GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

“Have you ever seen the — the guidance?”

“Not in person. I seldom enter a theatre now. But I am of course familiar with her appearance from the photographic portraits of her. They are in all the shop windows.”

“Yes. I think I have noticed them.”

“And now, Mrs. Douglas, I fear I have paid you a very long visit.”

“Why dont you come oftener?”

“I wish I could find time. I have not so much leisure for enjoyment as I used.”

“I am not so sure of that. But we are always glad to have a chat with one another, I know. We are agreed about the dear children, I think?”

“Cordially. Cordially. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Table of Contents

On the morning of the first Friday in May Marian received this letter:

“Uxbridge Road, Holland Park, W.

“DEAR MISS LIND: I must begin by explaining why I make this communication to you by letter instead of orally. It is because I am about to ask you to do me a favor. If you asked me to do anything for you, then, no matter how much my judgment might protest against my compliance, I could not without pain to myself refuse you face to face. I have no right to assume that your heart would plead on my behalf against your head in this fashion; but, on the other hand — the wish is father to the thought here — I have no right to assume that it would not. Therefore, to spare you all influences except the fair ones of your own interest and inclination, I make my proposal in writing. You will please put the usual construction on the word ‘proposal.’ What I desire is your consent to marry me. If your first impulse now is to refuse, I beg you to do so in plain terms at once, and destroy this letter without reading further. If you think, on the contrary, that we could achieve a future as pleasant as our past association has been — to me at least, here is what, as I think, you have to consider.

“You are a lady, rich, well-born, beautiful, loved by many persons besides myself, too happily circumstanced to have any pressing inducement to change your condition, and too fortunately endowed in every way to have reason to anticipate the least difficulty in changing it to the greatest worldly advantage when you please.

“What I am and have been, you know. I may estrange from you some of the society which you enjoy, and I can introduce you to none that would compensate you for the loss. I am what you call poor: my income at present does not amount to much more than fifteen hundred pounds; and I should not ask you to marry me if it were not that your own inheritance is sufficient, as I have ascertained, to provide for you in case of my early death. You know how my sister is situated; how your family are likely to feel toward me on her account and my own; and how impatient I am of devoting much time to what is fashionably supposed to be pleasure. On the other hand, as I am bidding for a consent and not for a refusal, I hope you will not take my disadvantages for more, or my advantages for less, than they are honestly worth. At Carbury Park you often said that you would never marry; and I have said the same myself. So, as we neither of us overrate the possibilities of happiness in marriage, perhaps we might, if you would be a little forbearing with me, succeed in proving that we have greatly underrated them. As for the prudence of the step, I have seen and practised too much prudence to believe that it is worth much as a rule of conduct in a world of accidents. If there were a science of life as there is one of mechanics, we could plan our lives scientifically and run no risks; but as it is, we must — together or apart — take our chance: cautiousness and recklessness divide the great stock of regrets pretty equally.

“Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting you, for my own good, to forfeit your present happy independence among your friends, and involve your fortunes with those of a man whom you have only seen on occasions when ceremony compelled him to observe his best behavior. I can only excuse myself by reminding you that no matter whom you marry, you must do so at the same disadvantages, except as to the approval of your friends, of which the value is for you to consider. That being so, why should I not profit by your hazard as well as another? Besides, there are many other feelings impelling me. I should like to describe them to you, and would if I understood them well enough to do it accurately.

“However, nothing is further from my intention than to indite a love letter; so I will return to graver questions. One, in particular, must be clearly understood between us. You are too earnest to consider an allusion to religious matters out of place here. I do not know exactly what you believe; but I have gathered from stray remarks of yours that you belong to what is called the Broad Church. If so, we must to some extent agree to differ. I should never interfere in any way with your liberty as far as your actions concerned yourself only. But, frankly, I should not permit my wife to teach my children to know Christianity in any other way than that in which an educated Englishman knows Buddhism. I will not go through any ceremony whatever in a church, or enter one except to play the organ. I am prejudiced against religions of all sorts. The Church has made itself the natural enemy of the theatre; and I was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor workman earning wages, when I found the Church always taking part against me and my comrades with the rich who did no work. If the Church had never set itself against me, perhaps I should never have set myself against the Church; but what is done is done: you will find me irreligious, but not, I hope, unreasonable.

“I will be at the Academy tomorrow at about four o’clock, as I do not care to remain longer in suspense than is absolutely necessary; but if you are not prepared to meet me then, I shall faithfully help you in any effort I may perceive you make to avoid me.

”I am, dear Miss Lind,

”Yours sincerely,

”EDWARD CONOLLY.”

This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations set forth in it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just what she should have hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the quaint earnestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as she thought) of the advantages which she might forfeit by marrying him, there was just enough of the workman to make them characteristic. She wished that she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She was afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off, occupied herself during the forenoon with her household duties, with some pianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuade herself were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient of further delay. She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, and re-read the letter resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she read it again. The third time she liked it better than the first; and she would have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of Mrs. Leith Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to go to Burlington House.

“It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy,” said Mrs. Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. “I have been there at the press view, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, of course, I am expected to be there.”

“If I were in your place,” said Elinor, “I — —”

“Last night,” continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her, “I was not in bed until half-past two o’clock. On the night before, I was up until five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all.”

“Why do you do such things?” said Marian.

“My dear, I must. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on Tuesday at three o’clock, and said he must have an article on the mango experiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. For his paper, the Fortnightly Naturalist, you know. ‘My dear John Metcalf,’ I said, ‘I dont know what a mango is.’ ‘No more do I, Mrs. Leith Fairfax,’ said he: ‘I think it’s something that blooms only once in a hundred years. No matter what it is, you must let me have the article. Nobody else can do it.’ I told him it was impossible. My London letter for the Hari Kari was not even begun; and the last post to catch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the morning. I had an article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had been shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. ‘If you were to go down on your knees,’ I said, ‘I could not find time to read up the flora of the West Indies and finish an article before morning.’ He went down on his knees. ‘Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax,’ said he, ‘I am going to stay here until you promise.’ What could I do but promise and get rid of him? I did it, too: how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf told me yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the Society for Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, and the greatest living authority on the subject, has got the credit of having written my article.”