# Major Barbara/Act III, § i

    Next day after lunch Lady Britomart is writing in the library in Wilton Crescent. Sarah is reading in the armchair near the window. Barbara, in ordinary dresss, pale and brooding, is on the settee. Charley Lomax enters. Coming forward between the settee and the writing table, he starts on seeing Barbara fashionably attired and in low spirits.
LOMAX. You've left off your uniform!
    Barbara says nothing; but an expression of pain passes over her face.
LADY BRITOMART [warning him in low tones to be careful] Charles!
LOMAX [much concerned, sitting down sympathetically on the settee beside Barbara] I'm awfully sorry, Barbara. You know I helped you all I could with the concertina and so forth. [Momentously] Still, I have never shut my eyes to the fact that there is a certain amount of tosh about the Salvation Army. Now the claims of the Church of England—
LADY BRITOMART. That's enough, Charles. Speak of something suited to your mental capacity.
LOMAX. But surely the Church of England is suited to all our capacities.
BARBARA [pressing his hand] Thank you for your sympathy, Cholly. Now go and spoon with Sarah.
LOMAX [rising and going to Sarah] How is my ownest today?
SARAH. I wish you wouldn't tell Cholly to do things, Barbara. He always comes straight and does them. Cholly: we're going to the works at Perivale St. Andrews this afternoon.
LOMAX. What works?
SARAH. The cannon works.
LOMAX. What! Your governor's shop!
SARAH. Yes.
LOMAX. Oh I say!
    Cusins enters in poor condition. He also starts visibly when he sees Barbara without her uniform.
BARBARA. I expected you this morning, Dolly. Didn't you guess that?
CUSINS [sitting down beside her] I'm sorry. I have only just breakfasted.
SARAH. But we've just finished lunch.
BARBARA. Have you had one of your bad nights?
CUSINS. No: I had rather a good night: in fact, one of the most remarkable nights I have ever passed.
BARBARA. The meeting?
CUSINS. No: after the meeting.
LADY BRITOMART. You should have gone to bed after the meeting. What were you doing?
CUSINS. Drinking.
Together:
       LADY BRITOMART. Adolphus!
       SARAH. Dolly!
       BARBARA. Dolly!
       LOMAX. Oh I say!
LADY BRITOMART. What were you drinking, may I ask?
CUSINS. A most devilish kind of Spanish burgundy, warranted free from added alcohol: a Temperance burgundy in fact. Its richness in natural alcohol made any addition superfluous.
BARBARA. Are you joking, Dolly?
CUSINS [patiently] No. I have been making a night of it with the nominal head of this household: that is all.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew made you drunk!
CUSINS. No: he only provided the wine. I think it was Dionysos who made me drunk. [To Barbara] I told you I was possessed.
LADY BRITOMART. You're not sober yet. Go home to bed at once.
CUSINS. I have never before ventured to reproach you, Lady Brit; but how could you marry the Prince of Darkness?
LADY BRITOMART. It was much more excusable to marry him than to get drunk with him. That is a new accomplishment of Andrew's, by the way. He usen't to drink.
CUSINS. He doesn't now. He only sat there and completed the wreck of my moral basis, the rout of my convictions, the purchase of my soul. He cares for you, Barbara. That is what makes him so dangerous to me.
BARBARA. That has nothing to do with it, Dolly. There are larger loves and diviner dreams than the fireside ones. You know that, don't you?
CUSINS. Yes: that is our understanding. I know it. I hold to it. Unless he can win me on that holier ground he may amuse me for a while; but he can get no deeper hold, strong as he is.
BARBARA. Keep to that; and the end will be right. Now tell me what happened at the meeting?
CUSINS. It was an amazing meeting. Mrs Baines almost died of emotion. Jenny Hill went stark mad with hysteria. The Prince of Darkness played his trombone like a madman: its brazen roarings were like the laughter of the damned. 117 conversions took place then and there. They prayed with the most touching sincerity and gratitude for Bodger, and for the anonymous donor of the 5000 pounds. Your father would not let his name be given.
LOMAX. That was rather fine of the old man, you know. Most chaps would have wanted the advertisement.
CUSINS. He said all the charitable institutions would be down on him like kites on a battle field if he gave his name.
LADY BRITOMART. That's Andrew all over. He never does a proper thing without giving an improper reason for it.
CUSINS. He convinced me that I have all my life been doing improper things for proper reasons.
