know that there are men who, having nothing to say and
nothing to write, are nevertheless so in love with oratory
and with literature that they delight in repeating as much
as they can understand of what others have said or written
aforetime. I know that the leisurely tricks which their
want of conviction leaves them free to play with the diluted
and misapprehended message supply them with a pleasant
parlor game which they call style. I can pity their dotage
and even sympathize with their fancy. But a true original
style is never achieved for its own sake : a man may pay from
a shilling to a guinea, according to his means, to see, hear,
or read another man's act of genius; but he will not pay
with his whole life and soul to become a mere virtuoso in
literature, exhibiting an accomplishment which will not
even make money for him, like fiddle playing. Effective-
ness of assertion is the Alpha and Omega of style. He
who has nothing to assert has no style and can have none :
he who has something to assert will go as far in power of
style as its momentousness and his conviction will carry
him. Disprove his assertion after it is made, yet its style
remains. Darwin has no more destroyed the style of Job
nor of Handel than Martin Luther destroyed the style of
Giotto. All the assertions get disproved sooner or later ;
and so we find the world full of a magnificent debris of
artistic fossils, with the matter-of-fact credibility gone
clean out of them, but the form still splendid. And that is
why the old masters play the deuce with our mere sus-
ceptibles. Your Royal Academician thinks he can get the
style of Giotto without Giotto's beliefs, and correct his
perspective into the bargain. Your man of letters thinks he
can get Banyan's or Shakespear's style without Bunyan's

xxxvi Epistle Dedicatory-

conviction or Shakespear's apprehension, especially if he
takes care not to split his infinitives. And so with your
Doctors of Music, who, with their collections of discords
duly prepared and resolved or retarded or anticipated in
the manner of the great composers, think they can learn
the art of Palestrina from Cherubini's treatise. All this
academic art is far worse than the trade in sham antique
furniture ; for the man who sells me an oaken chest which
he swears was made in the XIII century, though as a
matter of fact he made it himself only yesterday, at least
does not pretend that there are any modern ideas in it ;
whereas your academic copier of fossils offers them to you
as the latest outpouring of the human spirit, and, worst of
all, kidnaps young people as pupils and persuades them
that his limitations are rules, his observances dexterities,
his timidities good taste, and his emptinesses purities. And
when he declares that art should not be didactic, all the
people who have nothing to teach and all the people who
dont want to learn agree with him emphatically.

I pride myself on not being one of these susceptibles.
If you study the electric light with which I supply you in
that Bumbledonian public capacity of mine over which you
make merry from time to time, you will find that your
house contains a great quantity of highly susceptible copper
wire which gorges itself with electricity and gives you no
light whatever. But here and there occurs a scrap of in-
tensely insusceptible, intensely resistant material ; and that
stubborn scrap grapples with the current and will not let
it through until it has made itself useful to you as those two
vital qualities of literature, light and heat. Now if I am to
be no mere copper wire amateur but a luminous author, I
must also be a most intensely refractory person, liable to
go out and to go wrong at inconvenient moments, and with
incendiary possibilities. These are the faults of my qualities ;
and I assure you that I sometimes dislike myself so
much that when some irritable reviewer chances at that
moment to pitch into me with zest, I feel unspeakably

to Arthur Bingham Walkley xxxvii

relieved and obliged. But I never dream of reforming,
knowing that I must take myself as I am and get what work
I can out of myself. All this you will understand ; for there
is community of material between us : we arc both critics
of life as well as of art ; and you have perhaps said to your-
self when I have passed your windows " There, but for the
grace of God, go I." An awful and chastening reflection,
which shall be the closing cadence of this immoderately
long letter from yours faithfully,

G. Bernard Shaw.
Woking, 1903.

Man and Superman * . . . i

The Revolutionist's Handbook . 177

I. On Good Breeding . . .181
II. Property and Marriage . .184

III. The Perfectionist Experiment at

Oneida Creek . . .191

IV. Man's Objection to his own

Improvement . . -194
V. The Political Need for the

Superman . . . .196

VI. Prudery Explained . . • ^99

VII. Progress an Illusion . . .201

VIII. The Conceit of Civilization . 208

IX. The Verdict of History . .216

X. The Method . . . .220

Maxims for Revolutionists . .225

* This play has been publicly performed within the United
Kingdom. It is entered at Stationers^ Hall and at the Library
of Congress^ Washington^ U.S.A. Jll rights reserved.

MAN AND SUPERMAN

XII

1901-3.

ACT I

Roebuck Rams den is in his study ^ opening the morning's
letters. The study ^ handsomely and so/idly furnished^ proclaims
the man of means. Not a speck of dust is visible: it is clear
that there are at least two housemaids and a parlormaid down-
stairs ^ and a housekeeper upstairs who does not let them spare
elbow-grease. Even the top of Roebuck's head is polished: on a
sunshiny day he could heliograph his orders to distant camps by
merely nodding. In no other respect^ however ^ does he suggest
the military man. It is in active civil life that men get his
broad air of importance^ his dignified expectation of deference,
his determinate mouth disarmed and refined since the hour of his
success hy the withdrawal of opposition and the concession of
comfort and precedence and power. He is more than a highly
respectable man: he is marked out as a president of highly
respectable men, a chairman among directors, an alderman
among councillors, a mayor among aldermen. Four tufts of iron-
grey hair, which will soon be as white as isinglass, and are in
other respects not at all unlike it, grow in two symmetrical pairs
above his ears and at the angles of his spreading jaws. He wears
a black frock coat, a white waistcoat {it is bright spring
weather), and trousers, neither black nor perceptibly blue, cf
one of those indefinitely mixed hues which the modern clothier

B

2 Man and Superman Act I

has produced to harmonize with the religions of respectable men.
He has not been out of doors yet to-day; so he still wears his
slippers^ his boots being ready for him on the hearthrug. Sur-
mising that he has no valet, and seeing that he has no secretary
with a shorthand notebook and a typewriter, one meditates on
how little our great burgess domesticity has been disturbed by
new fashions and methods, or by the enterprise of the railway
and hotel companies which sell you a Saturday to Monday of
life at Folkestone as a real gentleman for two guineas^ first class
fares both ways included.

How old is Roebuck? The question is important on the
threshold of a drama of ideas ; for under such circumstances
everything depends on whether his adolescence belonged to the
sixties or to the eighties. He was born, as a matter of fact, in
1839, and was a Unitarian and Free Trader from his boyhood,
and an Evolutionist from the publication of the Origin of
Species. Consequently he has always classed himself as an ad-
vanced thinker and fearlessly outspoken reformer.

Sitting at his writing table, he has on his right the windows
giving on Portland Place. Through these, as through a proscen-
ium, the curious spectator may contemplate his profile as well as
the blinds will permit. On his left is the inner wall, with a
stately bookcase, and the door not quite in the middle, but some-
what further from him. Against the wall opposite him are two
busts on pillars: one, to his left, of John Bright ; the other, to
his right, of Mr Herbert Spencer. Between them hang an en-
graved portrait of Richard Cobden; enlarged photographs of
Mar tine au, Huxley, and George Eliot ; autotypes of allegories
by Mr G. F. Watts {for Roebuck believes in the fine arts with
all the earnestness of a man who does not understand them), and
an impression ofDuponfs engraving of Delaroche^s Beaux Arts
hemicycle, representing the great men of all ages. On the wall
behind him, above the mantelshelf is a family portrait of im-
penetrable obscurity.

A chair stands near the writing table for the convenience of
business visitors. Two other chairs are against the wall between
the busts.

Act I Man and Superman 3

A parlormaid enters with a visitor^ s card. Roebuck takes it,
and nods, pleased. Evidently a welcome caller.

RAMSDEN. Shew him up.

The parlormaid goes out and returns with the visitor.

THE MAID. Mr Robinson.

Mr Robinson is really an uncommonly nice looking young
fellow. He must, one thinks, be the jeune premier; for it is not
in reason to suppose that a second such attractive male figure
should appear in one story. The slim, shapely frame, the elegant
suit of new mourning, the small head and regular features, the
pretty little moustache, the frank clear eyes, the wholesome bloom
on the youthful complexion, the well brushed glossy hair, not
curly, but of fine texture and good dark color, the arch of good
nature in the eyebrows, the erect forehead and neatly pointed
chin, all announce the man who will love and suffer later on.
Jnd that he will not do so without sympathy is guaranteed by an
engaging sincerity and eager modest serviceableness which stamp
him as a man of amiable nature. The moment he appears,
Ramsden^s face expands into fatherly liking and welcome, an
expression which drops into one of decorous grief as the young
man approaches him with sorrow in his face as well as in his
black clothes. Ramsden seems to know the nature of the bereave-
ment. As the visitor advances silently to the writing table, the
old man rises and shakes his hand across it without a word: a
long, affectionate shake which tells the story of a recent sorrow
common to both.

RAMSDEN [concluding the handshake and cheering up'\ Well,
well, Octavius, it's the common lot. We must all face it
some day. Sit down.

Octavius takes the visitor's chair. Ramsden replaces himself
in his own.

OCTAVIUS. Yes : we must face it, Mr Ramsden. But I
owed him a great deal. He did everything for me that my
father could have done if he had lived.

RAMSDEN. He had no son of his own, you see.

OCTAVIUS. But he had daughters ; and yet he was as good

4 Man and Superman Act I

to my sister as to me. And his death was so sudden ! I
always intended to thank him — to let him know that I had
not taken all his care of me as a matter of course, as any
boy takes his father's care. But I waited for an opportunity ;
and now he is dead — dropped without a moment's warning.
He will never know what I felt. [^He takes out his handker-
chief and cries unaffectedly"].

RAMSDEN. How do w e know that, Octavius? He may
know it : we cannot tell. Come! dont grieve. [^Octavius
masters himself and puts up his handkerchief ^ Thats right.
Now let me tell you something to console you. The last
time I saw him — it was in this very room — he said to me :
" Tavy is a generous lad and the soul of honor ; and
when I see how little consideration other men get from
their sons, I realize how much better than a son hes been
to me." There ! Doesnt that do you good ?

OCTAVIUS. Mr Ramsden : he used to say to me that he
had met only one man in the world who was the soul of
honor, and that was Roebuck Ramsden.

RAMSDEN. Oh, that was his partiality : we were very
old friends, you know. But there was something else
he used to say about you. I wonder whether I ought to
tell you or not !

OCTAVIUS. You know best.

RAMSDEN. It was Something about his daughter.

OCTAVIUS [eagerly'\ About Ann ! Oh, do tell me that,
Mr Ramsden.

RAMSDEN. Well, he said he was glad, after all, you were
not his son, because he thought that someday Annie and
you — [Octavius blushes vividly']. Well, perhaps I shouldnt
have told you. But he was in earnest.

OCTAVIUS. Oh, if only I thought I had a chance ! You
know, Mr Ramsden, I dont care about money or about
what people call position; and I cant bring myself to take
an interest in the business of struggling for them. Well,
Ann has a most exquisite nature; but she is so accustomed
to be in the thick of that sort of thing that she thinks a

Act I Man and Superman 5

man's character incomplete if he is not ambitious. She
knows that if she married me she would have to reason
herself out of being ashamed of me for not being a big
success of some kind.

RAMSDEN [getting up and planting himself with his back to
the fireplace^ Nonsense, my boy, nonsense ! Youre too
modest. What does she know about the real value of men
at her age? \More seriously'] Besides, shes a wonderfully
dutiful girl. Her father's wish would be sacred to her. Do
you know that since she grew up to years of discretion, I dont
believe she has ever once given her own wish as a reason
for doing anything or not doing it. It's always "Father
wishes me to," or " Mother wouldnt like it." It's really
almost a fault in her. I have often told her she must learn
to think for herself.

ocTAVius [^shaking his head] I couldnt ask her to marry
me because her father wished it, Mr Ramsden.

RAMSDEN. Well, perhaps not. No : of course not. I see
that. No : you certainly couldnt. But when you win her
on your own merits, it will be a great happiness to her to
fulfil her father's desire as well as her own. Eh ? Come !
youll ask her, wont you?

OCTAVIUS [with sad gaiety] At all events I promise you I
shall never ask anyone else.

RAMSDEN. Oh, you shant need to. She'll accept you, my
boy — although [here he suddenly becomes very serious indeed]
you have one great drawback.

OCTAVIUS [anxiously] What drawback is that, Mr Rams-
den ? I should rather say which of my many drawbacks?

RAMSDEN. I'll tell you, Octavius. [He takes from the table
a book bound in red cloth], I have in my hand a copy of the
most infamous, the most scandalous, the most mischievous,
the most blackguardly book that ever escaped burning at
the hands of the common hangman. I have not read it : I
would not soil my mind with such filth; but I have read
what the papers say of it. The title is quite enough for me.
[He reads it]. The Revolutionist's Handbook and Pocket

6 Man and Superman Act I

Companion. By John Tanner, M.I.R.C., Member of the
Idle Rich Class.

ocTAVius [smiling] But Jack —

RAMSDEN [testily] For goodness' sake, dont call him Jack
under my roof [he throws the book violently down on the table.
Then, somewhat relieved^ he comes past the table to Octamus,
and addresses him at close quarters with impressive gravity].
Now, Octavius, I know that my dead friend was right when
he said you were a generous lad. I know that this man was
your schoolfellow, and that you feel bound to stand by him
because there was a boyish friendship between you. But I
ask you to consider the altered circumstances. You were
treated as a son in my friend's house. You lived there ; and
your friends could not be turned from the door. This man
Tanner was in and out there on your account almost from
his childhood. He addresses Annie by her Christian name
as freely as you do. Well, while her father was alive, that
was her father's business, not mine. This man Tanner
was only a boy to him : his opinions were something to be
laughed at, like a man's hat on a child's head. But now
Tanner is a grown man and Annie a grown woman. And
her father is gone. We dont as yet know the exact terms
of his will; but he often talked it over with me; and I
have no more doubt than I have that youre sitting there
that the will appoints me Annie's trustee and guardian.
[Forcibly] Now I tell you, once for all, I cant and I
wont have Annie placed in such a position that she must,
out of regard for you, suffer the intimacy of this fellow
Tanner. It's not fair : it's not right : it's not kind. What
are you going to do about it?

OCTAVIUS. But Ann herself has told Jack that whatever
his opinions are, he will always be welcome because he
knew her dear father.

RAMSDEN [out of patience] That girl's mad about her duty
to her parents. [He starts off like a goaded ox in the direction
of John Bright^ in whose expression there is no sympathy for
him. As he speaks he fumes down to Herbert Spencer y who

Act I Man and Superman 7

receives him still more coldlf\. Excuse me, Octavius ; but
there are limits to social toleration. You know that I am
not a bigoted or prejudiced man. You know that I am plain
Roebuck Ramsden when other men who have done less
have got handles to their names, because I have stood for
equality and liberty of conscience while they were truckling
to the Church and to the aristocracy. Whitefield and I
lost chance after chance through our advanced opinions.
But I draw the line at Anarchism and Free Love and that
sort of thing. If I am to be Annie's guardian, she will
have to learn that she has a duty to me. I wont have it :
I will not have it. She must forbid John Tanner the
house ; and so must you.
The parlormaid returns.

OCTAVIUS. But —

RAMSDEN [calling his attention to the servant] Ssh ! Well ?

THE MAID. Mr Tanner wishes to see you, sir.

RAMSDEN. Mr Tanner !

OCTAVIUS. Jack !

RAMSDEN. How dare Mr Tanner call on me ! Say I
cannot see him.

OCTAVIUS [hurt] I am sorry you are turning my friend
from your door like that.

THE MAID [calmly] Hes not at the door, sir. Hes up-
stairs in the drawingroom with Miss Ramsden. He came
with Mrs Whitefield and Miss Ann and Miss Robinson, sir.

Rams den's feelings are beyond words.

OCTAVIUS [grinning] Thats very like Jack, Mr Ramsden.
You must see him, even if it's only to turn him out.

RAMSDEN [hammering out his words with suppressed fury]
Go upstairs and ask Mr Tanner to be good enough to step
down here. [The parlormaid goes out; and Ramsden returns
to the fireplace^ as to a fortified position], I must say that of
all the confounded pieces of impertinence — well, if these
are Anarchist manners, I hope you like them. And Annie
with him ! Annie ! A — [he chokes].

OCTAVIUS. Yes: thats what surprises mc. Hes so des-

8 Man and Superman Act I

perately afraid of Ann. There must be something the
matter.

Mr John Tanfier suddenly opens the door and enters. He
is too young to be described simply as a big man with a beard.
But it is already plain that middle life will find him in that
category. He has still some of the slimness of youth; but youth-
fulness is not the effect he aims at: his frock coat would befit a
prime minister; and a certain high chested carriage of the
shoulders, a lofty pose of the head^ and the Olympian majesty
with which a mane, or rather a huge wisp, of hazel colored
hair is thrown back from an imposing brow, suggest Jupiter
rather than Apollo, He is prodigiously fluent of speech, restless,
excitable {mark the snorting nostril and the restless blue eye,
just the thirty-secondth of an inch too wide open), possibly a
little mad. He is carefully dressed, not from the vanity that
cannot resist finery, but from a sense of the importance of
everything he does which leads him to make as much of paying
a call as other men do of getting married or laying a founda-
tion stone. A sensitive, susceptible, exaggerative, earnest
man: a megalomaniac, who would be lost without a sense of
humor.

Just at present the sense of humor is in abeyance. To say
that he is excited is nothing: all his moods are phases of excite-
ment. He is now in the panic-stricken phase; and he walks
straight up to Rams den as if with the fixed intention of shooting
him on his own hearthrug. But what he pulls from his breast
pocket is not a pistol, but a foolscap document which he thrusts
under the indignant nose of Rams den as he exclaims —

TANNER. Ramsden : do you know what that I's ?

RAMS DEN \loftily'\ No, sir.

TANNER. It's a copy of Whiteiield's will. Ann got it
this morning.

RAMSDEN. When you say Ann, you mean, I presume,
Miss Whitefield.

TANNER. I mean our Ann, your Ann, Tavy's Ann, and
now, Heaven help me, my Ann !

ocTAVius [rising, very pale'\ What do you mean ?

Act I Man and Superman 9

TANNER. Mean ! [He holds up the zuill]. Do you know
who is appointed Ann's guardian by this will ?

RAMSDEN \_coolly'\ I believe I am.

TANNER. You ! You and I, man. I! I ! ! I ! ! ! Both
of us ! \He fiings the will down on the writing taS/e],

RAMSDEN. You ! Impossiblc.

TANNER. It's only too hideously true. [He throws him-
self into Octavius's chair\ Ramsden : get me out of it some-
how. You dont know Ann as well as I do. She'll commit
every crime a respectable woman can ; and she'll justify
everyone of them by saying that it was the wish of her
guardians. She'll put everything on us ; and we shall have
no more control over her than a couple of mice over a cat.

ocTAVius. Jack : I wish you wouldnt talk like that about
Ann.

TANNER. This chap's in love with her : thats another
complication. Well, she'll either jilt him and say I didnt
approve of him, or marry him and say you ordered her to.
I tell you, this is the most staggering blow that has ever
fallen on a man of my age and temperament.

RAMSDEN. Let me see that will, sir. [He goes to the
writing table and picks it up\ I cannot believe that my old
friend Whitefield would have shewn such a want of con-
fidence in me as to associate me with — [His countenance
falls as he reads^

TANNER. It's all my own doing : thats the horrible irony
of it. He told me one day that you were to be Ann's guardian ;
and like a fool I began arguing with him about the folly of
leaving a young woman under the control of an old man
with obsolete ideas.

RAMSDEN [stupended] My Ideas obsolete !!!!!!!

TANNER. Totally. I had just finished an essay called
Down with Government by the Greyhaired ; and I was full
of arguments and illustrations. I said the proper thing was
to combine the experience of an old hand with the vitality
of a young one. Hang me if he didnt take me at my word
and alter his will — it's dated only a fortnight after that

10 Man and Superman Act I

conversation — appointing me as joint guardian with
you !

RAMSDEN \^pale and determined'] I shall refuse to act.

TANNER. Whats the good of that? Ive been refusing all
the way from Richmond ; but Ann keeps on saying that of
course shes only an orphan ; and that she cant expect the
people who were glad to come to the house in her father's
time to trouble much about her now. Thats the latest
game. An orphan ! It's like hearing an ironclad talk about
being at the mercy of the winds and waves.

ocTAVius. This is not fair, Jack. She is an orphan.
And you ought to stand by her.

TANNER. Stand by her ! What danger is she in ? She
has the law on her side ; she has popular sentiment on her
side ; she has plenty of money and no conscience. All she
wants with me is to load up all her moral responsibilities
on me, and do as she likes at the expense of my character.
I cant control her ; and she can compromise me as much
as she likes. I might as well be her husband.

RAMSDEN. You Can refuse to accept the guardianship. /
shall certainly refuse to hold it jointly with you.

TANNER. Yes ; and what will she say to that? what does
she say to it ? Just that her father's wishes are sacred to her,
and that she shall always look up to me as her guardian
whether I care to face the responsibility or not. Refuse !
You might as well refuse to accept the embraces of a boa
constrictor when once it gets round your neck.

OCTAVIUS. This sort of talk is not kind to me. Jack.

TANNER [rising and going to Octavius to console him, hut
still lamenting] If he wanted a young guardian, why didnt
he appoint Tavy?

RAMSDEN. Ah! why indeed?

OCTAVIUS. I will tell you. He sounded me about it ;
but I refused the trust because I loved her. I had no right
to let myself be forced on her as a guardian by her father.
He spoke to her about it ; and she said I was right. You
know I love her, Mr Ramsden ; and Jack knows it too. If

Act I Man and Superman 1 1

Jack loved a woman, I would not compare her to a boa
constrictor in his presence, however much I might dislike
her [/^ sits down between the busts and turns his face to tl:>e wall\

RAMSDEN. I do not belicvc that Whitefield was in his
right senses when he made that will. You have admitted
that he made it under your influence.

TANNER. You ought to bc pretty well obliged to me for
my influence. He leaves you two thousand five hundred
for your trouble. He leaves Tavy a dowry for his sister
and five thousand for himself

ocTAVius \^his tears flowing afresh"] Oh, I cant take it.
He was too good to us.

TANNER. You wont get it, my boy, if Ramsden upsets
the will.

RAMSDEN. Ha ! I see. You have got me in a cleft stick.

TANNER. He leaves me nothing but the charge of Ann's
morals, on the ground that I have already more money than
is good for me. That shews that he had his wits about him,
doesnt it?

RAMSDEN [grimly"] I admit that.

OCTAVIUS [rising and coming from his refuge by the wall]
Mr Ramsden : I think you are prejudiced against Jack. He
is a man of honor, and incapable of abusing —

TANNER. Dont, Tavy : youll make me ill. I am not a
man of honor : I am a man struck down by a dead hand.
Tavy : you must marry her after all and take her off my
hands. And I had set my heart on saving you from her !

OCTAVIUS. Oh, Jack, you talk of saving me from my
highest happiness.

TANNER. Yes, a lifetime of happiness. If it were only
the first half hour's happiness, Tavy, I would buy it for you
with my last penny. But a lifetime of happiness ! No man
alive could bear it : it would be hell on earth.

RAMSDEN [violently] Stufi^, sir. Talk sense ; or else go and
waste someone else's time : I have something better to do
than listen to your fooleries [he positively kicks his way to his
table and resumes his seat].

1 2 Man and Superman Act I

TANNER. You hear him, Tavy. Not an idea in his head
later than eighteensixty. We cant leave Ann with no other
guardian to turn to.

RAMSDEN. I am proud of your contempt for my character
and opinions, sir. Your own are set forth in that book, I
believe.

TANNER {^eagerly going to the table] What ! Youve got
my book ! What do you think of it.-*

RAMSDEN. Do you supposc I would read such a book, sir ?

TANNER. Then why did you buy it?

RAMSDEN. I did not buy it, sir. It has been sent me by
some foolish lady who seems to admire your views. I was
about to dispose of it when Octavius interrupted me. I
shall do so now, with your permission. [He throws the book
into the waste paper basket with such vehemence that Tanner
recoils under the impression that it is being thrown at his head\

TANNER. You havc no more manners than I have myself.
However, that saves ceremony between us. [He sits down
again\ What do you intend to do about this will ?

OCTAVIUS. May I make a suggestion .''

RAMSDEN. Certainly, Octavius.

OCTAVIUS. Arnt we forgetting that Ann herself may have
some wishes in this matter.?

RAMSDEN. I quite intend that Annie's wishes shall be
consulted in every reasonable way. But she is only a
woman, and a young and inexperienced woman at that.

TANNER. Ramsden : I begin to pity you.

RAMSDEN \hotlj\ I dont want to know how you feel to-
wards me, Mr Tanner.

TANNER. Ann will do just exactly what she likes. And
whats more, she'll force us to advise her to do it ; and
she'll put the blame on us if it turns out badly. So, as
Tavy is longing to see her — •

OCTAVIUS \}hylf\ I am not, Jack.

TANNER. You He, Tavy : you are. So lets have her
down from the drawingroom and ask her what she intends
us to do. Off with you, Tavy, and fetch her. {Tavy turns

Act I Man and Superman 1 3

to go]. And dont be long ; for the strained relations be-
tween myself and Ramsden will make the interval rather
painful \Ramsden compresses his lips, but says nothing].

ocTAVius. Never mind him, Mr Ramsden. He's not
serious. [He goes out].

RAMSDEN [very deliberately] Mr Tanner : you are the
most impudent person I have ever met.

TANNER [seriously] I know it, Ramsden. Yet even I can-
not wholly conquer shame. We live in an atmosphere of
shame. We are ashamed of everything that is real about
us; ashamed of ourselves, of our relatives, of our incomes,
of our accents, of our opinions, of our experience, just as
we are ashamed of our naked skins. Good Lord, my dear
Ramsden, we are ashamed to walk, ashamed to ride in an
omnibus, ashamed to hire a hansom instead of keeping a
carriage, ashamed of keeping one horse instead of two and
a groom-gardener instead of a coachman and footman.
The more things a man is ashamed of, the more respect-
able he is. Why, youre ashamed to buy my book, ashamed
to read it : the only thing youre not ashamed of is to judge
me for it without having read it ; and even that only means
that youre ashamed to have heterodox opinions. Look at
the effect I produce because my fairy godmother withheld
from me this gift of shame. I have every possible virtue
that a man can have except —

RAMSDEN. I am glad you think so well of yourself.

TANNER. All you mean by that is that you think I ought
to be ashamed of talking about my virtues. You dont mean
that I havnt got them : you know perfectly well that I am
as sober and honest a citizen as yourself, as truthful per-
sonally, and much more truthful politically and morally.

RAMSDEN [touched on his most sensitive point] I deny that.
I will not allow you or any man to treat me as if I were a
mere member of the British public. I detest its prejudices ;
I scorn its narrowness; I demand the right to think for
myself. You pose as an advanced man. Let me tell you
that I was an advanced man before you were born.

14 Man and Superman Act l

TANNER. I knew it was a long time ago.

RAMSDEN. I am as advanced as ever I was. I defy you
to prove that I have ever hauled down the flag. I am
more advanced than ever I was. I grow more advanced
every day.

TANNER. More advanced in years, Polonius.

RAMSDEN. Polonius ! So you are Hamlet, I suppose.

TANNER. No : I am only the most impudent person
youve ever met. Thats your notion of a thoroughly bad
character. When you want to give me a piece of your
mind, you ask yourself, as a thoroughly just man, what is
the worst you can fairly say of me. Thief, liar, forger,
adulterer, perjurer, glutton, drunkard? Not one of these
names fit me. You have to fall back on my deficiency in
shame. Well I admit it. I even congratulate myself; for
if I were ashamed of my real self, I should cut as stupid a
figure as any of the rest of you. Cultivate a little impu-
dence, Ramsden ; and you will become quite a remarkable
man.

RAMSDEN. I have no —

TANNER. You have no desire for that sort of notoriety.
Bless you, I knew that answer would come as well as I
know that a box of matches will come out of an automatic
machine when I put a penny in the slot : you would be
ashamed to say anything else.

The crushing retort for which Ramsden has been visibly
collecting his forces is lost for ever; for at this point Octavius
returns with Miss Ann White field and her mother; and
Ramsden springs up and hurries to the door to receive them.
Whether Ann is good-looking or not depends upon your taste;
also and perhaps chiefly on your age and sex. To Octavius she
is an enchantingly beautiful woman, in whose presence the
world becomes transfigured, and the puny limits of individual
consciousness are suddenly made infinite by a mystic memory
of the whole life of the race to its beginnings in the east, or
even back to the paradise from which it fell. She is to him the
reality of romance, the inner good sense of nonsense, the unveil-

Act I Man and Superman 1 5

ing of his eyes^ the freeing of his soul^ the abolition of time ^
place and circumstance^ the etherealization of his blood into
rapturous rivers of the very water of life itself the revelation
of all the mysteries and the sanctification of all the dogmas. To
her mother she is, to put it as moderately as possible, nothing
whatever of the kind. Not that Octaviuss admiration is in
any way ridiculous or discreditable. Ann is a well formed
creature, as far as that goes; and she is perfectly ladylike,
graceful, and comely, with ensnaring eyes and hair. Besides,
instead of making herself an eyesore, like her mother, she has
devised a mourning costume of black and violet silk which does
honor to her late father and reveals the family tradition of
brave unconventionality by which Ramsden sets such store.

But all this is beside the point as an explanation of Ann^s
charm. Turn up her nose, give a cast to her eye, replace her
black and violet confection by the apron and feathers of a flower
girl, strike all the aitches out of her speech, and Ann would still
make men dream. Vitality is as common as humanity ; but, like
humanity, it sometimes rises to genius; and Ann is one of the
vital geniuses. Not at all, if you please, an oversexed person :
that is a vital defect, not a true excess. She is a perfectly
respectable, perfectly self controlled woman, and looks it; though
her pose is fashionably frank and impulsive. She inspires con-
fidence as a person who will do nothing she does not mean to
do; also some fear, perhaps, as a woman who will probably do
everything she means to do without taking more account of other
people than may be necessary and what she calls right. In short,
what the weaker of her own sex sometimes call a cat.

Nothing can be more decorous than her entry and her recep-
tion by Ramsden, whom she kisses. The late Mr Whitefield
would be gratified almost to impatience by the long faces of the
men {except Tanner, who is fidgety), the silent handgrasps, the
sympathetic placing of chairs, the sniffing of the widow, and
the liquid eye of the daughter, whose heart, apparently, will not
let her control her tongue to speech. Ramsden and Octavius
take the two chairs from the wall, and place them for the two
ladies; but Ann comes to Tanner and takes his chair, which he

1 6 Man and Superman Act I

offers with a brusque gesture^ subsequently relieving his irrita-
tion by sitting down on the corner of the writing table with
studied indecorum. Octavius gives Mrs Whitefield a chair
next Ann, and hi?nself takes the vacant one which Ramsden
has placed under the nose of the effigy of Mr. Herbert Spencer.

Mrs. Whitefield, by the way, is a little woman, whose faded
flaxen hair looks like straw on an egg. She has an expression of
muddled shrewdness, a squeak of protest in her voice, and an
odd air of continually elbowing away some larger person who
is crushing her into a corner. One guesses her as one of those
women who are conscious of being treated as silly and negligible,
and who, without having strength enough to assert themselves
effectually, at any rate never submit to their fate. There is a
touch of chivalry in Octavius^ scrupulous attention to her, even
whilst his whole soul is absorbed by Ann.

Ramsden goes solemnly back to his magisterial seat at the
writing table, ignoring Tanner, and opens the proceedings.

RAMSDEN. I am sorry, Annie, to force business on you
at a sad time like the present. But your poor dear father's
will has raised a very serious question. You have read it,
I believe ?

Ann assents with a nod and a catch of her breath, too much
affected to speak.

I must say I am surprised to find Mr Tanner named
as joint guardian and trustee vi^ith myself of you and
Rhoda. \A pause. They all look portentous; but they have
nothing to say. Ramsden, a little ruffled by the lack of any
response, continues'] I dont know that I can consent to act
under such conditions. Mr Tanner has, I understand, some
objection also ; but I do not profess to understand its
nature : he will no doubt speak for himself. But we are
agreed that we can decide nothing until we know your
views. I am afraid I shall have to ask you to choose be-
tween my sole guardianship and that of Mr Tanner ; for I
fear it is impossible for us to undertake a joint arrangement.

ANN [in a low musical voice] Mamma —

MRS WHITEFIELD [hastily] Now, Ann, I do beg you not

Act I Man and Superman 17

to put it on me. I have no opinion on the subject ; and if
I had, it would probably not be attended to. I am quite
content with whatever you three think best.

Tanner turns his head and looks fixedly at Rams den, who
angrily refuses to receive this mute communication.

ANN {resuming in the same gentle voice, ignoring her mother^ s
bad taste] Mamma knows that she is not strong enough to
bear the whole responsibility for me and Rhoda without
some help and advice. Rhoda must have a guardian ; and
though I am older, I do not think any young unmarried
woman should be left quite to her own guidance. I hope
you agree with me, Granny ?

TANNER [starting] Granny! Do you intend to call your
guardians Granny?

ANN. Dont be foolish, Jack. Mr Ramsden has always
been Grandpapa Roebuck to me : I am Granny's Annie ;
and he is Annie's Granny. I christened him so when I
first learned to speak.

RAMSDEN [sarcastically] I hope you are satisfied, Mr
Tanner. Go on, Annie : I quite agree with you.

ANN. Well, if I am to have a guardian, can I set aside
anybody whom my dear father appointed for me ?

RAMSDEN [biting his lip] You approve of your father's
choice, then ?

ANN. It is not for me to approve or disapprove. I
accept it. My father loved me and knew best what was
good for me.

RAMSDEN. Of course I understand your feeling, Annie.
It is what I should have expected of you ; and it does you
credit. But it does not settle the question so completely as
you think. Let me put a case to you. Suppose you were to
discover that I had been guilty of some disgraceful action —
that I was not the man your poor dear father took me for !
Would you still consider it right that I should be Rhoda's
guardian ?

ANN. I cant imagine you doing anything disgraceful,
Granny.

1 8 Man and Superman Act I

TANNER [to Ramsden] You havnt done anything of the
sort, have you ?

RAMSDEN [indignantly'] No sir.

MRS wHiTEFiELD [placidly] Well, then, why suppose it?

ANN. You see, Granny, Mamma would not like me to
suppose it.

RAMSDEN [much pcrpkxed] You are both so full of natural
and affectionate feeling in these family matters that it is
very hard to put the situation fairly before you.

TANNER. Besides, my friend, you are not putting the
situation fairly before them.

RAMSDEN [sulkily] Put it yourself, then.

TANNER. I will. Ann : Ramsden thinks I am not fit to
be your guardian ; and I quite agree with him. He con-
siders that if your father had read my book, he wouldnt
have appointed me. That book is the disgraceful action
he has been talking about. He thinks it's your duty for
Rhoda's sake to ask him to act alone and to make me
withdraw. Say the word; and I will.

ANN. But I havnt read your book. Jack.

TANNER [diving at the waste-paper basket and fishing the
hook out for her] Then read it at once and decide.

RAMSDEN [vehemently] If I am to be your guardian, I
positively forbid you to read that book, Annie. [He smites
the table with his fist and rises].

ANN. Of course not if you dont wish it. [She puts the
hook on the table].

TANNER. If one guardian Is to forbid you to read the
other guardian's book, how are we to settle it ? Sup-
pose I order you to read it. What about your duty to
me?

ANN [gently] I am sure you would never purposely force
me into a painful dilemma. Jack.

RAMSDEN [irritably] Yes, yes, Annie : this is all very well,
and, as I said, quite natural and becoming. But you must
make a choice one way or the other. We are as much in a
dilemma as you.

Act I Man and Superman 19

ANN. I feel that I am too young, too inexperienced, to
decide. My father's wishes are sacred to me.

MRS wHiTEFiELD. If you tvvo men wont carry them out
I must say it is rather hard that you should put the re-
sponsibility on Ann. It seems to me that people are always
putting things on other people in this world.

RAMSDEN. I am sorry you take it in that way.

ANN. [touchingly'] Do you refuse to accept me as your
ward, Granny?

RAMSDEN. No : I Rcvcr said that. I greatly object to act
with Mr Tanner : thats all.

MRS WHITEFIELD. Why? What's the matter with poor
Jack?

TANNER. My views are too advanced for him.

RAMSDEN \indignantlj\ They are not. I deny it.

ANN. Of course not. What nonsense ! Nobody is more
advanced than Granny. I am sure it is Jack himself who
has made all the difficulty. Come, Jack ! be kind to me in
ray sorrow. You dont refuse to accept me as your ward,
do you ?

TANNER \gloomilf\ No. I let myself in for it ; so I sup-
pose I must face it. \He turns away to the bookcase, and
stands there, moodily studying the titles of the volumes'],

ANN [rising and expanding with subdued but gushing delight]
Then we are all agreed j and my dear father's will is to
be carried out. You dont know what a joy that is to me
and to my mother ! [Bhe goes to Ramsden and presses both his
hands, saying] And I shall have my dear Granny to help
and advise me. [She casts a glance at Tanner over her
shoulder]. And Jack the Giant Killer. [Bhe goes past her
mother to Octavius] And Jack's inseparable friend Ricky-
ticky-tavy [he blushes and looks inexpressibly foolish].

MRS WHITEFIELD [rising and shaking her widow^s weeds
straight] Now that you are Ann's guardian, Mr Ramsden,
I wish you would speak to her about her habit of giving
people nicknames. They cant be expected to like it. [She
moves towards the door].

20 Man and Superman Act I

ANN. How can you say such a thing, Mamma ! [Glozuing
with affectionate remorse'] Oh, I wonder can you be right !
Have I been inconsiderate? [^She turns to Octavius, who is
sitting astride his chair with his elbows on the back of it.
Putting her hand on his forehead sloe turns his face up suddenly].
Do you want to be treated like a grown up man ? Must I
call you Mr Robinson in future?

ocTAVius [earnestly] Oh please call me Ricky-ticky-tavy.
*'Mr Robinson" would hurt me cruelly. [She laughs and
pats his cheek with her finger; then comes back to Rams den].
You know I'm beginning to think that Granny i s rather a
piece of impertinence. But I never dreamt of its hurting you.

RAMSDEN [breezily^ as he pats her affectionately on the back]
My dear Annie, nonsense. I insist on Granny. I wont
answer to any other name than Annie's Granny.

ANN [gratefully] You all spoil me, except Jack.

TANNER [over his shoulder^ from the bookcase] I think you
ought to call me Mr Tanner.

ANN [gently] No you dont, Jack. Thats like the things
you say on purpose to shock people : those who know you
pay no attention to them. But, if you like, I'll call you
after your famous ancestor Don Juan.

RAMSDEN. Don Juan !

ANN [innocently] Oh, is there any harm in it ? I didnt
know. Then I certainly wont call you that. May I call
you Jack until I can think of something else?

TANNER. Oh, for Heaven's sake dont try to invent any-
thing worse. I capitulate. I consent to Jack. I embrace
Jack. Here endeth my first and last attempt to assert my
authority.

ANN. You see, Mamma, they all really like to have pet
names.

MRS WHITEFIELD. Well, I think you might at least drop
them until we are out of mourning.

ANN [reproachfully^ stricken to the soul] Oh, how could
you remind me, mother? [She hastily leaves the room to con-
ceal her emotion].

Act I Man and Superman 21

MRS wHiTEFiELD. Of coursc. My fault as usual! [S6e
follows Ann\.

TANNER {coming from the bookcase'\ Ramsden : we're
beaten — smashed — nonentitized, like her mother.

RAMSDEN. Stuff, Sir. \He follows Mrs Wkitefield out of
the room].

TANNER [left alone with Octavius, stares whimsically at
him] Tavy : do you want to count for something in the
world ?

OCTAVIUS. I want to count for something as a poet : I
want to write a great play.

TANNER. With Ann as the heroine?

OCTAVIUS. Yes : I confess it.

TANNER. Take care, Tavy. The play with Ann as the
heroine is all right; but if youre not very careful, by
Heaven she'll marry you.

OCTAVIUS [sighing] No such luck, Jack !

TANNER. Why, man, your head is in the lioness's mouth :
you are half swallowed already — in three bites — Bite One,
Ricky; Bite Two, Ticky; Bite Three, Tavy; and down
you go.

OCTAVIUS. She is the same to everybody. Jack : you
know her ways.

TANNER. Yes : she breaks ever^'-body's back with the
stroke of her paw ; but the question is, which of us will
she eat } My own opinion is that she means to eat you.

OCTAVIUS [rising, pettishly] It's horrible to talk like that
about her when she is upstairs crying for her father. But
I do so want her to eat me that I can bear your brutalities
because they give me hope.

TANNER. Tavy : thats the devilish side of a woman's
fascination : she makes you will your own destruction.

OCTAVIUS. But it's not destruction : it's fulfilment.

TANNER. Yes, of her purpose; and that purpose is
neither her happiness nor yours, but Nature's. Vitality in
a woman is a blind fury of creation. She sacrifices herself
to it : do you think she will hesitate to sacrifice you ?

22 Man and Superman Act I

ocTAVius. Why, it is just because she is self-sacrificing
that she will not sacrifice those she loves.

TANNER. That is the profoundest of mistakes, Tavy. It
is the self-sacrificing women that sacrifice others most
recklessly. Because they are unselfish, they are kind in
little things. Because they have a purpose which is not
their own purpose, but that of the whole universe, a man
is nothing to them but an instrument of that purpose.

OCTAVIUS. Dont be ungenerous. Jack. They take the
tenderest care of us.

TANNER. Yes, as a soldier takes care of his rifle or a
musician of his violin. But do they allow us any purpose
or freedom of our own .'' Will they lend us to one another?
Can the strongest man escape from them when once he is
appropriated? They tremble when we are in danger, and
weep when we die ; but the tears are not for us, but for a
father wasted, a son's breeding thrown away. They accuse
us of treating them as a mere means to our pleasure ; but
how can so feeble and transient a folly as a man's selfish
pleasure enslave a woman as the whole purpose of Nature
embodied in a woman can enslave a man ?

OCTAVIUS. What matter, i£ the slavery makes us happy ?

TANNER. No matter at all if you have no purpose of
your own, and are, like most men, a mere breadwinner.
But you, Tavy, are an artist : that is, you have a pur-
pose as absorbing and as unscrupulous as a woman's
purpose.

OCTAVIUS. Not unscrupulous.

TANNER. Quite unscrupulous. The true artist will let
his wife starve, his children go barefoot, his mother drudge
for his living at seventy, sooner than work at anything but
his art. To women he is half vivisector, half vampire. He
gets into intimate relations with them to study them, to
strip the mask of convention from them, to surprise their
inmost secrets, knowing that they have the power to rouse
his deepest creative energies, to rescue him from his cold
reason, to make him see visions and dream dreams, to

Act I Man and Superman 23

inspire him, as he calls it. He persuades women that they
may do this for their own purpose whilst he really means
them to do it for his. He steals the mother's milk and
blackens it to make printers ink to scoff at her and glorify
ideal women with. He pretends to spare her the pangs of
child-bearing so that he may have for himself the tender-
ness and fostering that belong of right to her children.
Since marriage began, the great artist has been known as
a bad husband. But he is worse : he is a child-robber, a
blood-sucker, a hypocrite and a cheat. Perish the race and
wither a thousand women if only the sacrifice of them
enable him to act Hamlet better, to paint a finer picture,
to write a deeper poem, a greater play, a profounder
philosophy ! For mark you, Tavy, the artist's work is to
shew us ourselves as we really are. Our minds are nothing
but this knowledge of ourselves; and he who adds a jot to
such knowledge creates new mind as surely as any woman
creates new men. In the rage of that creation he is as
ruthless as the woman, as dangerous to her as she to him,
and as horribly fascinating. Of all human struggles there
is none so treacherous and remorseless as the struggle be-
tween the artist man and the mother woman. Which shall
use up the other? that is the issue between them. And it
is all the deadlier because, in your romanticist cant, they
love one another.

ocTAvius. Even if it were so — and I dont admit it for
a moment — it is out of the deadliest struggles that we get
the noblest characters.

TANNER. Remember that the next time you meet a
grizzly bear or a Bengal tiger, Tavy.

OCTAVIUS. I meant where there is love. Jack.

TANNER. Oh, the tiger will love you. There is no love
sincerer than the love of food. I think Ann loves you that
way : she patted your cheek as if it were a nicely under-
done chop.

OCTAVIUS. You know. Jack, I should have to run away
from you if I did not make it a fixed rule not to mind

24 Man and Superman Act I

anything you say. You come out with perfectly revolting
things sometimes.

Rams den returns^ followed by Ann, They come in quickly^
with their former leisurely air of decorous grief changed to one
of genuine concern^ and, on Ramsden^s part, of worry. He
comes between the two men, intending to address Octavius, but
fulls himself up abruptly as he sees Tanner.

RAMSDEN. I hardly expected to find you still here, Mr
Tanner.

TANNER. Am I in the way ? Good morning, fellow
guardian \he goes towards the door^.

ANN. Stop, Jack. Granny : he must know, sooner or
later.

RAMSDEN. Octavius : I have a very serious piece of news
for you. It is of the most private and delicate nature — of
the most painful nature too, I am sorry to say. Do you wish
Mr Tanner to be present whilst I explain ?

OCTAVIUS [turning pale] I have no secrets from Jack.

RAMSDEN. Before you decide that finally, let me say
that the news concerns your sister, and that it is terrible
news.

OCTAVIUS. Violet! What has happened? Is she — dead?

RAMSDEN. I am not sure that it is not even worse than
that.

OCTAVIUS. Is she badly hurt? Has there been an acci-
dent ?

RAMSDEN. No : nothing of that sort.

TANNER. Ann : will you have the common humanity to
tell us what the matter is ?

ANN \halfwhispering\ I cant. Violet has done something
dreadful. We shall have to get her away somewhere. [She
flutters to the writing table and sits in Rams den's chair, leav-
ing the three men to fight it out between them\.

OCTAVIUS [enlightened] Is that what you meant, Mr
Ramsden ?

RAMSDEN. Yes. [Octavius sinks upon a chair, crushed], I
am afraid there is no doubt that Violet did not really go to

Act I Man and Superman 25

Eastbourne three weeks ago when we thought she was
with the Parry Whitefields. And she called on a strange
doctor yesterday with a wedding ring on her finger. Mrs
Parry Whitefield met her there by chance ; and so the
whole thing came out.

ocTAvius [rising with his fsts clenched^ Who is the
scoundrel ?

ANN. She wont tell us.

OCTAVIUS [collapsing into the chair again"] What a fright-
ful thing !

TANNER [with angry sarcasm] Dreadful. Appalling.
Worse than death, as Ramsden says. [He comes to
Octavius], What would you not give, Tavy, to turn it
into a railway accident, with all her bones broken, or
something equally respectable and deserving of sympathy?

OCTAVIUS. Dont be brutal. Jack.

TANNER. Brutal ! Good Heavens, man, what are you
crying for? Here is a woman whom we all supposed to
be making bad water color sketches, practising Grieg and
Brahms, gadding about to concerts and parties, wasting her
life and her money. We suddenly learn that she has turned
from these sillinesses to the fulfilment of her highest pur-
pose and greatest function — to increase, multiply and re-
plenish the earth. And instead of admiring her courage
and rejoicing in her instinct ; instead of crowning the
completed womanhood and raising the triumphal strain of
*'Unto us a child is born : unto us a son is given," here you
are — you who have been as merry as grigs in your mourning
for the dead — all pulling long faces and looking as ashamed
and disgraced as if the girl had committed the vilest of
crimes.

RAMSDEN [roaring with rage] I will not have these
abominations uttered in my house [he smites the writing-
table with his fist],

TANNER. Look hcrc : if you insult me again I'll take
you at your word and leave your house. Ann : where is
Violet now?

26 Man and Superman Act I

ANN. Why? Are you going to her?

TANNER. Of course I am going to her. She wants help ;
she wants money ; she wants respect and congratulation ;
she wants every chance for her child. She does not seem
likely to get it from you : she shall from me. Where is
she ?

ANN. Dont be so headstrong, Jack. Shes upstairs.

TANNER. What! Under Ramsden's sacred roof ! Go and
do your miserable duty, Ramsden. Hunt her out into the
street. Cleanse your threshold from her contamination.
Vindicate the purity of your English home. I'll go for a cab.

ANN [alarmed'\ Oh, Granny, you mustnt do that.

ocTAVius \broken-heartedly^ rising] I'll take her away, Mr
Ramsden. She had no right to come to your house.

RAMSDEN [indig?jantly] But I am only too anxious to help
her. [Turning on Tanner] How dare you, sir, impute such
monstrous intentions to me? I protest against it. I am
ready to put down my last penny to save her from being
driven to run to you for protection.

TANNER [subsiding] It's all right, then. He's not going to
act up to his principles. It's agreed that we all stand by
Violet.

OCTAVIUS. But who is the man ? He can make repara-
tion by marrying her ; and he shall, or he shall answer for
it to me.

RAMSDEN. He shall, Octavius. There you speak like a
man.

TANNER. Then you dont think him a scoundrel, after all ?

OCTAVIUS. Not a scoundrel ! He is a heartless scoundrel.

RAMSDEN. A damned scoundrel. I beg your pardon,
Annie ; but I can say no less.

TANNER. So we are to marry your sister to a damned
scoundrel by way of reforming her character ! On my soul,
I think you are all mad.

ANN. Dont be absurd, Jack. Of course you are quite
right, Tavy ; but we dont know who he is : Violet wont
tell us.

Act I Man and Superman 27

TANNER. What on earth does it matter who he is? He's
done his part ; and Violet must do the rest.

RAMSDEN [beside himself] Stuff! lunacy! There is a
rascal in our midst, a libertine, a villain worse than a
murderer ; and we are not to learn who he is ! In our
ignorance we are to shake him by the hand ; to introduce
him into our homes ; to trust our daughters with him ;
to — to —

ANN [coaxingly'\ There, Granny, dont talk so loud. It's
most shocking : we must all admit that ; but if Violet
wont tell us, what can we do? Nothing. Simply nothing.

RAMSDEN. Hmph ! I'm not so sure of that. If any man
has paid Violet any special attention, we can easily find
that out. If there is any man of notoriously loose principles
among us —

TANNER. Ahem !

RAMSDEN [raising his voice] Yes sir, I repeat, if there is
any man of notoriously loose principles among us —

TANNER. Or any man notoriously lacking in self-control.

RAMSDEN [aghast] Do you dare to suggest that / am
capable of such an act ?

TANNER. My dear Ramsden, this is an act of which
every man is capable. That is what comes of getting at
cross purposes with Nature. The suspicion you have just
flung at me clings to us all. It's a sort of mud that sticks
to the judge's ermine or the cardinal's robe as fast as to
the rags of the tramp. Come, Tavy ! dont look so be-
wildered : it might have been me : it might have been
Ramsden; just as it might have been anybody. If it had,
what could we do but lie and protest — as Ramsden is going
to protest.

RAMSDEN [choking] I — I — I —

TANNER. Guilt itself could not stammer more con-
fusedly. And yet you know perfectly well hes innocent,
Tavy.

RAMSDEN [exhausted] I am glad you admit that, sir. I
admit, myself, that there is an element of truth in what

28 Man and Superman Act I

you say, grossly as you may distort it to gratify your
malicious humor. I hope, Octavius, no suspicion of me is
possible in your mind.

OCTAVIUS. Of you ! No, not for a moment.

TANNER [dri/y] I think he suspects me just a little.

OCTAVIUS. Jack : you couldnt — you wouldnt —

TANNER. Why not ?

OCTAVIUS [appa//ed] Why not !

TANNER. Oh, well, I'll tell you why not. First, you
would feel bound to quarrel with me. Second, Violet
doesnt like me. Third, if I had the honor of being the
father of Violet's child, I should boast of it instead of
denying it. So be easy : our friendship is not in danger.

OCTAVIUS. I should have put away the suspicion with
horror if only you would think and feel naturally about it.
I beg your pardon.

TANNER. My pardon! nonsense! And now lets sit
down and have a family council. [He sits down. The rest
follow his exatnple^ more or less under protest\ Violet is going
to do the State a service ; consequently she must be packed
abroad like a criminal until it's over. Whats happening
upstairs ?

ANN. Violet is in the housekeeper's room — by herself,
of course.

TANNER. Why not in the drawingroom }

ANN. Dont be absurd. Jack. Miss Ramsden is in the
drawing-room with my mother, considering what to do.

TANNER. Oh ! the housekeeper's room is the penitenti-
ary, I suppose ; and the prisoner is waiting to be brought
before her judges. The old cats !

ANN. Oh, Jack !

RAMSDEN. You are at present a guest beneath the roof
of one of the old cats, sir. My sister is the mistress of this
house.

TANNER. She would put me in the housekeeper's room,
too, if she dared, Ramsden. However, I withdraw cats.
Cats would have more sense, Ann : as your guardian, I

Act I Man and Superman 29

order you to go to Violet at once and be particularly kind
to her.

ANN. I have seen her, Jack. And I am sorry to say
I am afraid she is going to be rather obstinate about
going abroad. I think Tavy ought to speak to her
about it.

ocTAVius. How can I speak to her about such a thing
[/)e breaks down\ ?

ANN. Dont break down, Ricky. Try to bear it for all
our sakes.

RAMSDEN. Life is not all plays and poems, Octavius.
Come ! face it like a man.

TANNER [chafing again'] Poor dear brother ! Poor dear
friends of the family ! Poor dear Tabbies and Grimalkins !
Poor dear everybody except the woman who is going to risk
her life to create another life ! Tavy : dont you be a selfish
ass. Away with you and talk to Violet ; and bring her
down here if she cares to come. [Octavius rises]. Tell her
we'll stand by her.

RAMSDEN [rising] No, sir —

TANNER [rising also and interrupting him] Oh, we under-
stand : it's against your conscience ; but still youll do it.

OCTAVIUS. I assure you all, on my word, I never meant
to be selfish. It's so hard to know what to do when one
wishes earnestly to do right.

TANNER. My dear Tavy, your pious English habit of
regarding the world as a moral gymnasium built expressly
to strengthen your character in, occasionally leads you to
think about your own confounded principles when you
should be thinking about other people's necessities. The
need of the present hour is a happy mother and a healthy
baby. Bend your energies on that ; and you will see your
way clearly enough.

Octavius^ much perplexed, goes out,

RAMSDEN [facing Tanner impressively] And Morality, sir.? '
What is to become of that ?

TANNER. Meaning a weeping Magdalen and an innocent

30 Man and Superman Act I

child branded with her shame. Not in our circle, thank
you. Morality can go to its father the devil.

RAMSDEN. I thought SO, sir. Morality sent to the devil
to please our libertines, male and female. That is to be
the future of England, is it?

TANNER. Oh, England will survive your disapproval.
Meanwhile, I understand that you agree with me as to the
practical course we are to take.?

RAMSDEN. Not in your spirit, sir. Not for your reasons.

TANNER. You cau explain that if anybody calls you to
account, here or hereafter. [He turns away^ and plants
himself in front of Mr Herbert Spencer, at whom he stares
gloomily\

ANN [rising ana coming to Ramsden) Granny : hadnt you
better go up to the drawing room and tell them what we
intend to do?

RAMSDEN [looking pointedly at Tanner"] I hardly like to
leave you alone with this gentleman. Will you not come
with me?

ANN. Miss Ramsden would not like to speak about it
before me, Granny. I ought not to be present.

RAMSDEN. You are right : I should have thought of that.
You are a good girl, Annie.

He pats her on the shoulder. She looks up at him with
beaming eyes ; and he goes out, much moved. Having disposed
of him, she looks at Tanner. His back being turned to her, she
gives a moment^s attention to her personal appearance, then
softly goes to him and speaks almost into his ear.

ANN. Jack [he turns with a start] : are you glad that you
are my guardian ? You dont mind being made responsible
for me, I hope.

TANNER. The latest addition to your collection of scape-
goats, eh?

ANN. Oh, that stupid old joke of yours about me ! Do
please drop it. Why do you say things that you know must
pain me ? I do my best to please you. Jack : I suppose
I may tell you so now that you are my guardian. You

Act I Man and Superman 3 1

will make me so unhappy if you refuse to be friends
with me.

TANNER [stud'^ing her as gloomily as he studied the hust'\
You need not go begging for my regard. How unreal our
moral judgments are ! You seem to me to have absolutely
no conscience — only hypocrisy; and you cant see the
difference — ^yet there is a sort of fascination about you. I
always attend to you, somehow. I should miss you if I lost
you.

ANN \tranquilly slipping her arm into his and walking about
with him\ But isnt that only natural, Jack ? We have known
each other since we were children. Do you remember —

TANNER [^abruptly breaking loose"] Stop ! I remember every-
thing.

ANN. Oh, I daresay we were often very silly ; but —

TANNER. I wont havc it, Ann. I am no more that school-
boy now than I am the dotard of ninety I shall grow into
if I live long enough. It is over : let me forget it.

ANN. Wasnt it a happy time? \^She attempts to take his
arm again].

TANNER. Sit down and behave yourself. [^He makes her
sit down in the chair next the writing table]. No doubt it was
a happy time for you. You were a good girl and never
compromised yourself. And yet the wickedest child that
ever was slapped could hardly have had a better time. 1
can understand the success with which you bullied the
other girls : your virtue imposed on them. But tell me
this : did you ever know a good boy?

ANN. Of course. All boys are foolish sometimes ; but
Tavy was always a really good boy.

TANNER [struck hy this] Yes : youre right. For some
reason you never tempted Tavy.

ANN. Tempted ! Jack !

TANNER. Yes, my dear Lady Mephistopheles, tempted.
You were insatiably curious as to what a boy might be
capable of, and diabolically clever at getting through his
guard and surprising his inmost secrets.

32 Man and Superman Act I

ANN. What nonsense ! All because you used to tell me
long stones of the wicked things you had done — silly boy's
tricks ! And you call such things inmost secrets ! Boy's
secrets are just like men's; and you know what they are!

TANNER {obstinatelf^ No I dont. What are they, pray?

ANN. Why, the things they tell everybody, of course.

TANNER. Now I swcar I told you things I told no one
else. You lured me into a compact by which we were to
have no secrets from one another. We were to tell one
another everything. I didnt notice that you never told me
anything.

ANN. You didnt want to talk about me, Jack. You wanted
to talk about yourself.

TANNER. Ah, true, horribly true. But what a devil of a
child you must have been to know that weakness and to
play on it for the satisfaction of your own curiosity ! I
wanted to brag to you, to make myself interesting. And
I found myself doing all sorts of mischievous things simply
to have something to tell you about, I fought with boys I
didnt hate ; I lied about things I might just as well have
told the truth about ; I stole things I didnt want ; I kissed
little girls I didnt care for. It was all bravado : passionless
and therefore unreal.

ANN. I never told of you, Jack,

TANNER. No ; but if you had wanted to stop me you
would have told of me. You wanted me to go on.

ANN [flashing out'] Oh, thats not true: it's not true,
Jack. I never wanted you to do those dull, disappointing,
brutal, stupid, vulgar things. I always hoped that it would
be something really heroic at last. [Recovering herself] Ex-
cuse me. Jack ; but the things you did were never a bit like
the things I wanted you to do. They often gave me great
uneasiness ; but I could not tell of you and get you into
trouble. And you were only a boy. I knew you would grow
out of them. Perhaps I was wrong.

TANNER [sardonically] Do not give way to remorse, Ann.
At least nineteen twentieths of the exploits I confessed to

Act I Man and Superman 33

you were pure lies. I soon noticed that you didnt like the
true stories.

ANN. Of course I knew that some of the things couldnt
have happened. But —

TANNER. You are going to remind me that some of the
most disgraceful ones did.

ANN [fondly^ to his great terror'] I dont want to remind
you of anything. But I knew the people they happened to,
and heard about them.

TANNER. Yes ; but even the true stories were touched up
for telling. A sensitive boy's humiliations may be very good
fun for ordinary thickskinned grown-ups; but to the boy
himself they are so acute, so ignominious, that he cannot
confess them — cannot but deny them passionately. How-
ever, perhaps it was as well for me that I romanced a bit ; for,
on the one occasion when I told you the truth, you threatened
to tell of me.

ANN. Oh, never. Never once.

TANNER. Yes, you did. Do you remember a dark-eyed
girl named Rachel Rosetree.? \^Ann*s brows contract for an
instant involuntarily]. I got up a love affair with her j and
we met one night in the garden and walked about very un-
comfortably with our arms round one another, and kissed
at parting, and were most conscientiously romantic. If that
love affair had gone on, it would have bored me to death;
but it didnt go on ; for the next thing that happened was
that Rachel cut me because she found out that I had told
you. How did she find it out.'' From you. You went to her
and held the guilty secret over her head, leading her a life
of abject terror and humiliation by threatening to tell on her.

ANN. And a very good thing for her, too. It was my
duty to stop her misconduct ; and she is thankful to me for
it now.

TANNER. Is she?

ANN. She ought to be, at all events.
TANNER. It was not your duty to stop my misconduct, I
suppose.

0

34 Man and Superman Act I

ANN. I did stop it by stopping her.

TANNER. Are you sure of that ? You stopped my telling
you about my adventures ; but how do you know that you
stopped the adventures?

ANN. Do you mean to say that you went on in the same
way with other girls?

TANNER. No. I had enough of that sort of romantic tom-
foolery with Rachel.

ANN \unconvinced'\ Then why did you break off our con-
fidences and become quite strange to me ?

TANNER [enigmatically'] It happened just then that I got
something that I wanted to keep all to myself instead of
sharing it with you.

ANN. I am sure I shouldnt have asked for any of it if you
had grudged it.

TANNER. It wasnt a box of sweets, Ann. It was some-
thing youd never have let me call my own.

ANN [incredulously'] What?

TANNER. My soul.

ANN. Oh, do be sensible, Jack. You know youre talking
nonsense.

TANNER. The most solemn earnest, Ann. You didnt
notice at that time that you were getting a soul too. But
you were. It was not for nothing that you suddenly found
you had a moral duty to chastise and reform Rachel. Up
to that time you had traded pretty ext-ensively in being a
good child ; but you had never set up a sense of duty to
others. Well, I set one up too. Up to that time I had played
the boy buccaneer with no more conscience than a fox in
a poultry farm. But now I began to have scruples, to feel
obligations, to find that veracity and honor were no longer
goody-goody expressions in the mouths of grown up people,
but compelling principles in myself.

ANN [quietly] Yes, I suppose youre right. You were be-
ginning to be a man, and I to be a woman.

TANNER, Are you sure it was not that we were beginning
to be something more ? What does the beginning of man-

Act I Man and Superman 35

hood and womanhood mean in most people's mouths? You
know : it means the beginning of love. But love began
long before that for me. Love played its part in the earliest
dreams and follies and romances I can remember — may I
say the earliest follies and romances we can remember? —
though we did not understand it at the time. No : the
change that came to me was the birth in me of moral
passion ; and I declare that according to my experience
moral passion is the only real passion.

ANN. All passions ought to be moral, Jack.

TANNER. Ought ! Do you think that anything is strong
enough to impose oughts on a passion except a stronger
passion still ?

ANN. Our moral sense controls passion, Jack. Dont be
stupid.

TANNER. Our moral sense ! And is that not a passion ?
Is the devil to have all the passions as well as all the good
tunes ? If it were not a passion — if it were not the mightiest
of the passions, all the other passions would sweep it away
like a leaf before a hurricane. It is the birth of that passion
that turns a child into a man.

ANN. There are other passions. Jack. Very strong ones.

TANNER. All the other passions were in me before ; but
they were idle and aimless — mere childish greedinesses and
cruelties, curiosities and fancies, habits and superstitions,
grotesque and ridiculous to the mature intelligence. When
they suddenly began to shine like newly lit flames it was
by no light of their own, but by the radiance of the dawn-
ing moral passion. That passion dignified them, gave them
conscience and meaning, found them a mob of appetites
and organized them into an army of purposes and principles.
My soul was born of that passion.

ANN. I noticed that you got more sense. You were a
dreadfully destructive boy before that.

TANNER. Destructive! Stufi^! I was only mischievous.

ANN. Oh Jack, you were very destructive. You ruined
all the young fir trees by chopping off their leaders with a

36 Man and Superman Act I

wooden sword. You broke all the cucumber frames with
your catapult. You set fire to the common : the police
arrested Tavy for it because he ran away when he couldnt
stop you. You —

TANNER. Pooh ! pooh ! pooh ! these were battles, bom-
bardments, stratagems to save our scalps from the red Indians.
You have no imagination, Ann. I am ten times more de-
structive now than I was then. The moral passion has taken
my destructiveness in hand and directed it to moral ends. I
have become a reformer, and, like all reformers, an icono-
clast. I no longer break cucumber frames and burn gorse
bushes : I shatter creeds and demolish idols.

ANN [l>ore^] I am afraid I am too feminine to see any
sense in destruction. Destruction can only destroy.

TANNER. Yes. That is why it is so useful. Construction
cumbers the ground with institutions made by busybodies.
Destruction clears it and gives us breathing space and
liberty.

ANN. Its no use. Jack. No woman will agree with you
there.

TANNER. Thats because you confuse construction and
destruction with creation and murder. Theyre quite dif-
ferent : I adore creation and abhor murder. Yes : I adore
it in tree and flower, in bird and beast, even in you. [J
flush of interest and delight suddenly chases the growing per-
plexity and boredom from her face\ It was the creative in-
stinct that led you to attach me to you by bonds that have
left their mark on me to this day. Yes, Ann : the old
childish compact between us was an unconscious love com-
pact—

ANN. Jack !

TANNER. Oh, dont be alarmed —

ANN. I am not alarmed.

TANNER [whimsically'] Then you ought to be : where are
your principles }

ANN. Jack : are you serious or are you not ?

TANNER. Do you mean about the moral passion }

Act I Man and Superman 37

ANN. No, no ; the other one. [Confused^ Oh ! you are
so silly : one never knows how to take you.

TANNER. You Hiust take me quite seriously. I am your
guardian ; and it is my duty to improve your mind.

ANN. The love compact is over, then, is it? I suppose
you grew tired of me ?

TANNER. No ; but thc moral passion made our childish
relations impossible. A jealous sense of my new individuality
arose in me —

ANN. You hated to be treated as a boy any longer. Poor
Jack!

TANNER. Yes, because to be treated as a boy was to be
taken on the old footing. I had become a new person ; and
those who knew the old person laughed at me. The only
man who behaved sensibly was my tailor : he took my
measure anew every time he saw me, whilst all the rest went
on with their old measurements and expected them to fit
me.

ANN. You became frightfully self-conscious.

TANNER. When you go to heaven, Ann, you will be
frightfully conscious of your wings for the first year or so.
When you meet your relatives there, and they persist in
treating you as if you were still a mortal, you will not be
able to bear them. You will try to get into a circle which
has never known you except as an angel.

ANN. So it was only your vanity that made you run
away from us after all ?

TANNER. Yes, only my vanity, as you call it.

ANN. You need not have kept away from me on that
account.

TANNER. From you above all others. You fought harder
than anybody against my emancipation.

ANN [earnestly'] Oh, how wrong you arc ! I would have
done anything for you.

TANNER. Anything except let me get loose from you.
Even then you had acquired by instinct that damnable
woman's trick of heaping obligations on a man, of placing

38 Man and Superman Act I

yourself so entirely and helplessly at his mercy that at last
he dare not take a step without running to you for leave.
I know a poor wretch whose one desire in life is to run
away from his wife. She prevents him by threatening to
throw herself in front of the engine of the train he leaves
her in. That is what all women do. If we try to go where
you do not v/ant us to go there is no law to prevent us ;
but when we take the first step your breasts are under our
foot as it descends : your bodies are under our wheels as
we start. No woman shall ever enslave mc in that way.

ANN. But, Jack, you cannot get through life without
considering other people a little.

TANNER. Ay; but what other people? It is this con-
sideration of other people — or rather this cowardly fear of
them which we call consideration — that makes us the
sentimental slaves we are. To consider you, as you call
it, is to substitute your will for my own. How if it be a
baser will than mine ? Are women taught better than men
or worse.'' Are mobs of voters taught better than statesmen
or worse ? Worse, of course, in both cases. And then what
sort of world are you going to get, with its public men con-
sidering its voting mobs, and its private men considering
their wives? What does Church and State mean nowa-
days ? The Woman and the Ratepayer.

ANN [placidly'] I am so glad you understand politics,
Jack : it will be so useful to you if you go into parliament
\^he collapses like a pricked bladder]. But I am sorry you
thought my influence a bad one.

TANNER. I dont say it was a bad one. But bad or good,
I didnt choose to be cut to your measure. And I wont be
cut to it.

ANN. Nobody wants you to, Jack. I assure you — really
on my word — I dont mind your queer opinions one little
bit. You know we have all been brought up to have
advanced opinions. Why do you persist in thinking me
so narrow minded ?

TANNER. Thats the danger of it. 1 know you dont mind,

Act I Man and Superman 39

because youve found out that it doesnt matter. The boa
constrictor doesnt mind the opinions of a stag one little
bit when once she has got her coils round it.

ANN [rising i?i sudden enlightenment'] O-o-o-o-oh ! now I
understand why you warned Tavy that I am a boa con-
strictor. Granny told me. [Sh laughs and throws her boa
round his neck]. Doesnt it feel nice and soft, Jack?

TANNER [in the toils] You scandalous woman, will you
throw away even your hypocrisy ?

ANN. I am never hypocritical with you, Jack. Are you
angry? [She withdraws the boa and throws it on a chair].
Perhaps I shouldnt have done that.

TANNER [contemptuously] Pooh, prudery ! Why should
you not, if it amuses you ?

ANN [-f^^i^] Well, because — because I suppose what you
really meant by the boa constrictor was this [she puts her
arms round his neck],

TANNER [staring at her] Magnificent audacity ! [She
laughs and pats his cheeks]. Now just to think that if I
mentioned this episode not a soul would believe me except
the people who would cut me for telling, whilst if you
accused me of it nobody would believe my denial !

ANN [taking her arms away with perfect dignity] You
are incorrigible. Jack. But you should not jest about our
affection for one another. Nobody could possibly mis-
understand it. You do not misunderstand it, I hope.

TANNER. My blood interprets for me, Ann. Poor Ricky
Ticky Tavy !

ANN [looking quickly at him as if this were a new light]
Surely you are not so absurd as to be jealous of Tavy.

TANNER. Jealous! Why should I be? But I dont wonder
at your grip of him. I feel the coils tightening round my
very self, though you are only playing with me.

ANN. Do you think I have designs on Tavy?

TANNER, I know you have.

ANN [earnestly] Take care. Jack. You may make Tavy
very unhappy if you mislead him about me.

40 Man and Superman Act I

TANNER. Never fear : he will not escape you.

ANN. I wonder are you really a clever man !

TANNER. Why this sudden misgiving on the subject?

ANN. You seem to understand all the things I dont
understand ; but you are a perfect baby in the things I do
understand.

TANNER. I understand how Tavy feels for you, Ann :
you may depend on that, at all events.

ANN. And you think you understand how I feel for
Tavy, dont you ?

TANNER. I know Only too well what is going to happen
to poor Tavy.

ANN. I should laugh at you, Jack, if it were not for
poor papa's death. Mind ! Tavy will be very unhappy.

TANNER. Yes; but he wont know it, poor devil. He is
a thousand times too good for you. Thats why he is going
to make the mistake of his life about you.

ANN. I think men make more mistakes by being too
clever than by being too good [s/}e sits down, with a trace of
contempt for the whole male sex in the elegant carriage of her
shoulders\

TANNER. Oh, I know you dont care very much about
Tavy. But there is always one who kisses and one who
only allows the kiss. Tavy will kiss ; and you will only
turn the cheek. And you will throw him over if anybody
better turns up.

ANN. \offended'\ You have no right to say such things.
Jack. They are not true, and not delicate. If you and
Tavy choose to be stupid about me, that is not my fault.

TANNER \remorsefullf\ Forgive my brutalities, Ann. They
are levelled at this wicked world, not at you. \^8he looks up
at him, pleased and forgiving. He becomes cautious at once].
All the same, I wish Ramsden would come back. I never
feel safe with you : there is a devilish charm — or no : not
a charm, a subtle interest [she laughs] — Just so: you
know it ; and you triumph in it. Openly and shamelessly
triumph in it '.

Act I Man and Superman 41

ANN. What a shocking flirt you are, Jack !

TANNER. A flirt ! ! I ! ! !

ANN. Yes, a flirt. You are always abusing and offending
people; but you never really mean to let go your hold of
them.

TANNER. I will ring the bell. This conversation has
already gone further than I intended.

Ramsden and Octavius come back with Miss Ramsden, a
hardheaded old maiden lady in a plain brown silk gown^ with
enough rings^ chains and brooches to shew that her plainness of
dress is a matter of principle^ not of poverty. She comes into
the room very determinedly : the two men^ perplexed and down-
cast., following her. Ann rises and goes eagerly to meet her.
Tanner retreats to the wall between the busts and pretends to
study the pictures. Ramsden goes to his table as usual; and
Octavius clings tS the neighborhood of Tanner.

MISS RAMSDEN [almost pushing Ann aside as she comes to
Mrs Whitefield^s chair and plants herself there resolutely^ I
wash my hands of the whole aff^air.

ocTAVius \z'ery wretched'\ I know you wish me to take
Violet away, Miss Ramsden. I will. \He turns irresolutely
to the door\

RAMSDEN. No nO

MISS RAMSDEN. What IS the use of saying no, Roebuck ?
Octavius knows that I would not turn any truly contrite
and repentant woman from your doors. But when a
woman is not only wicked, but intends to go on being
wicked, she and I part company.

ANN. Oh, Miss Ramsden, what do you mean? What
has Violet said ?

RAMSDEN. Violet IS Certainly very obstinate. She wont
l^ave London. I dont understand her.

MISS RAMSDEN. I do. It's as plain as the nose on your
face, Roebuck, that she wont go because she doesnt want
to be separated from this man, whoever he is.

ANN. Oh, surely, surely! Octavius: did you speak to her?

OCTAVIUS. She wont tell us anything. She wont make

42 Man and Superman Act I

any arrangement until she has consulted somebody. It cant
be anybody else than the scoundrel who has betrayed her.

TANNER [fo Octavius] Well, let her consult him. He
will be glad enough to have her sent abroad. Where is the
difficulty.?

Miss RAMSDEN [taking the a?iswer out of Octavius^s mout/i]
The difficulty, Mr Jack, is that when I offered to help her
I didnt offer to become her accomplice in her wickedness.
She either pledges her word never to see that man again, or
else she finds some new friends ; and the sooner the better.

The parlormaid appears at the door. Ann hastily resumes her
seat^ and looks as unconcer?ied as possible. Octavius instinctively
imitates her.

THE MAID. The cab is at the door, maam.

MISS RAMSDEN. What cab }

THE MAID. For Miss Robinson.

MISS RAMSDEN. Oh! [Recovering herselfl AW Ti^t. [The
maid withdraws^ She has sent for a cab.

TANNER. / wanted to send for that cab half an hour ago.

MISS RAMSDEN. I am glad she understands the position she
has placed herself in.

RAMSDEN. I dont Hkc her going away in this fashion,
Susan. We had better not do anything harsh.

OCTAVIUS. No: thank you again and again; but Miss
Ramsden is quite right. Violet cannot expect to stay.

ANN. Hadnt you better go with her, Tavy ?

OCTAVIUS. She wont have me.

MISS RAMSDEN. Of coursc shc wont. Shes going straight
to that man.

TANNER. As a natural result of her virtuous reception
here.

RAMSDEN [much troubkd^ There, Susan ! You hear ! and
theres some truth in it. I wish you could reconcile it with
your principles to be a little patient with this poor girl.
Shes very young ; and theres a time for everything.

MISS RAMSDEN. Oh, she will get all the sympathy she
wants from the men. I'm surprised at you, Roebuck.

Act I Man and Superman 43

TANNER. So am I, Ramsden, most favorably.

Violet appears at the door. She is as impenitent and self-
possessed a young lady as one would desire to see among the best
behaved of her sex. Her small head and tiny resolute mouth and
chin ; her haughty crispness of speech and trimness of carriage ;
the ruthless elegance of her equipment^ which includes a very
smart hat with a dead bird in it, mark a personality which is as
formidable as it is exquisitely pretty. She is not a siren, like
Ann: admiration comes to her without any compulsion or even
interest on her part; besides, there is some fun in Ann, but in
this woman none, perhaps no mercy either: if anythijig restrains
her, it is intelligence and pride, not compassion. Her voice might
be the voice of a schoolmistress addressing a class of girls who had
disgraced themselves, as she proceeds with complete composure and
some disgust to say what she has come to say,

VIOLET. I have only looked in to tell Miss Ramsden that
she will find her birthday present to me, the filagree brace-
let, in the housekeeper's room.

TANNER. Do come in, Violet, and talk to us sensibly.

VIOLET. Thank you : I have had quite enough of the
family conversation this morning. So has your mother,
Ann : she has gone home crying. But at all events, I have
found out what some of my pretended friends are worth.
Good bye.

TANNER. No, no : one moment. I have something to say
which I beg you to hear. \_Ske looks at him without the
slightest curiosity, but waits, apparently as much to finish getting
her glove on as to hear what he has to say\ I am altogether on
your side in this matter. I congratulate you, with the sin-
cerest respect, on having the courage to do what you have
done. You are entirely in the right ; and the family is
entirely in the wrong.

Sensation. Ann and Miss Ramsden rise and turn towards
the two. Violet, more surprised than any of the others, forgets
her glove, and comes forward into the middle of the room, both
puzzled and displeased. Octavius alone does not move nor raise
his head: he is overwhelmed with shame.

44 Man and Superman Act I

ANN \f leading to Tanner to be sensible^ Jack !

MISS RAMSDEN ^outragcd^ Well, I must say !

VIOLET \sharply to Tanner] Who told you ?

TANNER. Why, Ramsden and Tavy of course. Why
should they not?

VIOLET. But they dont know.

TANNER. Dont know what?

VIOLET. They dont know that I am in the right, I mean.

TANNER. Oh, they know it in their hearts, though they
think themselves bound to blame you by their silly super-
stitions about morality and propriety and so forth. But I
know, and the whole world really knows, though it dare
not say so, that you were right to follow your instinct ; that
vitality and bravery are the greatest qualities a woman can
have, and motherhood her solemn initiation into woman-
hood ; and that the fact of your not being legally married
matters not one scrap either to your own worth or to our
real regard for you.

VIOLET [flushing with indignation] Oh ! You think me a
wicked woman, like the rest. You think I have not only
been vile, but that I share your abominable opinions. Miss
Ramsden : I have borne your hard words because I knew
you would be sorry for them when you found out the truth.
But I wont bear such a horrible insult as to be compli-
mented by Jack on being one of the wretches of whom he
approves. I have kept my marriage a secret for my husband's
sake. But now I claim my right as a married woman
not to be insulted.

ocTAVius [raising his head with inexpressible relief] You are
married !

VIOLET. Yes ; and I think you might have guessed it.
What business had you all to take it for granted that I had
no right to wear my wedding ring ? Not one of you even
asked me : I cannot forget that.

TANNER [in ruins] I am utterly crushed. I meant well. I
apologize — abjectly apologize.

VIOLET. I hope you will be more careful in future about

Act I Man and Superman 45

the things you say. Of course one does not take them seri-
ously ; but they are very disagreeable, and rather in bad
taste, I think.

TANNER [iozoing to the storm'\ I have no defence : I shall
know better in future than to take any woman's part. We
have all disgraced ourselves in your eyes, I am afraid, except
Ann. She befriended you. For Ann's sake, forgive us.

VIOLET. Yes : Ann has been very kind ; but then Ann
knew.

TANNER. Oh !

MISS RAMSDEN \jtifflj\ And who, pray, is the gentleman
who does not acknowledge his wife?

VIOLET [promptly'] That is my business. Miss Ramsden,
and not yours. I have my reasons for keeping my marriage
a secret for the present.

RAMSDEN. All I can say is that we are extremely sorry,
Violet. I am shocked to think of how we have treated you.

ocTAVius [awkwardly] I beg your pardon, Violet. I can
say no more.

MISS RAMSDEN [sttll loth to Surrender] Of course what you
say puts a very different complexion on the matter. All the
same, I owe it to myself —

VIOLET [cutting her short] You owe me an apology, Miss
Ramsden : thats what you owe both to yourself and to me.
If you were a married woman you would not like sitting in
the housekeeper's room and being treated like a naughty
child by young girls and old ladies without any serious
duties and responsibilities.

TANNER. Dont hit us when we're down, Violet. We
seem to have made fools of ourselves ; but really it was you
who made fools of us.

VIOLET. It was no business of yours. Jack, in any case.

TANNER. No business of mine ! Why, Ramsden as good
as accused me of being the unknown gentleman.

Ramsden makes a frantic demonstration; but Violet's cool
keen anger extinguishes it.

VIOLET. You ! Oh, how infamous ! how abominable !

46 Man and Superman Act I

how disgracefully you have all been talking about me! If
my husband knew it he would never let me speak to any
of you again. [Zt' Ramsden] I think you might have spared
me that, at least.

RAMSDEN. But I assurc you I never — at least it is a mon-
strous perversion of something I said that —

MISS RAMSDEN. You nccdut apologizc, Roebuck. She
brought it all on herself. It is for her to apologize for hav-
ing deceived us.

VIOLET. I can make allowances for you, Miss Ramsden :
you cannot understand how I feel on this subject, though
I should have expected rather better taste from people of
greater experience. However, I quite feel that you have
placed yourselves in a very painful position ; and the most
truly considerate thing for me to do is to go at once. Good
morning.

She goes, leaving them staring.

Miss RAMSDEN. Well, I must say !

RAMSDEN [plaintively'] I dont think she is quite fair to us.

TANNER. You must cowcr before the wedding ring like
the rest of us, Ramsden. The cup of our ignominy is full.

%■*.■

ACT II

On the carriage drive in the park of a country house near
Richmond a motor car has broken down. It stands in front of
a clump of trees round which t/)e drive sweeps to the house,
which is partly visible through them : indeed Tanner, standing
in the drive with the car on his right hand, could get an un-
obstructed view of the west corner of the house on his left were
he not far too much interested in a pair of supine legs in blue
serge trousers which protrude from beneath the machine. He is
watching them intently with bent back and hands supported on
his knees. His leathern overcoat and peaked cap proclaim him
one of the dismounted passengers.

THE LEGS. Aha ! I got him.

TANNER. All right now ?

THE LEGS. Aw right now.

Tanner stoops and takes the legs by the ankles, drawing
their owner forth like a wheelbarrow, walking on his hands,
with a hammer in his mouth. He is a young man in a neat suit
of blue serge, clean shaven, dark eyed, square fingered, with
short well brushed black hair and rather irregular sceptically
turned eyebrows. When he is manipulating the car his move-
ments are swift and sudden, yet attentive and deliberate. With
Tdnner and Tanner's friends his manner is not in the least
deferential, but cool and reticent, keeping them quite effectually
at a distance whilst giving them no excuse for complaining of
him. He has nevertheless a way of keeping his eye on them,
and thaty too, rather cynically, like a man who knows the world

48 Man and Superman Act II

well from its seamy side. He speaks slowly and with a touch
of sarcasm ; and as he does not at all affect the gentleman in
his speech, it may be inferred that his smart appearance is a
mark of respect to himself and his own class ^ not to that zohich
employs him.

He now gets into the car to test his machinery and put
his cap and overcoat on again. Tanner takes off his leathern
overcoat and pitches it into the car. The chauffeur [or auto-
mohilist or motoreer or whatever England may presently decide
to call him) looks round inquiringly in the act of stowing away
his hammer.

THE CHAUFFEUR. Had cnough of it, eh ?

TANNER. I may as well walk to the house and stretch
my legs and calm my nerves a little. [Looking at his watch']
I suppose you know that we have come from Hyde Park
Corner to Richmond in twenty-one minutes.

THE CHAUFFEUR. I'd ha done it under fifteen if I'd had
a clear road all the way.

TANNER. Why do you do it? Is it for love of sport or
for the fun of terrifying your unfortunate employer ?

THE CHAUFFEUR. What are you afraid of?

TANNER. The police, and breaking my neck.

THE CHAUFFEUR. Well, if you like easy going, you can
take a bus, you know. Its cheaper. You pay me to save
your time and give you the value of your thousand pound
car. [He sits down calmly].

TANNER. I am the slave of that car and of you too. I
dream of the accursed thing at night.

THE CHAUFFEUR. Youll gct over that. If youre going
up to the house, may I ask how long youre goin to stay
there? Because if you mean to put in the whole morn-
ing talkin to the ladies, I'll put the car in the stables and
make myself comfortable. If not, I'll keep the car on the
go about here til you come.

TANNER. Better wait here. We shant be long. Theres
a young American gentleman, a Mr Malone, who is driving
Mr Robinson down in his new American steam car.

Act II Man and Superman 49

THE CHAUFFEUR [springing up and coming hastily out of
the car to Tanner] American steam car ! Wot ! racin us
down from London !

TANNER. Perhaps theyre here already.

THE CHAUFFEUR. If I'd Icnown it! [With deep reproach]
Why didnt you tell me, Mr Tanner?

TANNER. Because Ive been told that this car is capable
of 84 miles an hour; and I already know what you are
capable of when there is a rival car on the road. No,
Henry : there are things it is not good for you to know ;
and this was one of them. However, cheer up : we are
going to have a day after your own heart. The American
is to take Mr Robinson and his sister and Miss Whitefield.
We are to take Miss Rhoda.

THE CHAUFFEUR [consokd, and musing on another matter
Thats Miss Whitefield's sister, isnt it?

TANNER. Yes.

THE CHAUFFEUR. And Miss Whitefield herself is goin
in the other car? Not with you?

TANNER. Why the devil should she come with me? Mr
Robinson will be in the other car. [The Chauffeur looks at
Tanner with cool incredulity, and turns to the car, whistling a
popular air softly to himself. Tanner, a little annoyed, is about
to pursue the subject when he hears the footsteps of Octavius
on the gravel. Octavius is coming from the house, dressed for
motoring, but without his overcoat]. Weve lost the race,
thank Heaven : heres Mr Robinson. Well, Tavy, is the
steam car a success ?

OCTAVIUS. I think so. We came from Hyde Park Corner
here in seventeen minutes. [The Chauffeur, furious, kicks
the car with a groan of vexation]. How long were you?

TANNER. Oh, about three quarters of an hour or so.

THE CHAUFFEUR [remonstrating] Now, now, Mr Tanner,
come now ! We could ha done it easy under fifteen.

TANNER. By the way, let me introduce you. Mr
Octavius Robinson : Mr Enry Straker.

STRAKER. Pleased to meet you, sir. Mr Tanner is gittin

E

50 Man and Superman Act ii

at you with is Enry Straker, you know. You call it
Henery. But I dont mind, bless you.

TANNER. You think it's simply bad taste in me to chafF
him, Tavy. But youre wrong. This man takes more
trouble to drop his aitches than ever his father did to pick
them up. It's a mark of caste to him. I have never met
anybody more swollen with the pride of class than Enry is.

STRAKER. Easy, easy ! A little moderation, Mr Tanner.

TANNER. A little moderation, Tavy, you observe. You
would tell me to draw it mild. But this chap has been
educated. Whats more, he knows that we havnt. What
was that Board School of yours, Straker ?

STRAKER. Sherbrooke Road.

TANNER. Sherbrooke Road ! Would any of us say Rugby !
Harrow ! Eton ! in that tone of intellectual snobbery ?
Sherbrooke Road is a place where boys learn something :
Eton is a boy farm where we are sent because we are
nuisances at home, and because in after life, whenever a
Duke is mentioned, we can claim him as an old school-
fellow.

STRAKER. You dout know nothing about it, Mr Tanner.
It's not the Board School that does it : it's the Polytechnic.

TANNER. His university, Octavius. Not Oxford, Cam-
bridge, Durham, Dublin or Glasgow. Not even those
Nonconformist holes in Wales. No, Tavy. Regent Street,
Chelsea, the Borough — I dont know half their confounded
names : these are his universities, not mere shops for sell-
ing class limitations like ours. You despise Oxford, Enry,
dont you ?

STRAKER. No, I dont. Very nice sort of place, Oxford,
I should think, for people that like that sort of place.
They teach you to be a gentleman there. In the Poly-
technic they teach you to be an engineer or such like. See ?

TANNER. Sarcasm, Tavy, sarcasm ! Oh, if you could
only see into Enry's soul, the depth of his contempt for a
gentleman, the arrogance of his pride in being an engineer,
would appal you. He positively likes the car to break

Act II Man and Superman 51

down because it brings out my gentlemanly helplessness
and his workmanlike skill and resource.

STRAKER. Never you mind him, Mr Robinson. He likes
to talk. We know him, dont we?

ocTAVius [earnestly'] But theres a great truth at the
bottom of what he says. I believe most intensely in the
dignity of labor.

STRAKER [unimpressed] Thats because you never done
any, Mr Robinson. My business is to do away with labor.
Youll get more out of me and a machine than you
will out of twenty laborers, and not so much to drink
either.

TANNER. For Heaven's sake, Tavy, dont start him on
political economy. He knows all about it; and we dont.
Youre only a poetic Socialist, Tavy : hes a scientific one.

STRAKER [unperturbed] Yes. Well, this conversation is
very improvin ; but Ive got to look after the car ; and you
two want to talk about your ladies. / know. [He retires to
busy himself about the car; and presently saunters off towards
the house].

TANNER. Thats a very momentous social phenomenon.

OCTAVIUS. What is?

TANNER. Straker is. Here have we literary and cultured
persons been for years setting up a cry of the New Woman
whenever some unusually old fashioned female came along;
and never noticing the advent of the New Man. Straker's
the New Man.

OCTAVIUS. I see nothing new about him, except your
way of chaffing him. But I dont want to talk about him
just now. I want to speak to you about Ann.

TANNER. Straker knew even that. He learnt it at the
Polytechnic, probably. Well, what about Ann ? Have you
proposed to her?

OCTAVIUS [self -reproachfully] I was brute enough to do so
last night.

TANNER. Brute enough ! What do you mean ?

OCTAVIUS [dithyr ami ic ally] Jack : we men are all coarse :

52 Man and Superman Act II

we never understand how exquisite a woman's sensibilities
are. How could I have done such a thing !

TANNER. Done what, you maudlin idiot ?

ocTAVius. Yes, I am an idiot. Jack : if you had heard
her voice ! if you had seen her tears I I have lain awake all
night thinking of them. If she had reproached me, I could
have borne it better.

TANNER. Tears ! thats dangerous. What did she say ?

OCTAVIUS. She asked me how she could think of any-
thing now but her dear father. She stifled a sob — [/v
breaks down].

TANNER \^patting him on the hack] Bear it like a man,
Tavy, even if you feel it like an ass. It's the old game :
shes not tired of playing with you yet.

OCTAVIUS [impatiently] Oh, dont be a fool, Jack. Do you
suppose this eternal shallow cynicism of yours has any real
bearing on a nature like hers ?

TANNER. Hm ! Did she say anything else ?

OCTAVIUS. Yes ; and that is why I expose myself and
her to your ridicule by telling you what passed.

TANNER [remorsefully] No, dear Tavy, not ridicule, on
my honor ! However, no matter. Go on.

OCTAVIUS. Her sense of duty is so devout, so perfect,
so —

TANNER. Yes : I know. Go on.

OCTAVIUS. You see, under this new arrangement, you
and Ramsden are her guardians ; and she considers that all
her duty to her father is now transferred to you. She said
she thought I ought to have spoken to you both in the
first instance. Of course she is right ; but somehow it
seems rather absurd that I am to come to you and formally
ask to be received as a suitor for your ward's hand.

TANNER. I am glad that love has not totally extinguished
your sense of humor, Tavy.

OCTAVIUS. That answer wont satisfy her.

TANNER. My official answer is, obviously, Bless you, my
children : may you be happy !

Act II Man and Superman 53

ocTAVius. I wish you would stop playing the fool about
this. If it is not serious to you, it is to me, and to her.

TANNER. You Icnow vcrv well that she is as free to choose
as you are.

OCTAVIUS. She docs not think so.

TANNER. Oh, doesnt she ! just ! However, say what you
want me to do.?

OCTAVIUS. I want you to tell her sincerely and earnestly
what you think about me. I want you to tell her that you
can trust her to me — that is, if you feel you can.

TANNER. I have no doubt that I can trust her to you.
What worries me is the idea of trusting you to her. Have
you read Maeterlinck's book about the bee.?

OCTAVIUS [keeping his temper with difficultyl I am not dis-
cussing literature at present.

TANNER. Be just a little patient with mc. / am not dis-
cussing literature : the book about the bee is natural history.
It's an awful lesson to mankind. You think that you are
Ann's suitor ; that you are the pursuer and she the pursued ;
that it is your part to woo, to persuade, to prevail, to over-
come. Fool : it is you who are the pursued, the marked
down quarry, the destined prey. You need not sit looking
longingly at the bait through the wires of the trap : the door
is open, and will remain so until it shuts behind you for ever.

OCTAVIUS. I wish I could believe that, vilely as you put it.

TANNER. Why, man, what other work has she in life
but to get a husband.? It is a woman's business to get
married as soon as possible, and a man's to keep unmarried
as long as he can. You have your poems and your tragedies
to work at : Ann has nothing.

OCTAVIUS. I cannot write without inspiration. And no-
body can give me that except Ann.

TANNER. Well, hadnt you better get it from her at a
safe distance.? Petrarch didnt see half as much of Laura,
nor Dante of Beatrice, as you see of Ann now ; and yet they
wrote first-rate poetry — at least so Im told. They never
exposed their idolatry to the test of domestic familiarity ;

54 Man and Superman Act II

and it lasted them to their graves. Marry Ann ; and at
the end of a week youU find no more inspiration in her
than in a plate of muffins.

ocTAVius. You think I shall tire of her !

TANNER. Not at all : you dont get tired of muffins. But
you dont find inspiration in them ; and you wont in her
when she ceases to be a poet's dream and becomes a solid
eleven stone wife. Youll be forced to dream about some-
body else ; and then there will be a row.

OCTAVIUS. This sort of talk is no use, Jack. You dont
understand. You have never been in love.

TANNER. I ! I have never been out of it. Why, I am in
love even with Ann. But I am neither the slave of love nor
its dupe. Go to the bee, thou poet : consider her ways and
be wise. By Heaven, Tavy, if women could do without
our work, and we ate their children's bread instead of mak-
ing it, they would kill us as the spider kills her mate or as
the bees kill the drone. And they would be right if we
were good for nothing but love.

OCTAVIUS. Ah, if we were only good enough for Love !
There is nothing like Love : there is nothing else but
Love : without it the world would be a dream of sordid
horror.

TANNER. And this — this Is the man who asks me to
give him the hand of my ward ! Tavy : I believe we were
changed in our cradles, and that you are the real descend-
ant of Don Juan.