LADY BRITOMART. Adolphus: now that Barbara has left the Salvation Army, you had better leave it too. I will not have you playing that drum in the streets.
CUSINS. Your orders are already obeyed, Lady Brit.
BARBARA. Dolly: were you ever really in earnest about it? Would you have joined if you had never seen me?
CUSINS [disingenuously] Well—er—well, possibly, as a collector of religions—
LOMAX [cunningly] Not as a drummer, though, you know. You are a very clearheaded brainy chap, Cholly; and it must have been apparent to you that there is a certain amount of tosh about—
LADY BRITOMART. Charles: if you must drivel, drivel like a grown-up man and not like a schoolboy.
LOMAX [out of countenance] Well, drivel is drivel, don't you know, whatever a man's age.
LADY BRITOMART. In good society in England, Charles, men drivel at all ages by repeating silly formulas with an air of wisdom. Schoolboys make their own formulas out of slang, like you. When they reach your age, and get political private secretaryships and things of that sort, they drop slang and get their formulas out of The Spectator or The Times. You had better confine yourself to The Times. You will find that there is a certain amount of tosh about The Times; but at least its language is reputable.
LOMAX [overwhelmed] You are so awfully strong-minded, Lady Brit—
LADY BRITOMART. Rubbish! [Morrison comes in]. What is it?
MORRISON. If you please, my lady, Mr Undershaft has just drove up to the door.
LADY BRITOMART. Well, let him in. [Morrison hesitates]. What's the matter with you?
MORRISON. Shall I announce him, my lady; or is he at home here, so to speak, my lady?
LADY BRITOMART. Announce him.
MORRISON. Thank you, my lady. You won't mind my asking, I hope. The occasion is in a manner of speaking new to me.
LADY BRITOMART. Quite right. Go and let him in.
MORRISON. Thank you, my lady. [He withdraws].
LADY BRITOMART. Children: go and get ready. [Sarah and Barbara go upstairs for their out-of-door wrap]. Charles: go and tell Stephen to come down here in five minutes: you will find him in the drawing room. [Charles goes]. Adolphus: tell them to send round the carriage in about fifteen minutes. [Adolphus goes].
MORRISON [at the door] Mr Undershaft.
    Undershaft comes in. Morrison goes out.
UNDERSHAFT. Alone! How fortunate!
LADY BRITOMART [rising] Don't be sentimental, Andrew. Sit down. [She sits on the settee: he sits beside her, on her left. She comes to the point before he has time to breathe]. Sarah must have 800 pounds a year until Charles Lomax comes into his property. Barbara will need more, and need it permanently, because Adolphus hasn't any property.
UNDERSHAFT [resignedly] Yes, my dear: I will see to it. Anything else? for yourself, for instance?
LADY BRITOMART. I want to talk to you about Stephen.
UNDERSHAFT [rather wearily] Don't, my dear. Stephen doesn't interest me.
LADY BRITOMART. He does interest me. He is our son.
UNDERSHAFT. Do you really think so? He has induced us to bring him into the world; but he chose his parents very incongruously, I think. I see nothing of myself in him, and less of you.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: Stephen is an excellent son, and a most steady, capable, highminded young man. You are simply trying to find an excuse for disinheriting him.
UNDERSHAFT. My dear Biddy: the Undershaft tradition disinherits him. It would be dishonest of me to leave the cannon foundry to my son.
LADY BRITOMART. It would be most unnatural and improper of you to leave it to anyone else, Andrew. Do you suppose this wicked and immoral tradition can be kept up for ever? Do you pretend that Stephen could not carry on the foundry just as well as all the other sons of the big business houses?
UNDERSHAFT. Yes: he could learn the office routine without understanding the business, like all the other sons; and the firm would go on by its own momentum until the real Undershaft— probably an Italian or a German—would invent a new method and cut him out.
LADY BRITOMART. There is nothing that any Italian or German could do that Stephen could not do. And Stephen at least has breeding.
UNDERSHAFT. The son of a foundling! nonsense!
LADY BRITOMART. My son, Andrew! And even you may have good blood in your veins for all you know.
UNDERSHAFT. True. Probably I have. That is another argument in favor of a foundling.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: don't be aggravating. And don't be wicked. At present you are both.
UNDERSHAFT. This conversation is part of the Undershaft tradition, Biddy. Every Undershaft's wife has treated him to it ever since the house was founded. It is mere waste of breath. If the tradition be ever broken it will be for an abler man than Stephen.
LADY BRITOMART [pouting] Then go away.
UNDERSHAFT [deprecatory] Go away!
LADY BRITOMART. Yes: go away. If you will do nothing for Stephen, you are not wanted here. Go to your foundling, whoever he is; and look after him.
UNDERSHAFT. The fact is, Biddy—
LADY BRITOMART. Don't call me Biddy. I don't call you Andy.
UNDERSHAFT. I will not call my wife Britomart: it is not good sense. Seriously, my love, the Undershaft tradition has landed me in a difficulty. I am getting on in years; and my partner Lazarus has at last made a stand and insisted that the succession must be settled one way or the other; and of course he is quite right. You see, I haven't found a fit successor yet.
LADY BRITOMART [obstinately] There is Stephen.
UNDERSHAFT. That's just it: all the foundlings I can find are exactly like Stephen.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew!!
UNDERSHAFT. I want a man with no relations and no schooling: that is, a man who would be out of the running altogether if he were not a strong man. And I can't find him. Every blessed foundling nowadays is snapped up in his infancy by Barnardo homes, or School Board officers, or Boards of Guardians; and if he shows the least ability, he is fastened on by schoolmasters; trained to win scholarships like a racehorse; crammed with secondhand ideas; drilled and disciplined in docility and what they call good taste; and lamed for life so that he is fit for nothing but teaching. If you want to keep the foundry in the family, you had better find an eligible foundling and marry him to Barbara.
LADY BRITOMART. Ah! Barbara! Your pet! You would sacrifice Stephen to Barbara.
UNDERSHAFT. Cheerfully. And you, my dear, would boil Barbara to make soup for Stephen.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: this is not a question of our likings and dislikings: it is a question of duty. It is your duty to make Stephen your successor.
UNDERSHAFT. Just as much as it is your duty to submit to your husband. Come, Biddy! these tricks of the governing class are of no use with me. I am one of the governing class myself; and it is waste of time giving tracts to a missionary. I have the power in this matter; and I am not to be humbugged into using it for your purposes.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: you can talk my head off; but you can't change wrong into right. And your tie is all on one side. Put it straight.
UNDERSHAFT [disconcerted] It won't stay unless it's pinned. [he fumbles at it with childish grimaces]—
    Stephen comes in.
STEPHEN [at the door] I beg your pardon [about to retire].
LADY BRITOMART. No: come in, Stephen. [Stephen comes forward to his mother's writing table.]
UNDERSHAFT [not very cordially] Good afternoon.
STEPHEN [coldly] Good afternoon.
UNDERSHAFT [to Lady Britomart] He knows all about the tradition, I suppose?
LADY BRITOMART. Yes. [To Stephen] It is what I told you last night, Stephen.
UNDERSHAFT [sulkily] I understand you want to come into the cannon business.
STEPHEN. I go into trade! Certainly not.
UNDERSHAFT [opening his eyes, greatly eased in mind and manner] Oh! in that case—!
LADY BRITOMART. Cannons are not trade, Stephen. They are enterprise.
STEPHEN. I have no intention of becoming a man of business in any sense. I have no capacity for business and no taste for it. I intend to devote myself to politics.
UNDERSHAFT [rising] My dear boy: this is an immense relief to me. And I trust it may prove an equally good thing for the country. I was afraid you would consider yourself disparaged and slighted. [He moves towards Stephen as if to shake hands with him].
LADY BRITOMART [rising and interposing] Stephen: I cannot allow you to throw away an enormous property like this.
STEPHEN [stiffly] Mother: there must be an end of treating me as a child, if you please. [Lady Britomart recoils, deeply wounded by his tone]. Until last night I did not take your attitude seriously, because I did not think you meant it seriously. But I find now that you left me in the dark as to matters which you should have explained to me years ago. I am extremely hurt and offended. Any further discussion of my intentions had better take place with my father, as between one man and another.
LADY BRITOMART. Stephen! [She sits down again; and her eyes fill with tears].
UNDERSHAFT [with grave compassion] You see, my dear, it is only the big men who can be treated as children.
STEPHEN. I am sorry, mother, that you have forced me—
UNDERSHAFT [stopping him] Yes, yes, yes, yes: that's all right, Stephen. She wont interfere with you any more: your independence is achieved: you have won your latchkey. Don't rub it in; and above all, don't apologize. [He resumes his seat]. Now what about your future, as between one man and another—I beg your pardon, Biddy: as between two men and a woman.