OCTAVIUS. I beg you not to say anything like that to
Ann.

TANNER. Dont be afraid. She has marked you for her
own ; and nothing will stop her now. You are doomed.
[Straker comes back with a newspaper']. Here comes the
New Man, demoralizing himself with a halfpenny paper
as usual.

STRAKER. Now would you believe it, Mr Robinson,
when we're out motoring we take in two papers, the
Times for him, the Leader or the Echo for me. And do

Act II Man and Superman 55

you think I ever see my paper? Not much. He grabs the
Leader and leaves me to stodge myself with his Times.

ocTAVius. Are there no winners in the Times ?

TANNER. Enry dont old with bettin, Tavy. Motor re-
cords are his weakness. Whats the latest ?

STRAKER. Paris to Biskra at forty mile an hour average,
not countin the Mediterranean.

TANNER. How mauv killed ?

STRAKER. Two silly sheep. What does it matter? Sheep
dont cost such a lot : they were glad to ave the price with-
out the trouble o sellin em to the butcher. All the same,
d'y'see, therell be a clamor agin it presently ; and then
the French Government'll stop it ; an our chance'll be
gone, see ? Thats what makes me fairly mad : Mr Tanner
wont do a good run while he can.

TANNER. Tavy: do you remember my uncle James?

OCTAVIUS. Yes. Why?

TANNER. Uncle James had a first rate cook : he couldnt
digest anything except what she cooked. Well, the poor
man was shy and hated society. But his cook was proud of
her skill, and wanted to serve up dinners to princes and
ambassadors. To prevent her from leaving him, that poor
old man had to give a big dinner twice a month, and suffer
agonies of awkwardness. Now here am I ; and here is this
chap Enry Straker, the New Man. I loathe travelling ; but
I rather like Enry. He cares for nothing but tearing along
in a leather coat and goggles, with two inches of dust all
over him, at sixty miles an hour and the risk of his life and
mine. Except, of course, when he is lying on his back in
the mud under the machine trying to find out where it has
given way. Well, if I dont give him a thousand mile run
at least once a fortnight I shall lose him. He will give me
the sack and go to some American millionaire j and I shall
have to put up with a nice respectful groom-gardener-
amateur, who will touch his hat and know his place. I am
Enry's slave, just as Uncle James was his cook's slave.

STRAKER \exasperated'\ Gam ! I wish I had a car that

56 Man and Superman Act ii

would go as fast as you can talk, Mr Tanner. What I say is
that you lose money by a motor car unless you keep it workin.
Might as well have a pram and a nussmaid to wheel you in it
as that car and me if you dont git the last inch out of us both.

TANNER \joothingly'\ All right, Henry, all right. We'll go
out for half an hour presently.

STRAKER [in disgust] Arf an ahr ! [He returns to his
machine ; seats himself in it ; and turns up a fresh page of his
paper in search of more news'].

ocTAVius. Oh, that reminds me. I have a note for you
from Rhoda. [He gives Tanner a note].

TANNER [opening it] I rather think Rhoda is heading for
a row with Ann. As a rule there is only one person an
English girl hates more than she hates her mother ; and
thats her eldest sister. But Rhoda positively prefers her
mother to Ann. She — [indignantly] Oh, I say !

OCTAVIUS. Whats the matter?

TANNER. Rhoda was to have come with me for a ride
in the motor car. She says Ann has forbidden her to go
out with me.

Straker suddenly begins whistling his favorite air with re-
markable deliberation. Surprised by this burst of larklike
melody^ and jarred by a sardonic note in its cheerfulness, they
turn and look inquiringly at him. But he is busy with his
paper; and nothing comes of their movement.

OCTAVIUS [recovering himself] Does she give any reason ?

TANNER. Reason ! An insult is not a reason. Ann for-
bids her to be alone with me on any occasion. Says I am
not a fit person for a young girl to be with. What do you
think of your paragon now ?

OCTAVIUS. You must remember that she has a very heavy
responsibility now that her father is dead. Mrs Whitelield
is too weak to control Rhoda.

TANNER [staring at him] In short, you agree with Ann.

OCTAVIUS. No ; but I think I understand her. You must
admit that your views are hardly suited for the formation
of a young girl's mind and character.

Act II Man and Superman 57

TANNER. I admit nothing of the sort. I admit that the
formation of a young lady's mind and character usually
consists in telling her lies; but I object to the particular
lie that I am in the habit of abusing the confidence of
girls.

ocTAVius. Ann doesnt say that, Jack .''

TANNER. What else does she mean }

STRAKER \_catching sight of Ann coming from the house\
Miss Whitefield, gentlemen. \He dismounts and strolls away
down the avenue with the air of a man who knows he is no
longer wanted^

ANN [coming between Octavius and Tanner"] Good morn-
ing. Jack. I have come to tell you that poor Rhoda has got
one of her headaches and cannot go out with you to-day
in the car. It is a cruel disappointment to her, poor child !

TANNER. What do you say now, Tavy ?

OCTAVIUS. Surely you cannot misunderstand, Jack. Ann is
shewing you the kindest consideration, even at the cost of
deceiving you.

ANN. What do you mean ?

TANNER. Would you Hkc to cure Rhoda's headache, Ann ?

ANN. Of course.

TANNER. Then tell her what you said just now; and
add that you arrived about two minutes after I had received
her letter and read it.

ANN. Rhoda has written to you !

TANNER. With full particulars.

OCTAVIUS. Never mind him, Ann. You were right —
quite right. Ann was only doing her duty. Jack ; and you
know it. Doing it in the kindest way, too.

ANN [going to Octavius) How kind you are, Tavy ! How
helpful ! How well you understand !

Octavius beams.

TANNER. Ay : tighten the coils. You love her, Tavy,
dont you ?

OCTAVIUS. She knows I do.

ANN. Hush. For shame, Tavy !

58 Man and Superman Act il

TANNER. Oh, I give you leave. I am your guardian;
and I commit you to Tavy's care for the next hour. I am
ofF for a turn in the car.

ANN. No, Jack. I must speak to you about Rhoda.
Ricky : w^ill you go back to the house and entertain your
American friend. Hes rather on. Mamma's hands so early
in the morning. She wants to finish her housekeeping.

ocTAVius. I fly, dearest Ann [Se kisses her hand'].

ANN [tenderly] Ricky Ticky Tavy!

He looks at her with an eloquent blush, and runs off,

TANNER [bluntly] Now look here, Ann. This time youve
landed yourself; and if Tavy were not in love with you
past all salvation he'd have found out what an incorrigible
liar you are.

ANN. You misunderstand. Jack. I didnt dare tell Tavy
the truth.

TANNER. No : your daring is generally in the opposite
direction. What the devil do you mean by telling Rhoda
that I am too vicious to associate with her? How can I
ever have any human or decent relations with her again,
now that you have poisoned her mind in that abominable
way?

ANN. I know you are incapable of behaving badly —

TANNER. Then why did you lie to her ?

ANN. I had to.

TANNER. Had to !

ANN. Mother made me.

TANNER [his eye fashing] Ha ! I might have known it.
The mother ! Always the mother !

ANN. It was that dreadful book of yours. You know
how timid mother is. All timid women are conventional :
we must be conventional. Jack, or we are so cruelly, so
vilely misunderstood. Even you, who are a man, cannot
say what you think without being misunderstood and vili-
fied— yes : I admit it : I have had to vilify you. Do you
want to have poor Rhoda misunderstood and vilified in
the same way? Would it be right for mother to let her

Act II Man and Superman 59

expose herself to such treatment before she is old enough
to judge for herself?

TANNER. In short, the way to avoid misunderstanding
is for everybody to lie and slander and insinuate and pre-
tend as hard as they can. That is what obeying your
mother comes to.

ANN. I love my mother. Jack.

TANNER [working himself up into a sociological ragel Is that
any reason why you are not to call your soul your own ?
Oh, I protest against this vile abjection of youth to age!
Look at fashionable society as you know it. What does it
pretend to be? An exquisite dance of nymphs. What is
it? A horrible procession of wretched girls, each in the
claws of a cynical, cunning, avaricious, disillusioned, ignor-
antly experienced, foul-minded old woman whom she calls
mother, and whose duty it is to corrupt her mind and sell
her to the highest bidder. Why do these unhappy slaves
marry anybody, however old and vile, sooner than not
marry at all ? Because marriage is their only means of
escape from these decrepit fiends who hide their selfish
ambitions, their jealous hatreds of the young rivals who
have supplanted them, under the mask of maternal duty
and family affection. Such things are abominable : the
voice of nature proclaims for the daughter a father's care
and for the son a mother's. The law for father and son
and mother and daughter is not the law of love : it is the
law of revolution, of emancipation, of final supersession of
the old and worn-out by the young and capable. I tell you,
the first duty of manhood and womanhood is a Declaration
of Independence : the man who pleads his father's autho-
rity is no man : the woman who pleads her mother's autho-
rity is unfit to bear citizens to a free people.

ANN \watching him with quiet curiosity'\ I suppose you
will go in seriously for politics some day. Jack.

TANNER [heavily let ii own] Eh? What? Wh — ? [Collect-
ing his scattered wits] What has that got to do with what I
have been saying?

6o Man and Superman Act il

ANN. You talk so well,

TANNER. Talk ! Talk ! It means nothing to you but talk.
Well, go back to your mother, and help her to poison
Rhoda's imagination as she has poisoned yours. It is the
tame elephants who enjoy capturing the wild ones.

ANN. I am getting on. Yesterday I was a boa con-
strictor : to-day I am an elephant.

TANNER. Yes. So pack your trunk and begone : I have
no more to say to you.

ANN. You are so utterly unreasonable and impracticable.
What can I do ?

TANNER. Do ! Break your chains. Go your way accord-
ing to your own conscience and not according to your
mother's. Get your mind clean and vigorous ; and learn
to enjoy a fast ride in a motor car instead of seeing nothing
in it but an excuse for a detestable intrigue. Come with
me to Marseilles and across to Algiers and to Biskra, at
sixty miles an hour. Come right down to the Cape if you
like. That will be a Declaration of Independence with a
vengeance. You can write a book about it afterwards.
That will finish your mother and make a woman of
you.

ANN [thoughtfully'] I dont think there would be any harm
in that. Jack. You are my guardian : you stand in my
father's place, by his own wish. Nobody could say a word
against our travelling together. It would be delightful :
thank you a thousand times, Jack. I'll come.

TANNER [aghast] Youll come ! ! !

ANN. Of course.

TANNER. But — [he stops. Utterly appalled; then resumes
feebly] No : look here, Ann : if theres no harm in it theres
no point in doing it.

ANN. How absurd you are ! You dont want to com-
promise me, do you ?

TANNER. Yes : thats the whole sense of my proposal.

ANN. You are talking the greatest nonsense; and you
know it. You would never do anything to hurt me.

Act II Man and Superman 6i

TANNER. Well, if you dont want to be compromised,
dont come.

ANN [with simple earnestness'] Yes, I will come, Jack,
since you wish it. You are my guardian ; and I think we
ought to see more of one another and come to know one
another better. \Gratefullj\ It's very thoughtful and very
kind of you. Jack, to offer me this lovely holiday, especi-
ally after what I said about Rhoda. You really are good —
much better than you think. When do we start ?

TANNER. But

The conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Mrs
Whitejield from the house. She is accompanied by the American
gentleman., and followed by Rams den and Octavius.

Hector Malone is an Eastern American; but he is not at
all ashamed of his nationality. This makes English people of
fashion think well of him., as of a young fellow who is manly
enough to confess to an obvious disadvantage without any
attempt to conceal or extenuate it. They feel that he ought
not to be made to sujfer for what is clearly not his faulty and
make a point of being specially kind to him. His chivalrous
manners to women., and his elevated moral sentiments, being
both gratuitous and unusual, strike them as perhaps a little un-
fortunate; and though they find his vein of easy humor rather
amusing when it has ceased to puzzle them {as it does at first).,
they have had to make him understand that he really must not
tell anecdotes unless they are strictly personal and scandalous.,
and also that oratory is an accomplishment which belongs to a
cruder stage of civilization than that in which his migration
has landed him. On these points Hector is not quite convinced:
he still thinks that the British are apt to make merits of their
stupidities., and to represent their various incapacities as points
of good breeding. English life seems to him to suffer from a
lack of edifying rhetoric {which he calls moral tone) ; English
behavior to skew a want of respect for womanhood; English
pronunciation to fail very vulgarly in tackling such words as
world., girl., bird., etc.; English society to be plain spoken to an
extent which stretches occasionally to intolerable coarseness ; and

62 Man and Superman Act ii

English intercourse to need enlivening by games and stories and
other pastimes ; so he does not feel called upon to acquire these
defects after taking great pains to cultivate himself in a first
rate manner before venturing across the Atlantic. To this
culture he finds English people either totally indifferent^ as
they very commonly are to all culture^ or else politely evasive^
the truth being that Hectares culture is nothing but a state of
saturation with our literary exports of thirty years ago, reim-
ported by him to be unpacked at a moments notice and hurled
at the head of English literature, science and art, at every
conversational opportunity. The dismay set up by these sallies
encourages him in his belief that he is helping to educate England,
When he finds people chattering harmlessly about Anatole France
and Nietzsche, he devastates them with Matthew Arnold, the
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, and even Macaulay ; and as
he is devoutly religious at bottom, he first leads the unwary, by
humorous irreverence, to leave popular theology out of account
in discussing moral questions with him, and then scatters them
in confusion by demanding whether the carrying out of his ideals
of conduct was not the manifest object of God Almighty in
creating honest men and pure women. The engaging freshness
of his personality and the dumbfoundering staleness of his culture
make it extremely difficult to decide whether he is worth know-
ing; for whilst his company is undeniably pleasant and en-
livening, there is intellectually nothing new to be got out of
him, especially as he despises politics, and is careful not to talk
commercial shop, in which department he is probably much in
advance of his English capitalist friends. He gets on best with
romantic Christians of the amoristic sect: hence the friendship
which has sprung up between him and Octavius.

In appearance Hector is a neatly built young man of twenty -
four, with a short, smartly trimmed black beard, clear, well
shaped eyes, and an ingratiating vivacity of expression. He is,
from the fashionable point of view, faultlessly dressed. As he
comes along the drive from the house with Mrs Whitefield he
is sedulously making himself agreeable and entertaining, and
thereby placing on her slender wit a burden it is unable to bear.

Act II Man and Superman 63

An Englishman would let her alone^ accepting boredom and
indifference as their common lot; and the poor lady wants to
be either let alone or let prattle about the things that interest her.

Rams den strolls over to inspect the motor car. Octavius
joins Hector.

ANN [pouncing on her mother joyously'\ Oh, mamma, what
do you think ! Jack is going to take me to Nice in his
motor car. Isnt it lovely? I am the happiest person in
London.

TANNER \desperately\ Mrs Whitefield objects. I am sure
she objects. Doesnt she, Ramsden?

RAMSDEN. I should think it very likely indeed.

ANN. You dont object, do you, mother ?

MRS WHITEFIELD. / objcct ! Why should I ? I think it
will do you good, Ann. [Trotting over to Tanner^ I meant
to ask you to take Rhoda out for a run occasionally : she
is too much in the house ; but it will do when you come
back.

TANNER. Abyss beneath abyss of perfidy !

ANN [hastily^ to distract attention from this out bur st^
Oh, I forgot : you have not met Mr Malone. Mr Tanner,
my guardian : Mr Hector Malone.

HECTOR. Pleased to meet you, Mr Tanner. I should
like to suggest an extension of the travelling party to
Nice, if I may.

ANN. Oh, we're all coming. Thats understood, isnt it ?

HECTOR. I also am the mawdest possessor of a motor
car. If Miss Rawbnsn will allow me the privilege of
taking her, my car is at her service.

OCTAVIUS. Violet !

General constraint.

ANN [subduedly] Come, mother : we must leave them to
talk over the arrangements. I must see to my travelling
kit.

Mrs Whitefield looks bewildered; but Ann draws her dis-
creetly away ; and they disappear round the corner towards the
house.

64 Man and Superman Act il

HECTOR. I think I may go so far as to say that I can
depend on Miss Rawbnsn's consent.

Continued embarrassment,

ocTAVius. I'm afraid we must leave Violet behind.
There are circumstances which make it impossible for her
to come on such an expedition.

HECTOR \amused and not at all convinced^ Too American,
eh ? Must the young lady have a chaperone ?

OCTAVIUS. It's not that, Malone — at least not altogether.

HECTOR. Indeed! May I ask what other objection
applies ?

TANNER [impatiently!^ Oh, tell him, tell him. We shall
never be able to keep the secret unless everybody knows
what it is. Mr Malone : if you go to Nice with Violet,
you go with another man's wife. She is married.

HECTOR [thunderstruck] You dont tell me so !

TANNER. We do. In confidence.

RAMSDEN [with an air of importance^ lest Malone should
suspect a misalliance] Her marriage has not yet been made
known : she desires that it shall not be mentioned for the
present.

HECTOR. I shall respect the lady's wishes. Would it be
indiscreet to ask who her husband is, in case I should have
an opportunity of cawnsulting him about this trip.

TANNER. We dont know who he is.

HECTOR [retiring into his shell in a very marked manner]
In that case, I have no more to say.

They become more embarrassed than ever.

ocTAVius. You must think this very strange.

HECTOR. A little singular. Pardn mee for saying so.

RAMSDEN [half apologetic^ half huffy] The young lady
was married secretly ; and her husband has forbidden her,
it seems, to declare his name. It is only right to tell you,
since you are interested in Miss — er — in Violet.

OCTAVIUS [sympathetically] I hope this is not a disappoint-
ment to you.

HECTOR [softened^ coming out of his shell again] Well : it

Act II Man and Superman 65

is a blow. I can hardly understand how a man can leave
his wife in such a position. Surely it's not custoMary. It's
not manly. It's not considerate.

ocTAVius. We feel that, as you may imagine, pretty
deeply.

RAMSDEN [tesft/y] It is some young fool who has not
enough experience to know what mystifications of this
kind lead to.

HECTOR [wifS strong symptoms of moral repugnance\ I hope
so. A man need be very young and pretty foolish too to
be excused for such conduct. You take a very lenient
view, Mr Ramsden. Too lenient to my mind. Surely
marriage should ennoble a man.

TANNER \sardotiically~\ Ha !

HECTOR. Am I to gather from that cacchination that
you dont agree with mc, Mr Tanner?

TANNER \drily\ Get married and try. You may find it
delightful for a while : you certainly wont find it ennobling.
The greatest common measure of a man and a woman is
not necessarily greater than the man's single measure.

HECTOR. Well, we think in America that a woman's
morl number is higher than a man's, and that the purer
nature of a woman lifts a man right out of himself, and
makes him better than he was.

OCTAVIUS \witb coTivictiorf\ So it does.

TANNER. No wonder American women prefer to live in
Europe ! Its more comfortable than standing all their lives
on an altar to be worshipped. Anyhow, Violet's husband
has not been ennobled. So whats to be done ?

HECTOR [shaking his head'\ I cant dismiss that man's
cawnduct as lightly as you do, Mr Tanner. However, I'll say
no more. Whoever he is, he's Miss Rawbnsn's husband ;
and I should be glad for her sake to think better of him.

OCTAVIUS [touched; for he divines a secret sorrow] I'm very
sorry, Malone. Very sorry.

HECTOR [gratefully] Youre a good fellow, Rawbnsn.
Thank you,

F

66 Man and Superman Act li

TANNER. Talk about something else. Violet's coming
from the house.

HECTOR. I should esteem it a very great favor, gentle-
men, if you would take the opportunity to let me have a
few words with the lady alone. I shall have to cry off this
trip ; and it's rather a duUicate —

RAMSDEN l^lad to escape] Say no more. Come, Tanner.
Come, Tavy. [He strolls away into the park zuith Octavius
and Tanner^ past the motor car].

Fiolet comes down the avenue to Hector.

VIOLET. Are they looking?

HECTOR. No.

She kisses him.

VIOLET. Have you been telling lies for my sake ?

HECTOR. Lying ! Lying hardly describes it. I overdo it.
I get carried away in an ecstacy of mendacity. Violet : I
wish youd let me own up.

VIOLET [instantly becoming serious and resolute] No, no,
Hector ; you promised me not to.

HECTOR. I'll keep my prawmise until you release me from
it. But I feel mean, lying to those men, and denying my
wife. Just dastardly.

VIOLET. I wish your father were not so unreasonable.

HECTOR. Hes not unreasonable. Hcs right from his point
of view. He has a prejudice against the English middle class.

VIOLET. It's too ridiculous. You know how I dislike
saying such things to you, Hector ; but if I were to — oh,
well, no matter.

HECTOR. I know. If you were to marry the son of an
English manufacturer of awffice furniture, your friends
would consider it a misalliance. And here's my silly old
dad, who is the biggest awffice furniture man in the world,
would shew me the door for marrying the most perfect
lady in England merely because she has no handle to her
name. Of course it's just absurd. But I tell you, Violet, I
dont like deceiving him. I feel as if I was stealing his
money. Why wont you let me own up ?

Act II Man and Superman 67

VIOLET. Wc cant afford it. You can be as romantic as
you please about love, Hector ; but you mustnt be romantic
about money.

HECTOR [divided between his uxoriousness and his habitual
elevation of moral sentiment'] Thats very English. [Appealing
to her impulsively] Violet : dad's bound to find us out some-
day.

VIOLET. Oh yes, later on of course. But dont lets go
over this every time we meet, dear. You promised —

HECTOR. All right, all right, I —

VIOLET [not to be silenced] It is I and not you who suffer
by this concealment ; and as to facing a struggle and poverty
and all that sort of thing I simply will not do it. It's too
silly.

HECTOR. You shall not. I'll sort of borrow the money
from my dad until I get on my own feet ; and then I can
own up and pay up at the same time.

VIOLET [alarmed and indignant] Do you mean to work ?
Do you want to spoil our marriage ?

HECTOR. Well, I dont mean to let marriage spoil my
character. Your friend Mr Tanner has got the laugh on me
a bit already about that ; and —

VIOLET. The beast ! I hate Jack Tanner.

HECTOR [magnanimously] Oh,hes all right : he only needs
the love of a good woman to ennoble him. Besides, hes
proposed a motoring trip to Nice ; and I'm going to take
you.

VIOLET. How jolly !

HECTOR. Yes; but how arc we going to manage? You
sec, theyve warned me off going with you, so to speak.
They ve told me in cawnfidnce that youre married. Thats
just the most overwhelming cawnfidnce Ive ever been
honored with.

Tanner returns with Straker, who goes to his car.

TANNER. Your Car is a great success, Mr Malone. Your
engineer is showing it off to Mr Ramsden.

HECTOR [eagerly — -forgetting himself] Lets come, Vi.

68 Man and Superman Act ii

VIOLET [coldly, warning him with her eyes'] I beg your
pardon, Mr Malonc, I did not quite catch —

HECTOR [recollecting himself] I ask to be allowed the
pleasure of shewing you my little American steam car.
Miss Rawbnsn.

VIOLET. I shall be very pleased. [They go off together
down the avenue],

TANNER. About this trip, Straker.

STRAKER [-preoccupied with the car] Yes ?

TANNER. Miss Whitcficld is supposed to be coming with
me.

STRAKER. So I gather.

TANNER. Mr Robinson is to be one of the party.

STRAKER. Yes.

TANNER. Well, if you can manage so as to be a good
deal occupied with me, and leave Mr Robinson a good deal
occupied with Miss Whitefield, he will be deeply grateful
to you.

STRAKER [looking round at him] Evidently.

TANNER. "Evidently"! Your grandfather would have
simply winked.

STRAKER. My grandfather would have touched his at.

TANNER. And I should have given your good nice respect-
ful grandfather a sovereign.

STRAKER. Five shilHus, more likely. [He leaves the car
and approaches Tanner], What about the lady's views?

TANNER. She is just as willing to be left to Mr Robinson
as Mr Robinson is to be left to her. [Straker looks at his
principal with cool scepticism; then turns to the car whistling
his favorite air]. Stop that aggravating noise. What do you
mean by it? [Straker calmly resumes the melody and finishes
it. Tanner politely hears it out before he again addresses
Straker^ this time with elaborate seriousness], Enry : I have
ever been a warm advocate of the spread of music among
the masses ; but I object to your obliging the company
whenever Miss Whitefield's name is mentioned. You did it
this morning, too.

Act II Man and Superman 69

STRAKER \obstinately\ It's not a bit o use. Mr Robinson
may as well give it up first as last.

TANNER. Why?

STRAKER. Garn ! You know why. Course it's not my
business; but you necdnt start kiddin me about it.

TANNER. I am not kidding. I dont know why.

STRAKER {cheerfully sulky\ Oh, very well. All right. It
aint my business.

TANNER [impressively'] I trust, Enry, that, as between
employer and engineer, I shall always know how to keep
my proper distance, and not intrude my private affairs on
you. Even our business arrangements are subject to the
approval of your Trade Union. But dont abuse your advan-
tages. Let me remind you that Voltaire said that what was
too silly to be said could be sung.

STRAKER. It wasnt Voltaire : it was Bow Mar Shay.

TANNER. I stand corrected : Beaumarchais of course.
Now you seem to think that what is too delicate to be said
can be whistled. Unfortunately your whistling, though
melodious, is unintelligible. Come ! there's nobody listen-
ing: neither my genteel relatives nor the secretary of your
confounded Union. As man to man, Enry, why do you
think that my friend has no chance with Miss Whiteficld?

STRAKER. Cause shcs arter summun else.

TANNER. Bosh ! who clsC ?
STRAKER. You.
TANNER. Mc ! ! !

STRAKER. Mean to tell me you didnt know? Oh, come,
Mr Tanner!

TANNER \in fierce earnest] Are you playing the fool, or do
you mean it?

STRAKER \with a fiash of temper] I'm not playin no fool.
\More coolly] Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face.
If you aint spotted that, you dont know much about these
sort of things. [Serene again] Ex-cuse me, you know, Mr
Tanner ; but you asked me as man to man ; and I told
you as man to man.

70 Man and Superman Act II

TANNER \wildly appealing to the heavens\ Then I—/ am
the bee, the spider, the marked down victim, the destined
prey.

STRAKER. I dunno about the bee and the spider. But the
marked down victim, thats what you are and no mistake ;
and a jolly good job for you, too, I should say.

TANNER [momentously] Henry Straker : the golden
moment of your life has arrived.

STRAKER. What d'y'mean ?

TANNER. That record to Biskra.

STRAKER [eagerly] Yes?

TANNER. Break it.

STRAKER [rising to the height of his destiny] D'y'mean it."*

TANNER. I do,

STRAKER. When ?

TANNER. Now. Is that machine ready to start?

STRAKER [quailing] But you cant —

TANNER [cutting him short by getting into the car] Off we
go. First to the bank for money ; then to my rooms for
my kit ; then to your rooms for your kit ; then break the
record from London to Dover or Folkestone; then across
the channel and away like mad to Marseilles, Gibraltar,
Genoa, any port from which we can sail to a Mahometan
country where men are projected from women.

STRAKER. Garn ! youre kiddin.

TANNER [resolutely] Stay behind then. If you wont come
I'll do it alone. [He starts the motor].

STRAKER [runni?ig after him] Here ! Mister ! arf a mo !
steady on ! [he scrambles in as the car plunges forward].

ACT III

Evening in the Sierra Nevada, Roiling slopes of brown
with olive trees instead of apple trees in the cultivated patches^
and occasional prickly pears instead of gorse and bracken in the
wilds. Higher up, tall stone peaks and precipices, all handsome
and distinguished. No wild nature here: rather a most aristo-
cratic mountain landscape made by a fastidious artist-creator.
No vulgar profusion of vegetation: even a touch of aridity
in the frequent patches of stones: Spanish magnificence and
Spanish economy everywhere.

Not very far north of a spot at which the high road over
one of the passes crosses a tunnel on the railway from Malaga
to Granada, is one of the mountain amphitheatres of the Sierra.
Looking at it from the wide end of the horse-shoe, one sees, a
little to the right, in the face of the cliff, a romantic cave which
is really an abandoned quarry, and towards the left a little hill,
commanding a view of the road, which skirts the amphitheatre on
the left, maintaining its higher level on embankments and an
occasional stone arch. On the hill, watching the road, is a man
who is either a Spaniard or a Scotchman. Probably a Spaniard,
since he wears the dress of a Spanish goatherd and seems at home
in the Sierra Nevada, but very like a Scotchman for all that.
In the hollow, on the slope leading to the quarry-cave, are about
a doxen men who, as they recline at their ease round a heap of
smouldering white ashes of dead leaf and brushwood, have an
air of being conscious of themselves as picturesque scoundrels
honoring the Sierra by using it as an effective pictorial back-

72 Man and Superman Act III

ground. As a matter of artistic fact tley are not picturesque ;
dTid the moujitaim tolerate them as lions tolerate lice. An
English policeman or Poor Law Guardian would recognize
them as a selected body of tramps and ablebodied paupers.

This description of them is not wholly contemptuous. Who-
ever has intellige?itly observed the tramps or visited the able-
bodied ward of a workhouse^ will adfnit that our social failures
are not all drunkards and weaklings. So?ne of them are men
who do not fit the class they were born into. Precisely the same
qualities that make the educated gentleman an artist may make
an uneducated ?nanual laborer an ablebodied pauper. There
are ?nen who fall helplessly into the workhouse because they are
good for nothing; but there are also ?nen who are there because
they are strongminded enough to disregard the social convention
{obviously not a disinterested one on the part of the ratepayer")
which bids a man live by heavy and badly paid drudgery when
he has the alternative of walking into the workhouse^ announ-
cing himself as a destitute person, and legally compelling the
Guardians to feed, clothe and house him better than he could
feed, clothe and house himself without great exertion. When a
man who is born a poet refuses a stool in a stockbroker's office,
and starves in a garret, spunging on a poor landlady or on his
friends and relatives sooner than zvork against his grain; or
when a lady, because she is a lady, will face any extremity
of parasitic dependence rather than take a situation as cook
or parlormaid, we make large allowances for them. To such
allowances the ablebodied pauper, and his nomadic variant the
tramp, are equally entitled.

Further, the imaginative man, if his life is to be tolerable
to hi?n, must have leisure to tell himself stories, and a position
which lends itself to imaginative decoration. The ranks of un-
skilled labor offer no such positions. We misuse our laborers
horribly; and when a man refuses to be misused, we have
no right to say that he is refusing honest work. Let us be
frank in this matter before we go on with our play; so that
we may enjoy it without hypocrisy. If we were reasoning, far-
sighted people, four fifths of us zvould go straight to the

Act III Man and Superman 73

Guardiajis for reliefs and knock the whole social system to pieces
with most beneficial reconstructive results. The reason we do
not do this is because we work like bees or ants^ by instinct or
habit, not reasonitig about the matter at all. Therefore zul.en a
man comes along who can and does reason, and who, applfing
the Kantian test to his conduct, can truly say to us. If every-
body did as I do, the world zvould be compelled to reform itself
industrially, and abolish slavery and squalor, which exist only
because everybody does as you do, let us honor that man and
seriously consider the advisability of following his example.
Such a man is the able-bodied, able-minded pauper. Were he
a gentleman doing lis best to get a pension or a sinecure instead
of sweeping a crossing, nobody would blame him for deciding
that so long as the alternative lies between living mainly at the
expense of the community and allozving the community to live
mainly at his, it zvould be folly to accept what is to him person-
ally the greater of the two evils.

We may therefore contemplate the tramps of the Sierra
without prejudice, admitting cheerfully that our objects — briefiy,
to be gentlemen of fortune — are much the same as their'' s, and
the difference in our position and methods merely accidental.
One or two of them, perhaps, it would be wiser to kill without
malice in a friendly and frank manner ; for there are bipeds,
just as there are quadrupeds, who are too dangerous to be left
unchained and unmuzzled ; and these cannot fairly expect to
have other men's lives wasted in the work of watching them.
But as society has not the courage to kill them, and, when it
catches them, simply wreaks on them some superstitious ex-
piatory rites of torture and degradation, and then lets them
loose with heightened qualifications for mischief, it is just as
well that they are at large in the Sierra, and in the hands of a
chief who looks as if he might possibly, on provocation, order
them to be shot.

This chief, seated in the centre of the group on a squared
block of stone from the quarry, is a tall strong man, zvith a
strikijig cockatoo Jiose, glossy black hair, pointed beard, upturned
moustache, and a Mephistophelean affectation which is fairly

74 Man and Superman Act ill

imposing^ perhaps because the scenery admits of a larger swagger
than Piccadilly, perhaps because of a certain sentimentality
in the man which gives him that touch of grace which alone
can excuse deliberate picturesqueness. His eyes and mouth are
by no means rascally; he has a fine voice and a ready wit; and
whether he is really the strongest man in the party or not, he
looks it. He is certainly the best fed, the best dressed, and the
best trained. The fact that he speaks English is not unexpected,
in spite of the Spanish landscape; for with the exception of one
man who might be guessed as a bullfighter ruined by drink,
and one unmistakable Frenchman, they are all cockney or
American; therefore, in a land of cloaks and sombreros, they
mostly wear seedy overcoats, woollen mufflers, hard hemispherical
hats, and dirty brown gloves. Only a very few dress after their
leader, whose broad sombrero with a cock^s feather in the
band, and voluminous cloak descending to his high boots, are as
un-English as possible. None of them are armed; and the
ungloved ones keep their hands in their pockets because it is their
national belief that it must he dangerously cold in the open air
with the night coming on. {It is as warm an evening as any
reasonable man could desire).

Except the bullfighting inebriate there is only one person in
the company who looks more than, say, thirty-three. He is a
small man with reddish whiskers, weak eyes, and the anxious
look of a small tradesman in difficulties. He wears the only tall
hat visible : it shines in the sunset with the sticky glow of some
sixpenny patent hat reviver, often applied and constantly tend-
ing to produce a worse state of the original surface than the
ruin it was applied to remedy. He has a collar and cuffs of
celluloid; and his brown Chesterfield overcoat, with velvet
collar, is still presentable. He is pre-emi?iently the respectable
man of the party, and is certainly over forty, possibly over fifty.
He is the corner man on the leader'' s right, opposite three men
in scarlet ties on his left. One of these three is the Frenchman.
Of the remaining two, who are both English, one is argu-
mentative, solemn, and obstinate; the other rowdy and mis-
chievous.

Act III Man and Superman 75

The chiefs with a magnijicent jiing of the end of his cloak
across his left shoulder^ rises to address them. The applause
which greets him shews that he is a favorite orator.

THE CHIEF. Friends and fellow brigands. I have a pro-
posal to make to this meeting. We have now spent three
evenings in discussing the question Have Anarchists or
Social-Democrats the most personal courage ? We have gone
into the principles of Anarchism and Social-Democracy at
great length. The cause of Anarchy has been ably repre-
sented by our one Anarchist, who doesnt know what
Anarchism means \laugl)ter'\ —

THE ANARCHIST \rising\ A point of order, Mendoza —

MENDOZA [forcil>ly] No, by thunder : your last point of
order took half an hour. Besides, Anarchists dont believe
in order.

THE ANARCHIST [mildy poHte but persistent: he is, in fact,
the respectable looking elderly man in the celluloid collar and
cuffs'\ That is a vulgar error. I can prove —

MENDOZA. Order, order.

THE OTHERS \jhouting'\ Order, ordcr. Sit down. Chair!
Shut up.

The Anarchist is suppressed,

MENDOZA. On the other hand we have three Social-
Democrats among us. They are not on speaking terms ;
and they have put before us three distinct and incompatible
views of Social-Democracy.

THE THREE MEN IN SCARLET TIES. I. Mr Chairman, I pro-
test. A personal explanation. 2. It's a lie. I never said so.
Be fair, Mendoza. 3. Jedemande la parole. C'estabsolument
faux. C'est faux ! faux ! ! faux ! ! ! Assas-s-s-s-sin !!!!!!

MENDOZA. Order, order.

THE OTHERS. Order, order, order ! Chair !

The Social-Democrats are suppressed.

MENDOZA. Now, wc tolcratc all opinions here. But
after all, comrades, the vast majority of us are neither
Anarchists nor Socialists, but gentlemen and Christians.

76 Man and Superman Act ill

THE MAJORITY [shouHng asscjit'] Hear, hear ! So we are.
Right.

THE ROWDY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT [smarting under suppression']
You aint no Christian. Youre a Sheeny, you are.

MENDOZA [with crushing magnanimity'] My friend : / am
an exception to all rules. It is true that I have the honor
to be a Jew ; and when the Zionists need a leader to
reassemble our race on its historic soil of Palestine,
Mendoza will not be the last to volunteer [sympathetic
applause — h)ear, h^ear, l^c]. But I am not a slave to any
superstition. I have swallowed all the formulas, even that
of Socialism; though, in a sense, once a Socialist, always
a Socialist.

THE SOCIAL-DEMOCRATS. Hear, hear !

MENDOZA. But I am well aware that the ordinary man —
even the ordinary brigand, who can scarcely be called an
ordinary man [Hear, hear !] — is not a philosopher. Common
sense is good enough for him ; and in our business affairs
common sense is good enough for me. Well, what is our
business here in the Sierra Nevada, chosen by the Moors
as the fairest spot in Spain ? Is it to discuss abstruse
questions of political economy ? No : it is to hold up
motor cars and secure a more equitable distribution of
wealth.

THE SULKY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT. All made by labor, mind
you.

MENDOZA [urbanely] Undoubtedly. All made by labor,
and on its way to be squandered by wealthy vagabonds in
the dens of vice that disfigure the sunny shores of the
Mediterranean. We intercept that wealth. We restore it
to circulation among the class that produced it and that
chiefly needs It — the working class. We do this at the
risk of our lives and liberties, by the exercise of the virtues
of courage, endurance, foresight, and abstinence — especially
abstinence. I myself have eaten nothing but prickly pears
and broiled rabbit for three days.

THE SULKY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT [j-/^-^-^«9r;^/y] No morc aiut wc.

Act III Man and Superman 77

MENDOZA \_indignantly'\ Have I taken more than my
share ?

THE SULKY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT [unmoved'\ Why should you?

THE ANARCHIST. Why should he not? To each accord-
ing to his needs : from each according to his means.

THE FRENCHMAN [s/^akiNg his fist lit the Anarchist^
Fumiste !

MENDOZA \diplomaticallj\ I agree with both of you.

THE GENUINELY ENGLISH BRIGANDS. Hear, hear! Bravo
Mendoza !

MENDOZA. What I say is, let us treat one another as
gentlemen, and strive to excel in personal courage only
when we take the field.

THE ROWDY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT \derisivelj\ Shikespear.

A w /.is tie comes from the goatherd on the hill. He springs
up and points excitedly forward along the road to the north.

THE GOATHERD. Automobilc ! Automobilc ! \^He rushes
down the hill and joins the rest, who all scramble to their feet\

MENDOZA \in ringing tones] To arms ! Who has the gun ?

THE SULKY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT [handing a rifle to Mendoza]
Here.

MENDOZA. Have the nails been strewn in the road ?

THE ROWDY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT. TwO ahnCCS of Cm.

MENDOZA. Good! [To the French/nan] With me, Duval.
If the nails fail, puncture their tires with a bullet. [He
gives the rifle to Duval, who follows him up the hill. Mendoza
produces an opera glass. The others hurry across to the road
and disappear to the north\

MENDOZA [on the hill, using his glass] Two only, a capi-
talist and his chauffeur. They look English.

DUVAL. Angliche ! Aoh yess. Cochons ! [Handling the
rifle] Faut tirer, n'cst-ce-pas?

MENDOZA. No : the nails have gone home. Their tire is
down : they stop.

DUVAL [shouting to the others'] Fondez sur cux, nom de
Dieu !

MENDOZA [rehuking his excitement] Du calme, Duval :

78 Man and Superman Act ill

keep your hair on. They take it quietly. Let us descend
and receive them.

Mendoza descends, passing behind the fire and coming for-
ward^ whilst Tanner and Straker, in their motoring goggles,
leather coats, and caps, are led in from the road by the
brigands.

TANNER. Is this the gentleman you describe as your
boss ? Does he speak English ?

THE ROWDY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT. Coursc he docs. Y' downt
suppowz we Hinglishmen luts ahrselves be bossed by a
bloomin Spenniard, do you ?

MENDOZA \with dignity'] Allow me to introduce myself :
Mendoza, President of the League of the Sierra ! [Posing
loftily] I am a brigand : I live by robbing the rich.

TANNER [promptly] I am a gentleman : I live by robbing
the poor. Shake hands.

THE ENGLISH sociAL-DEMOCRATS. Hear, hear!

General laughter and good humor. Tanner and Mendoza
shake hands. The Brigands drop into their former places.

STRAKER. Ere! where do I come in?

TANNER [introducing] My friend and chauffeur.

THE SULKY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT [suspiciously] Well, which
is he? friend or show-foor? It makes all the difference,
you know.

MENDOZA [explaining] We should expect ransom for a
friend. A professional chauffeur is free of the mountains.
He even takes a trifling percentage of his principal's
ransom if he will honor us by accepting it.

STRAKER. I see. Just to encourage me to come this way
again. Well, I'll think about it.

DUVAL [impulsively rushing across to Straker] Mon frere !
[He embraces him rapturously and kisses him on both cheeks].

STRAKER [disgusted] Ere, git out : dont be silly. Who
are you, pray?

DUVAL. Duval : Social-Democrat.

STRAKER. Oh, youre a Social-Democrat, are you ?

THE ANARCHIST. Hc mcaus that he has sold out to the

Act III Man and Superman 79

parliamentary humbugs and the bourgeoisie. Compromise !
that is his faith.

DUVAL l^furiously^ I understand what he say. He say
Bourgeois. He say Compromise. Jamais de la vie ! Miser-
able menteur —

STRAKER. See here, Captain Mendoza, ow much o this
sort o thing do you put up with here? Are we avin a
pleasure trip in the mountains, or arc we at a Socialist
mectin .?

THE MAJORITY. Hcar, hear I Shut up. Chuck it. Sit
down, &c. &c. [7^^ Social- Democrats and the Anarchist
are hustled into the background, Straker, after superintending
this proceedi?ig with satisfaction, places himself on Mendoza^ s
left. Tanner being on his right,

MENDOZA. Can we offer you anything? Broiled rabbit
and prickly pears —

TANNER. Thank you : we have dined.

MENDOZA [to his followers'] Gentlemen: business is over
for the day. Go as you please until morning.

The Brigands disperse into groups lazily. Some go into the
cave. Others sit down or lie down to sleep in the open. A few
produce a pack of cards and move off towards the road; for
it is now starlight; and they know that motor cars have
lamps which can be turned to account for lighting a card
party.

STRAKER \calling after them] Dont none of you go fool-
ing with that car, d'ye hear?

MENDOZA. No fear. Monsieur le Chauffeur. The first
one we captured cured us of that.

STRAKER {interested] What did it do?

MENDOZA. It carried three brave comrades of ours, who
did not know how to stop it, into Granada, and capsized
them opposite the police station. Since then we never
touch one without sending for the chauffeur. Shall we
chat at our ease ?

TANNER. By all means.

Tanner, Mendoza, and Straker sit down on the turf by

8o Man and Superman Act III

the fire. Mendoxa delicately waives his presidential dignity, of
which the right to sit on the squared stone block is the appanage,
by sitti?ig on the ground like his guests, and using the stone only
as a support for his back.

MENDOZA. It is the custom in Spain always to put off
business until to-morrow. In fact, you have arrived out of
office hours. However, if you would prefer to settle the
question of ransom at once, I am at your service.

TANNER. To-morrow will do for me. I am rich enough
to pay anything in reason.

MENDOZA [respectfully, much struck by this admission'\ You
are a remarkable man, sir. Our guests usually describe
themselves as miserably poor.

TANNER. Pooh! Miscrably poor people dont own
motor cars.

MENDOZA. Precisely what wc say to them.

TANNER. Treat us well : we shall not prove ungrateful.

STRAKER. No prickly pears and broiled rabbits, you
know. Dont tell me you cant do us a bit better than that
if you like.

MENDOZA. Wine, kids, milk, cheese and bread can be
procured for ready money.

STRAKER [graciously^ Now youre talkin.

TANNER. Are you all Socialists here, may I ask ?

MENDOZA [repudiating this humiliating misconception'\ Oh
no, no, no : nothing of the kind, I assure you. We natur-
ally have modern views as to the injustice of the existing
distribution of wealth : otherwise we should lose our self-
respect. But nothing that you could take exception to,
except two or three faddists.

TANNER. I had no intention of suggesting anything dis-
creditable. In fact, I am a bit of a Socialist myself.

STRAKER [drily'\ Most rich men are, I notice.

MENDOZA. Quite so. It has reached us, I admit. It is in
the air of the century.

STRAKER. Socialism must be lookin up a bit if your
chaps are taking to it.

Act III Man and Superman 8i

MENDOZA. That is true, sir. A movement which is con-
fined to philosophers and honest men can never exercise
any real political influence : there are too few of them.
Until a movement shews itself capable of spreading
among brigands, it can never hope for a political majority.

TANNER. But are your brigands any less honest than
ordinary citizens ?

MENDOZA. Sir : I will be frank with you. Brigandage is
abnormal. Abnormal professions attract two classes: those
who are not good enough for ordinary bourgeois life and
those who are too good for it. We are dregs and scum,
sir: the dregs very filthy, the scum very superior.

STRAKER. Take care ! some o the dregs'll hear you.

MENDOZA. It does not matter : each brigand thinks
himself scum, and likes to hear the others called dregs.

TANNER. Come ! you are a wit. [Mendoza inclines his
head^ fiattered\ May one ask you a blunt question?

MENDOZA. As blunt as you please.

TANNER. How docs it pay a man of your talent to shep-
herd such a flock as this on broiled rabbit and prickly
pears? I have seen men less gifted, and I'll swear less
honest, supping at the Savoy on foie gras and champagne.

MENDOZA. Pooh ! they have all had their turn at the
broiled rabbit, just as I shall have my turn at the Savoy.
Indeed, I have had a turn there already — as waiter.

TANNER. A waiter ! You astonish me !

MENDOZA [reflectively'] Yes : I, Mendoza of the Sierra,
was a waiter. Hence, perhaps, my cosmopolitanism.
[With sudden intensity] Shall I tell you the story of my
life?

STRAKER [apprehensively] If it aint too long, old chap—

TANNER [interrupting him] Tsh-sh : you are a Philistine,
Henry: you have no romance in you. [To Mendoza] You
interest me extremely. President. Never mind Henry: he
can go to sleep.

MENDOZA. The woman I loved —

STRAKER. Oh, this is a love story, is it? Right you are.

G

82 Man and Superman Act ill

Go on : I was only afraid you were going to talk about
yourself.

MENDOZA. Myself! I have thrown myself away for her
sake : that is why I am here. No matter : I count the world
well lost for her. She had, I pledge you my word, the most
magnificent head of hair I ever saw. She had humor ; she
had intellect ; she could cook to perfection ; and her highly
strung temperament made her uncertain, incalculable, vari-
able, capricious, cruel, in a word, enchanting.

STRAKER. A six shilHu novcl sort o woman, all but the
cookin. Er name was Lady Gladys Plantagenet, wasnt it ?

MENDOZA. No, sir I shc was not an earl's daughter.
Photography, reproduced by the half-tone process, has made
me familiar with the appearance of the daughters of the
English peerage ; and I can honestly say that I would have
sold the lot, faces, dowries, clothes, titles, and all, for a
smile from this woman. Yet she was a woman of the people,
a worker : otherwise — let me reciprocate your bluntness —
I should have scorned her.

TANNER. Very properly. And did she respond to your
love ?

MENDOZA. Should I bc here if she did? She objected to
marry a Jew.

TANNER. On religious grounds ?

MENDOZA. No : she was a freethinker. She said that every
Jew considers in his heart that English people are dirty in
their habits.

TANNER [surprise/^] Dirty !

MENDOZA. It shewed her extraordinary knowledge of the
world ; for it is undoubtedly true. Our elaborate sanitary
code makes us unduly contemptuous of the Gentile.

TANNER. Did you ever hear that, Henry?

STRAKER. Ive heard my sister say so. She was cook in a
Jewish family once.

MENDOZA. I could not deny it ; neither could I eradicate
the impression it made on her mind. I could have got
round any other objection ; but no woman can stand a

Act III Man and Superman 83

suspicion of indelicacy as to her person. My entreaties
were in vain : she always retorted that she wasnt good
enough for me, and recommended me to marry an accursed
barmaid named Rebecca Lazarus, whom I loathed. I talked
of suicide : she offered me a packet of beetle poison to do
it with. I hinted at murder : she went into hysterics ; and
as I am a living man I went to America so that she might
sleep without dreaming that I was stealing upstairs to cut
her throat. In America I went out west and fell in with a
man who was wanted by the police for holding up trains.
It was he who had the idea of holding up motor cars in the
South of Europe : a welcome idea to a desperate and dis-
appointed man. He gave me some valuable introductions
to capitalists of the right sort. I formed a syndicate ; and
the present enterprise is the result. I became leader, as the
Jew always becomes leader, by his brains and imagination.
But with all my pride of race I would give everything I
possess to be an Englishman. I am like a boy : I cut her
name on the trees and her initials on the sod. When I am
alone I lie down and tear my wretched hair and cry Louisa —

STRAKER \jtartled'\ Louisa !

MENDOZA. It is her name — Louisa — Louisa Straker —

TANNER. Straker !

STRAKER [scrambling up on his knees most indignantly'] Look
here : Louisa Straker is my sister, see ? Wot do you mean
by gassin about her like this ? Wotshe got to do with you ?

MENDOZA. A dramatic coincidence ! You are Enry, her
favorite brother!

STRAKER. Oo arc you callin Enry? What call have you
to take a liberty with my name or with hers ? For two pins
I'd punch your fat ed, so I would.

MENDOZA [zvith grandiose calm] If I let you do it, will you
promise to brag of it afterwards to her? She will be re-
minded of her Mendoza : that is all I desire.

TANNER. This is gcnuinc devotion, Henry. You should
respect it.

STRAKER [fiercely] Funk, more likely.

84 Man and Superman Act ill

MENDOZA [springing to Ins feet] Funk ! Young man : I
come of a famous family of fighters ; and as your sister well
knows, you would have as much chance against me as a
perambulator against your motor car.

STRAKER [secretly daunted, but rising from his knees with
an air of reckless pugnacity] I aint afraid of you. With your
Louisa! Louisa! Miss Straker is good enough for you, I
should think.

MENDOZA. I wish you could persuade her to think so.

STRAKER [exasperated] Here —

TANNER [rising quickly and ijiterposing] Oh come, Henry :
even if you could fight the President you cant fight the
whole League of the Sierra. Sit down again and be friendly.
A cat may look at a king ; and even a President of bri-
gands may look at your sister. All this family pride is really
very old fashioned.

STRAKER [subdued, but grumbling] Let him look at her.
But wot does he mean by makin out that she ever looked
at im ? [Reluctantly resuming his couch on the turf] Ear him
talk, one ud think she was keepin company with him.
[He turns his back on them and composes himself to sleep].

MENDOZA [to Tanner, becoming more confidential as he finds
himself virtually alone with a sympathetic listener in the still
starlight of the mountains; for all the rest are asleep by this
time] It was just so with her, sir. Her intellect reached
forward into the twentieth century : her social prejudices
and family affections reached back into the dark ages. Ah,
sir, how the words of Shakespear seem to fit every crisis in
our emotions !

I loved Louisa : 40,000 brothers

Could not with all their quantity of love

Make up my sum.

And so on. I forget the rest. Call it madness if you will —
infatuation. I am an able man, a strong man : in ten years
I should have owned a first-class hotel. I met her; and —
you see ! — I am a brigand, an outcast. Even Shakespear
cannot do justice to what I feel for Louisa. Let me read

Act III Man and Superman 85

you some lines that I have written about her myself. How-
ever slight their literary merit may be, they express what
I feel better than any casual words can. [He produces a
packet of hotel bills scrawled with manuscript, and kneels at the
fre to decipher them, poking it with a stick to make it glow\

TANNER [slapping him rudely on the shoulder^ Put them in
the fire, President.

MENDOZA \startled'\ Eh ?

TANNER. You are sacrificing your career to a monomania.

MENDOZA. I know it.

TANNER. No you dont. No man would commit such a
crime against himself if he really knew what he was doing.
How can you look round at these august hills, look up at
this divine sky, taste this finely tempered air, and then
talk like a literary hack on a second floor in Bloomsbury?

MENDOZA [shaking his head\ The Sierra is no better than
Bloomsbury when once the novelty has worn ofi\ Besides,
these mountains make you dream of women — of women
with magnificent hair.

TANNER. Of Louisa, in short. They will not make me
dream of women, my friend : I am heartwhole.

MENDOZA. Do not boast until morning, sir. This is a
strange country for dreams.

TANNER. Well, we shall see. Goodnight. [He lies down
and composes himself to sleep"].

Mendoza, with a sigh, follows his example; and for a few
moments there is peace in the Sierra. Then Mendoza sits up
suddenly and says pleadingly to Tanner —

MENDOZA. Just allow mc to read a few lines before you
go to sleep. I should really like your opinion of them.

TANNER [drowsilyl Go on. I am listening.

MENDOZA. I saw thee first in Whitsun week
Louisa, Louisa —

TANNER [rousing himself] My dear President, Louisa is a
very pretty name; but it really doesnt rhyme well to
Whitsun week.

86 Man and Superman Act ill

MENDOZA. Of course not. Louisa is not the rhyme, but
the refrain.

TANNER [subsiding] Ah, the refrain. I beg your pardon.
Go on.

MENDOZA. Perhaps you do not care for that one : I think
you will like this better. [He recites, in rich soft tones, and
in slow time]

Louisa, I love thee.

I love thee, Louisa.

Louisa, Louisa, Louisa, I love thee.

One name and one phrase make my music, Louisa.

Louisa, Louisa, Louisa, I love thee.

Mendoza thy lover,

Thy lover, Mendoza,

Mendoza adoringly lives for Louisa.

There's nothing but that in the world for Mendoza.

Louisa, Louisa, Mendoza adores thee.

[Affected] There is no merit in producing beautiful
lines upon such a name. Louisa is an exquisite name, is it
not?

TANNER [all but asleep, responds with a faint groan],

MENDOZA. O wcrt thou, Louisa,
The wife of Mendoza,
Mendoza's Louisa, Louisa Mendoza,
How blest were the life of Louisa's Mendoza !
How painless his longing of love for Louisa !

That is real poetry — from the heart — from the heart
of hearts. Dont you think it will move her?

iV(? answer,

[Resignedly] Asleep, as usual. Doggrel to all the world :
heavenly music to me ! Idiot that I am to wear my heart
on my sleeve ! [He composes himself to sleep, murmuring]
Louisa, I love thee ; I love thee, Louisa ; Louisa, Louisa,
Louisa, I —

Straker snores; rolls over on his side; and relapses into
sleep. Stillness settles on the Sierra; and the darkness deepens.
The fire has again buried itself in white ash and ceased to

Act III Man and Superman 87

glow, The peaks skezv unfathomably dark against the starry
firmament ; but now the stars dim and vanish ; and the sky seems
to steal away out of tie universe. Instead of the Sierra there
is nothing; omnipresent nothing. No sky, no peaks ^ no lights no
sounds no time nor space^ utter void. Then somewhere the
beginning of a pallor^ and with it a faint throbbing buzz as of
a ghostly violoncello palpitating on the same note endlessly. A
couple of ghostly violins presently take advantage of this bass

and therewith the pallor reveals a man in the void, an incor-
poreal but visible man, seated, absurdly enough, on nothing. For
a moment he raises his head as the music passes him by. Then,
with a heavy sigh, he droops in utter dejection; and the violins,
discouraged, retrace their melody in despair and at last give it
up, extinguished by wailings from uncanny wind instruments,
thus: —

^^^.te f ^ J!3

Ms

Horn

It is all very odd. One recognizes the Mozartian strain;
and on this hint, and by the aid ^certain sparkles of violet light
in the pallor, the man^s costume explains itself as that of a
Spanish nobleman of the XV -XVI. century, Don Juan, of
course; but where? why? how? Besides, in the brief lifting
of his face, now hidden by his hat brim, there was a curious
suggestion of Tanner. A more critical,fastidious, handsome face,
paler and colder, without Tanner's impetuous credulity and en-
thusiasm, and without a touch of his modern plutocratic vulgarity,
but still a resemblance, even an identity. The name too: Don

88 Man and Superman Act ill

Jua7i Tenorio, John Tanner. Where on earth — or elsewhere
— have we got to from the XX century and the Sierra?

Another pallor in the void, this time not violet, but a dis-
agreeable smoky yellow. With it, the whisper of a ghostly
clarionet turning this tune into infinite sadness :

The yellowish pallor moves: there is an old crone wandering in
the void, bent and toothless ; draped, as well as one can guess,
in the coarse brown frock of some religious order. She wanders
and wanders in her slow hopeless zvay, much as a wasp flies in
its rapid busy way, until she blunders against the thing she seeks :
companionship. With a sob of relief the poor old creature clutches
at the presence of the man and addresses him in her dry unlovely
voice, which can still express pride and resolution as well as
suffering.

THE OLD WOMAN. Excusc Hic ; but I am so lonely; and
this place is so awful.

DON JUAN. A new comer ?

THE OLD WOMAN. Ycs : I supposc I died this morning. I
confessed ; I had extreme unction ; I was in bed with my
family about me and my eyes fixed on the cross. Then it
grew dark ; and when the light came back it was this light
by which I walk seeing nothing. I have wandered for hours
in horrible loneliness.

DON JUAN \sighing\ Ah ! you have not yet lost the sense
of time. One soon does, in eternity.

THE OLD WOMAN. Where are we ?

DON JUAN. In hell.

THE OLD WOMAN \_proudly'\ Hell ! I in hell ! How dare
you?

DON JUAN [unimpressed^ Why not, Senora?

THE OLD WOMAN. You do not know to whom you are
speaking. I am a lady, and a faithful daughter of the
Church.

Act III Man and Superman 89

DON JUAN. I do not doubt it.

THE OLD WOMAN. But how thcn Can I be in hell ? Purga-
tory, perhaps: 1 have not been perfect: who has? But
hell ! oh, you are lying.

DON JUAN. Hell, Seilora, I assure you; hell at its best:
that is, its most solitary — though perhaps you would prefer
company.

THE OLD WOMAN. But I havc sinccrcly repented ; I have
confessed —

DON JUAN. How much ?

THE OLD WOMAN. Moic sins than I really committed. I
loved confession.

DON JUAN. Ah, that is perhaps as bad as confessing too
little. At all events, Senora, whether by oversight or inten-
tion, you are certainly damned, like myself; and there is
nothing for it now but to make the best of it.

THE OLD WOMAN \indignantlj\ Oh ! and I might have
been so much wickeder ! All my good deeds wasted ! It
is unjust.

DON JUAN. No : you were fully and clearly warned. For
your bad deeds, vicarious atonement, mercy without justice.
For your good deeds, justice without mercy. We have many
good people here.

THE OLD WOMAN. Were you a good man ?

DON JUAN, I was a murderer.

THE OLD WOMAN. A murdcrcr ! Oh, how dare they send
me to herd with murderers ! I was not as bad as that : I
was a good woman. There is some mistake : where can I
have it set right ?

DON JUAN. I do not know whether mistakes can be cor-
rected here. Probably they will not admit a mistake even
if they have made one.

THE OLD WOMAN. But whom Can I ask?

DON JUAN. I should ask the Devil, Senora : he under-
stands the ways of this place, which is more than I ever
could.

THE OLD WOMAN. Thc Dcvil ! / spcak to the Devil !

go Man and Superman Act III

DON JUAN. In hell, Sefiora, the Devil is the leader of the
best society.

THE OLD WOMAN. I tcll you, wfctch, I know I am not
in hell,

DON JUAN. How do you know?

THE OLD WOMAN. Becausc I feel no pain.

DON JUAN. Oh, then there is no mistake : you are in-
tentionally damned.

THE OLD WOMAN. Why do you say that ?

DON JUAN. Because hell, Sefiora, is a place for the wicked.
The wicked are quite comfortable in it : it was made for
them. You tell me you feel no pain. I conclude you are
one of those for whom Hell exists.

THE OLD WOMAN. Do you feel no pain?

DON JUAN. I am not one of the wicked, Sefiora ; there-
fore it bores me, bores me beyond description, beyond belief.

THE OLD WOMAN. Not ouc of the wickcd ! You said you
were a murderer.

DON JUAN. Only a duel. I ran my sword through an old
man who was trying to run his through me.

THE OLD WOMAN. If you werc a gentleman, that was not
a murder.

DON JUAN. The old man called it murder, because he
was, he said, defending his daughter's honor. By this he
meant that because I foolishly fell in love with her and
told her so, she screamed ; and he tried to assassinate me
after calling me insulting names.

THE OLD WOMAN. You wcrc Ukc all men. Libertines and
murderers all, all, all !

DON JUAN. And yet we meet here, dear lady.

THE OLD WOMAN. Listcu to me. My father was slain by
just such a wretch as you, in just such a duel, for just such
a cause. I screamed : it was my duty. My father drew on
my assailant : his honor demanded it. He fell : that was
the reward of honor. I am here : in hell, you tell me :
that is the reward of duty. Is there justice in heaven?

DON JUAN. No ; but there is justice in hell : heaven is

Act III Man and Superman 91

far above such idle human personalities. You will be wel-
come in hell, Scnora. Hell is the home of honor, duty,
justice, and the rest of the seven deadly virtues. All the
wickedness on earth is done in their name : where else
but in hell should they have their reward? Have I not
told you that the truly damned are those who arc happy
in hell ?

THE OLD WOMAN. And are you happy here?

DON JUAN [springing to his feet] No ; and that is the
enigma on which I ponder in darkness. Why am I here?
I, who repudiated all duty, trampled honor underfoot, and
laughed at justice !

THE OLD WOMAN. Oh, what do I care why you are here ?
Why am / here? I, who sacrificed all my inclinations to
womanly virtue and propriety !

DON JUAN. Patience, lady : you will be perfectly happy
and at home here. As saith the poet, " Hell is a city much
like Seville."

THE OLD WOMAN. Happy ! here ! where I am nothing !
where I am nobody !

DON JUAN. Not at all : you arc a lady ; and wherever
ladies are is hell. Do not be surprised or terrified : you
will find everything here that a lady can desire, including
devils who will serve you from sheer love of servitude, and
magnify your importance for the sake of dignifying their
service — the best of servants.

THE OLD WOMAN. My scrvants will be devils !

DON JUAN. Have you ever had servants who were not
devils ?

THE OLD WOMAN. Ncvcr ! they were devils, perfect
devils, all of them. But that is only a manner of speak-
ing. I thought you meant that my servants here would be
real devils.

DON JUAN. No more real devils than you will be a real
lady. Nothing is real here. That is the horror of damnation.

THE OLD WOMAN. Oh, this is all madness. This is worse
than fire and the worm.

92 Man and Superman Act ill

DON JUAN. For you, perhaps, there are consolations. For
instance : how old were you when you changed from time
to eternity?

THE OLD WOMAN. Do not Esk me how old I was — as if I
were a thing of the past. lam ']'].

DON JUAN. A ripe age, Senora. But in hell old age is
not tolerated. It is too real. Here we worship Love and
Beauty. Our souls being entirely damned, we cultivate our
hearts. As a lady of 'j']^ you would not have a single ac-
quaintance in hell.

THE OLD WOMAN. How can I help my age, man ?

DON JUAN. You forget that you have left your age behind
you in the realm of time. You are no more ']'] than you
are 7 or 17 or 27.

THE OLD WOMAN. Nonsense !

DON JUAN. Consider, Senora : was not this true even
when you lived on earth? When you were 70, were you
really older underneath your wrinkles and your grey hairs
than when you were 30 ?

THE OLD WOMAN. No, youngcr : at 30 I was a fool. But
of what use is it to feel younger and look older ?

DON JUAN. You see, Senora, the look was only an illu-
sion. Your wrinkles lied, just as the plump smooth skin of
many a stupid girl of 17, with heavy spirits and decrepit
ideas, lies about her age? Well, here we have no bodies :
we see each other as bodies only because we learnt to think
about one another under that aspect when we were alive ;
and we still think in that way, knowing no other. But we
can appear to one another at what age we choose. You have
but to will any of your old looks back, and back they will
come.

THE OLD WOMAN. It cannot be true.

DON JUAN. Try.

THE OLD WOMAN. Seventeen !

DON JUAN. Stop. Before you decide, I had better tell
you that these things are a matter of fashion. Occasionally
we have a rage for 17; but it does not last long. Just at

Act III Man and Superman 93

present the fashionable age is 40 — or say 37; but there
are signs of a change. If you were at all good-looking at
27, I should suggest your trying that, and setting a new
fashion.

THE OLD WOMAN. I do not bclicve a word you arc say-
ing. However, 27 be it. [^fVhisk! the old woman becomes a
young one, and so handsome that in the radiance into which her
dull yellow halo has suddenly lightened one might almost mistake
her for Ann Whitefald],

DON JUAN. Dona Ana de Ulloa !

ANA. What ? You know me !

DON JUAN. And you forget me !

ANA. I cannot see your face. [He raises his hat]. Don
Juan Tenorio! Monster! You who slew my father! even
here you pursue me.

DON JUAN. I protest I do not pursue you. Allow mc to
withdraw [going].

ANA [seizing his arm] You shall not leave mc alone in
this dreadful place.

DON JUAN. Provided my staying be not interpreted as
pursuit.

ANA [releasing him] You may well wonder how I can
endure your presence. My dear, dear father !

DON JUAN. Would you like to see him ?

ANA. My father here ! ! I

DON JUAN. No : he is in heaven.

ANA. I knew it. My noble father I He is looking down
on us now. What must he feel to see his daughter in this
place, and in conversation with his murderer I

DON JUAN. By the way, if we should meet him —

ANA. How can we meet him ? He is in heaven.

DON JUAN. He condescends to look in upon us here from
time to time. Heaven bores him. So let me warn you that
if you meet him he will be mortally offended if you speak
of me as his murderer! He maintains that he was a much
better swordsman than I, and that if his foot had not slipped
he would have killed me. No doubt he is right : I was not

94 Man and Superman Act ill

a good fencer. I never dispute the point j so we are excel-
lent friends.

ANA. It is no dishonor to a soldier to be proud of his
skill in arms.

DON JUAN. You would rather not meet him, probably.

ANA. How dare you say that ?

DON JUAN. Oh, that is the usual feeling here. You may
remember that on earth — though of course we never con-
fessed it — the death of anyone we knew, even those we
liked best, was always mingled with a certain satisfaction
at being finally done with them.

ANA, Monster ! Never, never.

DON JUAN [placidly^ I see you recognize the feeling.
Yes : a funeral was always a festivity in black, especially
the funeral of a relative. At all events, family ties are
rarely kept up here. Your father is quite accustomed to
this : he will not expect any devotion from you.

ANA. Wretch : I wore mourning for him all my life.

DON JUAN. Yes : it became you. But a life of mourning
is one thing : an eternity of it quite another. Besides, here
you are as dead as he. Can anything be more ridiculous
than one dead person mourning for another? Do not look
shocked, my dear Ana ; and do not be alarmed : there is
plenty of humbug in hell (indeed there is hardly anything
else) ; but the humbug of death and age and change is
dropped because here we are all dead and all eternal. You
will pick up our ways soon.

ANA. And will all the men call me their dear Ana?

DON JUAN. No. That was a slip of the tongue. I beg
your pardon.

ANA {^almost tenderly'] Juan : did you really love me when
you behaved so disgracefully to me ?

DON JUAN [impatiently] Oh, I beg you not to begin talk-
ing about love. Here they talk of nothing else but love —
its beauty, its holiness, its spirituality, its devil knows what !
— excuse me ; but it does so bore me. They dont know
what theyre talking about : I do. They think they have

Act III Man and Superman 95

achieved the perfection of love because they have no bodies.
Sheer imaginative debauchery! Faugh!

ANA. Has even death failed to refine your soul, Juan ?
Has the terrible judgment of which my father's statue was
the minister taught you no reverence ?

DON JUAN. How is that very flattering statue, by the way ?
Does it still come to supper with naughty people and cast
them into this bottomless pit?

ANA. It has been a great expense to me. The boys in
the monastery school would not let it alone : the mischiev-
ous ones broke it ; and the studious ones wrote their names
on it. Three new noses in two years, and fingers without
end. I had to leave it to its fate at last ; and now I fear it
is shockingly mutilated. My poor father !

DON JUAN. Hush! Listen! [Tzao great chords rolling on
syncopated waves of sound break forth: D minor and its domi-
nant: a sound of dreadful joy to all musicians\ Ha ! Mozart's
statue music. It is your father. You had better disappear
until I prepare him. \^8he vanishes'].

From the void comes a living statue of white marble^ designed
to represent a majestic old man. But he waives his majesty with
infinite grace; walks with a feather-like step ; and makes every
wrinkle in his war worn visage brim over with holiday joyousness.
To his sculptor he owes a perfectly trained figure^ which he
carries erect and trim; and the ends of his moustache curl up,
elastic as watchsprings^ giving him an air which, but for its
Spanish dignity, would be called jaunty. He is on the pleasantest
terms with Don Juan. His voice, save for a much more distin-
guished intonation, is so like the voice of Roebuck Ramsden that it
calls attention to the fact that they are not unlike one another in
spite of their very dijferent fashions of shaving].

DON JUAN. Ah, here you are, my friend. Why dont you
learn to sing the splendid music Mozart has written for
you?

THE STATUE. Unluckily he has written it for a bass voice.
Mine is a counter tenor. Well : have you repented yet?

DON JUAN. I have too much consideration for you to

96 Man and Superman Act III

repent, Don Gonzalo. If I did, you would have no excuse
for coming from Heaven to argue with me.

THE STATUE. Truc. Remain obdurate, my boy. I wish
I had killed you, as I should have done but for an accident.
Then I should have come here ; and you would have had
a statue and a reputation for piety to live up to. Any news ?

DON JUAN. Yes : your daughter is dead.

THE STATUE [puzzkdl My daughter ? [Recollecting] Oh !
the one you were taken with. Let me see : what was her
name ?

DON JUAN. Ana.

THE STATUE. To be surc : Ana. A goodlooking girl, if I
recollect aright. Have you warned Whatshisname — her
husband ?

DON JUAN. My friend Ottavio ? No : I have not seen
him since Ana arrived.

Ana comes indignantly to light.

ANA. What does this mean? Ottavio here and your
friend ! And you, father, have forgotten my name. You are
indeed turned to stone.

THE STATUE. My dear : I am so much more admired in
marble than I ever was in my own person that I have
retained the shape the sculptor gave me. He was one of
the first men of his day : you must acknowledge that.

ANA. Father ! Vanity ! personal vanity ! from you !

THE STATUE. Ah, you outlivcd that wcakucss, my daughter :
you must be nearly 80 by this time. I was cut off (by an
accident) in my 64th year, and am considerably your junior
in consequence. Besides, my child, in this place, what our
libertine friend here would call the farce of parental wisdom
is dropped. Regard me, I beg, as a fellow creature, not as
a father.

ANA. You speak as this villain speaks.

THE STATUE. Juau is a sound thinker. Ana. A bad fencer,
but a sound thinker.

ANA [horror creeping upon her] I begin to understand.
These are devils, mocking me. I had better pray.

Act III Man and Superman 97

THE STATUE [coTisoling />er] No, no, no, my child : do not
pray. If you do, you will throw away the main advantage
of this place. Written over the gate here are the words
"Leave every hope behind, ye who enter." Only think
what a relief that is ! For what is hope ? A form of moral
responsibility. Here there is no hope, and consequently no
duty, no work, nothing to be gained by praying, nothing to
be lost by doing what you like. Hell, in short, is a place
where you have nothing to do but amuse yourself. [Don
Juan sighs deeplj\. You sigh, friend Juan ; but if you dwelt
in heaven, as I do, you would realize your advantages.

DON JUAN. You are in good spirits to-day. Commander.
You are positively brilliant. What is the matter ?

THE STATUE. I havc come to a momentous decision, my
boy. But first, where is our friend the Devil ? I must con-
sult him in the matter. And Ana would like to make his
acquaintance, no doubt.

ANA. You are preparing some torment for me.

DON JUAN. All that is superstition, Ana. Reassure your-
self. Remember : the devil is not so black as he is painted.

THE STATUE. Let US give him a call.

At the wave of the statue's hand the great chords roll out
again; but this time Mozart's music gets grotesquely adulterated
with Gounod's. A scarlet halo begins to glow; and into it the
Devil rises, very Mephistophelean, and not at all unlike Men-
doza, though not so interesting. He looks older ; is getting
prematurely bald; and, in spite of an effusion of goodnature
and friendliness, is peevish and sensitive when his advances are
not reciprocated. He does not inspire much confidence in his
powers of hard work or endurance, and is, on the whole, a dis-
agreeably self-indulgent looking person; but he is clever and
plausible, though perceptibly less well bred than the two other
men, and enormously less vital than the woman.

THE DEVIL \heartily'\ Have I the pleasure of again re-
ceiving a visit from the illustrious Commander of Cala-
trava? [Coldly'] Don Juan, your servant. [Politely] And a
strange lady? My respects, Sefiora.

H

98 Man and Superman Act III

ANA. Are you —

THE DEVIL [hzamg] Lucifer, at your service.

ANA. I shall go mad.

THE DEVIL [gallantly'] Ah, Sefiora, do not be anxious.
You come to us from earth, full of the prejudices and
terrors of that priest-ridden place. You have heard me ill
spoken of; and yet, believe me, I have hosts of friends
there.

ANA. Yes : you reign in their hearts.

THE DEVIL [shaking his head] You flatter me, Sefiora;
but you are mistaken. It is true that the world cannot get
on without me ; but it never gives me credit for that : in
its heart it mistrusts and hates me. Its sympathies are all
with misery, with poverty, with starvation of the body and
of the heart. I call on it to sympathize with joy, with
love, with happiness, with beauty —

DON JUAN [nauseated] Excuse me : I am going. You
know I cannot stand this.

THE DEVIL [angrily] Yes : I know that you are no friend
of mine.

THE STATUE. What harm is he doing you, Juan? It
seems to me that he was talking excellent sense when you
interrupted him.

THE DEVIL [warmly shaking the statue'' s hand] Thank
you, my friend : thank you. You have always understood
me : he has always disparaged and avoided me.

DON JUAN. I have treated you with perfect courtesy.

THE DEVIL. Courtesy ! What is courtesy ? I care nothing
for mere courtesy. Give me warmth of heart, true sincerity,
the bond of sympathy with love and joy —

DON JUAN. You are making me ill.

THE DEVIL. There! [Appealing to the statue] You hear,
sir ! Oh, by what irony of fate was this cold selfish egotist
sent to my kingdom, and you taken to the icy mansions of
the sky!

THE STATUE. I cant complain. I was a hypocrite : and
it served me right to be sent to heaven.

Act III Man and Superman 99

THE DEVIL. Why, sir, do you not join us, and leave a
sphere for which your temperament is too sympathetic,
your heart too warm, your capacity for enjoyment too
generous?

THE STATUE. I havc this day resolved to do so. In future,
excellent Son of the Morning, I am yours. I have left
Heaven for ever.

THE DEVIL [again grasping his hand'\ Ah, what an honor
for me ! What a triumph for our cause ! Thank you, thank
you. And now, my friend — I may call you so at last —
could you not persuade him to take the place you havc
left vacant above?

THE STATUE [shaking his head'\ I cannot conscientiously
recommend anybody with whom I am on friendly terms
to deliberately make himself dull and uncomfortable.

THE DEVIL. Of course not; but are you sure he would
be uncomfortable ? Of course you know best : you brought
him here originally; and we had the greatest hopes of
him. His sentiments were in the best taste of our best
people. You remember how he sang ? [He begins to sing in
a nasal operatic baritone^ tremulous from an eternity of misuse
in the French manner^

Vivan le femmine !
Viva il buon vino !

THE STATUE [taking up the tune an octave higher in his
counter tenor]

Sostegno e gloria
D'umanit^.

THE DEVIL. Precisely. Well, he never sings for us now.

DON JUAN. Do you complain of that? Hell is full of
musical amateurs : music is the brandy of the damned.
May not one lost soul be permitted to abstain?

THE DEVIL. You dare blaspheme against the subliraest
of the arts !

loo Man and Superman Act ill

DON JUAN [with cold disgust'] You talk like a hysterical
woman fawning on a fiddler.

THE DEVIL. I am not angry. I merely pity you. You
have no soul ; and you are unconscious of all that you
lose. Now you, Senor Commander, are a born musician.
How well you sing! Mozart would be delighted if he
were still here; but he moped and went to heaven.
Curious how these clever men, whom you would have
supposed born to be popular here, have turned out social
failures, like Don Juan !

DON JUAN. I am really very sorry to be a social failure.

THE DEVIL. Not that wc dont admire your intellect,
you know. We do. But I look at the matter from your own
point of view. You dont get on with us. The place doesnt
suit you. The truth is, you have — I wont say no heart ;
for we know that beneath all your affected cynicism you
have a warm one —

DON JUAN [shrinking] Dont, please dont.

THE DEVIL [nettled] Well, youve no capacity for enjoy-
ment. Will that satisfy you ?

DON JUAN. It is a somewhat less insufferable form of
cant than the other. But if youll allow me, I'll take re-
fuge, as usual, in solitude.

THE DEVIL. Why not take refuge in Heaven? Thats
the proper place for you. [To And] Come, Senora ! could
you not persuade him for his own good to try change of air ?

ANA. But can he go to Heaven if he wants to ?

THE DEVIL. Whats to prevent him?

ANA. Can anybody — can / go to Heaven if I want to?

THE DEVIL [rather contemptuously] Certainly, if your
taste lies that way.

ANA. But why doesnt everybody go to Heaven, then?

THE STATUE [chuckUng] I Can tell you that, my dear.
It's because heaven is the most angelically dull place in
all creation : thats why.

THE DEVIL. His exccllcncy the Commander puts it
with military bluntness ; but the strain of living in Heaven

Act III Man and Superman loi

is intolerable. There is a notion that 1 was turned out of
it; but as a matter of fact nothing could have induced
me to stay there, l simply left it and organized this place.

THE STATUE. I dout wondci at it. Nobody could stand
an eternity of heaven.

THE DEVIL. Oh, it suits somc people. Let us be just,
Commander : it is a question of temperament. I dont
admire the heavenly temperament : I dont understand it :
I dont know that I particularly w^ant to understand it ;
but it takes all sorts to make a universe. There is no
accounting for tastes : there are people who like it. I
think Don Juan would like it.

DON JUAN. But — pardon my frankness — could you really
go back there if you desired to; or are the grapes sour?

THE DEVIL. Back there ! I often go back there. Have
you never read the book of Job? Have you any canonical
authority for assuming that there is any barrier between
our circle and the other one?

ANA. But surely there is a great gulf fixed.

THE DEVIL. Dear lady: a parable must not be taken
literally. The gulf is the difference between the angelic
and the diabolic temperament. What more impassable gulf
could you have? Think of what you have seen on earth.
There is no physical gulf between the philosopher's class
room and the bull ring ; but the bull fighters do not come
to the class room for all that. Have you ever been in the
country where I have the largest following — England?
There they have great racecourses, and also concert rooms
where they play the classical compositions of his Excel-
lency's friend Mozart. Those who go to the racecourses
can stay away from them and go to the classical concerts
instead if they like : there is no law against it ; for English-
men never will be slaves : they are free to do whatever
the Government and public opinion allow them to do.
And the classical concert is admitted to be a higher, more
cultivated, poetic, intellectual, ennobling place than the
racecourse. But do the lovers of racing desert their sport

102 Man and Superman Act ill

and flock to the concert room? Not they. They would
suffer there all the weariness the Commander has suffered
in heaven. There is the great gulf of the parable between
the two places. A mere physical gulf they could bridge;
or at least I could bridge it for them (the earth is full of
Devil's Bridges); but the gulf of dislike is impassable and
eternal. And that is the only gulf that separates my friends
here from those who are invidiously called the blest.

ANA. I shall go to heaven at once.

THE STATUE. My child : one word of warning first. Let
me complete my friend Lucifer's similitude of the classical
concert. At every one of those concerts in England you
will find rows of weary people who are there, not because
they really like classical music, but because they think
they ought to like it. Well, there is the same thing in
heaven. A number of people sit there in glory, not be-
cause they are happy, but because they think they owe it
to their position to be in heaven. They are almost all
English.

THE DEVIL. Yes : the Southerners give it up and join me
just as you have done. But the English really do not seem
to know when they are thoroughly miserable. An English-
man thinks he is moral when he is only uncomfortable.

THE STATUE. In short, my daughter, if you go to Heaven
without being naturally qualified for it, you will not enjoy
yourself there.

ANA. And who dares say that I am not naturally quali-
fied for it? The most distinguished princes of the Church
have never questioned it. I owe it to myself to leave this
place at once.

THE DEVIL \offended'\ As you please, Senora. I should
have expected better taste from you.

ANA. Father : I shall expect you to come with me. You
cannot stay here. What will people say?

THE STATUE. Pcople ! Why, the best people are here —
princes of the church and all. So few go to Heaven, and
so many come here, that the blest, once called a heavenly

Act III Man and Superman 103

host, are a continually dwindling minority. The saints,
the fathers, the elect of long ago arc the cranks, the fad-
dists, the outsiders of to-day.

THE DEVIL. It is truc. From the beginning of my career
I knew that I should win in the long run by sheer weight
of public opinion, in spite of the long campaign of mis-
representation and calumny against me. At bottom the
universe is a constitutional one ; and with such a majority
as mine I cannot be kept permanently out of office.

DON JUAN. I think. Ana, you had better stay here.

ANA [Jfa/ous/y] You do not want me to go with you.

DON JUAN. Surely you do not want to enter Heaven in
the company of a reprobate like me.

ANA. All souls are equally precious. You repent, do
you not ?

DON JUAN. My dear Ana, you are silly. Do you suppose
heaven is like earth, where people persuade themselves
that what is done can be undone by repentance; that
what is spoken can be unspoken by withdrawing it; that
what is true can be annihilated by a general agreement to
give it the lie ? No : heaven is the home of the masters of
reality : that is why I am going thither.

ANA. Thank you : I am going to heaven for happiness.
I have had quite enough of reality on earth.

DON JUAN. Then you must stay here ; for hell is the
home of the unreal and of the seekers for happiness. It is
the only refuge from heaven, which is, as I tell you, the
home of the masters of reality, and from earth, which is
the home of the slaves of reality. The earth is a nursery in
which men and women play at being heros and heroines,
saints and sinners ; but they are dragged down from their
fool's paradise by their bodies : hunger and cold and thirst,
age and decay and disease, death above all, make them
slaves of reality : thrice a day meals must be eaten and
digested : thrice a century a new generation must be
engendered : ages of faith, of romance, and of science are
all driven at last to have but one prayer "Make me a

I04 Man and Superman Act III

healthy animal." But here you escape this tyranny of the
flesh ; for here you are not an animal at all : you are a
ghost, an appearance, an illusion, a convention, deathless,
ageless : in a word, bodiless. There are no social questions
here, no political questions, no religious questions, best of
all, perhaps, no sanitary questions. Here you call your
appearance beauty, your emotions love, your sentiments
heroism, your aspirations virtue, just as you did on earth;
but here there are no hard facts to contradict you, no
ironic contrast of your needs with your pretensions, no
human comedy, nothing but a perpetual romance, a uni-
versal melodrama. As our German friend put it in his
poem, "the poetically nonsensical here is good sense; and
the Eternal Feminine draws us ever upward and on" —
without getting us a step farther. And yet you want to
leave this paradise !

ANA. But if Hell be so beautiful as this, how glorious
must heaven be !

The Devil^ the Statue, and Don Juan all begin to speak
at once in violent protest; then stop, abashed,

DON JUAN. I beg your pardon.

THE DEVIL. Not at all. I interrupted you.

THE STATUE. You wcrc goiug to Say something.

DON JUAN. After you, gentlemen.

THE DEVIL \to Don J uan'] You have been so eloquent on
the advantages of my dominions that 1 leave you to do equal
justice to the drawbacks of the alternative establishment.

DON JUAN. In Heaven, as I picture it, dear lady, you
live and work instead of playing and pretending. You
face things as they are ; you escape nothing but glamor ;
and your steadfastness and your peril are your glory. If
the play still goes on here and on earth, and all the world
is a stage. Heaven is at least behind the scenes. But
Heaven cannot be described by metaphor. Thither I shall
go presently, because there I hope to escape at last from
lies and from the tedious, vulgar pursuit of happiness, to
spend my eons in contemplation —

Act III Man and Superman 105

THE STATUE. Ugh !

DON JUAN. Sefior Commander : I do not blame your dis-
gust : a picture gallery is a dull place for a blind man.
But even as you enjoy the contemplation of such romantic
mirages as beauty and pleasure ; so would I enjoy the con-
templation of that which interests me above all things :
namely, Life : the force that ever strives to attain greater
power of contemplating itself. What made this brain of
mine, do you think ? Not the need to move my limbs ;
for a rat with half my brains moves as well as I. Not
merely the need to do, but the need to know what I do,
lest in my blind efforts to live I should be slaying myself.

THE STATUE. You would havc slain yourself in your
blind efforts to fence but for my foot slipping, my friend.

DON JUAN. Audacious ribald : your laughter will finish
in hideous boredom before morning.

THE STATue. Ha ha ! Do you remember how I frightened
you when I said something like that to you from my
pedestal in Seville ? It sounds rather flat without my trom-
bones.

DON JUAN. They tell me it generally sounds flat with
them, Commander.

ANA. Oh, do not interrupt with these frivolities, father.
Is there nothing in Heaven but contemplation, Juan?

DON JUAN. In the Heaven I seek, no other joy. But
there is the work of helping Life in its struggle upward.
Think of how it wastes and scatters itself, how it raises
up obstacles to itself and destroys itself in its ignorance
and blindness. It needs a brain, this irresistible force, lest
in its ignorance it should resist itself. What a piece of
work is man ! says the poet. Yes : but what a blunderer !
Here is the highest miracle of organization yet attained by
life, the most intensely alive thing that exists, the most
conscious of all the organisms ; and yet, how wretched
are his brains ! Stupidity made sordid and cruel by the
realities learnt from toil and poverty : Imagination resolved
to starve sooner than face these realities, piling up illusions

io6 Man and Superman Act III

to hide them, and calling itself cleverness, genius ! And
each accusing the other of its own defect: Stupidity-
accusing Imagination of folly, and Imagination accusing
Stupidity of ignorance : whereas, alas ! Stupidity has all
the knowledge, and Imagination all the intelligence.

THE DEVIL. And a pretty kettle offish they make of it
between them. Did I not say, when I was arranging that
affair of Faust's, that all Man's reason has done for him is
to make him beastlier than any beast. One splendid body
is worth the brains of a hundred dyspeptic, flatulent
philosophers.

DON JUAN. You forget that brainless magnificence of
body has been tried. Things immeasurably greater than
man in every respect but brain have existed and perished.
The megatherium, the icthyosaurus have paced the earth
with seven league steps and hidden the day with cloud
vast wings. Where are they now? Fossils in museums, and
so few and imperfect at that, that a knuckle bone or a
tooth of one of them is prized beyond the lives of a thou-
sand soldiers. These things lived and wanted to live ; but
for lack of brains they did not know how to carry out
their purpose, and so destroyed themselves.

THE DEVIL. And is Man any the less destroying himself
for all this boasted brain of his ? Have you walked up and
down upon the earth lately? I have; and I have examined
Man's wonderful inventions. And I tell you that in the
arts of life man invents nothing; but in the arts of death
he outdoes Nature herself, and produces by chemistry and
machinery all the slaughter of plague, pestilence and
famine. The peasant I tempt to-day eats and drinks what
was eaten and drunk by the peasants of ten thousand years
ago; and the house he lives in has not altered as much in
a thousand centuries as the fashion of a lady's bonnet in a
score of weeks. But when he goes out to slay, he carries a
marvel of mechanism that lets loose at the touch of his
finger all the hidden molecular energies, and leaves the
javelin, the arrow, the blowpipe of his fathers far behind.

Act III Man and Superman 107

In the arts of peace Man is a bungler. I have seen his
cotton factories and the like, with machinery that a greedy
dog could have invented if it had wanted money instead
of food. I know his clumsy typewriters and bungling loco-
motives and tedious bicycles : they are toys compared to
the Maxim gun, the submarine torpedo boat. There is
nothing in Man's industrial machinery but his greed and
sloth : his heart is in his weapons. This marvellous force
of Life of which you boast is a force of Death : Man
measures his strength by his destructiveness. What is his
religion? An excuse for hating me. What is his law? An
excuse for hanging you. What is his morality? Gentility!
an excuse for consuming without producing. What is his
art? An excuse for gloating over pictures of slaughter. What
are his politics? Either the worship of a despot because a
despot can kill, or parliamentary cockfighting. I spent an
evening lately in a certain celebrated legislature, and heard
the pot lecturing the kettle for its blackness, and ministers
answering questions. When I left I chalked up on the
door the old nursery saying "Ask no questions and you
will be told no lies." I bought a sixpenny family magazine,
and found it full of pictures of young men shooting and
stabbing one another. I saw a man die : he was a London
bricklayer's laborer with seven children. He left seventeen
pounds club money; and his wife spent it all on his
funeral and went into the workhouse with the children
next day. She would not have spent sevenpence on her
children's schooling : the law had to force her to let them
be taught gratuitously; but on death she spent all she had.
Their imagination glows, their energies rise up at the idea
of death, these people: they love it; and the more hor-
rible it is the more they enjoy it. Hell is a place far above
their comprehension : they derive their notion of it from
two of the greatest fools that ever lived, an Italian and an
Englishman. The Italian described it as a place of mud,
frost, filth, fire, and venomous serpents : all torture. This
ass, when he was not lying about me, was maundering

io8 Man and Superman Act III

about some woman whom he saw once in the street. The
Englishman described me as being expelled from Heaven
by cannons and gunpowder; and to this day every Briton
believes that the whole of his silly story is in the Bible.
What else he says I do not know ; for it is all in a long
poem which neither I nor anyone else ever succeeded in
wading through. It is the same in everything. The highest
form of literature is the tragedy, a play in which everybody
is murdered at the end. In the old chronicles you read of
earthquakes and pestilences, and are told that these shewed
the power and majesty of God and the littleness of Man.
Nowadays the chronicles describe battles. In a battle two
bodies of men shoot at one another with bullets and ex-
plosive shells until one body runs away, when the others
chase the fugitives on horseback and cut them to pieces as
they fly. And this, the chronicle concludes, shews the
greatness and majesty of empires, and the littleness of the
vanquished. Over such battles the people run about the
streets yelling with delight, and egg their Governments on
to spend hundreds of millions of money in the slaughter,
whilst the strongest Ministers dare not spend an extra
penny in the pound against the poverty and pestilence
through which they themselves daily walk. I could give
you a thousand instances ; but they all come to the same
thing : the power that governs the earth is not the power
of Life but of Death ; and the inner need that has nerved
Life to the effort of organizing itself into the human being
is not the need for higher life but for a more efficient
engine of destruction. The plague, the famine, the earth-
quake, the tempest were too spasmodic in their action ;
the tiger and crocodile were too easily satiated and not
cruel enough : something more constantly, more ruthlessly,
more ingeniously destructive was needed; and that some-
thing was Man, the inventor of the rack, the stake, the
gallows, and the electrocutor ; of the sword and gun;
above all, of justice, duty, patriotism and all the other
isms by which even those who are clever enough to be

Act III Man and Superman 109

humanely disposed are persuaded to become the most
destructive of all the destroyers.

DON JUAN. Pshaw ! all this is old. Your weak side, my
diabolic friend, is that you have always been a gull : you
take Man at his own valuation. Nothing would flatter him
more than your opinion of him. He loves to think of him-
self as bold and bad. He is neither one nor the other : he
is only a coward. Call him tyrant, murderer, pirate, bully ;
and he will adore you, and swagger about with the con-
sciousness of having the blood of the old sea kings in his
veins. Call him liar and thief; and he will only take an
action against you for libel. But call him coward; and he
will go mad with rage : he will face death to outface that
stinging truth. Man gives every reason for his conduct
save one, every excuse for his crimes save one, every plea
for his safety save one ; and that one is his cowardice.
Yet all his civilization is founded on his cowardice, on his
abject tameness, which he calls his respectability. There
are limits to what a mule or an ass will stan^ ; but Man
will suffer himself to be degraded until his vileness be-
comes so loathsome to his oppressors that they themselves
arc forced to reform it.

THE DEVIL. Precisely. And these are the creatures in
whom you discover what you call a Life Force !

DON JUAN. Yes ; for now comes the most surprising part
of the whole business.

THE STATUE. Whats that?

DON JUAN. Why, that you can make any of these cowards
brave by simply putting an idea into his head.

THE STATUE. Stuff^! As an old soldier I admit the
cowardice : it's as universal as sea sickness, and matters
just as little. But that about putting an idea into a man's
head is stuff and nonsense. In a battle all you need to
make you fight is a little hot blood and the knowledge
that it's more dangerous to lose than to win.

DON JUAN. That is perhaps why battles are so useless.
But men never really overcome fear until they imagine

I lo Man and Superman Act III

they are fighting to further a universal purpose — fighting
for an idea, as they call it. Why was the Crusader braver
than the pirate ? Because he fought, not for himself, but
for the Cross. What force was it that met him with a valor
as reckless as his own ? The force of men who fought, not
for themselves, but for Islam. They took Spain from us,
though we were fighting for our very hearths and homes ;
but when we, too, fought for that mighty idea, a Catholic
Church, we swept them back to Africa.

THE DEVIL [ironically'] What ! you a Catholic, Senor
Don Juan ! A devotee ! My congratulations.

THE STATUE [seriously] Come come ! as a soldier, I can
listen to nothing against the Church.

DON JUAN. Have no fear, Commander : this idea of a
Catholic Church will survive Islam, will survive the Cross,
will survive even that vulgar pageant of incompetent
schoolboyish gladiators which you call the Army.

THE STATUE. Juan : you will force me to call you to
account for this.

DON JUAN. Useless : I cannot fence. Every idea for
which Man will die will be a Catholic idea. When the
Spaniard learns at last that he is no better than the Saracen,
and his prophet no better than Mahomet, he will arise,
more Catholic than ever, and die on a barricade across the
filthy slum he starves in, for universal liberty and equality.

THE STATUE. Bosh !

DON JUAN. What you call bosh is the only thing men
dare die for. Later on. Liberty will not be Catholic
enough : men will die for human perfection, to which they
will sacrifice all their liberty gladly.

THE DEVIL. Ay : they will never be at a loss for an ex-
cuse for killing one another.