LADY BRITOMART [who has pulled herself together strongly] I quite understand, Stephen. By all means go your own way if you feel strong enough. [Stephen sits down magisterially in the chair at the writing table with an air of affirming his majority].
UNDERSHAFT. It is settled that you do not ask for the succession to the cannon business.
STEPHEN. I hope it is settled that I repudiate the cannon business.
UNDERSHAFT. Come, come! Don't be so devilishly sulky: it's boyish. Freedom should be generous. Besides, I owe you a fair start in life in exchange for disinheriting you. You can't become prime minister all at once. Haven't you a turn for something? What about literature, art and so forth?
STEPHEN. I have nothing of the artist about me, either in faculty or character, thank Heaven!
UNDERSHAFT. A philosopher, perhaps? Eh?
STEPHEN. I make no such ridiculous pretension.
UNDERSHAFT. Just so. Well, there is the army, the navy, the Church, the Bar. The Bar requires some ability. What about the Bar?
STEPHEN. I have not studied law. And I am afraid I have not the necessary push—I believe that is the name barristers give to their vulgarity—for success in pleading.
UNDERSHAFT. Rather a difficult case, Stephen. Hardly anything left but the stage, is there? [Stephen makes an impatient movement]. Well, come! is there anything you know or care for?
STEPHEN [rising and looking at him steadily] I know the difference between right and wrong.
UNDERSHAFT [hugely tickled] You don't say so! What! no capacity for business, no knowledge of law, no sympathy with art, no pretension to philosophy; only a simple knowledge of the secret that has puzzled all the philosophers, baffled all the lawyers, muddled all the men of business, and ruined most of the artists: the secret of right and wrong. Why, man, you're a genius, master of masters, a god! At twenty-four, too!
STEPHEN [keeping his temper with difficulty] You are pleased to be facetious. I pretend to nothing more than any honorable English gentleman claims as his birthright [he sits down angrily].
UNDERSHAFT. Oh, that's everybody's birthright. Look at poor little Jenny Hill, the Salvation lassie! she would think you were laughing at her if you asked her to stand up in the street and teach grammar or geography or mathematics or even drawingroom dancing; but it never occurs to her to doubt that she can teach morals and religion. You are all alike, you respectable people. You can't tell me the bursting strain of a ten-inch gun, which is a very simple matter; but you all think you can tell me the bursting strain of a man under temptation. You daren't handle high explosives; but you're all ready to handle honesty and truth and justice and the whole duty of man, and kill one another at that game. What a country! what a world!
LADY BRITOMART [uneasily] What do you think he had better do, Andrew?
UNDERSHAFT. Oh, just what he wants to do. He knows nothing; and he thinks he knows everything. That points clearly to a political career. Get him a private secretaryship to someone who can get him an Under Secretaryship; and then leave him alone. He will find his natural and proper place in the end on the Treasury bench.
STEPHEN [springing up again] I am sorry, sir, that you force me to forget the respect due to you as my father. I am an Englishman; and I will not hear the Government of my country insulted. [He thrusts his hands in his pockets, and walks angrily across to the window].
UNDERSHAFT [with a touch of brutality] The government of your country! I am the government of your country: I, and Lazarus. Do you suppose that you and half a dozen amateurs like you, sitting in a row in that foolish gabble shop, can govern Undershaft and Lazarus? No, my friend: you will do what pays US. You will make war when it suits us, and keep peace when it doesn't. You will find out that trade requires certain measures when we have decided on those measures. When I want anything to keep my dividends up, you will discover that my want is a national need. When other people want something to keep my dividends down, you will call out the police and military. And in return you shall have the support and applause of my newspapers, and the delight of imagining that you are a great statesman. Government of your country! Be off with you, my boy, and play with your caucuses and leading articles and historic parties and great leaders and burning questions and the rest of your toys. I am going back to my counting house to pay the piper and call the tune.
STEPHEN [actually smiling, and putting his hand on his father's shoulder with indulgent patronage] Really, my dear father, it is impossible to be angry with you. You don't know how absurd all this sounds to me. You are very properly proud of having been industrious enough to make money; and it is greatly to your credit that you have made so much of it. But it has kept you in circles where you are valued for your money and deferred to for it, instead of in the doubtless very oldfashioned and behind-the-times public school and university where I formed my habits of mind. It is natural for you to think that money governs England; but you must allow me to think I know better.
UNDERSHAFT. And what does govern England, pray?
STEPHEN. Character, father, character.