DON JUAN. What of that ? It is not death that matters,
but the fear of death. It is not killing and dying that
degrades us, but base living, and accepting the wages and
profits of degradation. Better ten dead men than one live
slave or his master. Men shall yet rise up, father against

Act III Man and Superman 1 1 1

son and brother against brother, and kill one another for
the great Catholic idea of abolishing slavery.

THE DEVIL. Yes, whcn the Liberty and Equality of
which you prate shall have made free white Christians
cheaper in the labor market than black heathen slaves sold
by auction at the block.

DON JUAN. Never fear ! the white laborer shall have his
turn too. But I am not now defending the illusory forms
the great ideas take. I am giving you examples of the fact
that this creature Man, who in his own selfish affairs is a
coward to the backbone, will fight for an idea like a hero.
He may be abject as a citizen ; but he is dangerous as a
fanatic. He can only be enslaved whilst he is spiritually
weak enough to listen to reason. I tell you, gentlemen, if
you can shew a man a piece of what he now calls God's
work to do, and what he will later on call by many new
names, you can make him entirely reckless of the conse-
quences to himself personally.

ANA. Yes : he shirks all his responsibilities, and leaves
his wife to grapple with them.

THE STATUE. Well Said, daughter. Do not let him talk
you out of your common sense.

THE DEVIL. Alas ! Scfior Commander, now that we have
got on to the subject of Woman, he will talk more than
ever. However, I confess it is for me the one supremely
interesting subject.

DON JUAN. To a woman, Senora, man's duties and
responsibilities begin and end with the task of getting
bread for her children. To her, Man is only a means to
the end of getting children and rearing them.

ANA. Is that your idea of a woman's mind ? I call it
cynical and disgusting materialism.

DON JUAN. Pardon me, Ana : I said nothing about a
woman's whole mind. 1 spoke of her view of Man as a
separate sex. It is no more cynical than her view of herself
as above all things a Mother. Sexually, Woman is Nature's
contrivance for perpetuating its highest achievement. Sexu-

112 Man and Superman Act ill

ally, Man is Woman's contrivance for fulfilling Nature's
behest in the most economical way. She knows by instinct
that far back in the evolutional process she invented him,
differentiated him, created him in order to produce some-
thing better than the single -sexed process can produce.
Whilst he fulfils the purpose for which she made him, he
is welcome to his dreams, his follies, his ideals, his heroisms,
provided that the keystone of them all is the worship of
woman, of motherhood, of the family, of the hearth. But
how rash and dangerous it was to invent a separate creature
whose sole function was her own impregnation ! For mark
what has happened. First, Man has multiplied on her
hands until there are as many men as women ; so that she
has been unable to employ for her purposes more than a
fraction of the immense energy she has left at his disposal
by saving him the exhausting labor of gestation. This
superfluous energy has gone to his brain and to his muscle.
He has become too strong to be controlled by her bodily,
and too imaginative and mentally vigorous to be content
with mere self-reproduction. He has created civilization
without consulting her, taking her domestic labor for
granted as the foundation of it.

ANA. That is true, at all events.

THE DEVIL. Yes; and this civilization! what is it, after all ?

DON JUAN. After all, an excellent peg to hang your
cynical commonplaces on ; but before all, it is an attempt
on Man's part to make himself something more than the
mere instrument of Woman's purpose. So far, the result
of Life's continual effort not only to maintain itself, but
to achieve higher and higher organization and completer
self-consciousness, is only, at best, a doubtful campaign
between its forces and those of Death and Degeneration.
The battles in this campaign are mere blunders, mostly
won, like actual military battles, in spite of the commanders.

THE STATUE. That is a dig at me. No matter : go on,
go on.

DON JUAN, It is a dig at a much higher power than you,

Act III Man and Superman 1 1 3

Commander. Still, you must have noticed in your pro-
fession that even a stupid general can win battles when
the enemy's general is a little stupider.

THE STATUE [z/ery seriously'] Most true, Juan, most true.
Some donkeys have amazing luck.

DON JUAN. Well, the Life Force is stupid ; but it is not
so stupid as the forces of Death and Degeneration. Besides,
these are in its pay all the time. And so Life wins, after a
fashion. What mere copiousness of fecundity can supply
and mere greed preserve, we possess. The survival of
whatever form of civilization can produce the best rifle and
the best fed riflemen is assured.

THE DEVIL. Exactly! the survival, not of the most
effective means of Life but of the most effective means
of Death. You always come back to my point, in spite of
your wrigglings and evasions and sophistries, not to mention
the intolerable length of your speeches.

DON JUAN. Oh come ! who began making long speeches ?
However, if I overtax your intellect, you can leave us and
seek the society of love and beauty and the rest of your
favorite boredoms.

THE DEVIL [much offended'] This is not fair, Don Juan,
and not civil. I am also on the intellectual plane. Nobody
can appreciate it more than I do. I am arguing fairly with
you, and, I think, utterly refuting you. Let us go on for
another hour if you like.

DON JUAN. Good : let us.

THE STATUE. Not that I scc any prospect of ^our coming
to any point in particular, Juan. Still, since in this place,
instead of merely killing time we have to kill eternity, go
ahead by all means.

DON JUAN [somewhat impatiently'] My point, you marble-
headed old masterpiece, is only a step ahead of you. Are
we agreed that Life is a force which has made innumerable
experiments in organizing itself; that the mammoth and
the man, the mouse and the megatherium, the flies and
the fleas and the Fathers of the Church, are all more or

I

114 Man and Superman Act III

less successful attempts to build up that raw force into
higher and higher individuals, the ideal individual being
omnipotent, omniscient, infallible, and withal completely,
unilludedly self-conscious : in short, a god ?

THE DEVIL. I agree, for the sake of argument.

THE STATUE. I agree, for the sake of avoiding argument.

ANA. I most emphatically disagree as regards the Fathers
of the Church; and I must beg you not to drag them into
the argument.

DON JUAN. I did so purely for the sake of alliteration.
Ana ; and I shall make no further allusion to them. And
now, since we are, with that exception, agreed so far, will
you not agree with me further that Life has not measured
the success of its attempts at godhead by the beauty or
bodily perfection of the result, since in both these respects
the birds, as our friend Aristophanes long ago pointed out,
are so extraordinarily superior, with their power of iflight
and their lovely plumage, and, may I add, the touching
poetry of their loves and nestings, that it is inconceivable
that Life, having once produced them, should, if love and
beauty were her object, start off on another line and labor
at the clumsy elephant and the hideous ape, whose grand-
children we are ?

ANA. Aristophanes was a heathen ; and you, Juan, I am
afraid, are very little better.

THE DEVIL. You coucludc, then, that Life was driving
at clumsiness and ugliness ?

DON JUAN. No, perverse devil that you are, a thousand
times no. Life was driving at brains — at its darling object:
an organ by which it can attain not only self-consciousness
but self-understanding.

THE STATUE. This is mctaphysics, Juan. Why the devil
should — [to The Devil] I beg your pardon.

THE DEVIL. Pray dont mention it. I have always re-
garded the use of my name to secure additional emphasis
as a high compliment to me. It is quite at your service,
Commander.

Act III Man and Superman 115

THE STATUE. Thank you : thats very good of you. Even
in heaven, I never quite got out of my old military habits
of speech. What I was going to ask Juan was why Life
should bother itself about getting a brain. Why should it
want to understand itself? Why not be content to enjoy
itself?

DON JUAN. Without a brain, Commander, you would
enjoy yourself without knowing it, and so lose all the
fun.

THE STATUE. Truc, most true. But I am quite content
with brain enough to know that I'm enjoying myself. I
dont want to understand why. In fact, I'd rather not. My
experience is that ones pleasures dont bear thinking
about.

DON JUAN. That is why intellect is so unpopular. But to
Life, the force behind the Man, intellect is a necessity,
because without it he blunders into death. Just as Life,
after ages of struggle, evolved that wonderful bodily organ
the eye, so that the living organism could see where it
was going and what was coming to help or threaten it,
and thus avoid a thousand dangers that formerly slew it,
so it is evolving today a mind's eye that shall see, not the
physical world, but the purpose of Life, and thereby
enable the individual to work for that purpose instead of
thwarting and baffling it by setting up shortsighted personal
aims as at present. Even as it is, only one sort of man has
ever been happy, has ever been universally respected among
all the conflicts of interests and illusions.

THE STATUE. You mean the military man.

DON JUAN. Commander: I do not mean the military
man. When the military man approaches, the world locks
up its spoons and packs ofi^ its womankind. No : I sing,
not arms and the hero, but the philosophic man : he who
seeks in contemplation to discover the inner will of the
world, in invention to discover the means of fulfilling that
will, and in action to do that will by the so-discovered
means. Of all other sorts of men I declare myself tired. They

1 1 6 Man and Superman Act ill

are tedious failures. When I was on earth, professors of
all sorts prowled round me feeling for an unhealthy spot
in me on which they could fasten. The doctors of medicine
bade me consider what I must do to save my body, and
oifered me quack cures for imaginary diseases. I replied
that I was not a hypochondriac ; so they called me Ignor-
amus and went their way. The doctors of divinity bade
me consider what I must do to save my soul ; but I was
not a spiritual hypochondriac any more than a bodily one,
and would not trouble myself about that either; so they
called me Atheist and went their way. After them came
the politician, who said there was only one purpose in
Nature, and that was to get him into parliament. I told
him I did not care whether he got into parliament or not ;
so he called me Mugwump and went his way. Then
came the romantic man, the Artist, with his love songs
and his paintings and his poems; and with him I had
great delight for many years, and some profit ; for I culti-
vated my senses for his sake ; and his songs taught me to
hear better, his paintings to see better, and his poems to
feel more deeply. But he led me at last into the worship
of Woman.

ANA. Juan !

DON JUAN. Yes : I came to believe that in her voice
was all the music of the song, in her face all the beauty
of the painting, and in her soul all the emotion of the
poem.

ANA. And you were disappointed, I suppose. Well, was
it her fault that you attributed all these perfections to her?

DON JUAN. Yes, partly. For with a wonderful instinctive
cunning, she kept silent and allowed me to glorify her; to
mistake my own visions, thoughts, and feelings for hers.
Now my friend the romantic man was often too poor or
too timid to approach those women who were beautiful or
refined enough to seem to realize his ideal ; and so he
went to his grave believing in his dream. But I was more
favored by nature and circumstance. I was of noble

Act III Man and Superman 117

birth and rich ; and when my person did not please, my
conversation flattered, though I generally found myself
fortunate in both.

THE STATUE. CoXCOmb !

DON JUAN. Yes ; but even my coxcombry pleased.
Well, I found that when I had touched a woman's imagina-
tion, she would allow me to persuade myself that she
loved me ; but when my suit was granted she never said
" I am happy : my love is satisfied " : she always said, first,
"At last, the barriers are down," and second, **When
will you come again?"

ANA. That is exactly what men say.

DON JUAN. I protest 1 never said it. But all women say
it. Well, these two speeches always alarmed me ; for the
first meant that the lady's impulse had been solely to
throw down my fortifications and gain my citadel ; and
the second openly announced that henceforth she regarded
me as her property, and counted my time as already
wholly at her disposal.

THE DEVIL. That is where your want of heart came in.

THE STATUE [shaking his head[\ You shouldnt repeat what
a woman says, Juan.

ANA \severelj\ It should be sacred to you.

THE STATUE. Still, they certainly do say it. I never
minded the barriers ; but there was always a slight shock
about the other, unless one was very hard hit indeed.

DON JUAN. Then the lady, who had been happy and idle
enough before, became anxious, preoccupied with me,
always intriguing, conspiring, pursuing, watching, waiting,
bent wholly on making sure of her prey — I being the
prey, you understand. Now this was not what I had bar-
gained for. It may have been very proper and very natural ;
but it was not music, painting, poetry and joy incarnated
in a beautiful woman. I ran away from it. I ran away
from it very often : in fact I became famous for running
away from it.

ANA. Infamous, you mean.

1 1 8 Man and Superman Act III

DON JUAN. I did not run away from you. Do you blame
me for running away from the others ?

ANA. Nonsense, man. You are talking to a woman of
"I"] now. If you had had the chance, you would have
run away from me too — if I had let you. You would
not have found it so easy with me as with some of the
others. If men will not be faithful to their home and their
duties, they must be made to be. I daresay you all want
to marry lovely incarnations of music and painting and
poetry. Well, you cant have them, because they dont
exist. If flesh and blood is not good enough for you you
must go without : thats all. Women have to put up with
flesh-and-blood husbands — and little enough of that too,
sometimes; and you will have to put up with flesh-and-
blood wives. [The Devil looks dubious. The Statue makes a
wry /ace]. I see you dont like that, any of you ; but its
true, for all that; so if you dont like it you can lump it.

DON JUAN. My dear lady, you have put my whole case
against romance into a few sentences. That is just why I
turned my back on the romantic man with the artist
nature, as he called his infatuation. I thanked him for
teaching me to use my eyes and ears; but I told him that
his beauty worshipping and happiness hunting and woman
idealizing was not worth a dump as a philosophy of life ;
so he called me Philistine and went his way.

ANA. It seems that Woman taught you something, too,
with all her defects.

DON JUAN. She did more: she interpreted all the other
teaching for me. Ah, my friends, when the barriers were
down for the first time, what an astounding illumination !
I had been prepared for infatuation, for intoxication, for
all the illusions of love's young dream; and lo! never was
my perception clearer, nor my criticism more ruthless.
The most jealous rival of my mistress never saw every
blemish in her more keenly than I. I was not duped : I
took her without chloroform.

ANA. But you did take her.

Act III Man and Superman 119

DON JUAN. That was the revelation. Up to that moment
I had never lost the sense of being my own master ; never
consciously taken a single step until my reason had ex-
amined and approved it. I had come to believe that I
was a purely rational creature : a thinker ! I said, with
the foolish philosopher, " I think ; therefore I am." It
was Woman who taught me to say "I am ; therefore I
think." And also " I would think more ; therefore I must
be more."

THE STATUE. This is cxtrcmcly abstract and meta-
physical, Juan. If you would stick to the concrete, and
put your discoveries in the form of entertaining anecdotes
about your adventures with women, your conversation
would be easier to follow.

DON JUAN. Bah! what need I add? Do you not under-
stand that when I stood face to face with Woman, every
fibre in my clear critical brain warned me to spare her and
save myself. My morals said No. My conscience said No.
My Chivalry and pity for her said No. My prudent regard
for myself said No. My ear, practised on a thousand songs
and symphonies; my eye, exercised on a thousand paint-
ings ; tore her voice, her features, her color to shreds. I
caught all those tell-tale resemblances to her father and
mother by which I knew what she would be like in thirty
years time. I noted the gleam of gold from a dead tooth
in the laughing mouth : I made curious observations of
the strange odors of the chemistry of the nerves. The
visions of my romantic reveries, in which I had trod the
plains of heaven with a deathless, ageless creature of coral
and ivory, deserted me in that supreme hour. I remem-
bered them and desperately strove to recover their illusion;
but they now seemed the emptiest of inventions : my
judgment was not to be corrupted : my brain still said No
on every issue. And whilst I was in the act of framing my
excuse to the lady. Life seized me and threw me into her
arms as a sailor throws a scrap of fish into the mouth of a
seabird.

I20 Man and Superman Act III

THE STATUE. You might as well have gone without
thinking such a lot about it, Juan. You are like all the
clever men : you have more brains than is good for you.

THE DEVIL. And were you not the happier for the
experience, Senor Don Juan?

DON JUAN. The happier, no : the wiser, yes. That
moment introduced me for the first time to myself, and,
through myself, to the world. I saw then how useless it is
to attempt to impose condition-s on the irresistible force of
Life ; to preach prudence, careful selection, virtue, honor,
chastity —

ANA. Don Juan : a word against chastity is an insult
to me.

DON JUAN. I say nothing against your chastity, Sefiora,
since it took the form of a husband and twelve children.
What more could you have done had you been the most
abandoned of women .?

ANA. I could have had twelve husbands and no children :
thats what I could have done, Juan. And let me tell you
that that would have made all the difference to the earth
which I replenished.

THE STATUE. Bravo Ana ! Juan : you are floored, quelled,
annihilated.

DON JUAN. No; for though that difference is the true
essential difference — Doiia Ana has, I admit, gone straight
to the real point — yet it is not a difference of love or
chastity, or even constancy ; for twelve children by twelve
different husbands would have replenished the earth per-
haps more effectively. Suppose my friend Ottavio had died
when you were thirty, you would never have remained a
widow : you were too beautiful. Suppose the successor of
Ottavio had died when you were forty, you would still
have been irresistible ; and a woman who marries twice
marries three times if she becomes free to do so. Twelve
lawful children borne by one highly respectable lady to
three different fathers is not impossible nor condemned by
public opinion. That such a lady may be more law abiding

Act III Man and Superman 121

than the poor girl whom we used to spurn into the gutter
for bearing one unlawful infant is no doubt true ; but dare
you say she is less self-indulgent?

ANA. She is less virtuous : that is enough for me.

DON JUAN. In that case, what is virtue but the Trade
Unionism of the married ? Let us face the facts, dear Ana.
The Life Force respects marriage only because marriage is
a contrivance of its own to secure the greatest number of
children and the closest care of them. For honor, chastity,
and all the rest of your moral figments it cares not a rap.
Marriage is the most licentious of human institutions —

ANA. Juan !

THE STATUE [protesting] Really ! —

DON JUAN [determinedly] I say the most licentious of
human institutions : that is the secret of its popularity.
And a woman seeking a husband is the most unscrupulous
of all the beasts of prey. The confusion of marriage with
morality has done more to destroy the conscience of the
human race than any other single error. Come, Ana ! do
not look shocked : you know better than any of us that
marriage is a mantrap baited with simulated accomplish-
ments and delusive idealizations. When your sainted
mother, by dint of scoldings and punishments, forced you
to learn how to play half a dozen pieces on the spinet —
which she hated as much as you did — had she any other
purpose than to delude your suitors into the belief that
your husband would have in his home an angel who would
fill it with melody, or at least play him to sleep after
dinner? You married my friend Ottavio: well, did you
ever open the spinet from the hour when the Church
united him to you ?

ANA. You are a fool, Juan. A young married woman
has something else to do than sit at the spinet without
any support for her back ; so she gets out of the habit of
playing.

DON JUAN. Not if she loves music. No : believe me, she
only throws away the bait when the bird is in the net.

122 Man and Superman Act ill

ANA [bitterly'] And men, I suppose, never throw ofF the
mask when their bird is in the net. The husband never
becomes negligent, selfish, brutal — oh never !

DON JUAN. What do these recriminations prove. Ana?
Only that the hero is as gross an imposture as the heroine.

ANA. It is all nonsense : most marriages are perfectly
comfortable.

DON JUAN. " Perfectly " is a strong expression, Ana.
What you mean is that sensible people make the best of
one another. Send me to the galleys and chain me to the
felon whose number happens to be next before mine ; and
I must accept the inevitable and make the best of the
companionship. Many such companionships, they tell me,
are touchingly affectionate ; and most are at least tolerably
friendly. But that does not make a chain a desirable orna-
ment nor the galleys an abode of bliss. Those who talk
most about the blessings of marriage and the constancy of
its vows are the very people who declare that if the chain
were broken and the prisoners left free to choose, the
whole social fabric would fly asunder. You cannot have
the argument both ways. If the prisoner is happy, why
lock him in.? If he is not, why pretend that he is?

ANA. At all events, let me take an old woman's privi-
lege again, and tell you flatly that marriage peoples the
world and debauchery does not.

DON JUAN. How if a time come when this shall cease
to be true ? Do you not know that where there is a will
there is a way — that whatever Man really wishes to do he
will finally discover a means of doing? Well, you have
done your best, you virtuous ladies, and others of your way
of thinking, to bend Man's mind wholly towards honor-
able love as the highest good, and to understand by honor-
able love romance and beauty and happiness in the posses-
sion of beautiful, refined, delicate, affectionate women.
You have taught women to value their own youth, health,
shapeliness, and refinement above all things. Well, what
place have squalling babies and household cares in this

Act III Man and Superman 123

exquisite paradise of the senses and emotions? Is it not the
inevitable end of it all that the human will shall say to the
human brain : Invent me a means by which I can have love,
beauty, romance, emotion, passion without their wretched
penalties, their expenses, their worries, their trials, their
illnesses and agonies and risks of death, their retinue of
servants and nurses and doctors and schoolmasters.

THE DEVIL. All this, Scilor Don Juan, is realized here in
my realm.

DON JUAN. Yes, at the cost of death. Man will not take
it at that price : he demands the romantic delights of your
hell whilst he is still on earth. Well, the means will be
found : the brain will not fail when the will is in earnest.
The day is coming when great nations will find their
numbers dwindling from census to census; when the six
roomed villa will rise in price above the family mansion ;
when the viciously reckless poor and the stupidly pious
rich will delay the extinction of the race only by degrading
it ; whilst the boldly prudent, the thriftily selfish and
ambitious, the imaginative and poetic, the lovers of money
and solid comfort, the worshippers of success, of art, and
of love, will all oppose to the Force of Life the device of
sterility.

THE STATUE. That is all very eloquent, my young friend ;
but if you had lived to Ana's age, or even to mine, you
would have learned that the people who get rid of the fear
of poverty and children and all the other family troubles,
and devote themselves to having a good time of it, only
leave their minds free for the fear of old age and ugliness
and impotence and death. The childless laborer is more
tormented by his wife's idleness and her constant demands
for amusement and distraction than he could be by twenty
children ; and his wife is more wretched than he. I have
had my share of vanity ; for as a young man I was admired
by women; and as a statue I am praised by art critics.
But I confess that had I found nothing to do in the world
but wallow in these delights I should have cut my throat.

1 24 Man and Superman Act III

When I married Ana's mother — or perhaps, to be strictly
correct, I should rather say when I at last gave in and
allowed Ana's mother to marry me — I knew that I was
planting thorns in my pillow, and that marriage for me, a
swaggering young officer thitherto unvanquished, meant
defeat and capture.

ANA [scandalized^ Father!

THE STATUE. I am sorry to shock you, my love ; but since
Juan has stripped every rag of decency from the discussion
I may as well tell the frozen truth.

ANA. Hmf ! I suppose I was one of the thorns.

THE STATUE. By no means : you were often a rose. You
see, your mother had most of the trouble you gave.

DON JUAN. Then may I ask. Commander, why you have
left Heaven to come here and wallow, as you express it,
in sentimental beatitudes which you confess would once
have driven you to cut your throat ?

THE STATUE [struck by this\ Egad, thats true.

THE DEVIL \alarmed'\ What ! You are going back from
your word! \To Don J^uan] And all your philosophizing
has been nothing but a mask for proselytizing! [Tb the
Statue^ Have you forgotten already the hideous dulness
from which I am offering you a refuge here? \To Don
yuan] And does your demonstration of the approaching
sterilization and extinction of mankind lead to anything
better than making the most of those pleasures of art and
love which you yourself admit refined you, elevated you,
developed you ?

DON JUAN. I never demonstrated the extinction of man-
kind. Life cannot will its own extinction either in its blind
amorphous state or in any of the forms into which it has
organized itself. I had not finished when His Excellency
interrupted me.

THE STATUE. I begin to doubt whether you ever will finish,
my friend. You are extremely fond of hearing yourself talk.

DON JUAN. True ; but since you have endured so much,
you may as well endure to the end. Long before this

Act III Man and Superman 125

sterilization which I described becomes more than a clearly
foreseen possibility, the reaction will begin. The great
central purpose of breeding the race, ay, breeding it to
heights now deemed superhuman : that purpose which is now
hidden in a mephitic cloud of love and romance and prudery
and fastidiousness, will break through into clear sunlight
as a purpose no longer to be confused with the gratification
of personal fancies, the impossible realization of boys' and
girls' dreams of bliss, or the need of older people for com-
panionship or money. The plain-spoken marriage service
of the vernacular Churches will no longer be abbreviated
and half suppressed as indelicate. The sober decency,
earnestness and authority of their declaration of the real
purpose of marriage will be honored and accepted, whilst
their romantic vowings and pledgings and until-death-do-us-
partings and the like will be expunged as unbearable frivol-
ities. Do my sex the justice to admit, Senora, that we
have always recognized that the sex relation is not a personal
or friendly relation at all.

ANA. Not a personal or friendly relation ! What relation
is more personal ? more sacred ? more holy ?

DON JUAN. Sacred and holy, if you like. Ana, but not
personally friendly. Your relation to God is sacred and holy:
dare you call it personally friendly ? In the sex relation the
universal creative energy, of which the parties are both the
helpless agents, over-rides and sweeps away all personal
considerations and dispenses with all personal relations.
The pair may be utter strangers to one another, speaking
different languages, differing in race and color, in age and
disposition, with no bond between them but a possibility
of that fecundity for the sake of which the Life Force
throws them into one another's arms at the exchange of a
glance. Do we not recognize this by allowing marriages to
be made by parents without consulting the woman ? Have
you not often expressed your disgust at the immorality of
the English nation, in which women and men of noble
birth become acquainted and court each other like peasants?

126 Man and Superman Act ill

And how much does even the peasant know of his bride or
she of him before he engages himself? Why, you would
not make a man your lawyer or your family doctor on so
slight an acquaintance as you would fall in love with and
marry him !

ANA. Yes, Juan : we know the libertine's philosophy.
Always ignore the consequences to the woman.

DON JUAN. The consequences, yes : they justify her
fierce grip of the man. But surely you do not call that
attachment a sentimental one. As well call the police-
man's attachment to his prisoner a love relation.

ANA. You see you have to confess that marriage is
necessary, though, according to you, love is the slightest
of all the relations.

DON JUAN. How do you know that it is not the greatest
of all the relations ? far too great to be a personal matter.
Could your father have served his country if he had refused
to kill any enemy of Spain unless he personally hated him?
Can a woman serve her country if she refuses to marry any
man she does not personally love ? You know it is not so :
the woman of noble birth marries as the man of noble
birth fights, on political and family grounds, not on personal
ones.

THE STATUE [impressed] A very clever point that, Juan :
I must think it over. You are really full of ideas. How did
you come to think of this one ?

DON JUAN. I learnt it by experience. When I was on
earth, and made those proposals to ladies which, though
universally condemned, have made me so interesting a
hero of legend, I was not infrequently met in some such way
as this. The lady would say that she would countenance
my advances, provided they were honorable. On inquiring
what that proviso meant, I found that it meant that I pro-
posed to get possession of her property if she had any, or
to undertake her support for life if she had not; that I
desired her continual companionship, counsel and con-
versation to the end of my days, and would bind myself

Act III Man and Superman 127

under penalties to be always enraptured by them ; and,
above all, that I would turn my back on all other women
for ever for her sake. I did not object to these conditions
because they were exorbitant and inhuman : it was their
extraordinary irrelevance that prostrated me. I invariably
replied with perfect frankness that I had never dreamt of
any of these things ; that unless the lady's character and
intellect were equal or superior to my own, her conversa-
tion must degrade and her counsel mislead me ; that her
constant companionship might, for all I knew, become in-
tolerably tedious to me ; that I could not answer for my
feelings for a week in advance, much less to the end of my
life ; that to cut me off from all natural and unconstrained
relations with the rest of my fellow creatures would narrow
and warp me if I submitted to it, and, if not, would bring
me under the curse of clandestinity ; that, finally, my pro-
posals to her were wholly unconnected with any of these
matters, and were the outcome of a perfectly simple im-
pulse of my manhood towards her womanhood.

ANA. You mean that it was an immoral impulse.

DON JUAN. Nature, my dear lady, is what you call
immoral. I blush for it; but I cannot help it. Nature is
a pandar. Time a wrecker, and Death a murderer. I have
always preferred to stand up to those facts and build
institutions on their recognition. You prefer to propitiate
the three devils by proclaiming their chastity, their thrift,
and their loving kindness ; and to base your institutions on
these flatteries. Is it any wonder that the institutions do
not work smoothly ?

THE STATUE. What uscd the ladies to say, Juan?

DON JUAN. Oh come ! Confidence for confidence. First
tell me what you used to say to the ladies.

THE STATUE. I ! Oh, I sworc that I would be faithful
to the death ; that I should die if they refused me ; that
no woman could ever be to me what she was —

ANA. She! Who?

THE STATUE. Whoevcf it happened to be at the time,

128 Man and Superman Act III

my dear. I had certain things I always said. One of them
was that even when I was eighty, one white hair of the
woman I loved would make me tremble more than the
thickest gold tress from the most beautiful young head.
Another was that I could not bear the thought of anyone
else being the mother of my children.

DON JUAN [revoIted'\ You old rascal !

THE STATUE \_stoutly'] Not a bit ; for I really believed it
with all my soul at the moment. I had a heart : not like
you. And it was this sincerity that made me successful.

DON JUAN. Sincerity ! To be fool enough to believe a
ramping, stamping, thumping lie : that is what you call
sincerity ! To be so greedy for a woman that you deceive
yourself in your eagerness to deceive her : sincerity, you
call it !

THE STATUE. Oh, damn your sophistries ! I was a man in
love, not a lawyer. And the women loved me for it, bless
them!

DON JUAN. They made you think so. What will you say
when I tell you that though I played the lawyer so
callously, they made me think so too ? I also had my
moments of infatuation in which I gushed nonsense and
believed it. Sometimes the desire to give pleasure by saying
beautiful things so rose in me on the flood of emotion that
I said them recklessly. At other times I argued against my-
self with a devilish coldness that drew tears. But I found
it just as hard to escape in the one case as in the others.
When the lady's instinct was set on me, there was nothing
for it but lifelong servitude or flight.

ANA. You dare boast, before me and my father, that
every woman found you irresistible.

DON JUAN. Am I boasting? It seems to me that I cut the
most pitiable of figures. Besides, I said "when the lady's
instinct was set on me." It was not always so ; and then,
heavens ! what transports of virtuous indignation ! what
overwhelming defiance to the dastardly seducer ! what
scenes of Imogen and lachimo !

Act III Man and Superman 129

ANA. I made no scenes. I simply called my father.

DON JUAN. And he came, sword in hand, to vindicate
outraged honor and morality by murdering me.

THE STATUE. Murdering! What do you mean? Did I
kill you or did you kill me ?

DON JUAN. Which of us was the better fencer?

THE STATUE. I WaS.

DON JUAN. Of course you were. And yet you, the hero
of those scandalous adventures you have just been relating
to us, you had the effrontery to pose as the avenger of out-
raged morality and condemn me to death. You would have
slain me but for an accident.

THE STATUE. I was expected to, Juan. That is how things
were arranged on earth. I was not a social reformer; and
[ always did what it was customary for a gentleman to do.

DON JUAN. That may account for your attacking me, but
not for the revolting hypocrisy of your subsequent proceed-
ings as a statue.

THE STATUE. That all came of my going to Heaven.

THE DEVIL. I Still fail to see, Senor Don Juan, that these
episodes in your earthly career and in that of the Senor
Commander in any way discredit my view of life. Here, I
repeat, you have all that you sought without anything that
you shrank from.

DON JUAN. On the contrary, here I have everything that
disappointed me without anything that I have not already
tried and found wanting. I tell you that as long as I can
conceive something better than myself I cannot be easy
unless I am striving to bring it into existence or clearing
the way for it. That is the law of my life. That is the
working within me of Life's incessant aspiration to higher
organization, wider, deeper, intenser self-consciousness, and
clearer self-understanding. It was the supremacy of this
purpose that reduced love for me to the mere pleasure of a
moment, art for me to the mere schooling of my faculties,
religion for mc to a mere excuse for laziness, since it had
set up a God who looked at the world and saw that it was

K

130 Man and Superman Act III

good, against the instinct in me that looked through my
eyes at the world and saw that it could be improved. I tell
you that in the pursuit of my own pleasure, my own health,
my own fortune, I have never known happiness. It was not
love for Woman that delivered me into her hands : it was
fatigue, exhaustion. When I was a child, and bruised my
head against a stone, I ran to the nearest woman and cried
away my pain against her apron. When I grew up, and
bruised my soul against the brutalities and stupidities with
which I had to strive, I did again just what I had done as
a child. I have enjoyed, too, my rests, my recuperations,
my breathing times, my very prostrations after strife ; but
rather would I be dragged through all the circles of the
foolish Italian's Inferno than through the pleasures of
Europe. That is what has made this place of eternal plea-
sures so deadly to me. It is the absence of this instinct in
you that makes you that strange monster called a Devil.
It is the success with which you have diverted the attention
of men from their real purpose, which in one degree or
another is the same as mine, to yours, that has earned you
the name of The Tempter. It is the fact that they are
doing your will, or rather drifting with your want of will,
instead of doing their own, that makes them the uncom-
fortable, false, restless, artificial, petulant, wretched creatures
they are.

THE DEVIL [mortified'^ Senor Don Juan : you are uncivil
to my friends.

DON JUAN. Pooh ! why should I be civil to them or to
you .'' In this Palace of Lies a truth or two will not hurt
you. Your friends are all the dullest dogs I know. They
are not beautiful : they are only decorated. They are not
clean : they are only shaved and starched. They are not
dignified : they are only fashionably dressed. They are not
educated : they are only college passmen. They are not
religious : they are only pewrenters. They are not moral :
they are only conventional. They are not virtuous : they
are only cowardly. They are not even vicious : they are

Act III Man and Superman 1 3 1

only "frail." They are not artistic : they are only lascivi-
ous. They are not prosperous : they are only rich. They
are not loyal, they are only servile ; not dutiful, only
sheepish ; not public spirited, only patriotic ; not courage-
ous, only quarrelsome; not determined, only obstinate;
not masterful, only domineering ; not self-controlled, only
obtuse ; not self-respecting, only vain ; not kind, only
sentimental ; not social, only gregarious ; not considerate,
only polite; not intelligent, only opinionated; not pro-
gressive, only factious; not imaginative, only superstitious ;
not just, only vindictive; not generous, only propitiatory;
not disciplined, only cowed; and not truthful at all — liars
every one of them, to the very backbone of their souls.

THE STATUE. Your flovv of words is simply amazing,
Juan. How I wish I could have talked like that to my
soldiers.

THE DEVIL. It is mcrc talk, though. It has all been said
before ; but what change has it ever made ? What notice
has the world ever taken of it?

DON JUAN. Yes, it is mere talk. But why is it mere talk ?
Because, my friend, beauty, purity, respectability, religion,
morality, art, patriotism, bravery and the rest are nothing
but words which I or anyone else can turn inside out like
a glove. Were they realities, you would have to plead
guilty to my indictment ; but fortunately for your self-
respect, my diabolical friend, they are not realities. As you
say, they are mere words, useful for duping barbarians into
adopting civilization, or the civilized poor into submitting
to be robbed and enslaved. That is the family secret of the
governing caste ; and if we who are of that caste aimed at
more Life for the world instead of at more power and
luxury for our miserable selves, that secret would make us
great. Now, since I, being a nobleman, am in the secret
too, think how tedious to me must be your unending cant
about all these moralistic figments, and how squalidly dis-
astrous your sacrifice of your lives to them! If you even
believed in your moral game enough to play it fairly, it

132 Man and Superman Act ill

would be interesting to watch; but you dont : you cheat
at every trick; and if your opponent outcheats you, you
upset the table and try to murder him.

THE DEVIL. On earth there may be some truth in this,
because the people are uneducated and cannot appreciate
my religion of love and beauty; but here —

DON JUAN. Oh yes : I know. Here there is nothing but
love and beauty. Ugh ! it is like sitting for all eternity at
the first act of a fashionable play, before the complications
begin. Never in my worst moments of superstitious terror
on earth did I dream that Hell was so horrible. I live, like
a hairdresser, in the continual contemplation of beauty,
toying with silken tresses. I breathe an atmosphere of
sweetness, like a confectioner's shopboy. Commander : are
there any beautiful women in Heaven ?

THE STATUE. Nonc. Absolutcly none. All dowdies. Not
two pennorth of jewellery among a dozen of them. They
might be men of fifty.

DON JUAN. T am impatient to get there. Is the word
beauty ever mentioned; and are there any artistic people?

THE STATUE. I givc you my word they wont admire a
fine statue even when it walks past them.

DON JUAN. I go.

THE DEVIL. Don Juan : shall I be frank with you?

DON JUAN. Were you not so before ?

THE DEVIL. As far as I went, yes. But I will now go
further, and confess to you that men get tired of every-
thing, of heaven no less than of hell ; and that all history
is nothing but a record of the oscillations of the world be-
tween these two extremes. An epoch is but a swing of the
pendulum ; and each generation thinks the world is pro-
gressing because it is always moving. But when you are as
old as I am ; when you have a thousand times wearied of
heaven, like myself and the Commander, and a thousand
times wearied of hell, as you are wearied now, you will
no longer imagine that every swing from heaven to hell
is an emancipation, every swing from hell to heaven an

Act III Man and Superman 133

evolution. Where you now see reform, progress, fulfilment
of upward tendency, continual ascent by Man on the step-
ping stones of his dead selves to higher things, you will see
nothing but an infinite comedy of illusion. You will dis-
cover the profound truth of the saying of my friend Kohe-
leth, that there is nothing new under the sun. Vanitas
vanitatum —

DON JUAN [out of all patience'] By Heaven, this is worse
than your cant about love and beauty. Clever dolt that you
are, is a man no better than a worm, or a dog than a wolf,
because he gets tired of everything? Shall he give up eating
because he destroys his appetite in the act of gratifying it ?
Is a field idle when it is fallow? Can the Commander
expend his hellish energy here without accumulating
heavenly energy for his next term of blessedness ? Granted
that the great Life Force has hit on the device of the clock-
maker's pendulum, and uses the earth for its bob ; that the
history of each oscillation, which seems so novel to us the
actors, is but the history of the last oscillation repeated ;
nay more, that in the unthinkable infinitude of time the
sun throws off the earth and catches it again a thousand
times as a circus rider throws up a ball, and that the total
of all our epochs is but the moment between the toss and
the catch, has the colossal mechanism no purpose ?

THE DEVIL. None, my friend. You think, because you
have a purpose. Nature must have one. You might as well
expect it to have fingers and toes because you have them.

DON JUAN. But I should not have them if they served no
purpose. And I, my friend, am as much a part of Nature
as my own finger is a part of mc. If my finger is the organ
by which I grasp the sword and the mandoline, my brain
is the organ by which Nature strives to understand itself.
My dog's brain serves only my dog's purposes; but my
brain labors at a knowledge which does nothing for me
personally but make my body bitter to me and my decay
and death a calamity. Were I not possessed with a purpose
beyond my own I had better be a ploughman than a philo-

134 Man and Superman Act ill

sopher; for the ploughman lives as long as the philosopher,
eats more, sleeps better, and rejoices in the wife of his bosom
with less misgiving. This is because the philosopher is in
the grip of the Life Force. This Life Force says to him "I
have done a thousand wonderful things unconsciously by
merely willing to live and following the line of least resist-
ance : now I want to know myself and my destination, and
choose my path ; so I have made a special brain — a philo-
sopher's brain — to grasp this knowledge for me as the
husbandman's hand grasps the plough for me. And this'*
says the Life Force to the philosopher "must thou strive to
do for me until thou diest, when I will make another brain
and another philosopher to carry on the work."

THE DEVIL. What is the use of knowing?

DON JUAN. Why, to be able to choose the line of greatest
advantage instead of yielding in the direction of the least
resistance. Does a ship sail to its destination no better than
a log drifts nowhither? The philosopher is Nature's pilot.
And there you have our difference : to be in hell is to
drift : to be in heaven is to steer.

THE DEVIL. On the rocks, most likely.

DON JUAN. Pooh ! which ship goes oftenest on the rocks
or to the bottom — the drifting ship or the ship with a pilot
on board?

THE DEVIL. Well, well, go your way, Sefior Don Juan,
1 prefer to be my own master and not the tool of any
blundering universal force. I know that beauty is good to
look at ; that music is good to hear ; that love is good to
feel ; and that they are all good to think about and talk
about. I know that to be well exercised in these sensa-
tions, emotions, and studies is to be a refined and culti-
vated being. Whatever they may say of me in churches
on earth, I know that it is universally admitted in good
society that the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman ; and
that is enough for me. As to your Life Force, which you
think irresistible, it is the most resistible thing in the world
for a person of any character. But if you are naturally

Act III Man and Superman 135

vulgar and credulous, as all reformers are, it will thrust
you first into religion, where you will sprinkle water on
babies to save their souls from me ; then it will drive you
from religion into science, where you will snatch the babies
from the water sprinkling and inoculate them with disease
to save them from catching it accidentally; then you will
take to politics, where you will become the catspaw of
corrupt functionaries and the henchman of ambitious hum-
bugs ; and the end will be despair and decrepitude, broken
nerve and shattered hopes, vain regrets for that worst and
silliest of wastes and sacrifices, the waste and sacrifice of
the power of enjoyment : in a word, the punishment of the
fool who pursues the better before he has secured the good.

DON JUAN. But at least I shall not be bored. The service
of the Life Force has that advantage, at all events. So fare
you well, Senor Satan.

THE DEVIL [^amiably^ Fare you well, Don Juan. I shall
often think of our interesting chats about things in general.
I wish you every happiness : Heaven, as I said before, suits
some people. But if you should change your mind, do not
forget that the gates are always open here to the repentant
prodigal. If you feel at any time that warmth of heart,
sincere unforced affection, innocent enjoyment, and warm,
breathing, palpitating reality —

DON JUAN. Why not say flesh and blood at once, though
we have left those two greasy commonplaces behind us?

THE DEVIL [angrily] You throw my friendly farewell back
in my teeth, then, Don Juan?

DON JUAN. By no means. But though there Is much to
be learnt from a cynical devil, I really cannot stand a senti-
mental one. Senor Commander : you know the way to the
frontier of hell and heaven. Be good enough to direct me.

THE STATUE. Oh, the frontier is only the difference be-
tween two ways of looking at things. Any road will take
you across it if you really want to get there.

DON JUAN. Good. [Saluting Dona Ana'] Sefiora : your
servant.

136 Man and Superman Act in

ANA. But I am going with you.

DON JUAN. 1 can find my own way to heaven, Ana ; but
I cannot find yours [he vanishes'].

ANA. How annoying !

THE STATUE [calling after him] Bon voyage, Juan! [He
zvafts a final blast of his great rolling chords after him as a
parting salute. A faint echo of the first ghostly melody comes
back in acknowledgment]. Ah ! there he goes. [Puffing a long
breath out through his lips] Whew ! How he does talk !
Theyll never stand it in heaven.

THE DEVIL [gloomily] His going is a political defeat. I
cannot keep these Life Worshippers : they all go. This is
the greatest loss 1 have had since that Dutch painter went
— a fellow who would paint a hag of 70 with as much en-
joyment as a Venus of 20.

THE STATUE. I remember : he came to heaven. Rem-
brandt.

THE DEVIL. Ay, Rembrandt. There is something un-
natural about these fellows. Do not listen to their gospel,
Senor Commander : it is dangerous. Beware of the pursuit
of the Superhuman : it leads to an indiscriminate contempt
for the Human. To a man, horses and dogs and cats are
mere species, outside the moral world. Well, to the
Superman, men and women are a mere species too, also
outside the moral world. This Don Juan was kind to
women and courteous to men as your daughter here was
kind to her pet cats and dogs ; but such kindness is a
denial of the exclusively human character of the soul.

THE STATUE. And who the deuce is the Superman ?

THE DEVIL. Oh, the latest fashion among the Life Force
fanatics. Did you not meet in Heaven, among the new
arrivals, that German Polish madman — what was his name ?
Nietzsche?

THE STATUE. Ncvcr heard of him.

THE DEVIL. Well, he came here first, before he recovered
his wits. I had some hopes of him ; but he was a con-
firmed Life Force worshipper. It was he who raked up the

Act III Man and Superman 137

Superman, who is as old as Prometheus ; and the 20th
century will run after this newest of the old crazes when it
gets tired of the world, the flesh, and your humble servant.

THE STATUE. Superman is a good cry; and a good cry
is half the battle. I should like to see this Nietzsche.

THE DEVIL. Unfortunately he met Wagner here, and had
a quarrel with him.

THE STATUE. Quitc right, too. Mozart for me !

THE DEVIL. Oh, it was not about music. Wagner once
drifted into Life Force worship, and invented a Superman
called Siegfried. But he came to his senses afterwards. So
when theymet here,Nietzschedenouncedhim asarenegadc ;
and Wagner wrote a pamphlet to prove that Nietzsche was
a Jew; and it ended in Nietzsche's going to heaven in a
huff. And a good riddance too. And now, my friend, let us
hasten to my palace and celebrate your arrival with a grand
musical service.

THE STATUE. With plcasurc : youre most kind.

THE DEVIL. This Way, Commander. We go down the
old trap \ke places himself on the grave trap].

THE STATUE. Good. {Reflectively] All the same, the
Superman is a fine conception. There is something statu-
esque about it. [//<? places himself on the grave trap beside
The Devil. It begins to descend slowly. Red glow from the
abyss]. Ah, this reminds me of old times.

THE DEVIL. And me also.

ANA. Stop! [The trap stops].

THE DEVIL. You, Scflora, cannot come this way. You
will have an apotheosis. But you will be at the palace be-
fore us.

ANA. That is not what I stopped you for. Tell me :
where can I find the Superman ?

THE DEVIL. He is not yet created, Sefiora.

THE STATUE. And never will be, probably. Let us pro-
ceed : the red fire will make me sneeze. [They descend].

ANA. Not yet created ! Then my work is not yet done.
[Crossing herself devoutly] I believe in the Life to Come.

138 Man and Superman Act III

[Crying to the universe'] A father — a father for the Super-
man !

She vanishes into the void; and again there is nothing: all
existence seems suspended infinitely. Then, vaguely, there is a
live human voice crying somewhere. One sees, with a shock, a
mountain peak shewing faintly against a lighter background.
The sky has returned from afar; and we suddenly remember
where we were. The cry becomes distinct and urgent : it says
Automobile, Automobile. The complete reality comes back
with a rush: in a moment it is full morning in the Sierra; and
the brigands are scrambling to their feet and making for the
road as the goatherd runs down from the hill, warning them of
the approach of another motor. Tanner and Mendoza rise
amazedly and stare at one another with scattered wits. Straker
sits up to yawn fir a moment befiore he gets on his fieet, making
it a point ofi honor not to shew any undue interest in the excite-
ment of the bandits. Mendoza gives a quick look to see that his
followers are attending to the alarm ; then exchanges a private
word with Tanner.

MENDOZA. Did you dream ?

TANNER. Damnably. Did you ?

MENDOZA. Yes. I forget what. You were in it.

TANNER. So were you. Amazing !

MENDOZA. I warned you. [A shot is heard firom the road].
Dolts! they will play with that gun. [The brigands
come running back scared]. Who fired that shot ? [to Duval'\
was it you ?

DUVAL [breathless] I have not shoot. Dey shoot first.

ANARCHIST. I told you to begin by abolishing the State,
Now we are all lost.

THE ROWDY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT [stampeding across the amphi-
theatre] Run, everybody.

MENDOZA [collaring him; throwing him on his back; and
drawing a knifie] I stab the man who stirs. [He blocks the
way. The stampede is checked]. What has happened?

THE SULKY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT. A mOtOr

THE ANARCHIST. Three men —

Act III Man and Superman 139

DUVAL. Deux ferames —

MENDozA. Three men and two women ! Why have you
not brought them here ? Are you afraid of them ?

THE ROWDY ONE [getting Up] Thyve a hescort. 0\v, dc-ooh
luts ook it, Mendowza.

THE SULKY ONE. Two armorcd cars full o soldiers at the
ed o the valley.

ANARCHIST. Thc shot was fired in the air. It was a
signal.

Straker whistles his favorite air^ which falls on the ears
of the brigands like a funeral march.

TANNER. It is not an escort, but an expedition to cap-
ture you. We were advised to wait for it ; but I was in a
hurry.

THE ROWDY ONE [/» an agony of apprehension] And Ow
my good Lord, ere we are, wytin for em! Luts tike to
thc mahntns.

MENDOZA. Idiot, what do you know about the moun-
tains? Are you a Spaniard? You would be given up by
the first shepherd you met. Besides, we are already within
range of their rifles.

THE ROWDY ONE. But

MENDOZA. Silence. Leave this to me. [To Tanner^
Comrade : you will not betray us.

STRAKER, Oo are you callin comrade?

MENDOZA. Last night the advantage was with me. The
robber of the poor was at the mercy of the robber of thc
rich. You offered your hand : I took it.

TANNER. I bring no charge against you, comrade. We
have spent a pleasant evening with you : that is all.

STRAKER. 1 gev my and to nobody, see?

MENDOZA [turning on him impressively] Young man, if I
am tried, I shall plead guilty, and explain what drove me
from England, home and duty. Do you wish to have the
respectable name of Straker dragged through the mud of a
Spanish criminal court? The police will search me. They
will find Louisa's portrait. It will be published in thc

140 Man and Superman Act III

illustrated papers. You blench. It will be your doing,
remember.

STRAKER {with baffled rage] I dont care about the court.
It's avin our name mixed up with yours that I object to,
you blackmailin swine, you.

MENDOZA. Language unworthy of Louisa's brother! But
no matter : you are muzzled : that is enough for us. [He
turns to face his own men^ who back uneasily across the amphi-
t/jeatre towards the cave to take refuge be/nnd him, as afresh
party, muffled for motoring, comes from the road in riotous
spirits. Ann, who makes straight for Tanner, comes first ; then
Violet, helped over the rough ground by Hector holding her
right hand and Rams den her left. Mendoza goes to his presi-
dential block and seats himself calmly with his rank and file
grouped behind him, and his Staff, consisting of Duval and the
Anarchist on his right and the two Social-Democrats on his
left, supporting him on either side.

ANN. It's Jack !

TANNER. Caught !

HECTOR. Why, certainly it is. I said it was you, Tanner.
Weve just been stopped by a puncture : the road is full of
nails.

VIOLET. What are you doing here with all these men?

ANN. Why did you leave us without a word of warning?

HECTOR. I wawnt that bunch of roses, Miss Whitefield.
\To Tanner] When we found you were gone. Miss White-
field bet me a bunch of roses my car would not overtake
yours before you reached Monte Carlo.

TANNER. But this is not the road to Monte Carlo.

HECTOR. No matter. Miss Whitefield tracked you at
every stopping place : she is a regular Sherlock Holmes.

TANNER. The Life Force ! I am lost.

ocTAVius [bounding gaily down from the road into the
amphitheatre, and coming between Tanner and Straker] I am
so glad you are safe, old chap. We were afraid you had
been captured by brigands.

RAMSDEN [who has been staring at Mendoza] I seem to

Act III Man and Superman 141

remember the face of your friend here. [Mendoza rises
politely and advances with a smile betwceii Arm and Ramsden\

HECTOR. Why, so do I.

ocTAVius. I know you perfectly well, sir; but 1 cant
think where I have met you.

MENDOZA \to Violet'\ Do you remember me, madam?

VIOLET. Oh, quite well ; but I am so stupid about names.

MENDOZA. It was at the Savoy Hotel. \To Hector} You,
sir, used to come with this lady [Fiolet'\ to lunch. [To
Octavius] You, sir, often brought this lady [Jnn] and her
mother to dinner on your way to the Lyceum Theatre.
[To Ramsden] You, sir, used to come to supper, with
[dropping his voice to a confidential but perfectly audible
whisper'] several different ladies.

RAMSDEN [angrily] Well, what is that to you, pray?

OCTAVIUS. Why, Violet, I thought you hardly knew one
another before this trip, you and Malone !

VIOLET [vexed] I suppose this person was the manager.

MENDOZA. The waiter, madam. I have a grateful recol-
lection of you all. I gathered from the bountiful way in
which you treated me that you all enjoyed your visits very
much.

VIOLET. What impertinence ! [She turns her back on him,
and goes up the hill with Hector].

RAMSDEN. That will do, my friend. You do not expect
these ladies to treat you as an acquaintance, I suppose,
because you have waited on them at table.

MENDOZA. Pardon me : it was you who claimed my
acquaintance. The ladies followed your example. How-
ever, this display of the unfortunate manners of your class
closes the incident. For the future, you will please address
me with the respect due to a stranger and fellow traveller.
[He turns haughtily away and resumes his presidential
seat].

TANNER. There ! I have found one man on my journey
capable of reasonable conversation ; and you all instinct-
ively insult him. Even the New Man is as bad as any

142 Man and Superman Act III

of you. Enry : you have behaved just like a miserable
gentleman.

STRAKER. Gentleman ! Not me.

RAMSDEN. Really, Tanner, this tone —

ANN. Dont mind him, Granny : you ought to know
him by this time [s/:e takes his arm and coaxes him away to
the hill to join Violet and Hector. Octavius follows her, dog-
like].

VIOLET [calling from the hill] Here are the soldiers.
They are getting out of their motors.

DUVAL [panic stricken] Oh, nom de Dieu !

THE ANARCHIST. Fools : the State is about to crush you
because you spared it at the prompting of the political
hangers-on of the bourgeoisie.

THE SULKY SOCIAL-DEMOCRAT [argumentative to the last]
On the contrary, only by capturing the State machine —

THE ANARCHIST. It is going to Capture you.

THE ROWDY SOCIAL- DEMOCRAT [his anguish culminating]
Ow, chack it. Wot are we ere for? Wot are we wytin for.?

MENDOZA [between his teeth] Go on. Talk politics, you
idiots : nothing sounds more respectable. Keep it up, I
tell you.

The soldiers line the road, commanding the amphitheatre
with their rifles. The brigands, struggling with an over-
whelming impulse to hide behind one another, look as uncon-
cerned as they can. Mendoza rises superbly, with undaunted
front. The officer in command steps down from the road into
the amphitheatre ; looks hard at the brigands ; and then inquir-
ingly at Tanner.

THE OFFICER. Who are these men, Senor Ingles ?

TANNER. My escort.

Mendoza, with a Mephistophelean smile, bows profoundly.
An irrepressible grin runs from face to face among the brigands.
They touch their hats, except the Anarchist, who defies the
State with folded arms.

ACT IV

The garden of a villa in Granada, Whoever wishes to
know what it is like must go to Granada and see. One may
prosaically specify a group of hills dotted with villas, the Al-
hambra on the top of one of the hills, and a considerable town
in the valley, approached by dusty white roads in which the
children, no matter what they are doing or thinking about,
automatically whine for halfpence and reach out little clutching
brown palms for them ; but there is nothing in this description
except the Alhambra, the begging, and the color of the roads,
that does not fit Surrey as well as Spain. The difference is
that the Surrey hills are comparatively small and ugly, a?id
should properly be called the Surrey Protuberances ; but these
Spanish hills are of mountain stock: the amenity which conceals
their size does not compromise their dignity.

This particular garden is on a hill opposite the Alhambra;
and the villa is as expensive and pretentious as a villa must be
if it is to be let furnished by the week to opulent American and
English visitors. If we stand on the lawn at the foot of the
garden and look uphill, our horizon is the stone balustrade of a
flagged platform on the edge of infinite space at the top of the
hill. Between us and this platform is a flower garden with a
circular basin and fountain in the centre, surrounded by geo-
metrical flower beds, gravel paths, and clipped yew trees in the
genteelest order. The garden is higher than our lawn; so we
reach it by a few steps in the middle of its embankment. The
platform is higher again than the garden, from which we mount a
couple more steps to look over the balustrade at a flne view of

144 Man and Superman Act IV

the town up the valley and of the hills that stretch away beyond
it to where, in the remotest distance, they become mountains.
On our left is the villa, accessible by steps from the left hand
corner of the garden. Returning from the platform through the
garden and down again to the lawn {a movement which leaves
the villa behind us on our right) we find evidence of literary
interests on the part of the tenants in the fact that there is no
tennis net nor set of croquet hoops, but, on our left, a little
iron garden table with books on it, mostly yellow-backed, and
a chair beside it, A chair on the right has also a couple of open
books upon it. There are no newspapers, a circumstance which,
with the absence of games, might lead an intelligent spectator
to the most far reaching conclusions as to the sort of people who
live in the villa. Such speculations are checked, however, on
this delightfully fine afternoon, by the appearance at a little
gate in a paling on our left, of Henry Straker in his pro-
fessional costu?ne. He opens the gate for an elderly gentleman,
and follows him on to the lawn.

This elderly gentleman defies the Spanish sun in a black
frock coat, tall silk hat, trousers in which narrow stripes of
dark grey and lilac blend into a highly respectable color, and a
black necktie tied into a bow over spotless linen. Probably
therefore a man whose social position needs constant and scrupu-
lous affirmation without regard to climate: one who would
dress thus for the middle of the Sahara or the top of Mont
Blanc. And since he has not the stamp of the class which
accepts as its life-mission the advertizing and maintenance of
first rate tailoring and millinery, he looks vulgar in his finery,
though in a working dress of any kind he would look dignified
enough. He is a bullet cheeked man with a red complexion,
stubbly hair, smallish eyes, a hard mouth that folds down at
the corners, and a dogged chin. The looseness of skin that
comes with age has attacked his throat and the laps of his
cheeks ; but he is still hara as an apple above the mouth; so
that the upper half of his face looks younger than the lower.
He has the self-confidence of one who has made money, and some-
thing of the truculence of one who has made it in a brutalizing

Act IV Man and Superman 145

struggle^ his civility having under it a perceptible menace
that he has other methods in reserve if necessary. Withal, a
man to be rather pitied when he is not to be feared; for there
is soine thing pathetic about him at times, as if the huge commer-
cial machine which has worked him into his frcck coat had
allowed him very little of his own way and left his affections
hungry and baffled. At the first word that falls from him it is
clear that he is an Irishman whose native intonation has clung
to him through many changes of place and rank. One can only
guess that the original material of his speech was perhaps the
surly Kerry brogue; but the degradation of speech that occurs
in London, Glasgow, Dublin and big cities ge?ierally has been
at work on it so long that nobody but an arrant cockney would
dream of calling it a brogue now ; for its music is almost gone,
though its surliness is still perceptible. Straker, being a very
obvious cockney, inspires him with implacable contempt, as a
stupid Englishman who cannot even speak his own language
properly. Straker, on the other hand, regards the old gentle-
man^s accent as a joke thoughtfully provided by Providence
expressly for the amusement of the British race, and treats
him normally with the indulgence due to an inferior and un-
lucky species, but occasionally with indignant alarm when the
old gentleman shews signs of intending his Irish nonsense to be
taken seriously.

STRAKER. rU go tcU the young lady. She said youd
prefer to stay here [he turns to go up through the garden to
the villa],

THE IRISHMAN [who has been looking round him with lively
curiosity] The young lady? That's Miss Violet, eh?

STRAKER [stopping on the steps with sudden suspicion] Well,
you know, dont you ?

THE IRISHMAN. Do I?

STRAKER [his temper rising] Well, do you or dont you ?
THE IRISHMAN. What busincss is that of yours?
Straker, now highly indignant, comes back from the steps
and confronts the visitor.

146 Man and Superman Act IV

STRAKER. I'll tell you what business it is of mine. Miss
Robinson —

THE IRISHMAN [interruptiftg] Oh, her name is Robinson,
is it? Thank you.

STRAKER. Why, you dont know even her name ?

THE IRISHMAN. Ycs I do, now that youve told me.

STRAKER [after a moment of stupefaction at the old man's
readiness in repartee'] Look here : what do you mean by
gittin into my car and lettin me bring you here if youre
not the person I took that note to ?

THE iRisHxMAN. Who else did you take it to, pray ?

STRAKER. I took it to Mr Ector Malone, at Miss Robin-
son's request, see ? Miss Robinson is not my principal : I
took it to oblige her. I know Mr Malone j and he aint you,
not by a long chalk. At the hotel they told me that your
name is Ector Malone —

MALONE. /jTector Malone.

STRAKER [with calm superiority] Hector in your own
country : thats what comes o livin in provincial places
like Ireland and America. Over here youre Ector : if you
avnt noticed it before you soon will.

The growing strain of the conversation is here relieved hy
Violet^ who has sallied from the villa and through the garden
to the steps, which she now descends, coming very opportunely
betiveen Malone and Straker.

VIOLET [to Straker] Did you take my message ?

STRAKER. Yes, miss. I took it to the hotel and sent it
up, expecting to see young Mr Malone. Then out walks
this gent, and says it's all right and he'll come with me.
So as the hotel people said he was Mr Ector Malone, I
fetched him. And now he goes back on what he said. Bul
if he isnt the gentleman you meant, say the word : it's easy
enough to fetch him back again.

MALONE. I should cstccm it a great favor if I might
have a short conversation with you, madam. I am Hector's
father, as this bright Britisher would have guessed in the
course of another hour or so.

Act IV ' Man and Superman 147

STRAKER [coo//y dejiant'] No, not in another year or so.
When wcve ad you as long to polish up as weve ad im,
perhaps youll begin to look a little bit up to is mark. At
present you fall a long way short. Youve got too many
aitches, for one thing. [To Violet^ amiablyl All right, Miss :
you want to talk to him : I shant intrude. [He nods affably
to Malone and goes out through the little gate in the paling].

VIOLET [very civilly\ I am so sorry, Mr Malone, if that
man has been rude to you. But what can we do.? He is
our chauffeur.

MALONE. Your hwat ?

VIOLET. The driver of our automobile. He can drive a
motor car at seventy miles an hour, and mend it when it
breaks down. We are dependent on our motor cars ; and
our motor cars are dependent on him ; so of course we arc
dependent on him.

MALONE. Ive noticed, madam, that every thousand dollars
an Englishman gets seems to add one to the number of
people hes dependent on. However, you neednt apologize
for your man : I made him talk on purpose. By doing so
I learnt that youre stayin here in Grannida with a party
of English, including my son Hector.

VIOLET [conversationally'] Yes. We intended to go to
Nice ; but we had to follow a rather eccentric member of
our party who started first and came here. Wont you sit
down? [Bhe clears the nearest chair of the two books on it\

MALONE [impressed by this attention] Thank you. [He sits
dozvn, examining her curiously as she goes to the iron table to put
down the books. When she turns to him again, he says] Miss
Robinson, I believe?

VIOLET [sitting down] Yes.

MALONE [taking a letter from his pocket] Your note to
Hector runs as follows [Fiolet is unable to repress a start.
He pauses quietly to take out and put on his spectacles, which
have gold rims] : " Dearest : they have all gone to the
Alhambra for the afternoon. I have shammed headache
and have the garden all to myself. Jump into Jack's motor :

1 48 Man and Superman Act IV

Straker will rattle you here In a jiffy. Quick, quick, quick.
Your loving Violet." [He looks at her; but by this time she
has recovered herself^ and meets his spectacles with perfect com-
posure. He continues slowly^ Now I dont know on hwat
terms young people associate in English society ; but in
America that note would be considered to imply a very
considerable degree of affectionate intimacy between the
parties.

VIOLET. Yes : I know your son very well, Mr Malone.
Have you any objection?

MALONE [somezvhat taken aback'] No, no objection exactly.
Provided it is understood that my son is altogether de-
pendent on me, and that I have to be consulted in any
important step he may propose to take.

VIOLET. I am sure you would not be unreasonable with
him, Mr Malone.

MALONE. I hope not. Miss Robinson ; but at your age
you might think many things unreasonable that dont seem
so to me.

VIOLET [with a little shrug] Oh well, I suppose theres no
use our playing at cross purposes, Mr Malone. Hector
wants to marry me.

MALONE. I inferred from your note that he might. Well,
Miss Robinson, he is his own master; but if he marries
you he shall not have a rap from me. [He takes off his
spectacles and pockets them with the note].

VIOLET [with some severity] That is not very compli-
mentary to me, Mr Malone.

MALONE. I say nothing against you. Miss Robinson : I
daresay you are an amiable and excellent young lady. But
I have other views for Hector.

VIOLET. Hector may not have other views for himself,
Mr Malone.

MALONE. Possibly not. Then he does without me : thats
all. I daresay you are prepared for that. When a young
lady writes to a young man to come to her quick, quick,
quick, money seems nothing and love seems everything.

Act IV Man and Superman 149

VIOLET [sharplyl I beg your pardon, Mr Malone : I do
not think anything so foolish. Hector must have money.

MALONE [staggered'\ Oh, very well, very well. No doubt
he can work for it.

VIOLET. What is the use of having money if you have
to work for it? \_She rises impatient/y'\. It's all nonsense,
Mr Malone: you must enable your son to keep up his
position. It is his right.

MALONE \_grimly'\ I should not advise you to marry him
on the strength of that right, Miss Robinson.

Violet^ who has almost lost her temper^ controls herself with
an effort; unclenches her fingers ; and resumes her seat with
studied tranquillity and reasonableness.

VIOLET. What objection have you to me, pray? My
social position is as good as Hector's, to say the least. He
admits it.

MALONE \shrewdly'\ You tell him so from time to time,
eh ? Hector's social position in England, Miss Robinson,
is just what I choose to buy for him. I have made him a
fair offer. Let him pick out the most historic house, castle
or abbey that England contains. The day that he tells me
he wants it for a wife worthy of its traditions, I buy it
for him, and give him the means of keeping it up.

VIOLET. What do you mean by a wife worthy of its
traditions? Cannot any well bred woman keep such a
house for him?

MALONE. No : she must be born to it.

VIOLET. Hector was not born to it, was he ?

MALONE. His granmother was a barefooted Irish girl
that nursed me by a turf fire. Let him marry another such,
and I will not stint her marriage portion. Let him raise
himself socially with my money or raise somebody else :
so long as there is a social profit somewhere, I'll regard
my expenditure as justified. But there must be a profit for
someone. A marriage with you would leave things just
where they are.

VIOLET. Many of my relations would object very much

1 50 Man and Superman Act IV

to my marrying the grandson of a common woman, Mr
Malone. That may be prejudice; but so is your desire to
have him marry a title prejudice.

MALONE [rising, and approaching her with a scrutiny in
which there is a good deal of reluctant respect'] You seem a
pretty straightforward downright sort of a young woman.

VIOLET. I do not see why I should be made miserably
poor because I cannot make profits for you. Why do you
want to make Hector unhappy ?

MALONE. He will get over it all right enough. Men
thrive better on disappointments in love than on dis-
appointments in money. I daresay you think that sordid ;
but I know what I'm talking about. Me father died of
starvation in Ireland in the black 47. Maybe youve heard
of it.

VIOLET. The Famine?

MALONE [with smouldering passion"] No, the starvation.
When a country is full o food, and exporting it, there can
be no famine. Me father was starved dead ; and I was
starved out to America in me mother's arms. English rule
drove me and mine out of Ireland. Well, you can keep
Ireland. Me and me like are coming back to buy England ;
and we'll buy the best of it. I want no middle class pro-
perties and no middle class women for Hector. Thats
straightforward, isnt it, like yourself?

VIOLET [icily pitying his sentimentality] Really, Mr Malone,
I am astonished to hear a man of your age and good sense
talking in that romantic way. Do you suppose English
noblemen will sell their places to you for the asking ?

MALONE. I have the refusal of two of the oldest family
mansions in England. One historic owner cant afford to
keep all the rooms dusted : the other cant afford the death
duties. What do you say now?

VIOLET. Of course it is very scandalous ; but surely you
know that the Government will sooner or later put a stop
to all these Socialistic attacks on property.

MALONE [grinning] D'y'think theyll be able to get that

Act IV Man and Superman 151

done before I buy the house — or rather the abbey ? Theyrc
both abbeys.

VIOLET [putting that aside rather impatiently'] Oh, well,
let us talk sense, Mr Malone. You must feel that we
havnt been talking sense so far.

MALONE. I cant say I do. I mean all I say.

VIOLET. Then you dont know Hector as I do. He is
romantic and faddy — he gets it from you, I fancy — and he
wants a certain sort of wife to take care of him. Not a
faddy sort of person, you know.

MALONE. Somebody like you, perhaps?

VIOLET [quietly] Well, yes. But you cannot very well
ask me to undertake this with absolutely no means of
keeping up his position.

MALONE [alarmed] Stop a bit, stop a bit. Where are we
getting to? I'm not aware that I'm asking you to undertake
anything.

VIOLET. Of course, Mr Malone, you can make it very
difficult for me to speak to you if you choose to misunder-
stand me.

MALONE [half bewildered] I dont wish to take any unfair
advantage ; but we seem to have got off the straight track
somehow.

Strakery with the air of a man who has been making haste,
opens the little gate, and admits Hector, who, snorting with
indignation, comes upon the lawn, and is making for his father
when Violet, greatly dismayed, springs up and intercepts him.
Straker does not wait; at least he does not remain visibly
within earshot.

VIOLET. Oh, how unlucky! Now please, Hector, say
nothing. Go away until I have finished speaking to your
father.

HECTOR [inexorably") No, Violet : I mean to have this
thing out, right away. [He puts her aside; passes her by;
and faces his father, whose cheeks darken as his Irish blood
begins to simmer]. Dad : youve not played this hand straight.

MALONE. Hwat d'y'mean ?

152 Man and Superman Act IV

HECTOR. Youve opened a letter addressed to me. Youve
impersonated me and stolen a march on this lady. Thats
disawnerable.

MALONE [threateningly'] Now you take care what youre
saying, Hector. Take care, I tell you.

HECTOR. I have taken care. I am taking care. Vm
taking care of my honor and my position in English
society.

MALONE \^hotIy'\ Your position has been got by my money :
do you know that ?

HECTOR. Well, youve just spoiled it all by opening that
letter. A letter from an English lady, not addressed to you
— a cawnfidential letter ! a dullicate letter ! a private letter!
opened by my father ! Thats a sort of thing a man cant
struggle against in England. The sooner we go back to-
gether the better. [He appeals mutely to the heavens to wit-
ness the shame and anguish of two outcasts].

VIOLET [snubbing him with an instinctive dislike for scene
making] Dont be unreasonable. Hector. It was quite natural
of Mr Malone to open my letter: his name was on the
envelope.

MALONE. There ! Youve no common sense, Hector. I
thank you. Miss Robinson.

HECTOR. I thank you, too. It's very kind of you. My
father knows no better.

MALONE [furiously clenching his fists] Hector —

HECTOR [with undaunted moral force] Oh, it's no use
hectoring me. A private letter's a private letter, dad : you
cant get over that.

MALONE [raising his voice] I wont be talked back to by
you, d'y'hear?

VIOLET. Ssh! please, please. Here they all come.

Father and son, checked, glare mutely at one another as
Tanner comes in through the little gate with Ramsden, followed
by Octavius and Jnn.

VIOLET. Back already!

TANNER. The Alhambra is not open this afternoon.

Act IV Man and Superman 153

VIOLET. What a sell !

Tanner passes on^ and presently finds himself between Hector
and a strange elder ^ both apparently on the verge of personal
combat. He looks from one to the other for an explanation.
They sulkily avoid his eye^ and nurse their wrath in silence.

RAMSDEN. Is it wisc foF you to bc out in the sunshine
with such a headache, Violet?

TANNER. Have you recovered too, Malone ?

VIOLET. Oh, I forgot. We have not all met before. Mr
Malone: wont you introduce your father?

HECTOR [with Roman firm7iess'\ No I will not. He is no
father of mine.

MALONE \yery angry'\ You disown your dad before your
English friends, do you ?

VIOLET. Oh please dont make a scene.

Ann and Octavius, lingering near the gate, exchange an
astonished glance, and discreetly withdraw up the steps to the
garden, where they can enjoy the disturbance without intrud-
ing. On their way to the steps Ann sends a little grimace of
mute sympathy to Violet, who is standing with her back to the
little table, looking on in helpless annoyance as her husband
soars to higher and higher moral eminences without the least re-
gard to the old man's millions.

HECTOR. I'm very sorry, Miss Rawbnsn ; but I'm con-
tending for a principle. I am a son, and, I hope, a dutiful
one; but before everything I'm a Mahn!!! And when
dad treats my private letters as his own, and takes it on
himself to say that I shant marry you if I am happy and
fortunate enough to gain your consent, then I just snap
my fingers and go my own way.

TANNER. Marry Violet !

RAMSDEN. Arc you in your senses?

TANNER. Do you forgct what we told you ?

HECTOR [recklessly'\ I dont care what you told me.

RAMSDEN [scandalized] Tut tut, sir! Monstrous! [he
flings away tozvards the gate, his elbows quivering with in-
dignation].

154 Man and Superman Act iv

TANNER. Another madman ! These men in love should
be locked up. [He gives Hector up as hopeless^ and turns
away towards the garden; but Malone, taking offence in a
new direction, follows him and compels him, by the aggressive-
ness of his tone, to stop^.

MALONE. I dont understand this. Is Hector not good
enough for this lady, pray?

TANNER. My dear sir, the lady is married already.
Hector knows it; and yet he persists in his infatuation.
Take him home and lock him up.

MALONE [bitterly] So this is the highborn social tone I
have spoiled be me ignorant, uncultivated behavior ! Makin
love to a married woman ! [He comes angrily between Hector
and Violet, and almost bawls into Hector^ s left ear] Youve
picked up that habit of the British aristocracy, have
you?

HECTOR. Thats all right. Dont you trouble yourself
about that. I'll answer for the morality of what I'm doing.

TANNER [coming forward to Hector* s right hand with flash-
ing eyes] Well said, Malone ! You also see that mere marriage
laws are not morality ! I agree with you ; but unfortunately
Violet does not.

MALONE. I take leave to doubt that, sir. [Turning on
Violet] Let me tell you, Mrs Robinson, or whatever your
right name is, you had no right to send that letter to my
son when you were the wife of another man.

HECTOR [outraged] This is the last straw. Dad : you have
insulted my wife.

MALONE. Your wife!

TANNER. You the missing husband! Another moral
impostor ! [He smites his brow, and collapses into Malone^s
chair].

MALONE. Youve married without my consent !

RAMSDEN. You have deliberately humbugged us, sir !

HECTOR. Here : I have had just about enough of being
badgered. Violet and I are married : thats the long and
the short of it. Now what have you got to say — any of you ?

Act IV Man and Superman 155

MALONE. I know what Ive got to say. Shes married a
beggar.

HECTOR. No : shes married a Worker [his American pro-
nunciation imparts an overwhelming intensity to this simple and
unpopular word\ I start to earn my own living this very
afternoon.

MALONE [sneering angrily'] Yes : youre very plucky now,
because you got your remittance from me yesterday or this
morning, I reckon. Waitl it's spent. You wont be so full
of cheek then.

HECTOR [producing a letter from his pocketbook] Here it is
[thrusting it on his father]. Now you just take your remit-
tance and yourself out of my life. I'm done with remit-
tances; and I'm done with you. I dont sell the privilege
of insulting my wife for a thousand dollars.

MALONE [deeply wounded and full of concern] Hector: you
dont know what poverty is.

HECTOR [fervidly] Well, I wawnt to know what it is. I
wawnt'be a Mahn. Violet : you come along with me, to
your own home : I'll see you through.

ocTAVius [jumping down from the garden to the lawn and
running to Hector's left hand] I hope youll shake hands with
me before you go. Hector. I admire and respect you more
than I can say. [He is affected almost to tears as they shake
hands].

VIOLET [also almost in tears, but of vexation] Oh dont be
an idiot, Tavy. Hector's about as fit to become a workman
as you are.

TANNER [rising from his chair on the other side of Hector]
Never fear : theres no question of his becoming a navvy,
Mrs Malone. [To Hector] Theres really no difficulty about
capital to start with. Treat me as a friend : draw on me.

ocTAVius [impulsively] Or on me.

MALONE [with fierce jealousy] Who wants your durty
money .^ Who should he draw on but his own father?
[Tanner and Octavius recoil., Octavius rather hurt.. Tanner
consoled by the solution of the money difficulty, Violet looks up

1 56 Man and Superman Act IV

hopefully']. Hector : dont be rash, my boy. I'm sorry for
what I said : I never meant to insult Violet : I take it all
back. Shes just the wife you want : there !

HECTOR [patting him on the shoulder] Well, thats all right,
dad. Say no more : we're friends again. Only, I take no
money from anybody.

MALONE [pleading abjectly] Dont be hard on me. Hector.
I'd rather you quarrelled and took the money than made
friends and starved. You dont know what the world is : I
do.

HECTOR. No, no, NO. Thats fixed: thats not going to
change. [He passes his fat/jer inexorably by, and goes to
Violet]. Come, Mrs Malone : youve got to move to the
hotel with me, and take your proper place before the world.

VIOLET. But I must go in, dear, and tell Davis to pack.
Wont you go on and make them give you a room overlook-
ing the garden for me ? I'll join you in half an hour.

HECTOR. Very well. YouU dine with us. Dad, wont you ?

MALONE [eager to conciliate him] Yes, yes.

HECTOR. See you all later. [He waves his hand to jinn,
who has now been joined by Tanner, Octavius, and Rams den in
the garden, and goes out through the little gate, leaving his
father and Violet together on the lawn].

MALONE. Youll try to bring him to his senses, Violet : I
know you will.

VIOLET. I had no idea he could be so headstrong. If he
goes on like that, what can I do?

MALONE. Dont be discurridged : domestic pressure may
be slow ; but it's sure. Youll wear him down. Promise me
you will.

VIOLET. I will do my best. Of course I think it's the
greatest nonsense deliberately making us poor like that.

MALONE. Of course it is.

VIOLET [after a moments reflection] You had better give
me the remittance. He will want it for his hotel bill. I'll
see whether I can induce him to accept it. Not now, of
course, but presently.

Act IV Man and Superman 1 57

MALONE [^ager/yj Yes, yes, yes : thats just the thing [^e
hands her the thousand dollar bill^ and adds cunningly'] Y'undcr-
stand that this is only a bachelor allowance.

VIOLET [r(?«7/i!3'] Oh, quite. \_S he takes it]. Thank you. By
the way, Mr Malone, those two houses you mentioned —
the abbeys.

MALONE. Yes ?

VIOLET. Dont take one of them until Ive seen it. One
never knows what may be wrong with these places.

MALONE. I wont. I'll do nothing without consulting you,
never fear.

VIOLET \^politely^but without a ray of gratitude] Thanks: that
will be much the best way. \^She goes calmly back to the villa^
escorted obsequiously by Malone to the upper end of the garden].

TANNER {drawing Ramsden's attention to Malone' s cringing
attitude as he takes leave of Violet] And that poor devil is a
billionaire ! one of the master spirits of the age ! Led in a
string like a pug dog by the first girl who takes the trouble
to despise him ! I wonder will it ever come to that with
me. {He comes down to the lawn].

RAMSDEN {following him] The sooner the better for you.

MALONE {slapping his hands as he returns through the garden]
Thatll be a grand woman for Hector. I wouldnt exchange
her for ten duchesses. {He descends to the lawn and comes
between Tanner and Rams den],

RAMSDEN {very civil to the billionaire] It's an unexpected
pleasure to find you in this corner of the world, Mr Malone.
Have you come to buy up the Alhambra ?

MALONE. Well, I dont say I mightnt. I think I could do
better with it than the Spanish goverment. But thats not
what I came about. To tell you the truth, about a month
ago I overheard a deal between two men over a bundle of
shares. They differed about the price : they were young
and greedy, and didnt know that if the shares were worth
what was bid for them they must be worth what was asked,
the margin being too small to be of any account, you see.
To amuse meself, I cut in and bought the shares. Well, to

158 Man and Superman Act iv

this day I havnt found out what the business is. The office
is in this town ; and the name is Mendoza, Limited. Now
whether Mendoza's a mine, or a steamboat line, or a bank,
or a patent article —

TANNER. Hes a man. I know him : his principles are
thoroughly commercial. Let us take you round the town
in our motor, Mr Malone, and call on him on the way.

MALONE. If youll be so kind, yes. And may I ask who —

TANNER. Mr Roebuck Ramsden, a very old friend of
your daughter-in-law.

MALONE. Happy to meet you, Mr Ramsden.

RAMSDEN. Thank you. Mr Tanner is also one of our circle.

MALONE. Glad to know you also, Mr Tanner.

TANNER. Thanks. [Malone and Ramsden go out very
amicably through the little gate. Tanner calls to Octavius^ who
is wandering in the garden with Ann'] Tavy ! \_Tavy comes
to the steps. Tanner whispers loudly to him] Violet has married
a financier of brigands. [Tanner hurries away to overtake
Malone and Ramsden. Ann strolls to the steps with an idle
impulse to torment Octavius].

ANN. Wont you go with them, Tavy ?

ocTAVius [tears suddenly flushing his eyes] You cut me to
the heart, Ann, by wanting me to go [he comes down on the
lawn to hide his face from her, 5 he follows him caressingly].

ANN. Poor Ricky Ticky Tavy ! Poor heart !

OCTAVIUS. It belongs to you, Ann. Forgive me : I must
speak of it. I love you. You know I love you.

ANN. Whats the good, Tavy ? You know that my mother
is determined that I shall marry Jack.

OCTAVIUS [amazed] Jack !

ANN. ]t seems absurd, doesnt it?

OCTAVIUS [with growing resentment] Do you mean to say
that Jack has been playing with me all this time ? That he
has been urging me not to marry you because he intends
to marry you himself?

ANN [alarmed] No no : you mustnt lead him to believe
that I said that. I dont for a moment think that Jack knows

Act IV Man and Superman 1 59

his own mind. But it's clear from my father's will that he
wished me to marry Jack. And my mother is set on it.

ocTAVius. But you are not bound to sacrifice yourself
always to the wishes of your parents.

ANN. My father loved me. My mother loves me. Surely
their wishes are a better guide than my own selfishness.

OCTAVIUS. Oh, I know how unselfish you are, Ann. But
believe me — though I know I am speaking in my own
interest — there is another side to this question. Is it fair to
Jack to marry him if you do not love him ? Is it fair to
destroy my happiness as well as your own if you can bring
yourself to love me ?

ANN [looking at him with a faint impulse of pity] Tavy, my
dear, you are a nice creature — a good boy.

OCTAVIUS [humiliated] Is that all ?

ANN [mischievously in spite of her pity] Thats a great deal,
I assure you. You would always worship the ground I trod
on, wouldnt you.?

OCTAVIUS. I do. It sounds ridiculous ; but it's no exag-
geration. I do ; and I always shall.

ANN. Always is a long word, Tavy. You see, I shall have to
live up always to your idea of my divinity ; and I dont think
I could do that if we were married. But if I marry Jack,
youll never be disillusioned — at least not until I grow too old.

OCTAVIUS. I too shall grow old, Ann. And when I am
eighty, one white hair of the woman I love will make mc
tremble more than the thickest gold tress from the most
beautiful young head.

ANN [quite touched] Oh, thats poetry, Tavy, real poetry.
It gives me that strange sudden sense of an echo from a
former existence which always seems to me such a striking
proof that we have immortal souls.

OCTAVIUS. Do you believe that it is true ?

ANN. Tavy: if it is to come true, you must lose me as
well as love me.

OCTAVIUS. Oh ! [he hastily sits down at the little table and
covers his face with his hands].

i6o Man and Superman Act iv

ANN [with conviction^ Tavy : I would nt for worlds
destroy your illusions. I can neither take you nor let you
go. I can see exactly what will suit you. You must be a
sentimental old bachelor for my sake.

ocTAVius [desperately'] Ann : I'll kill myself.

ANN. Oh no you wont : that wouldnt be kind. You
wont have a bad time. You will be very nice to women ;
and you will go a good deal to the opera. A broken heart
is a very pleasant complaint for a man in London if he
has a comfortable income.

OCTAVIUS [considerably cooled, but believing that he is only
recovering his self-control] I know you mean to be kind,
Ann. Jack has persuaded you that cynicism is a good
tonic for me. [He rises with quiet dignity].

ANN [studying him slyly] You see, I'm disillusionizing
you already. Thats what I dread.

OCTAVIUS. You do not dread disillusionizing Jack.

ANN [her face lighting up with mischievous ecstasy — whis-
pering] I cant : he has no illusions about me. I shall
surprise Jack the other way. Getting over an unfavorable
impression is ever so much easier than living up to an
ideal. Oh, I shall enrapture Jack sometimes !

OCTAVIUS [resuming the calm phase of despair^ and beginning
to enjoy his broken heart and delicate attitude without knowing
it] I dont doubt that. You will enrapture him always.
And he — the fool ! — thinks you would make him wretched.

ANN. Yes : thats the difficulty, so far.

OCTAVIUS [heroically] Shall / tell him that you love
him?

ANN [quickly] Oh no : he'd run away again.

OCTAVIUS [shocked] Ann : would you marry an unwilling
man?

ANN. What a queer creature you are, Tavy ! Theres
no such thing as a willing man when you really go for
him. [She laughs naughtily], I'm shocking you, I suppose.
But you know you are really getting a sort of satisfaction
already in being out of danger yourself.

Act IV Man and Superman 1 6 1

ocTAVius \startled'\ Satisfaction ! [Reproachfully'] You say
that to me !

ANN. Well, if it were really agony, would you ask for
more of it ?

OCTAVIUS. Have I asked for more of it?

ANN. You have offered to tell Jack that I love him.
Thats self-sacrifice, I suppose ; but there must be some
satisfaction in it. Perhaps its because youre a poet. You
are like the bird that presses its breast against the sharp
thorn to make itself sing.

OCTAVIUS. It's quite simple. I love you ; and I want
you to be happy. You dont love me ; so I cant make you
happy myself; but I can help another man to do it.

ANN. Yes : it seems quite simple. But I doubt if we
ever know why we do things. The only really simple
thing is to go straight for what you want and grab it. I
suppose I dont love you, Tavy ; but sometimes I feel as if
I should like to make a man of you somehow. You are
very foolish about women.

OCTAVIUS [almost coldly'] I am content to be what I am
in that respect.

ANN. Then you must keep away from them, and only
dream about them. I wouldnt marry you for worlds, Tavy.

OCTAVIUS. I have no hope, Ann : I accept my ill luck.
But I dont think you quite know how much it hurts.

ANN. You are so softhearted. It's queer that you should
be so different from Violet. Violets as hard as nails.

OCTAVIUS. Oh no. I am sure Violet is thoroughly
womanly at heart.

ANN [with some impatience] Why do you say that ? Is it
unwomanly to be thoughtful and businesslike and sensible?
Do you want Violet to be an idiot — or something worse,
like me?

OCTAVIUS. Something worse — like you ! What do you
mean, Ann?

ANN. Oh well, I dont mean that, of course. But I have
a great respect for Violet. She gets her own way always.

M

1 62 Man and Superman Act IV

ocTAVius [sig/:^ing] So do you.

ANN. Yes ; but somehow she gets it without coaxing —
without having to make people sentimental about her.

OCTAVIUS [zvit6 brotherly callousness^ Nobody could get
very sentimental about Violet, I think, pretty as she is.

ANN. Oh yes they could, if she made them.

OCTAVIUS. But surely no really nice woman would
deliberately practise on men's instincts in that way.

ANN [throwing up her hands'] Oh Tavy, Tavy, Ricky
Ticky Tavy, heaven help the woman who marries you !

OCTAVIUS [his passion reviving at the name] Oh why,
why, why do you say that? Dont torment me. I dont
understand.

ANN. Suppose she were to tell fibs, and lay snares for
men?

OCTAVIUS. Do you think I could marry such a woman
— I, who have known and loved you ?

ANN. Hm ! Well, at all events, she wouldnt let you if
she were wise. So thats settled. And now I cant talk any
more. Say you forgive me, and that the subject is closed.

OCTAVIUS. I have nothing to forgive; and the subject is
closed. And if the wound is open, at least you shall never
see it bleed.

ANN. Poetic to the last, Tavy. Goodbye, dear. [She
pats his cheek; has an impulse to kiss him and then another
impulse of distaste which prevents her; Jinall^ runs away
through the garden and into the villa].

Octavius again takes refuge at the table, bowing his head
on his arms and sobbing softly. Mrs Whitefeld, who has been
pottering round the Granada shops, and has a net full of little
parcels in her hand, comes in through the gate and sees him.

MRS WHITE FIELD [running to him and lifting his head]
Whats the matter, Tavy? Are you ill?

OCTAVIUS. No, nothing, nothing.

MRS WHITEFIELD [stUl holding his head, anxiously] But
youre crying. Is it about Violet's marriage ?

OCTAVIUS. No, no. Who told you about Violet?

Act IV Man and Superman 163

MRS WHITEFIELD [restoring the head to its otvner] I met
Roebuck and that awful old Irishman. Are you sure youre
not ill? What's the matter?

ocTAVi\Js[i7j~ectio?iate/y] It's nothing — only a man's broken
heart. Doesnt that sound ridiculous?

MRS WHITEFIELD, But what is it all about? Has Ann
been doing anything to you ?

ocTAVius. It's not Ann's fault. And dont think for a
moment that I blame you.

MRS WHITEFIELD [st^rt/ed'] For what?

OCTAVIUS [pressing her hand consolingly\ For nothing. I
said I didnt blame you.

MRS WHITEFIELD. But I havnt done anything. Whats the
matter?

OCTAVIUS [smiling sadlf\ Cant you guess ? I daresay you
are right to prefer Jack to me as a husband for Ann ; but
I love Ann ; and it hurts rather. [He rises and moves azvay
from her towards the middle of the lawn"],

MRS WHITEFIELD [following him hastily^ Docs Ann say
that I want her to marry Jack ?

oci^Avius. Yes : she has told me.

MRS WHITEFIELD [thoughtfully'] Then I'm very sorry for
you, Tavy. It's only her way of saying she wants to
marry Jack. Little she cares what / say or what / want.

OCTAVIUS. But she would not say it unless she believed
it. Surely you dont suspect Ann of — of deceit ! !

MRS WHITEFIELD. Well, ncvcr mind, Tavy. I dont know
which is best for a young man : to know too little, like
you, or too much, like Jack,

Tanner returns,

TANNER. Well, Ivc disposcd of old Malone. Ive in-
troduced him to Mendoza, Limited ; and left the two
brigands together to talk it out. Hullo, Tavy ! anything
wrong ?

OCTAVIUS. I must go wash my facr, I see. [To Mrs
Whitefield\ Tell him what you wish. [To Tanner^ You
may take it from me, Jack, that Ann approves of it.

1 64 Man and Superman Act IV

TANNER \_puzzled by his manner'] Approves of what ?

ocTAVius. Of what Mrs Whitefield wishes. \_He goes his
way with sad dignity to the villa],

TANNER [to Mrs Whitefield] This is very mysterious.
What is it you wish? It shall be done, whatever it is.

MRS WHITEFIELD \with snivelling gratitude] Thank you.
Jack. \_She sits down. Tanner brings the other chair from the
table and sits close to her with his elbows on his knees, giving
her his whole attention], I dont know why it is that other
people's children are so nice to me, and that my own
have so little consideration for me. It's no wonder I dont
seem able to care for Ann and Rhoda as I do for you and
Tavy and Violet. It's a very queer world. It used to be
so straightforward and simple ; and now nobody seems to
think and feel as they ought. Nothing has been right since
that speech that Professor Tyndall made at Belfast.

TANNER. Yes : life is more complicated than we used
to think. But what am I to do for you ?

MRS WHITEFIELD. Thats just what I want to tell you.
Of course youU marry Ann whether I like it or not —

TANNER [starting] It seems to me that I shall presently
be married to Ann whether I like it myself or not.

MRS WHITEFIELD [peacefully] Oh, very likely you will :
you know what she is when she has set her mind on any-
thing. But dont put it on me : thats all I ask. Tavy has
just let out that shes been saying that I am making her
marry you ; and the poor boy is breaking his heart about
it ; for he is in love with her himself, though what he sees
in her so wonderful, goodness knows : / dont. It's no use
telling Tavy that Ann puts things into people's heads by
telling them that I want them when the thought of them
never crossed my mind. It only sets Tavy against me.
But you know better than that. So if you marry her, dont
put the blame on me.

TANNER [emphatically] I havnt the slightest intention of
marrying her.

MRS WHITEFIELD [j^/y] She'd suit you better than Tavy.

Act IV Man and Superman 165

She'd meet her match in you, Jack. I'd like to see her
meet her match,

TANNER. No man is a match for a woman, except with
a poker and a pair of hobnailed boots. Not always even
then. Anyhow, / cant take the poker to her. I should be
a mere slave.

MRS WHiTEFiELD. No : shc's afraid of you. At all events,
you would tell her the truth about herself. She wouldnt
be able to slip out of it as she does with me.

TANNER. Everybody would call me a brute if I told Ann
the truth about herself in terms of her own moral code.
To begin with, Ann says things that are not strictly true.

MRS WHITEFIELD. I'm glad somebody sees she is not an
angel.

TANNER. In short — to put it as a husband would put
it when exasperated to the point of speaking out — she is
a liar. And since she has plunged Tavy head over ears in
love with her without any intention of marrying him, she is
a coquette, according to the standard definition of a coquette
as a woman who rouses passions she has no intention of
gratifying. And as she has now reduced you to the point
of being willing to sacrifice me at the altar for the mere
satisfaction of getting me to call her a liar to her face,
I may conclude that she is a bully as well. She cant
bully men as she bullies women ; so she habitually and
unscrupulously uses her personal fascination to make men
give her whatever she wants. That makes her almost some-
thing for which I know no polite name.

MRS WHITEFIELD [in mild expostulation^ Well, you cant
expect perfection, Jack.

TANNER. I dont. But what annoys me is that Ann docs.
I know perfectly well that all this about her being a liar
and a bully and a coquette and so forth is a trumped-up
moral indictment which might be brought against anybody.
We all lie; we all bully as much as we dare; we all bid
for admiration without the least intention of earning it;
we all get as much rent as we can out of our powers of

1 66 Man and Superman Act iv

fascination. If Ann would admit this I shouldnt quarrel
with her. But she wont. If she has children she'll take
advantage of their telling lies to amuse herself by whack-
ing them. If another woman makes eyes at me, she'll refuse
to know a coquette. She will do just what she likes her-
self whilst insisting on everybody else doing what the con-
ventional code prescribes. In short, I can stand everything
except her confounded hypocrisy. Thats what beats me.

MRS WHITEFIELD [^Carried away by the relief of hearing her
own opinion so eloquently expressed^ Oh, she i s a hypocrite.
She is : she is. Isnt she ?

TANNER. Then why do you want to marry me to her ?

MRS WHITEFIELD \querulously^ There now! put it on me,
of course. I never thought of it until Tavy told me she
said I did. But, you know, I'm very fond of Tavy : hes a
sort of son to me ; and I dont want him to be trampled on
and made wretched.

TANNER. Whereas I dont matter, I suppose.

MRS WHITEFIELD. Oh, you are different, somehow: you
are able to take care of yourself. Youd serve her out. And
anyhow, she must marry somebody.

TANNER. Aha ! there speaks the life instinct. You detest
her ; but you feel that you must get her married.

MRS WHITEFIELD [rising, shocked'\ Do you mean that I
detest my own daughter ! Surely you dont believe me to
be so wicked and unnatural as that, merely because I see
her faults.

TANNER [cynically'] You love her, then ?

MRS WHITEFIELD. Why, of coursc I do. What queer
things you say, Jack ! We cant help loving our own blood
relations.

TANNER. Well, perhaps it saves unpleasantness to say so.
But for my part, I suspect that the tables of consanguinity
have a natural basis in a natural repugnance [he rises],

MRS WHITEFIELD. You shouldnt Say things like that.
Jack. I hope you wont tell Ann that I have been speaking
to you. I only wanted to set myself right with you and

Act IV Man and Superman 167

Tavy, I couldnt sit mumchancc and have everything put
on mc.

TANNER \politclj\ Quite so.

MRS WHITEFIELD [dissatisjied^ And now Ivc only made
matters worse. Tavy's angry with me because I dont
worship Ann. And when it's been put into my head that
Ann ought to marry you, what can I say except that it
would serve her right?

TANNER. Thank you.

MRS WHITEFIELD. Now dont bc silly and twist what I
say into something I dont mean. I ought to have fair
play —

Ann comes from the villa, followed presently by Violet, who
is dressed for driving.

ANN {coming to her mother^ s right hand with threatening
suavity] Well, mamma darling, you seem to be having a
delightful chat with Jack. We can hear you all over the
place.

MRS WHITEFIELD [appalled] Have you overheard —

TANNER. Never fear: Ann is only — well, we were dis-
cussing that habit of hers just now. She hasnt heard a
word.

MRS WHITEFIELD [stoutly] I dont carc whether she has
or not : I have a right to say what I please.

VIOLET [arriving on the lawn and coming between Mrs.
Whitefield and Tanner] Ive come to say goodbye. I'm off
for my honeymoon.

MRS WHITEFIELD [frying] Oh dont say that, Violet. And
no wedding, no breakfast, no clothes, nor anything.

VIOLET [petting her] It wont be for long.

MRS WHITEFIELD. Dont let him take you to America.
Promise me that you wont.

VIOLET [very decidedly] I should think not, indeed. Dont
cry, dear : I'm only going to the hotel.

MRS WHITEFIELD. But going in that dress, with your
luggage, makes one realize — [sle chokes, and then breaks out
again] How I vwsh you were my daughter, Violet !

1 68 Man and Superman Act iv

VIOLET {soothing her\ There, there : so I am. Ann will
be jealous.

MRS wHiTEFiELD. Ann doesnt care a bit for me.

ANN. Fie, mother ! Come, now : you mustnt cry any
more : you know Violet doesnt like it \Mrs Whitefield
dries her eyes, and sub side s\

VIOLET. Goodbye, Jack.

TANNER. Goodbye, Violet.

VIOLET. The sooner you get married too, the better.
You will be much less misunderstood.

TANNER {restively] I quite expect to get married in the
course of the afternoon. You all seem to have set your
minds on it.

VIOLET. You might do worse. {To Mrs Whitefield: putting
her arm round her'\ Let me take you to the hotel with me :
the drive will do you good. Come in and get a wrap. {She
takes her towards the villd].

MRS WHITEFIELD {as they go up through the garden] I dont
know what I shall do when you are gone, with no one but
Ann in the house ; and she always occupied with the men !
It's not to be expected that your husband will care to be
bothered with an old woman like me. Oh, you neednt tell
me : politeness is all very well ; but I know what people
think — {She talks herself and Violet out of sight and hearing].

Ann^ musing on Violefs opportune advice, approaches Tanner;
examines him humorously for a moment from toe to top; and
finally delivers her opinion.

ANN. Violet is quite right. You ought to get married.

TANNER {explosively] Ann : I will not marry you. Do you
hear? I wont, wont, wont, wont, WONT marry you.

ANN {placidly] Well, nobody axd you, sir she said, sir
she said, sir she said. So thats settled.

TANNER. Yes, nobody has asked me; but everybody
treats the thing as settled. It's in the air. When we meet,
the others go away on absurd pretexts to leave us alone to-
gether. Ramsden no longer scowls at me : his eye beams,
as if he were already giving you away to*me in church.

Act IV Man and Superman 169

Tavy refers me to your mother and gives me his blessing.
Straker openly treats you as his future employer : it was he
who first told me of it.

ANN. Was that why you ran away?

TANNER. Yes, only to be stopped by a lovesick brigand
and run down like a truant schoolboy.

ANN. Well, if you dont want to be married, you neednt
be [sSe turns away from him and sits down, much at her ease].

TANNER ^following her] Does any man want to be hanged?
Yet men let themselves be hanged without a struggle for
life, though they could at least give the chaplain a black eye.
We do the world's will, not our own. I have a frightful
feeling that I shall let myself be married because it is the
world's will that you should have a husband.

ANN. I daresay I shall, someday.

TANNER. But why mc — me of all men? Marriage is
to me apostasy, profanation of the sanctuary of my soul,
violation of my manhood, sale of my birthright, shameful
surrender, ignominious capitulation, acceptance of defeat.
I shall decay like a thing that has served its purpose and is
done with ; I shall change from a man with a future to a
man with a past ; I shall see in the greasy eyes of all the
other husbands their relief at the arrival of a new prisoner
to share their ignominy. The young men will scorn me as
one who has sold out : to the women I, who have always
been an enigma and a possibility, shall be merely somebody
else's property — and damaged goods at that : a secondhand
man at best.

ANN. Well, your wife can put on a cap and make her-
self ugly to keep you in countenance, like my grandmother.

TANNER. So that she may make her triumph more insolent
by publicly throwing away the bait the moment the trap
snaps on the victim !

ANN. After all, though, what difference would it make?
Beauty is all very well at first sight ; but who ever looks
at it when it has been in the house three days? I thought
our pictures very lovely when papa bought them; but I

170 Man and Superman Act IV

havnt looked at them for years. You never bother about
my looks : you are too well used to me. I might be the
umbrella stand.

TANNER. You He, you vampire : you lie.

ANN. Flatterer. Why are you trying to fascinate me,
Jack, if you dont want to marry me ?

TANNER. The Life Force. I am in the grip of the Life
Force.

ANN. I dont understand in the least : it sounds like the
Life Guards.

TANNER. Why dont you marry Tavy.? He is willing.
Can you not be satisfied unless your prey struggles ?

ANN [turning to him as if to let him into a secret^ Tavy
will never marry. Havnt you noticed that that sort of man
never marries t

TANNER. What ! a man who idolizes women ! who sees
nothing in nature but romantic scenery for love duets !
Tavy, the chivalrous, the faithful, the tenderhearted and
true ! Tavy never marry ! Why, he was born to be swept
up by the first pair of blue eyes he meets in the street.

ANN. Yes, I know. All the same. Jack, men like that
always live in comfortable bachelor lodgings with broken
hearts, and are adored by their landladies, and never get
married. Men like you always get married.

TANNER [smiting his brow'] How frightfully, horribly
true ! It has been staring me in the face all my life ; and
I never saw it before.

ANN. Oh, its the same with women. The poetic tem-
perament's a very nice temperament, very amiable, very
harmless and poetic, I daresay; but it's an old maid's
temperament.

TANNER. Barren. The Life Force passes it by.

ANN. If thats what you mean by the Life Force, yes.

TANNER. You dout carc for Tavy?

ANN [looking round carefully to make sure that Tavy is not
within earshot] No.

TANNER. And you do care for me ?

Act IV Man and Superman 171

ANN [rising quietly and shaking her Jinger at hini\ Now
Jack ! Behave yourself.

TANNER. Infamous, abandoned woman ! Devil !

ANN. Boa-constrictor! Elephant!

TANNER. Hypocrite !

ANN \joftly\ I must be, for my future husband's sake.

TANNER. For mine ! [Correcting himself savagely\ I mean
for his.

ANN [ignoring the correction"] Yes, for yours. You had
better marry what you call a hypocrite, Jack. Women who
are not hypocrites go about in rational dress and are
insulted and get into all sorts of hot water. And then their
husbands get dragged in too, and live in continual dread
of fresh complications. Wouldnt you prefer a wife you
could depend on?

TANNER. No, a thousand times no : hot water is the
revolutionist's element. You clean men as you clean milk-
pails, by scalding them.

ANN. Cold water has its uses too. It's healthy.

TANNER, [despairingly] Oh, you are witty : at the
supreme moment the Life Force endows you with every
quality. Well, I too can be a hypocrite. Your father's
will appointed me your guardian, not your suitor. I shall
be faithful to my trust.

ANN [/;/ low siren tones'] He asked me who would I have
as my guardian before he made that will. I chose you !

TANNER. The will is yours then ! The trap was laid
from the beginning.

ANN [concentrating all her magic] From the beginning —
from our childhood — for both of us — by the Life Force.

TANNER. I will not marry you. I will not marry you.

ANN. Oh, you will, you will.

TANNER, I tell you, no, no, no.

ANN. I tell you, yes, yes, yes.

TANNER. No.

ANN [coaxing — imploring — almost exhausted] Yes. Before
it is too late for repentance. Yes.

172 Man and Superman Act IV

TANNER [strui:k by the echo from the past] When did all
this happen to me before? Are we two dreaming?

ANN \suddenly losing her courage, with an anguish that she
does not conceal] No. We are awake ; and you have said
no : that is all.

TANNER [brutally] Well ?

ANN. Well, I made a mistake: you do not love me.

TANNER [seizing her in his arms] It is false : I love you.
The Life Force enchants me : I have the whole world in
my arms when I clasp you. But I am fighting for my
freedom, for my honor, for my self, one and indivisible.

ANN. Your happiness will be worth them all.

TANNER. You would scll frccdom and honor and self
for happiness ?

ANN. It will not be all happiness for me. Perhaps
death.

TANNER [groaning] Oh, that clutch holds and hurts.
What have you grasped in me? Is there a father's heart
as well as a mother's ?

ANN. Take care, Jack : if anyone comes while we are
like this, you will have to marry me.

TANNER. If we two stood now on the edge of a preci-
pice, I would hold you tight and jump.

ANN [panting, failing more and more under the strain] Jack :
let me go. I have dared so frightfully — it is lasting longer
than I thought. Let me go : I cant bear it.

TANNER. Nor I. Let it kill us.

ANN. Yes : I dont care. I am at the end of my forces.
I dont care. I think I am going to faint.

At this moment Violet and Octavius come from the villa
with Mrs Whitefield, who is wrapped up for driving. Simul-
taneously M alone and Rams den, followed by Mendoxa and
Straker, come in through the little gate in the paling. Tanner
shamefacedly releases Ann, who raises her hand giddily to her
forehead.

MALONE. Take care. Something's the matter with the
lady.

Act IV Man and Superman 173

RAMSDEN. What does this mean ?

VIOLET [running between Ann and Tanner'] Are you ill ?

ANN [reeling, with a supreme effort] I have promised to
marry Jack. [She swoons. Violet kneels by her and chafes her
hand. Tanner runs round to her other hand, and tries to lift
her head. Octavius goes to Violet' s assistance, but does not
know what to do. Mrs Whitefeld hurries back into the villa.
Octavius, Malone and Ramsden run to Ann and crowd round
her, stooping to assist. Straker coolly comes to Ann^s feet, and
Mendoza to her head, both upright and self-possessed].

STRAKER. Now then, ladies and gentlemen : she dont
want a crowd round her : she wants air — all the air she
can git. If you please, gents — [Malone and Ramsden allow
him to drive them gently past Ann and up the lawn towards
the garden, where Octavius, who has already become conscious
of his uselessness, joins them. Straker, following them up,
pauses for a moment to instruct Tanner]. Dont lift er ed,
Mr Tanner: let it go flat so's the blood can run back
into it.

MENDOZA. He is right, Mr Tanner. Trust to the air of
the Sierra. [He withdraws delicately to the garden steps].

TANNER [rising] I yield to your superior knowledge of
physiology, Henry. [He withdraws to the corner of the lawn;
and Octavius immediately hurries down to him].

TAVY [aside to Tanner, grasping his hand] Jack : be very
happy.

TANNER [aside to Tavy] I never asked her. It is a trap
for me. [He goes up the lawn towards the garden. Octavius
remains petrified].

MENDOZA [intercepting Mrs White field, who comes from the
villa with a glass of brandy] What is this, madam [he takes
it from her]\

MRS WHITEFIELD. A little brandy.

MENDOZA. The worst thing you could give her. Allow
me. [He swallows it\ Trust to the air of the Sierra,
madam.

For a moment the men all forget Ann and stare at Mendoza.

174 Man and Superman Act iv

ANN [/;/ Violet's ear, clutching her round the neck] Violet :
did Jack say anything when I fainted?

VIOLET. No.

ANN. Ah ! [with a sigh of intense relief she relapses],

MRS wHiTEFiELD. Oh, shcs fainted again.

They are about to rush back to her; but Mendoxa stops
them with a warning gesture,

ANN {supine] No I havnt. I'm quite happy.

TANNER [suddenly walking determinedly to her, and snatching
her hand from Violet to feel her pulse] Why, her pulse is
positively bounding. Come, get up. What nonsense ! Up
with you. \He gets her up summarily].

ANN. Yes : I feel strong enough now. But you very
nearly killed me, Jack, for all that.

MALONE. A rough wooer, eh? Theyre the best sort,
Miss Whitefield. I congratulate Mr Tanner ; and I hope
to meet you and him as frequent guests at the Abbey.

ANN. Thank you. [She goes past Malone to Octavius]
Ricky Ticky Tavy : congratulate me. [Aside to him] I
want to make you cry for the last time.

TAVY [steadfastly] No more tears. I am happy in your
happinej^. And I believe in you in spite of everything.

RAMSDEN [coming between Malone and Tanner] You are a
happy man. Jack Tanner. I envy you.

MENDOZA. [advancing between Violet and Tanner] Sir :
there are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your
heart's desire. The other is to get it. Mine and yours, sir.

TANNER. Mr Mendoza : I have no heart's desires.
Ramsden : it is very easy for you to call me a happy man :
you are only a spectator. I am one of the principals; and
I know better. Ann : stop tempting Tavy, and come back
to me.

ANN [complying] You are absurd. Jack. [Bhe takes his
proffered arm].

TANNER [continuing] I solemnly say that I am not a
happy man. Ann looks happy ; but she is only triumphant,
successful, victorious. That is not happiness, but the price

Act IV Man and Superman 175

for which the strong sell their happiness. What we have
both done this afternoon is to renounce happiness, renounce
freedom, renounce tranquillity, above all, renounce the
romantic possibilities of an unknown future, for the cares
of a household and a family. I beg that no man may seize
the occasion to get half drunk and utter imbecile speeches
and coarse pleasantries at my expense. We propose to
furnish our own house according to our own taste ; and I
hereby give notice that the seven or eight travelling clocks,
the four or five dressing cases, the salad bowls, the carvers
and fish slices, the copy of Tennyson in extra morocco,
and |11 the other articles you are preparing to heap upon
us, will be instantly sold, and the proceeds devoted to
circulating free copies of the Revolutionist's Handbook.
The wedding will take place three days after our return
to England, by special licence, at the office of the district
superintendent registrar, in the presence of my solicitor
and his clerk, who, like his clients, will be in ordinary
walking dress —

VIOLET [with intense conviction'] You area brute, Jack.

ANN [looking at him with fond pride and caressing his arm]
Never mind her, dear. Go on talking. ^

TANNER. Talking!

Universal laughter^

THE REVOLUTIONIST'S HAND-
BOOK AND POCKET COMPANION

BY
JOHN TANNER, M.I.R.C.

{Member of the Idle Rich Class).

PREFACE TO THE REVOLUTIONIST'S
HANDBOOK

"No one can contemplate the present condition of the masses of the
people without desiring something like a revolution for the better." &r
Robert Giffen. Essays in Finance, vol. ii. p. 393.

Foreword

A revolutionist is one who desires to discard the existing
social order and try another.

The constitution of England is revolutionary. To a
Russian or Anglo-Indian bureaucrat, a general election is as
much a revolution as a referendum or plebiscite in which
the people fight instead of voting. The French Revolu-
tion overthrew one set of rulers and substituted another
with different interests and different views. That is what a
general election enables the people to do in England every
seven years if they choose. Revolution is therefore a national
institution in England ; and its advocacy by an Englishman
needs no apology.

Every man is a revolutionist concerning the thing he
understands. For example, every person who has mastered
a profession is a sceptic concerning it, and consequently a
revolutionist.

Every genuinely religious person is a heretic and there-
fore a revolutionist.

i8o Man and Superman

All who achieve real distinction in life begin as revolu-
tionists. The most distinguished persons become more re-
volutionary as they grow older, though they are commonly
supposed to become more conservative owing to their loss
of faith in conventional methods of reform.

Any person under the age of thirty, wh#, having any
knowledge of the existing social order, is not a revolutionist,
is an inferior.

And Yet

Revolutions have never lightened the burden of
tyranny: they have only shifted it to another shoulder.

John Tanner.

THE REVOLUTIONIST'S
HANDBOOK

ON GOOD BREEDING

If there were no God, said the eighteenth century Deist,
it would be necessary to invent Him. Now this XVIII
century god was deus ex machina, the god who helped those
who could not help themselves, the god of the lazy and
incapable. The nineteenth century decided that there is
indeed no such god ; and now Man must take in hand all
the work that he used to shirk with an idle prayer. He
must, in effect, change himself into the political Providence
which he formerly conceived as god ; and such change is
not only possible, but the only sort of change that is real.
The mere transfiguration of institutions, as from military
and priestly dominance to commercial and scientific domin-
ance, from commercial dominance to proletarian democracy,
from slavery to serfdom, from serfdom to capitalism, from
monarchy to republicanism, from polytheism to monothe-
ism, from monotheism to atheism, from atheism to panthe-
istic humanitarianism, from general illiteracy to general
literacy, from romance to realism, from realism to mysticism,
from metaphysics to physics, are all but changes from
i8i

1 82 Man and Superman

Tweedledum to Tweedledee : plus ^a change^ plus cest
la meme chose. But the changes from the crab apple to the
pippin, from the wolf and fox to the house dog, from the
charger of Henry V to the brewer's draught horse and the
race-horse, are real ; for here Man has played the god,
subduing Nature to his intention, and ennobling or debas-
ing Life for a set purpose. And what can be done with a
wolf can be done with a man. If such monsters as the
tramp and the gentleman can appear as mere by-products
of Man's individual greed and folly, what might we not
hope for as a main product of his universal aspiration ?

This is no new conclusion. The despair of institutions,
and the inexorable " ye must be born again," with Mrs
Poyser's stipulation, " and born different," recurs in every
generation. The cry for the Superman did not begin with
Nietzsche, nor will it end with his vogue. But it has always
been silenced by the same question : what kind of person
is this Superman to be ? You do not ask for a super-apple,
but for an eatable apple ; nor for a superhorse, but for a
horse of greater draught or velocity. Neither is it of any
use to ask for a Superman : you must furnish a specification
of the sort of man you want. Unfortunately you do not
know what sort of man you want. Some sort of goodlooking
philosopher-athlete, with a handsome healthy woman for
his mate, perhaps.

Vague as this is, it is a great advance on the popular
demand for a perfect gentleman and a perfect lady. And,
after all, no market demand in the world takes the form of
exact technical specification of the article required. Ex-
cellent poultry and potatoes are produced to satisfy the
demand of housewives who do not know the technical
differences between a tuber and a chicken. They will tell
you that the proof of the pudding is in the eating ; and they
are right. The proof of the Superman will be in the living ;
and we shall find out how to produce him by the old
method of trial and error, and not by waiting for a com-
pletely convincing prescription of his ingredients.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 183

Certain common and obvious mistakes may be ruled out
from the beginning. For example, we agree that we want
superior mind ; but we need not fall into the football club
folly of counting on this as a product of superior body.
Yet if we recoil so far as to conclude that superior mind
consists in being the dupe of our ethical classifications of
virtues and vices, in short, of conventional morality, we
shall fall out of the fryingpan of the football club into the
fire of the Sunday School. If we must choose between
a race of athletes and a race of "good" men, let us have
the athletes : better Samson and Milo than Calvin and
Robespierre. But neither alternative is worth changing for :
Samson is no more a Superman than Calvin. What then
are we to do ?

II

PROPERTY AND MARRIAGE

Let us hurry over the obstacles set up by property and
marriage. Revolutionists make too much of them. No doubt
it is easy to demonstrate that property will destroy society
unless society destroys it. No doubt, also, property has
hitherto held its own and destroyed all the empires. But
that was because the superficial objection to it (that it
distributes social wealth and the social labour burden in a
grotesquely inequitable manner) did not threaten the exist-
ence of the race, but only the individual happiness of its
units, and finally the maintenance of some irrelevant
political form or other, such as a nation, an empire, or the
like. Now as happiness never matters to Nature, as she
neither recognizes flags and frontiers nor cares a straw
whether the economic system adopted by a society is
feudal, capitalistic or collectivist, provided it keeps the
race afoot (the hive and the anthill being as acceptable to
her as Utopia), the demonstrations of Socialists, though
irrefutable, will never make any serious impression on
property. The knell of that overrated institution will not
sound until it is felt to conflict with some more vital matter
than mere personal inequities in industrial economy. No
such conflict was perceived whilst society had not yet grown
beyond national communities too small and simple to dis-
astrously overtax Man's limited political capacity. But we
have now reached the stage of international organization.
184

The Revolutionist's Handbook 185

Man's political capacity and magnanimity arc clearly beaten
by the vastness and complexity of the problems forced on
him. And it is at this anxious moment that he finds, when
he looks upward for a mightier mind to help him, that the
heavens are empty. He will presently see that his discarded
formula that Man is the Temple of the Holy Ghost happens
to be precisely true, and that it is only through his own
brain and hand that this Holy Ghost, formally the most
nebulous person in the Trinity, and now become its sole
survivor as it has always been its real Unity, can help him
in any way. And so, if the Superman is to come, he must
be born of Woman by Man's intentional and well-con-
sidered contrivance. Conviction of this will smash every-
thing that opposes it. Even Property and Marriage, which
laugh at the laborer's petty complaint that he is defrauded
of "surplus value," and at the domestic miseries of the
slaves of the wedding ring, will themselves be laughed
aside as the lightest of trifles if they cross this conception
when it becomes a fully realized vital purpose of the race.

That they must cross it becomes obvious the moment
we acknowledge the futility of breeding man for special
qualities as we breed cocks for game, greyhounds for speed,
or sheep for mutton. What is really important in Man is
the part of him that wc do not yet understand. Of much
of it we are not even conscious, just as we are not normally
conscious of keeping up our circulation by our heart-pump,
though if we neglect it we die. We are therefore driven to
the conclusion that when we have carried selection as far
as we can by rejecting from the list of eligible parents all
persons who are uninteresting, unpromising, or blemished
without any set-ofF, we shall still have to trust to the guid-
ance of fancy (^alias Voice of Nature), both in the breeders
and the parents, for that superiority in the unconscious
self which will be the true characteristic of the Superman.

At this point we perceive the importance of giving fancy
the widest possible field. To cut humanity up into small
cliques, and effectively limit the selection of the individual

1 86 Man and Superman

to his own clique, is to postpone the Superman for eons,
if not for ever. Not only should every person be nourished
and trained as a possible parent, but there should be no
possibility of such an obstacle to natural selection as the
objection of a countess to a navvy or of a duke to a
charwoman. Equality is essential to good breeding; and
equality, as all economists know, is incompatible with
property.

Besides, equality is an essential condition of bad breed-
ing also; and bad breeding is indispensable to the weed-
ing out of the human race. When the conception of
heredity took hold of the scientific imagination in the
middle of last century, its devotees announced that it was
a crime to marry the lunatic to the lunatic or the con-
sumptive to the consumptive. But pray are we to try to
correct our diseased stocks by infecting our healthy stocks
with them? Clearly the attraction which disease has for
diseased people is beneficial to the race. If two really un-
healthy people get married, they will, as likely as not,
have a great number of children who will all die before
they reach maturity. This is a far more satisfactory
arrangement than the tragedy of a union between a healthy
and an unhealthy person. Though more costly than steril-
ization of the unhealthy, it has the enormous advantage
that in the event of our notions of health and unhealth
being erroneous (which to some extent they most certainly
are), the error will be corrected by experience instead of
confirmed by evasion.

One fact must be faced resolutely, in spite of the
shrieks of the romantic. There is no evidence that the best
citizens are the offspring of congenial marriages, or that a
conflict of temperament is not a highly important part of
what breeders call crossing. On the contrary, it is quite
sufficiently probable that good results may be obtained from
parents who would be extremely unsuitable companions
and partners, to make it certain that the experiment of
mating them will sooner or later be tried purposely

The Revolutionist's Handbook 187

almost as often as it is now tried accidentally. But
mating such couples must clearly not involve marrying
them. In conjugation two complementary persons may
supply one another's deficiencies : in the domestic partner-
ship of marriage they only feel them and suffer from them.
Thus the son of a robust, cheerful, eupeptic British
country squire, with the tastes and range of his class, and
of a clever, imaginative, intellectual, highly civilized
Jewess, might be very superior to both his parents ; but it
is not likely that the Jewess would find the squire an in-
teresting companion, or his habits, his friends, his place
and mode of life congenial to her. Therefore marriage,
whilst it is made an indispensable condition of mating,
will delay the advent of Superman as effectually as Pro-
perty, and will be modified by the impulse towards him
just as effectually.

The practical abrogation of Property and Marriage as
they exist at present will occur without being much
noticed. To the mass of men, the intelligent abolition of
property would mean nothing except an increase in the
quantity of food, clothing, housing and comfort at their
personal disposal, as well as a greater control over their
time and circumstances. Very few persons now make any
distinction between virtually complete property and pro-
perty held on such highly developed public conditions as
to place its income on the same footing as that of a pro-
pertyless clergyman, officer, or civil servant. A landed
proprietor may still drive men and women off his land,
demolish their dwellings, and replace them with sheep or
deer; and in the unregulated trades the private trader
may still spunge on the regulated trades and sacrifice the
life and health of the nation as lawlessly as the Man-
chester cotton manufacturers did at the beginning of last
century. But though the Factory Code on the one hand,
and Trade Union organization on the other, have, within
the lifetime of men still living, converted the old un-
restricted property of the cotton manufacturer in his mill

1 88 Man and Superman

and the cotton spinner in his labor into a mere permission
to trade or work on stringent public or collective con-
ditions, imposed in the interest of the general welfare
without any regard for individual hard cases, people in
Lancashire still speak of their "property" in the old
terms, meaning nothing more by it than the things a thief
can be punished for stealing. The total abolition of pro-
perty, and the conversion of every citizen into a salaried
functionary in the public service, would leave much more
than 99 per cent of the nation quite unconscious of any
greater change than now takes place when the son of a
shipowner goes into the navy. They would still call their
watches and umbrellas and back gardens their property.

Marriage also will persist as a name attached to a
general custom long after the custom itself will have
altered. For example, modern English marriage, as modi-
fied by divorce and by Married Women's Property Acts,
differs more from early XIX century marriage than Byron's
marriage did from Shakespear's. At the present moment
marriage in England differs not only from marriage in
France, but from marriage in Scotland. Marriage as modi-
fied by the divorce laws in South Dakota would be called
mere promiscuity in Clapham. Yet the Americans, far
from taking a profligate and cynical view of marriage, do
homage to its ideals with a seriousness that seems old
fashioned in Clapham. Neither in England nor America
would a proposal to abolish marriage be tolerated for a
moment; and yet nothing is more certain than that in
both countries the progressive modification of the marriage
contract will be continued until it is no more onerous nor
irrevocable than any ordinary commercial deed of partner-
ship. Were even this dispensed with, people would still
call themselves husbands and wives ; describe their com-
panionships as marriages; and be for the most part un-
conscious that they were any less married than Henry
VIII. For though a glance at the legal conditions of
marriage in different Christian countries shews that marriage

The Revolutionist's Handbook 189

varies legally from frontier to frontier, domesticity varies
so little that most people believe their own marriage laws
to be universal. Consequently here again, as in the case
of Property, the absolute confidence of the public in
the stability of the institution's name, makes it all the
easier to alter its substance.

However, it cannot be denied that one of the changes
in public opinion demanded by the need for the Superman
is a very unexpected one. It is nothing less than the dis-
solution of the present necessary association of marriage
with conjugation, which most unmarried people regard
as the very diagnostic of marriage. They are wrong, of
course : it would be quite as near the truth to say that
conjugation is the one purely accidental and incidental
condition of marriage. Conjugation is essential to nothing
but the propagation of the race ; and the moment that
paramount need is provided for otherwise than by marri-
age, conjugation, from Nature's creative point of view,
ceases to be essential in marriage. But marriage docs not
thereupon cease to be so economical, convenient, and com-
fortable, that the Superman might safely bribe the matri-
monomaniacs by offering to revive all the old inhuman
stringency and irrevocability of marriage, to abolish divorce,
to confirm the horrible bond which still chains decent
people to drunkards, criminals and wasters, provided only
the complete extrication of conjugation from it were con-
ceded to him. For if people could form domestic com-
panionships on no easier terms than these, they would still
marry. The Roman Catholic, forbidden by his Church to
avail himself of the divorce laws, marries as freely as the
South Dakotan Presbyterians who can change partners
with a facility that scandalizes the old world ; and were
his Church to dare a further step towards Christianity and
enjoin celibacy on its laity as well as on its clergy, marri-
ages would still be contracted for the sake of domesticity
by perfectly obedient sons and daughters of the Church.
One need not further pursue these hypotheses : they are

I go Man and Superman

only suggested here to help the reader to analyze marriage
into its two functions of regulating conjugation and supply-
ing a form of domesticity. These two functions are quite
separable ; and domesticity is the only one of the two
which is essential to the existence of marriage, because
conjugation without domesticity is not marriage at all,
whereas domesticity without conjugation is still marriage :
in fact it is necessarily the actual condition of all fertile
marriages during a great part of their duration, and of
some marriages during the whole of it.

Taking it, then, that Property and Marriage, by destroy-
ing Equality and thus hampering sexual selection with
irrelevant conditions, are hostile to the evolution of the
Superman, it is easy to understand why the only gener-
ally known modern experiment in breeding the human
race took place in a community which discarded both
institutions.

Ill

THE PERFECTIONIST EXPERIMENT AT
ONEIDA CREEK

In 1848 the Oneida Community was founded in America
to carry out a resolution arrived at by a handful of Per-
fectionist Communists " that we will devote ourselves
exclusively to the establishment of the Kingdom of God."
Though the American nation declared that this sort of
thing was not to be tolerated in a Christian country, the
Oneida Community held its own for over thirty years, dur-
ing which period it seems to have produced healthier
children and done and suffered less evil than any Joint
Stock Company on record. It was, however, a highly
selected community; for a genuine communist (roughly
definable as an intensely proud person who proposes to
enrich the common fund instead of to spunge on it) is
superior to an ordinary joint stock capitalist precisely as
an ordinary joint stock capitalist is superior to a pirate.
Further, the Perfectionists were mightily shepherded by
their chief Noyes, one of those chance attempts at the
Superman which occur from time to time in spite of the
interference of Man's blundering institutions. The exist-
ence of Noyes simplified the breeding problem for the
Communists ; for the question as to what sort of man
they should strive to breed was settled at once by the
obvious desirability of breeding another Noyes.
191

192 Man and Superman

But an experiment conducted by a handful of people,
who, after thirty years of immunity from the unintentional
child slaughter that goes on by ignorant parents in private
homes, numbered only 300, could do very little except
prove that the Communists, under the guidance of a Super-
man "devoted exclusively to the establishment of the
Kingdom of God," and caring no more for property and
marriage than a Cambervvell minister cares for Hindoo
Caste or Suttee, might make a much better job of their
lives than ordinary folk under the harrow of both these
institutions. Yet their Superman himself admitted that this
apparent success was only part of the abnormal phenomenon
of his own occurrence ; for when he came to the end of his
powers through age, he himself guided and organized the
voluntary relapse of the communists into marriage, capital-
ism, and customary private life, thus admitting that the
real social solution was not what a casual Superman could
persuade a picked company to do for him, but what a whole
community of Supermen would do spontaneously. If Noyes
had had to organize, not a few dozen Perfectionists, but
the whole United States, America would have beaten him
as completely as England beat Oliver Cromwell, France
Napoleon, or Rome Julius Caesar. Cromwell learnt by
bitter experience that God himself cannot raise a people
above its own level, and that even though you stir a nation
to sacrifice all its appetites to its conscience, the result will
still depend wholly on what sort of conscience the nation
has got. Napoleon seems to have ended by regarding man-
kind as a troublesome pack of hounds only worth keeping
for the sport of hunting with them. Caesar's capacity for
fighting without hatred or resentment was defeated by the
determination of his soldiers to kill their enemies in the
field instead of taking them prisoners to be spared by Caesar ;
and his civil supremacy was purchased by colossal bribery
of the citizens of Rome. What great rulers cannot do,
codes and religions cannot do. Man reads his own nature
into every ordinance : if you devise a superhuman com-

The Revolutionist's Handbook 193

mandmcnt so cunningly that it cannot be misinterpreted
in terms of his will, he will denounce it as seditious blas-
phemy, or else disregard it as either crazy or totally unintel-
ligible. Parliaments and synods may tinker as much as they
please with their codes and creeds as circumstances alter
the balance of classes and their interests; and, as a result
of the tinkering, there may be ar occasional illusion of
moral evolution, as when the victory of the commercial
caste over the military caste leads to the substitution of
social boycotting and pecuniary damages for duelling. At
certain moments there may even be a considerable material
advance, as when the conquest of political power by the
working class produces a better distribution of wealth
through the simple action of the selfishness of the new
masters ; but all this is mere readjustment and reformation:
until the heart and mind of the people is changed the very
greatest man will no more dare to govern on the assump-
tion that all are as great as he than a drover dare leave his
flock to find its way through the streets as he himself would.
Until there is an England in which every man is a Crom-
well, a France in which every man is a Napoleon, a Rome
in which every man is a Caesar, a Germany in which every
man is a Luther plus a Goethe, the world will be no more
improved by its heroes than a Brixton villa is improved by
the pyramid of Cheops. The production of such nations is
the only real change possible to us.

IV

MAN'S OBJECTION TO HIS OWN
IMPROVEMENT

But would such a change be tolerated if Man must rise
above himself to desire it ? It would, through his miscon-
ception of its nature. Man does desire an ideal Superman
with such energy as he can spare from his nutrition, and
has in every age magnified the best living substitute for it
he can find. His least incompetent general is set up as an
Alexander ; his king is the first gentleman in the world ;
his Pope is a saint. He is never without an array of human
idols who are all nothing but sham Supermen. That the
real Superman will snap his superfingers at all Man's pre-
sent trumpery ideals of right, duty, honor, justice, religion,
even decency, and accept moral obligations beyond present
human endurance, is a thing that contemporary Man does
not foresee : in fact he does not notice it when our casual
Supermen do it in his very face. He actually does it him-
self every day without knowing it. He will therefore make
no objection to the production of a race of what he calls
Great Men or Heroes, because he will imagine them, not
as true Supermen, but as himself endowed with infinite
brains, infinite courage, and infinite money.

The most troublesome opposition will arise from the
general fear of mankind that any interference with our con-
jugal customs will be an interference with our pleasures

194

The Revolutionist's Handbook 195

and our romance. This fear, by putting on airs of offended
morality, has always intimidated people who have not
measured its essential weakness; but it will prevail with
those degenerates only in whom the instinct of fertility has
faded into a mere itching for pleasure. The modern devices
for combining pleasure with sterility, now universally known
and accessible, enable these persons to weed themselves out
of the race, a process already vigorously at work ; and the
consequent survival of the intelligently fertile means the
survival of the partizans of the Superman ; for what is
proposed is nothing but the replacement of the old un-
intelligent, inevitable, almost unconscious fertility by an
intelligently controlled, conscious fertility, and the
elimination of the mere voluptuary from the evolutionary
process.^ Even if this selective agency had not been invented,
the purpose of the race would still shatter the opposition of
individual instincts. Not only do the bees and the ants
satisfy their reproductive and parental instincts vicariously ;
but marriage itself successfully imposes celibacy on millions
of unmarried normal men and women. In short, the indi-
vidual instinct in this matter, overwhelming as it is thought-
lessly supposed to be, is really a finally negligible one.

* The part played in evolution by the voluptuary will be the same as
that already played by the glutton. The glutton, as the man with the
strongest motive for nourishing himself, will always take more pains than
his fellows to get food. When food is so difficult to get that only great
exertions can secure a sufficient supply of it, the glutton's appetite develops
his cunning and enterprise to the utmost ; and he becomes not only the
best fed but the ablest man in the community. But in more hospitable
climates, or where the social organization of the food supply makes it
easy for a man to overeat, then the glutton eats himself out of health and
finally out of existence. All other voluptuaries prosper and perish in the
same way; and this is why the survival of the fittest means finally the
survival of the self-controlled, because they alone can adapt themselves to
the perpetual shifting of conditions produced by industrial progress.

THE POLITICAL NEED FOR THE SUPERMAN

The need for the Superman is, in its most imperative
aspect, a political one. We have been driven to Proletarian
Democracy by the failure of all the alternative systems ;
for these depended on the existence of Supermen acting
as despots or oligarchs ; and not only were these Supermen
not always or even often forthcoming at the right moment
and in an eligible social position, but when they were
forthcoming they could not, except for a short time and
by morally suicidal coercive methods, impose super-
humanity on those whom they governed; so, by mere
force of "human nature," government by consent of the
governed has supplanted the old plan of governing the
citizen as a public-schoolboy is governed.

Now we have yet to see the man who, having any
practical experience of Proletarian Democracy, has any
belief in its capacity for solving great political problems,
or even for doing ordinary parochial work intelligently
and economically. Only under despotisms and oligarchies
has the Radical faith in "universal suffrage" as a political
panacea arisen. It withers the moment it is exposed to
practical trial, because Democracy cannot rise above the
level of the human material of which its voters are made.
Switzerland seems happy in comparison with Russia ; but
if Russia were as small as Switzerland, and had her social

.96

The Revolutionist's Handbook 197

problems simplified in the same way by impregnable
natural fortifications and a population educated by the
same variety and intimacy of international intercourse,
there might be little to choose between them. At all
events Australia and Canada, which are virtually protected
democratic republics, and France and the United States,
which are avowedly independent democratic republics,
arc neither healthy, wealthy nor wise ; and they would be
worse instead of better if their popular ministers were not
experts in the art of dodging popular enthusiasms and
duping popular ignorance. The politician who once had
to learn how to flatter Kings has now to learn how to
fascinate, amuse, coax, humbug, frighten or otherwise
strike the fancy of the electorate ; and though in advanced
modern States, where the artizan is better educated than
the King, it takes a much bigger man to be a successful
demagogue than to be a successful courtier, yet he who
holds popular convictions with prodigious energy is the
man for the mob, whilst the frailer sceptic who is cau-
tiously feeling his way towards the next century has no
chance unless he happens by accident to have the specific
artistic talent of the mountebank as well, in which case it
is as a mountebank that he catches votes, and not as a
meliorist. Consequently the demagogue, though he pro-
fesses (and fails) to readjust matters in the interests of
the majority of the electors, yet stereotypes mediocrity,
organizes intolerance, disparages exhibitions of uncommon
qualities, and glorifies conspicuous exhibitions of common
ones. He manages a small job well : he muddles rhetori-
cally through a large one. When a great political move-
ment takes place, it is not consciously led nor organized :
the unconscious self in mankind breaks its way through
the problem as an elephant breaks through a jungle; and
the politicians make speeches about whatever happens in
the process, which, with the best intentions, they do all in
their power to prevent. Finally, when social aggregation
arrives at a point demanding international organization

198 Man and Superman

before the demagogues and electorates have learnt how to
manage even a country parish properly much less inter-
nationalize Constantinople, the whole political business
goes to smash ; and presently we have Ruins of Empires,
New Zealanders sitting on a broken arch of London
Bridge, and so forth.

To that recurrent catastrophe we shall certainly come
again unless we can have a Democracy of Supermen ; and
the production of such a Democracy is the only change
that is now hopeful enough to nerve us to the effort that
Revolution demands.

VI

PRUDERY EXPLAINED

Why the bees should pamper their mothers whilst
we pamper only our operatic prima donnas is a question
worth reflecting on. Our notion of treating a mother is,
not to increase her supply of food, but to cut it off by
forbidding her to work in a factory for a month after
her confinement. Everything that can make birth a mis-
fortune to the parents as well as a danger to the mother is
conscientiously done. When a great French writer, Emil
Zola, alarmed at the sterilization of his nation, wrote an
eloquent and powerful book to restore the prestige of
parentage, it was at once assumed in England that a work
of this character, with such a title as Fecundity, was too
abominable to be translated, and that any attempt to deal
with the relations of the sexes from any other than the
voluptuary or romantic point of view must be sternly put
down. Now if this assumption were really founded on
public opinion, it would indicate an attitude of disgust
and resentment towards the Life Force that could only
arise in a diseased and moribund community in which
Ibsen's Hedda Gabler would be the typical woman. But
it has no vital foundation at all. The prudery of the news-
papers is, like the prudery of the dinner table, a mere
difficulty of education and language. We are not taught to
think decently on these subjects, and consequently we
199

200 Man and Superman

have no language for them except indecent language. We
therefore have to declare them unfit for public discussion,
because the only terms in which we can conduct the dis-
cussion are unfit for public use. Physiologists, who have a
technical vocabulary at their disposal, find no difficulty ;
and masters of language who think decently can write
popular stories like Zola's Fecundity or Tolstoy's Resurrec-
tion without giving the smallest ofi^ence to readers who can
also think decently. But the ordinary modern journalist,
who has never discussed such matters except in ribaldry,
cannot write a simple comment on a divorce case without a
conscious shamefulness or a furtive facetiousness that makes
it impossible to read the comment aloud in company. All
this ribaldry and prudery (the two are the same) does not
mean that people do not feel decently on the subject : on
the contrary, it is just the depth and seriousness of our
feeling that makes its desecration by vile language and
coarse humor intolerable; so that at last we cannot bear
to have it spoken of at all because only one in a thousand
can speak of it without wounding our self-respect, especi-
ally the self-respect of women. Add to the horrors of
popular language the horrors of popular poverty. In
crowded populations poverty destroys the possibility of
cleanliness; and in the absence of cleanliness many of the
natural conditions of life become offensive and noxious,
with the result that at last the association of uncleanliness
with these natural conditions becomes so overpowering
that among civilized people (that is, people massed in the
labyrinths of slums we call cities), half their bodily life
becomes a guilty secret, unmentionable except to the
doctor in emergencies ; and Hedda Gabler shoots herself
because maternity is so unladylike. In short, popular
prudery is only a mere incident of popular squalor : the
subjects which it taboos remain the most interesting and
earnest of subjects in spite of it.

VII

PROGRESS AN ILLUSION

Unfortunately the earnest people get drawn ofF the
track of evolution by the illusion of progress. Any Socialist
can convince us easily that the difference between Man as
he is and Man as he might become, without further evolu-
tion, under millennial conditions of nutrition, environment,
and training, is enormous. He can shew that inequality
and iniquitous distribution of wealth and allotment of labor
have arisen through an unscientific economic system, and
that Man, faulty as he is, no more intended to establish
any such ordered disorder than a moth intends to be burnt
when it flies into a candle flame. He can shew that the
difference between the grace and strength of the acrobat
and the bent back of the rheumatic field laborer is a
difference produced by conditions, not by nature. He can
shew that many of the most detestable human vices arc
not radical, but are mere reactions of our institutions on
our very virtues. The Anarchist, the Fabian, the Salva-
tionist, the Vegetarian, the doctor, the lawyer, the parson,
the professor of ethics, the gymnast, the soldier, the sports-
man, the inventor, the political program-maker, all have
some prescription for bettering us ; and almost all their
remedies arc physically possible and aimed at admitted
evils. To them the limit of progress is, at worst, the com-
pletion of all the suggested reforms and the levelling up of
zoi

202 Man and Superman

all men to the point attained already by the most highly
nourished and cultivated in mind and body.

Here, then, as it seems to them, is an enormous field for
the energy of the reformer. Here are many noble goals
attainable by many of those paths up the Hill Difficulty
along which great spirits love to aspire. Unhappily, the
hill will never be climbed by Man as we know him. It
need not be denied that if we all struggled bravely to the
end of the reformers' paths we should improve the world
prodigiously. But there is no more hope in that If than in
the equally plausible assurance that if the sky falls we shall
all catch larks. We are not going to tread those paths : we
have not sufficient energy. We do not desire the end
enough : indeed in most cases we do not effectively desire
it at all. Ask any man would he like to be a better man ;
and he will say yes, most piously. Ask him would he
like to have a million of money; and he will say yes, most
sincerely. But the pious citizen who would like to be a
better man goes on behaving just as he did before. And
the tramp who would like the million does not take the
trouble to earn ten shillings : multitudes of men and women,
all eager to accept a legacy of a million, live and die with-
out having ever possessed five pounds at one time, although
beggars have died in rags on mattresses stuffed with gold
which they accumulated because they desired it enough to
nerve them to get it and keep it. The economists who dis-
covered that demand created supply soon had to limit the
proposition to "effective demand," which turned out, in
the final analysis, to mean nothing more than supply
itself; and this holds good in politics, morals, and all other
departments as well : the actual supply is the measure of
the effective demand ; and the mere aspirations and pro-
fessions produce nothing. No community has ever yet
passed beyond the initial phases in which its pugnacity
and fanaticism enabled it to found a nation, and its cupidity
to establish and develop a commercial civilization. Even
these stages have never been attained by public spirit, but

The Revolutionist's Handbook 203

always by intolerant wilfulness and brute force. Take the
Reform Bill of 1832 as an example of a conflict between
two sections of educated Englishmen concerning a political
measure which was as obviously necessary and inevitable
as any political measure has ever been or is ever likely to
be. It was not passed until the gentlemen of Birmingham
had made arrangements to cut the throats of the gentlemen
of St. James's parish in due military form. It would not
have been passed to this day if there had been no force
behind it except the logic and public conscience of the
Utilitarians. A despotic ruler with as much sense as Queen
Elizabeth would have done better than the mob of grown-
up Eton boys who governed us then by privilege, and who,
since the introduction of practically Manhood Suffrage in
1884, now govern us at the request of proletarian Demo-
cracy.

At the present time we have, instead of the Utilitarians,
the Fabian- Society, with its peaceful, constitutional, moral,
economical policy of Socialism, which needs nothing for
its bloodless and benevolent realization except that the
English people shall understand it and approve of it. But
why are the Fabians well spoken of in circles where thirty
years ago the word Socialist was understood as equivalent
to cut-throat and incendiary ? Not because the English
have the smallest intention of studying or adopting the
Fabian policy, but because they believe that the Fabians,
by eliminating the element of intimidation from the
Socialist agitation, have drawn the teeth of insurgent
poverty and saved the existing order from the only method
of attack it really fears. Of course, if the nation adopted
the Fabian policy, it would be carried out by brute force
exactly as our present property system is. It would become
the law; and those who resisted it would be fined, sold up,
knocked on the head by policemen, thrown into prison,
and in the last resort ** executed" just as they are when
they break the present law. But as our proprietary class
has no fear of that conversion taking place, whereas it does

204 Man and Superman

fear sporadic cut-throats and gunpowder plots, and strives
with all its might to hide the fact that there is no moral
difference whatever between the methods by which it
enforces its proprietary rights and the method by which
the dynamitard asserts his conception of natural human
rights, the Fabian Society is patted on the back just as the
Christian Social Union is, whilst the Socialist who says
bluntly that a Social revolution can be made only as all
other revolutions have been made, by the people who want
it killing, coercing, and intimidating the people who dont
want it, is denounced as a misleader of the people, and
imprisoned with hard labor to shew him how much sincerity
there is in the objection of his captors to physical force.

Are we then to repudiate Fabian methods, and return
to those of the barricader, or adopt those of the dyna-
mitard and the assassin ? On the contrary, we are to
recognize that both are fundamentally futile. It seems
easy for the dynamitard to say "Have you not just ad-
mitted that nothing is ever conceded except to physical
force ? Did not Gladstone admit that the Irish Church
was disestablished, not by the spirit of Liberalism, but
by the explosion which wrecked Clerkenwell prison?"
Well, we need not foolishly and timidly deny it. Let it be
fully granted. Let us grant, further, that all this lies in the
nature of things ; that the most ardent Socialist, if he owns
property, can by no means do otherwise than Conservative
proprietors until property is forcibly abolished by the whole
nation ; nay, that ballots and parliamentary divisions, in
spite of their vain ceremony of discussion, differ from
battles only as the bloodless surrender of an outnumbered
force in the field differs from Waterloo or Trafalgar. I
make a present of all these admissions to the Fenian who
collects money from thoughtless Irishmen in America to
blow up Dublin Castle; to the detective who persuades
foolish young workmen to order bombs from the nearest
ironmonger and then delivers them up to penal servitude ;
to our military and naval commanders who believe, not in

The Revolutionist's Handbook 205

preaching, but in an ultimatum backed by plenty of lyddite ;
and, generally, to all whom it may concern. But of what use
is it to substitute the way of the reckless and bloodyminded
for the way of the cautious and humane? Is England any
the better for the wreck of Clerkenwell prison, or Ireland
for the disestablishment of the Irish Church? Is there the
smallest reason to suppose that the nation which sheepishly
let Charles and Laud and Strafford coerce it, gained any-
thing because it afterwards, still more sheepishly, let a few
strongminded Puritans, inflamed by the masterpieces of
Jewish revolutionary literature, cut ofi^ the heads of the
three? Suppose the Gunpowder plot had succeeded, and a
Fawkes dynasty permanently set on the throne, would it
have made any difference to the present state of the
nation ? The guillotine was used in France up to the
limit of human endurance, both on Girondins and Jacobins.
Fouquier Tinville followed Marie Antoinette to the scaffold ;
and Marie Antoinette might have asked the crowd, just as
pointedly as Fouquier did, whether their bread would be any
cheaper when her head was off. And what came of it all ?
The Imperial France of the Rougon Macquart family, and the
Republican France of the Panama scandal and the Dreyfus
case. Was the difference worth the guillotining of all those
unlucky ladies and gentlemen, useless and mischievous as
many of them were? Would any sane man guillotine a
mouse to bring about such a result? Turn to Republican
America. America has no Star Chamber, and no feudal
barons. But it has Trusts ; and it has millionaires whose
factories, fenced in by live electric wires and defended by
Pinkerton retainers with magazine rifles, would have made
a Radical of Reginald Front de Bceuf. Would Washing-
ton or Franklin have lifted a finger in the cause of American
Independence if they had foreseen its reality?

No : what Caesar, Cromwell and Napoleon could not
do with all the physical force and moral prestige of the
State in their mighty hands, cannot be done by enthusiastic
criminals and lunatics. Even the Jews, who, from Moses to

2o6 Man and Superman

Marx and Lassalle, have inspired all the revolutions, have
had to confess that, after all, the dog will return to his
vomit and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in
the mire ; and we may as well make up our minds that
Man will return to his idols and his cupidities, in spite of
all "movements" and all revolutions, until his nature is
changed. Until then, his early successes in building com-
mercial civilizations (and such civilizations. Good Heavens!)
are but preliminaries to the inevitable later stage, now
threatening us, in which the passions which built the civil-
ization become fatal instead of productive, just as the same
qualities which make the lion king in the forest ensure his
destruction when he enters a city. Nothing can save society
then except the clear head and the wide purpose : war and
competition, potent instruments of selection and evolution
in one epoch, become ruinous instruments of degenera-
tion in the next. In the breeding of animals and plants,
varieties which have arisen by selection through many
generations relapse precipitously into the wild type in a
generation or two when selection ceases ; and in the same
way a civilization in which lusty pugnacity and greed have
ceased to act as selective agents and have begun to obstruct
and destroy, rushes downwards and backwards with a
suddenness that enables an observer to see with consterna-
tion the upward steps of many centuries retraced in a
single lifetime. This has often occurred even within the
period covered by history; and in every instance the
turning point has been reached long before the attainment,
or even the general advocacy on paper, of the levelling-up
of the mass to the highest point attainable by the best
nourished and cultivated normal individuals.

We must therefore frankly give up the notion that Man
as he exists is capable of net progress. There will always be
an illusion of progress, because wherever we are conscious
of an evil we remedy it, and therefore always seem to our-
selves to be progressing, forgetting that most of the evils
we see are the effects, finally become acute, of long-un-

The Revolutionist's Handbook 207

noticed retrogressions ; that our compromising remedies
seldom fully recover the lost ground ; above all, that on
the lines along which we are degenerating, good has
become evil in our eyes, and is being undone in the name
of progress precisely as evil is undone and replaced by
good on the lines along which we are evolving. This is
indeed the Illusion of Illusions; for it gives us infallible
and appalling assurance that if our political ruin is to
come, it will be effected by ardent reformers and supported
by enthusiastic patriots as a series of necessary steps in our
progress. Let the Reformer, the Progressive, the Meliorist
then reconsider himself and his eternal ifs and ans which
never become pots and pans. Whilst Man remains what he
is, there can be no progress beyond the point already
attained and fallen headlong from at every attempt at
civilization ; and since even that point is but a pinnacle
to which a few people cling in giddy terror above an abyss
of squalor, mere progress should no longer charm us.

VIII
THE CONCEIT OF CIVILIZATION

After all, the progress illusion is not so very subtle. We
begin by reading the satires of our fathers' contemporaries ;
and we conclude (usually quite ignorantly) that the abuses
exposed by them are things of the past. We see also that
reforms of crying evils are frequently produced by the
sectional shifting of political power from oppressors to
oppressed. The poor man is given a vote by the Liberals
in the hope that he will cast it for his emancipators. The
hope is not fulfilled; but the lifelong imprisonment of
penniless men for debt ceases ; Factory Acts are passed to
mitigate sweating; schooling is made free and compulsory;
sanitary by-laws are multiplied ; public steps are taken to
house the masses decently; the bare-footed get boots;
rags become rare ; and bathrooms and pianos, smart
tweeds and starched collars, reach numbers of people
who once, as " the unsoaped," played the Jew's harp or
the accordion in moleskins and belchers. Some of these
changes are gains : some of them are losses. Some of them
are not changes at all : all of them are merely the changes
that money makes. Still, they produce an illusion of
bustling progress ; and the reading class infers from them
that the abuses of the early Victorian period no longer
exist except as amusing pages in the novels of Dickens.
But the moment we look for a reform due to character
208

The Revolutionist's Handbook 209

and not to money, to statesmanship and not to interest or
mutiny, we are disillusioned. For example, we remembered
the maladministration and incompetence revealed by the
Crimean War as part of a bygone state of things until the
South African war shewed that the nation and the War
Office, like those poor Bourbons who have been so impu-
dently blamed for a universal characteristic, had learnt
nothing and forgotten nothing. We had hardly recovered
from the fruitless irritation of this discovery when it tran-
spired that the officers' mess of our most select regiment
included a flogging club presided over by the senior
subaltern. The disclosure provoked some disgust at the
details of this schoolboyish debauchery, but no surprise at
the apparent absence of any conception of manly honor
and virtue, of personal courage and self-respect, in the
front rank of our chivalry. In civil affairs we had assumed
that the sycophancy and idolatry which encouraged
Charles I. to undervalue the Puritan revolt of the XVII
century had been long outgrown ; but it has needed
nothing but favorable circumstances to revive, with added
abjectness to compensate for its lost piety. We have
relapsed into disputes about transubstantiation at the very
moment when the discovery of the wide prevalence of
theophagy as a tribal custom has deprived us of the last
excuse for believing that our official religious rites differ
in essentials from those of barbarians. The Christian
doctrine of the uselessness of punishment and the wicked-
ness of revenge has not, in spite of its simple common
sense, found a single convert among the nations : Chris-
tianity means nothing to the masses but a sensational
public execution which is made an excuse for other
executions. In its name we take ten years of a thief's life
minute by minute in the slow misery and degradation of
modern reformed imprisonment with as little remorse as
Laud and his Star Chamber clipped the ears of Bastwick
and Burton. We dug up and mutilated the remains of the
Mahdi the other day exactly as we dug up and mutilated

21 o Man and Superman

the remains of Cromwell two centuries ago. We have
demanded the decapitation of the Chinese Boxer princes
as any Tartar would have done ; and our military and
naval expeditions to kill, burn, and destroy tribes and
villages for knocking an Englishman on the head are so
common a part of our Imperial routine that the last dozen
of them has not called forth as much pity as can be
counted on by any lady criminal. The judicial use of
torture to extort confession is supposed to be a relic of
darker ages ; but whilst these pages are being written an
English judge has sentenced a forger to twenty years
penal servitude with an open declaration that the sentence
will be carried out in full unless he confesses where he
has hidden the notes he forged. And no comment whatever
is made either on this or on a telegram from the seat of
war in Somaliland mentioning that certain information
has been given by a prisoner of war " under punishment."
Even if these reports were false, the fact that they are
accepted without protest as indicating a natural and proper
course of public conduct shews that we are still as ready
to resort to torture as Bacon was. As to vindictive cruelty,
an incident in the South African war, when the relatives
and friends of a prisoner were forced to witness his execu-
tion, betrayed a baseness of temper and character which
hardly leaves us the right to plume ourselves on our
superiority to Edward III. at the surrender of Calais. And
the democratic American officer indulges in torture in the
Philippines just as the aristocratic English officer did in
South Africa. The incidents of the white invasion of
Africa in search of ivory, gold, diamonds and sport, have
proved that the modern European is the same beast of
prey that formerly marched to the conquest of new worlds
under Alexander, Antony, and Pizarro. Parliaments and
vestries are just what they were when Cromwell suppressed
them and Dickens derided them. The democratic politician
remains exactly as Plato described him ; the physician is
still the credulous impostor and petulant scientific cox-

The Revolutionist's Handbook 211

comb whom Moli^rc ridiculed ; the schoolmaster remains
at best a pedantic child farmer and at worst a flagello-
maniac ; arbitrations are more dreaded by honest men than
lawsuits ; the philanthropist is still a parasite on misery as
the doctor is on disease ; the miracles of priestcraft are
none the less fraudulent and mischievous because they are
now called scientific experiments and conducted by pro-
fessors ; witchcraft, in the modern form of patent medicines
and prophylactic inoculations, is rampant; the landowner
who is no longer powerful enough to set the mantrap of
Rhampsinitis improves on it by barbed wire ; the modern
gentleman who is too lazy to daub his face with vermilion
as a symbol of bravery employs a laundress to daub his
shirt with starch as a symbol of cleanliness ; we shake our
heads at the dirt of the middle ages in cities made grimy
with soot and foul and disgusting with shameless tobacco
smoking ; holy water, in its latest form of disinfectant
fluid, is more widely used and believed in than ever ; public
health authorities deliberately go through incantations
with burning sulphur (which they know to be useless)
because the people believe in it as devoutly as the Italian
peasant believes in the liquefaction of the blood of St
Januarius ; and straightforward public lying has reached
gigantic developments, there being nothing to choose in
this respect between the pickpocket at the police station
and the minister on the treasury bench, the editor in the
newspaper office, the city magnate advertizing bicycle tires
that do not side-slip, the clergyman subscribing the thirty-
nine articles, and the vivisector who pledges his knightly
honor that no animal operated on in the physiological
laboratory suffers the slightest pain. Hypocrisy is at its
worst ; for we not only persecute bigotedly but sincerely
in the name of the cure-mongering witchcraft we do
believe in, but callously and hypocritically in the name of
the Evangelical creed that our rulers privately smile at as
the Italian patricians of the fifth century smiled at Jupiter
and Venus. Sport is, as it has always been, murderous

212 Man and Superman

excitement : the impulse to slaughter is universal ; and
museums are set up throughout the country to encourage
little children and elderly gentlemen to make collections
of corpses preserved in alcohol, and to steal birds' eggs
and keep them as the red Indian used to keep scalps.
Coercion with the lash is as natural to an Englishman as
it was to Solomon spoiling Rehoboam : indeed, the com-
parison is unfair to the Jews in view of the facts that the
Mosaic law forbade more than forty lashes in the name
of humanity, and that floggings of a thousand lashes were
inflicted on English soldiers in the XVIII and XIX cen-
turies, and would be inflicted still but for the change in
the balance of political power between the military caste
and the commercial classes and the proletariat. In spite of
that change, flogging is still an institution in the public
school, in the military prison, on the training ship, and
in that school of littleness called the home. The lascivious
clamor of the flagellomaniac for more of it, constant as
the clamor for more insolence, more war, and lower rates,
is tolerated and even gratified because, having no moral
ends in view, we have sense enough to see that nothing
but brute coercion can impose our selfish will on others.
Cowardice is universal : patriotism, public opinion, parental
duty, discipline, religion, morality, are only fine names for
intimidation ; and cruelty, gluttony, and credulity keep
cowardice in countenance. We cut the throat of a calf
and hang it up by the heels to bleed to death so that our
veal cutlet may be white ; we nail geese to a board and
cram them with food because we like the taste of liver
disease ; we tear birds to pieces to decorate our women's
hats ; we mutilate domestic animals for no reason at all
except to follow an instinctively cruel fashion ; and we
connive at the most abominable tortures in the hope of
discovering some magical cure for our own diseases by
them.

Now please observe that these are not exceptional de-
velopments of our admitted vices, deplored and prayed

The Revolutionist's Handbook 213

against by all good men. Not a word has been said here
of the excesses of our Neros, of whom we have the full
usual percentage. With the exception of the few military
examples, which are mentioned mainly to shew that the
education and standing of a gentleman, reinforced by the
strongest conventions of honor, esprit de corps, publicity and
responsibility, afford no better guarantees of conduct than
the passions of a mob, the illustrations given above are
commonplaces taken from the daily practices of our best
citizens, vehemently defended in our newspapers and in our
pulpits. The very humanitarians who abhor them are stirred
to murder by them : the dagger of Brutus and Ravaillac is
still active in the hands of Caserio and Luccheni ; and the
pistol has come to its aid in the hands of Guiteau and
Czolgosz. Our remedies are still limited to endurance or
assassination ; and the assassin is still judicially assassinated
on the principle that two blacks make a white. The only
novelty is in our methods : through the discovery of dyna-
mite the overloaded musket of Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh
has been superseded by the bomb; but Ravachol's heart
burns just as Hamilton's did. The world will not bear think-
ing of to those who know what it is, even with the largest
discount for the restraints of poverty on the poor and
cowardice on the rich.

All that can be said for us is that people must and do
live and let live up to a certain point. Even the horse, with
his docked tail and bitted jaw, finds his slavery mitigated by
the fact that a total disregard of his need for food and rest
would put his master to the expense of buying a new horse
every second day ; for you cannot work a horse to death and
then pick up another one for nothing, as you can a laborer.
But this natural check on inconsiderate selfishness is itself
checked, partly by our shortsightedness, and partly by de-
liberate calculation ; so that beside the man who, to his
own loss, will shorten his horse's life in mere stinginess, we
have the tramway company which discovers actuarially that
though a horse may live from 24 to 40 years, yet it pays

214 Man and Superman

better to work him to death in 4 and then replace him by
a fresh victim. And human slavery, which has reached its
worst recorded point within our own time in the form of
free wage labor, has encountered the same personal and
commercial limits to both its aggravation and its mitigation.
Now that the freedom of wage labor has produced a scarcity
of it, as in South Africa, the leading English newspaper and
the leading English weekly review have openly and without
apology demanded a return to compulsory labor : that is, to
the methods by which, as we believe, the Egyptians built
the pyramids. We know now that the crusade against chattel
slavery in the XIX century succeeded solely because chattel
slavery was neither the most effective nor the least humane
method of labor exploitation ; and the world is now feeling
its way towards a still more effective system which shall
abolish the freedom of the worker without again making
his exploiter responsible for him.

Still, there is always some mitigation : there is the fear
of revolt; and there are the effects of kindliness and affec-
tion. Let it be repeated therefore that no indictment is here
laid against the world on the score of what its criminals and
monsters do. The fires of Smithfield and of the Inquisition
were lighted by earnestly pious people, who were kind and
good as kindness and goodness go. And when a negro is
dipped in kerosine and set on fire in America at the present
time, he is not a good man lynched by ruffians : he is a
criminal lynched by crowds of respectable, charitable,
virtuously indignant, high-minded citizens, who, though
they act outside the law, arc at least more merciful than
the American legislators and judges who not so long ago
condemned men to solitary confinement for periods, not of
five months, as our own practice is, but of five years and
more. The things that our moral monsters do may be left
out of account with St. Bartholomew massacres and other
momentary outbursts of social disorder. Judge us by the ad-
mitted and respected practice of our most reputable circles ;
and, if you know the facts and are strong enough to look

The Revolutionist's Handbook 215

them in the face, you must admit that unless we are replaced
by a more highly evolved animal — in short, by the Super-
man— the world must remain a den of dangerous animals
among whom our few accidental supermen, our Shakespears,
Goethes, Shelleys and their like, must live as precariously
as lion tamers do, taking the humor of their situation,
and the dignity of their superiority, as a set-off to the horror
of the one and the loneliness of the other.

IX

THE VERDICT OF HISTORY

It may be said that though the wild beast breaks out in
Man and casts him back momentarily into barbarism under
the excitement of war and crime, yet his normal life is
higher than the normal life of his forefathers. This view is
very acceptable to Englishmen, who always lean sincerely
to virtue's side as long as it costs them nothing either in
money or in thought. They feel deeply the injustice of
foreigners, who allow them no credit for this conditional
highmindedness. But there is no reason to suppose that our
ancestors were less capable of it than we are. To all such
claims for the existence of a progressive moral evolution
operating visibly from grandfather to grandson, there is the
conclusive reply that a thousand years of such evolution
would have produced enormous social changes, of which
the historical evidence would be overwhelming. But not
Macaulay himself, the most confident of Whig meliorists,
can produce any such evidence that will bear cross-examina-
tion. Compare our conduct and our codes with those men-
tioned contemporarily in such ancient scriptures and classics
as have come down to us, and you will find no jot of ground
for the belief that any moral progress whatever has been
made in historic time, in spite of all the romantic attempts
of historians to reconstruct the past on that assumption.
Within that time it has happened to nations as to private
216

The Revolutionist's Handbook 217

families and individuals that they have flourished and decayed,
repented and hardened their hearts, submitted and protested,
acted and reacted, oscillated between natural and artificial
sanitation (the oldest house in the world, unearthed the other
day in Crete, has quite modern sanitary arrangements), and
rung a thousand changes on the different scales of income
and pressure of population, firmly believing all the time that
mankind was advancing by leaps and bounds because men
were constantly busy. And the mere chapter of accidents
has left a small accumulation of chance discoveries, such
as the wheel, the arch, the safety pin, gunpowder, the mag-
net, the Voltaic pile and so forth : things which, unlike the
gospels and philosophic treatises of the sages, can be usefully
understood and applied by common men; so that steam
locomotion is possible without a nation of Stephensons,
although national Christianity is impossible without a nation
of Christs. But does any man seriously believe that the
chauffeur who drives a motor car from Paris to Berlin is a
more highly evolved man than the charioteer of Achilles,
or that a modern Prime Minister is a more enlightened ruler
than Cajsar because he rides a tricycle, writes his dispatches
by the electric light, and instructs his stockbroker through
the telephone?

Enough, then, of this goose-cackle about Progress : Man,
as he is, never will nor can add a cubit to his stature by
any of its quackeries, political, scientific, educational,
religious, or artistic. What is likely to happen when this
conviction gets into the minds of the men whose present
faith in these illusions is the cement of our social system,
can be imagined only by those who know how suddenly a
civilization which has long ceased to think (or in the old
phrase, to watch and pray) can fall to pieces when the
vulgar belief in its hypocrisies and impostures can no longer
hold out against its failures and scandals. When religious
and ethical formulae become so obsolete that no man of
strong mind can believe them, they have also reached the
point at which no man of high character will profess them ;

2i8 Man and Superman

and from that moment until they are formally disestablished,
they stand at the door of every profession and every public
office to keep out every able man who is not a sophist or a
liar. A nation which revises its parish councils once in
three years, but will not revise its articles of religion once
in three hundred, even when those articles avowedly began
as a political compromise dictated by Mr Facing-Both-
Ways, is a nation that needs remaking.

Our only hope, then, is in evolution. We must replace
the man by the superman. It is frightful for the citizen,
as the years pass him, to see his own contemporaries so
exactly reproduced by the younger generation, that his
companions of thirty years ago have their counterparts in
every city crowd, where he has to check himself repeat-
edly in the act of saluting as an old friend some young man
to whom he is only an elderly stranger. All hope of advance
dies in his bosom as he watches them : he knows that they
will do just what their fathers did, and that the few voices
which will still, as always before, exhort them to do some-
thing else and be something better, might as well spare
their breath to cool their porridge (if they can get any).
Men like Ruskin and Carlyle will preach to Smith and
Brown for the sake of preaching, just as St Francis preached
to the birds and St Anthony to the fishes. But Smith
and Brown, like the fishes and birds, remain as they are ;
and poets who plan Utopias and prove that nothing is
necessary for their realization but that Man should will
them, perceive at last, like Richard Wagner, that the fact
to be faced is that Man does not effectively will them.
And he never will until he becomes Superman.

And so we arrive at the end of the Socialist's dream of
**the socialization of the means of production and exchange,"
of the Positivist's dream of moralizing the capitalist, and of
the ethical professor's, legislator's, educator's dream of
putting commandments and codes and lessons and examina-
tion marks on a man as harness is put on a horse, ermine
on a judge, pipeclay on a soldier, or a wig on an actor, and

The Revolutionist's Handbook 219

pretending that his nature has been changed. The only
fundamental and possible Socialism is the socialization of
the selective breeding of Man : in other terms, of human
evolution. We must eliminate the Yahoo, or his vote will
wreck the commonwealth.

X

THE METHOD

As to the method, what can be said as yet except that
where there is a will, there is a way? If there be no will,
we are lost. That is a possibility for our crazy little empire,
if not for the universe ; and as such possibilities are not to
be entertained without despair, we must, whilst we survive,
proceed on the assumption that we have still energy enough
to not only will to live, but to will to live better. That
may mean that we must establish a State Department of
Evolution, with a seat in the Cabinet for its chief, and a
revenue to defray the cost of direct State experiments, and
provide inducements to private persons to achieve successful
results. It may mean a private society or a chartered com-
pany for the improvement of human live stock. But for the
present it is far more likely to mean a blatant repudiation
of such proposals as indecent and immoral, with, neverthe-
less, a general secret pushing of the human will in the
repudiated direction ; so that all sorts of institutions and
public authorities will under some pretext or other feel
their way furtively towards the Superman. Mr Graham
Wallas has already ventured to suggest, as Chairman of the
School Management Committee of the London School
Board, that the accepted policy of the Sterilization of the
Schoolmistress, however administratively convenient, is
open to criticism from the national stock-breeding point of

220

The Revolutionist's Handbook 221

view ; and this is as good an example as any of the way in
which the drift towards the Superman may operate in spite
of all our hypocrisies. One thing at least is clear to begin
with. If a woman can, by careful selection of a father, and
nourishment of herself, produce a citizen with efficient
senses, sound organs and a good digestion, she should clearly
be secured a sufficient reward for that natural service to
make her willing to undertake and repeat it. Whether she
be financed in the undertaking by herself, or by the father,
or by a speculative capitalist, or by a new department of,
say, the Royal Dublin Society, or (as at present) by the
War Office maintaining her "on the strength" and author-
izing a particular soldier to marry her, or by a local authority
under a by-law directing that women may under certain
circumstances have a year's leave of absence on full salary,
or by the central government, does not matter provided
the result be satisfactory.

It is a melancholy fact that as the vast majority of women
and their husbands have, under existing circumstances, not
enough nourishment, no capital, no credit, and no know-
ledge of science or business, they would, if the State would
pay for birth as it now pays for death, be exploited by
joint stock companies for dividends, just as they are in
ordinary industries. Even a joint stock human stud farm
(piously disguised as a reformed Foundling Hospital or
something of that sort) might well, under proper inspection
and regulation, produce better results than our present
reliance on promiscuous marriage. It may be objected that
when an ordinary contractor produces stores for sale to the
Government, and the Government rejects them as not up
to the required standard, the condemned goods are either
sold for what they will fetch or else scrapped : that is,
treated as waste material ; whereas if the goods consisted
of human beings, all that could be done would be to let
them loose or send them to the nearest workhouse. But
there is nothing new in private enterprise throwing its
human refuse on the cheap labor market and the work-

222 Man and Superman

house ; and the refuse of the new industry would presum-
ably be better bred than the staple product of ordinary
poverty. In our present happy-go-lucky industrial disorder,
all the human products, successful or not, would have to
be thrown on the labor market ; but the unsuccessful ones
would not entitle the company to a bounty and so would
be a dead loss to it. The practical commercial difficulty
would be the uncertainty and the cost in time and money
of the first experiments. Purely commercial capital would
not touch such heroic operations during the experimental
stage ; and in any case the strength of mind needed for so
momentous a new departure could not be fairly expected
from the Stock Exchange. It will have to be handled by
statesmen with character enough to tell our democracy and
plutocracy that statecraft does not consist in flattering their
follies or applying their suburban standards of propriety to
the affairs of four continents. The matter must be taken
up either by the State or by some organization strong
enough to impose respect upon the State.

The novelty of any such experiment, however, is only
in the scale of it. In one conspicuous case, that of royalty,
the State does already select the parents on purely political
grounds ; and in the peerage, though the heir to a duke-
dom is legally free to marry a dairymaid, yet the social
pressure on him to confine his choice to politically and
socially eligible mates is so overwhelming that he is really
no more free to marry the dairymaid than George IV was
to marry Mrs Fitzherbert; and such a marriage could only
occur as a result of extraordinary strength of character on
the part of the dairymaid acting upon extraordinary weak-
ness on the part of the duke. Let those who think the
whole conception of intelligent breeding absurd and scan-
dalous ask themselves why George IV was not allowed to
choose his own wife whilst any tinker could marry whom
he pleased? Simply because it did not matter a rap politi-
cally whom the tinker married, whereas it mattered very
much whom the king married. The way in which all

The Revolutionist's Handbook 223

considerations of the king's personal rights, of the claims
of the heart, of the sanctity of the marriage oath, and of
romantic morality crumpled up before this political need
shews how negligible all these apparently irresistible pre-
judices arc when they come into conflict with the demand
for quality in our rulers. We learn the same lesson from
the case of the soldier, whose marriage, when it is per-
mitted at all, is despotically controlled with a view solely
to military efficiency.

Well, nowadays it is not the King that rules, but the
tinker. Dynastic wars are no longer feared, dynastic alli-
ances no longer valued. Marriages in royal families are
becoming rapidly less political, and more popular, domestic,
and romantic. If all the kings in Europe were made as
free to-morrow as King Cophetua, nobody but their aunts
and chamberlains would feel a moment's anxiety as to the
consequences. On the other hand a sense of the social
importance of the tinker's marriage has been steadily
growing. We have made a public matter of his wife's
health in the month after her confinement. We have taken
the minds of his children out of his hands and put them
into those of our State schoolmaster. We shall presently
make their bodily nourishment independent of him. But
they are still riff-rafi^; and to hand the country over to rifi^-
raff is national suicide, since riff-raff can neither govern
nor will let anyone else govern except the highest bidder
of bread and circuses. There is no public enthusiast alive
of twenty years practical democratic experience who be-
lieves in the political adequacy of the electorate or of the
bodies it elects. The overthrow of the aristocrat has created
the necessity for the Superman.

Englishmen hate Liberty and Equality too much to
understand them. But every Englishman loves and desires
a pedigree. And in that he is right. King Demos must be
bred like all other Kings; and with Must there is no
arguing. It is idle for an individual writer to carry so
great a matter further in a pamphlet. A conference on the

224 Man and Superman

subject is the next step needed. It will be attended by
men and women who, no longer believing that they can
live for ever, are seeking for some immortal work into
which they can build the best of themselves before their
refuse is thrown into that arch dust destructor, the crema-
tion furnace.

MAXIMS FOR REVOLUTIONISTS

MAXIMS FOR REVOLUTIONISTS

The Golden Rule

Do not do unto others as you would that they should
do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same.

Never resist temptation : prove all things : hold fast
that which is good.

Do not love your neighbor as yourself. If you are on
good terms with yourself it is an impertinence : if on bad,
an injury.

The golden rule is that there are no golden rules.

Idolatry

The art of government is the organization of idolatry.

The bureaucracy consists of functionaries ; the aristo-
cracy, of idols ; the democracy, of idolaters.

The populace cannot understand the bureaucracy : it
can only worship the national idols.

The savage bows down to idols of wood and stone : the
civilized man to idols of flesh and blood.

A limited monarchy is a device for combining the
inertia of a wooden idol with the credibility of a flesh and
blood one.

228 Man and Superman

When the wooden idol does not answer the peasant's
prayer, he beats it : when the flesh and blood idol does
not satisfy the civilized man, he cuts its head off.

He who slays a king and he who dies for him are alike
idolaters.

Royalty

Kings are not born : they are made by artificial hallu-
cination. When the process is interrupted by adversity at
a critical age, as in the case of Charles II, the subject be-
comes sane and never completely recovers his kingliness.

The Court is the servant's hall of the sovereign.

Vulgarity in a king flatters the majority of the nation.

The flunkeyism propagated by the throne is the price
we pay for its political convenience.

Democracy

If the lesser mind could measure the greater as a foot-
rule can measure a pyramid, there would be finality in
universal suffrage. As it is, the political problem remains
unsolved.

Democracy substitutes election by the incompetent
many for appointment by the corrupt few.

Democratic republics can no more dispense with national
idols than monarchies with public functionaries.

Government presents only one problem : the discovery
of a trustworthy anthropometric method.

Imperialism
Excess of insularity makes a Briton an Imperialist.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 229

Excess of local self-assertion makes a colonist an Im-
perialist.

A colonial Imperialist is one who raises colonial troops,
equips a colonial squadron, claims a Federal Parliament
sending its measures to the Throne instead of to the
Colonial Office, and, being finally brought by this means
into insoluble conflict with the insular British Imperialist,
"cuts the painter" and breaks up the Empire.

Liberty and Equality

He who confuses political liberty with freedom and
political equality with similarity has never thought for five
minutes about either.

Nothing can be unconditional : consequently nothing
can be free.

Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men
dread it.

The duke inquires contemptuously whether his game-
keeper is the equal of the Astronomer Royal; but he
insists that they shall both be hanged equally if they
murder him.

The notion that the colonel need be a better man than
the private is as confused as the notion that the keystone
need be stronger than the coping stone.

Where equality is undisputed, so also is subordination.

Equality is fundamental in every department of social
organization.

The relation of superior to inferior excludes good
manners.

Education

When a man teaches something he does not know to
somebody else who has no aptitude for it, and gives him a

230 Man and Superman

certificate of proficiency, the latter has completed the
education of a gentleman.

A fool's brain digests philosophy into folly, science into
superstition, and art into pedantry. Hence University
education.

The best brought-up children are those who have seen
their parents as they are. Hypocrisy is not the parent's
first duty.

The vilest abortionist is he who attempts to mould a
child's character.

At the University every great treatise is postponed
until its author attains impartial judgment and perfect
knowledge. If a horse could wait as long for its shoes and
would pay for them in advance, our blacksmiths would all
be college dons.

He who can, does. He who cannot, teaches.

A learned man is an idler who kills time with study.
Beware of his false knowledge : it is more dangerous than
ignorance.

Activity is the only road to knowledge.

Every fool believes what his teachers tell him, and
calls his credulity science or morality as confidently as his
father called it divine revelation.

No man fully capable of his own language ever masters
another.

No man can be a pure specialist without being in the
strict sense an idiot.

Do not give your children moral and religious in-
struction unless you are quite sure they will not take it
too seriously. Better be the mother of Henri Quarte
and Nell Gwynne than of R.obespierre and gueen Mary
Tudor.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 231

Marriage

Marriage is popular because it combines the maximum
of temptation with the maximum of opportunity.

Marriage is the only legal contract which abrogates as
between the parties all the laws that safeguard the parti-
cular relation to which it refers.

The essential function of marriage is the continuance
of the race, as stated in the Book of Common Prayer.

The accidental function of marriage is the gratification
of the amoristic sentiment of mankind.

The artificial sterilization of marriage makes it possible
for marriage to fulfil its accidental function whilst neglect-
ing its essential one.

The most revolutionary invention of the XIX century
was the artificial sterilization of marriage.

Any marriage system which condemns a majority of the
population to celibacy will be violently wrecked on the
pretext that it outrages morality.

Polygamy, when tried under modern democratic con-
ditions, as by the Mormons, is wrecked by the revolt of
the mass of inferior men who are condemned to celibacy
by it ; for the maternal instinct leads a woman to prefer
a tenth share in a first rate man to the exclusive posses-
sion of a third rate one. Polyandry has not been tried
under these conditions.

The minimum of national celibacy (ascertained by
dividing the number of males in the community by the
number of females, and taking the quotient as the number
of wives or husbands permitted to each person) is secured
in England (where the quotient is i) by the institution of
monogamy.

232 Man and Superman

The modern sentimental term for the national minimum
of celibacy is Purity.

Marriage, or any other form of promiscuous amoristic
monogamy, is fatal to large States because it puts its ban
on the deliberate breeding of man as a political animal.

Crime and Punishment

All scoundrelism is summed up in the phrase *' Que
Messieurs les Assassins commencent ! "

The man who has graduated from the flogging block at
Eton to the bench from which he sentences the garotter to
be flogged is the same social product as the garotter who
has been kicked by his father and cuffed by his mother
until he has grown strong enough to throttle and rob the
rich citizen whose money he desires.

Imprisonment is as irrevocable as death.

Criminals do not die by the hands of the law. They
die by the hands of other men.

The assassin Czolgosz made President McKinley a
hero by assassinating him. The United States of America
made Czolgosz a hero by the same process.

Assassination on the scafix>ld is the worst form of assas-
sination, because there it is invested with the approval of
society.

It is the deed that teaches, not the name we give it.
Murder and capital punishment are not opposites that
cancel one another, but similars that breed their kind.

Crime is only the retail department of what, in whole-
sale, we call penal law.

When a man wants to murder a tiger he calls it sport :
when the tiger wants to murder him he calls it ferocity.
The distinction between Crime and Justice is no greater.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 233

Whilst wc have prisons it matters little which of us
occupy the cells.

The most anxious man in a prison is the governor.

It is not necessary to replace a guillotined criminal : it
is necessary to replace a guillotined social system.

Titles

Titles distinguish the mediocre, embarrass the superior,
and are disgraced by the inferior.

Great men refuse titles because they are jealous of
them.

Honor

There arc no perfectly honorable men ; but every true
man has one main point of honor and a few minor ones.

You cannot believe in honor until you have achieved
it. Better keep yourself clean and bright : you arc the
window through which you must see the world.

Your word can never be as good as your bond because
your memory can never be as trustworthy as your honor.

Property

Property, said Proudhon, is theft. This is the only
perfect truism that has been uttered on the subject.

Servants

When domestic servants are treated as human beings
it is not worth while to keep them.

234 Man and Superman

The relation of master and servant is advantageous
only to masters who do not scruple to abuse their authority,
and to servants who do not scruple to abuse their trust.

The perfect servant, when his master makes humane
advances to him, feels that his existence is threatened, and
hastens to change his place.

Masters and servants are both tyrannical ; but the
masters are the more dependent of the two.

A man enjoys what he uses, not what his servants use.

Man is the only animal which esteems itself rich in
proportion to the number and voracity of its parasites.

Ladies and gentlemen are permitted to have friends in
the kennel, but not in the kitchen.

Domestic servants, by making spoiled children of their
masters, are forced to intimidate them in order to be able
to live with them.

In a slave state, the slaves rule : in Mayfair, the
tradesman rules.

How TO Beat Children

If you strike a child, take care that you strike it in
anger, even at the risk of maiming it for life. A blow in
cold blood neither can nor should be forgiven.

If you beat children for pleasure, avow your object
frankly, and play the game according to the rules, as a
foxhunter does; and you will do comparatively little harm.
No foxhunter is such a cad as to pretend that he hunts
the fox to teach it not to steal chickens, or that he suffers
more acutely than the fox at the death. Remember that
even in childbeating there is the sportsman's way and the
cad's way.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 235

Religion

Beware of the man whose god is in the skies.

What a man believes may be ascertained, not from his
creed, but from the assumptions on which he habitually
acts.

Virtues and Vices

No specific virtue or vice in a man implies the existence
of any other specific virtue or vice in him, however closely
the imagination may associate them.

Virtue consists, not in abstaining from vice, but in not
desiring it.

Self-denial is not a virtue: it is only the efl^sct of
prudence on rascality.

Obedience simulates subordination as fear of the police
simulates honesty.

Disobedience, the rarest and most courageous of the
virtues, is seldom distinguished from neglect, the laziest
and commonest of the vices.

Vice is waste of life. Poverty, obedience and celibacy
are the canonical vices.

Economy is the art of making the most of life.

The love of economy is the root of all virtue.

Fairplay

The love of fairplay is a spectator's virtue, not a
principal's.

236 Man and Superman

Greatness

Greatness is only one of the sensations of littleness.

In heaven an angel is nobody in particular.

Greatness is the secular name for Divinity : both mean
simply what lies beyond us.

If a great man could make us understand him, we
should hang him.

We admit that when the divinity we worshipped made
itself visible and comprehensible we crucified it.

To a mathematician the eleventh means only a single
unit : to the bushman who cannot count further than his
ten fingers it is an incalculable myriad.

The difference between the shallowest routineer and
the deepest thinker appears, to the latter, trifling ; to the
former, infinite.

In a stupid nation the man of genius becomes a god :
everybody worships him and nobody does his will.

Beauty and Happiness, Art and Riches

Happiness and Beauty are by-products.

Folly is the direct pursuit of Happiness and Beauty,

Riches and Art are spurious receipts for the production
of Happiness and Beauty.

He who desires a lifetime of happiness with a beautiful
woman desires to enjoy the taste of wine by keeping his
mouth always full of it.

The most intolerable pain is produced by prolonging
the keenest pleasure.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 237

The man with toothache thinks everyone happy whose
teeth are sound. The poverty stricken man makes the same
mistake about the rich man.

The more a man possesses over and above what he
uses, the more careworn he becomes.

The tyranny that forbids you to make the road with
pick and shovel is worse than that which prevents you
from lolling along it in a carriage and pair.

In an ugly and unhappy world the richest man can
purchase nothing but ugliness and unhappincss.

In his efforts to escape from ugliness and unhappiness
the rich man intensifies both. Every new yard of West
End creates a new acre of East End.

The XIX century was the Age of Faith in Fine Art.
The results are before us.

The Perfect Gentleman

The fatal reservation of the gentleman is that he sacri-
fices everything to his honor except his gentility.

A gentleman of our days is one who has money enough
to do what every fool would do if he could afford it : that
is, consume without producing.

The true diagnostic of modern gentility is parasitism.

No elaboration of physical or moral accomplishment
can atone for the sin of parasitism.

A modern gentleman is necessarily the enemy of his
country. Even in war he does not fight to defend it, but
to prevent his power of preying on it from passing to a
foreigner. Such combatants are patriots in the same sense
as two dogs fighting for a bone are lovers of animals.

The North American Indian was a type of the sports-
man warrior gentleman. The Periclean Athenian was a

238 Man and Superman

type of the intellectually and artistically cultivated gentle-
man. Both were political failures. The modern gentleman,
without the hardihood of the one or the culture of the
other, has the appetite of both put together. He will not
succeed where they failed.

He who believes in education, criminal law, and sport,
needs only property to make him a perfect modern gentle-
man.

Moderation

Moderation is never applauded for its own sake.

A moderately honest man with a moderately faithful
wife, moderate drinkers both, in a moderately healthy
house : that is the true middle class unit.

The Unconscious Self

The unconscious self is the real genius. Your breathing
goes wrong the moment your conscious self meddles
with it.

Except during the nine months before he draws his first
breath, no man manages his affairs as well as a tree does.

Reason

The reasonable man adapts himself to the world : the
unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to
himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreason-
able man.

The man who listens to Reason is lost : Reason enslaves
all whose minds are not strong enough to master her.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 239

Decency

Decency is Indecency's Conspiracy of Silence.

Experience

Men are wise in proportion, not to their experience,
but to their capacity for experience.

If we could learn from mere experience, the stones of
London would be wiser than its wisest men.

Time's Revenges

Those whom we called brutes had their revenge when
Darwin shewed us that they were our cousins.

The thieves had their revenge when Marx convicted
the bourgeoisie of theft.

Good Intentions

Hell is paved with good intentions, not with bad ones.
All men mean well.

Natural Rights

The Master of Arts, by proving that no man has any
natural rights, compels himself to take his own for granted.

The right to live is abused whenever it is not constantly
challenged.

240 Man and Superman

Faute de Mieux

In my childhood I demurred to the description of a
certain young lady as " the pretty Miss So and So." My
aunt rebuked me by saying " Remember always that the
least plain sister is the family beauty."

No age or condition is without its heroes. The least
incapable general in a nation is its Caesar, the least
imbecile statesman its Solon, the least confused thinker its
Socrates, the least commonplace poet its Shakespear.

Charity
Charity is the most mischievous sort of pruriency.

Those who minister to poverty and disease are accom-
plices in the two worst of all the crimes.

He who gives money he has not earned is generous
with other people's labor.

Every genuinely benevolent person loathes almsgiving
and mendicity.

Fame
Life levels all men : death reveals the eminent.

D

ISCIPLINE

Mutiny Acts are needed only by officers who command
without authority. Divine right needs no whip.

Women in the Home
Home is the girl's prison and the woman's workhouse.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 241

Civilization

Civilization is a disease produced by the practice of
building societies with rotten material.

Those who admire modern civilization usually identify
it with the steam engine and the electric telegraph.

Those who understand the steam engine and the electric
telegraph spend their lives in trying to replace them with
something better.

The imagination cannot conceive a viler criminal than
he who should build another London like the present one,
nor a greater benefactor than he who should destroy it.

Gambling

The most popular method of distributing wealth is the
method of the roulette table.

The roulette table pays nobody except him that keeps
it. Nevertheless a passion for gaming is common, though a
passion for keeping roulette tables is unknown.

Gambling promises the poor what Property performs
for the rich : that is why the bishops dare not denounce it
fundamentally.

The Social Question

Do not waste your time on Social Questions. What is
the matter with the poor is Poverty : what is the matter
with the rich is Usclessness.

Stray Sayings

We are told that when Jehovah created the world he
saw that it was good. What would he say now?

R

242 Man and Superman

The conversion of a savage to Christianity is the con-
version of Christianity to savagery.

No man dares say so much of what he thinks as to
appear to himself an extremist.

Mens sana in corpore sano is a foolish saying. The
sound body is a product of the sound mind.

Decadence can find agents only when it wears the mask
of progress.

In moments of progress the noble succeed, because
things are going their way : in moments of decadence the
base succeed for the same reason : hence the world is
never without the exhilaration of contemporary success.

The reformer for whom the world is not good enough
finds himself shoulder to shoulder with him that is not
good enough for the world.

Every man over forty is a scoundrel.

Youth, which is forgiven everything, forgives itself
nothing : age, which forgives itself everything, is forgiven
nothing.

When we learn to sing that Britons never will be
masters we shall make an end of slavery.

Do not mistake your objection to defeat for an objec-
tion to fighting, your objection to being a slave for an
objection to slavery, your objection to not being as rich
as your neighbor for an objection to poverty. The cowardly,
the insubordinate, and the envious share your objections.

Take care to get what you like or you will be forced
to like what you get. Where there is no ventilation fresh
air is declared unwholesome. Where there is no religion
hypocrisy becomes good taste. Where there is no know-
ledge ignorance calls itself science.

If the wicked flourish and the fittest survive. Nature
must be the God of rascals.

The Revolutionist's Handbook 243

If history repeats itself, and the unexpected always
happens, how incapable must Man be of learning from
experience !

Compassion is the fellow-feeling of the unsound.

Those who understand evil pardon it : those who resent
it destroy it.

Acquired notions of propriety are stronger than natural
instincts. It is easier to recruit for monasteries and con-
vents than to induce an Arab woman to uncover her
mouth in public, or a British officer to walk through Bond
Street in a golfing cap on an afternoon in May.

It is dangerous to be sincere unless you are also stupid.

The Chinese tame fowls by clipping their wings, and
women by deforming their feet. A petticoat round the
ankles serves equally well.

Political Economy and Social Economy are amusing
intellectual games ; but Vital Economy is the Philosopher's
Stone.

When a heretic wishes to avoid martyrdom he speaks
of "Orthodoxy, True and False" and demonstrates that
the True is his heresy.

Beware of the man who does not return your blow : he
neither forgives you nor allows you to forgive yourself.

If you injure your neighbor, better not do it by halves.

Sentimentality is the error of supposing that quarter
can be given or taken in moral conflicts.

Two starving men cannot be twice as hungry as one ;
but two rascals can be ten times as vicious as one.

Make your cross your crutch ; but when you see
another man do it, beware of him.

244 Man and Superman

Self-Sacrifice

Self-sacrifice enables us to sacrifice other people with-
out blushing.

If you begin by sacrificing yourself to those you love,
you will end by hating those to whom you have sacrificed
yourself.

THE END

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.

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WORKS Edited by Prof.

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English Reprints.

No.

1 Milton

2 Latimer

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1549
'6-57

Text. s.

Areopogitica . . 1644 1
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The School of Abuse . 1579 1
AnApologyfor Poetryl 1580 1
Travels . , . 1590 1
Table Talk. . 1634-54 1
'Toxophilus . . . 1544 1
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Lost . . . 1711-12 1
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The Rehearsal . . 1671 1
The Steel Glass, etc. . 1576 1
Micro-cosmo^raphie . 1628 1
7 Sermons before

EDWARD VI
Utopia. . . 151
The Art of English

Poesy
Instructions /or Foreign

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Roister Bolster . 1553-66 1
The Revelation, etc.

1186-1410 1
A Counterblast to To-
bacco, etc. . . 1604 1
Fragjnenta Regalia . 1653 1
Poems .
CASPAR A
The Schoohnaster
Miscellany [Songs and

Sonnets] .
Sermons

A Discourse 0/ Eng-
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A Harmony of the

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Read nte, and be not

EDWARD ARBER

E.xaniiner at the London University.

I The English Scholar's
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[589 2 6

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[570 1 0

1557 2 6

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1586 1 0

the

ivroth !
Last Fight 0/

*' Revenge"
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and Sonnets

■ 15^0

1 6

^563 1

1 William Caxton. Reynard

the Fox ... .1

2 JohnKno.\. TheFirst Blast

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others. A handful of
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phes 1

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ductory Sketch to the
" Martin Marprelate "
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Demonstration of Disci-
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10 Richard Stanihukst.

"iEnidl-IV" in English
hexameters. . . .3

11 Martin Marprelate. The

Epistle .... 1

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13 George Joy. An Apology

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14 RiCHAKD BaRNFIELD.

Poems . . . .3

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Vols. 3^, 34.— St. Ronan's Well.
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Vol. 41.— Highland Widow, etc.
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Vols. 46, 47.— Count Robert ol Paris.

Castle Dangerous.
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