# Major Barbara/Act III, § ii

UNDERSHAFT. Whose character? Yours or mine?
STEPHEN. Neither yours nor mine, father, but the best elements in the English national character.
UNDERSHAFT. Stephen: I've found your profession for you. You're a born journalist. I'll start you with a hightoned weekly review. There!
    Stephen goes to the smaller writing table and busies himself with his letters.
    Sarah, Barbara, Lomax, and Cusins come in ready for walking. Barbara crosses the room to the window and looks out. Cusins drifts amiably to the armchair, and Lomax remains near the door, whilst Sarah comes to her mother.
SARAH. Go and get ready, mamma: the carriage is waiting. [Lady Britomart leaves the room.]
UNDERSHAFT [to Sarah] Good day, my dear. Good afternoon, Mr.Lomax.
LOMAX [vaguely] Ahdedoo.
UNDERSHAFT [to Cusins] quite well after last night, Euripides, eh?
CUSINS. As well as can be expected.
UNDERSHAFT. That's right. [To Barbara] So you are coming to see my death and devastation factory, Barbara?
BARBARA [at the window] You came yesterday to see my salvation factory. I promised you a return visit.
LOMAX [coming forward between Sarah and Undershaft] You'll find it awfully interesting. I've been through the Woolwich Arsenal; and it gives you a ripping feeling of security, you know, to think of the lot of beggars we could kill if it came to fighting. [To Undershaft, with sudden solemnity] Still, it must be rather an awful reflection for you, from the religious point of view as it were. You're getting on, you know, and all that.
SARAH. You don't mind Cholly's imbecility, papa, do you?
LOMAX [much taken aback] Oh I say!
UNDERSHAFT. Mr Lomax looks at the matter in a very proper spirit, my dear.
LOMAX. Just so. That's all I meant, I assure you.
SARAH. Are you coming, Stephen?
STEPHEN. Well, I am rather busy—er— [Magnanimously] Oh well, yes: I'll come. That is, if there is room for me.
UNDERSHAFT. I can take two with me in a little motor I am experimenting with for field use. You won't mind its being rather unfashionable. It's not painted yet; but it's bullet proof.
LOMAX [appalled at the prospect of confronting Wilton Crescent in an unpainted motor] Oh I say!
SARAH. The carriage for me, thank you. Barbara doesn't mind what she's seen in.
LOMAX. I say, Dolly old chap: do you really mind the car being a guy? Because of course if you do I'll go in it. Still—
CUSINS. I prefer it.
LOMAX. Thanks awfully, old man. Come, Sarah. [He hurries out to secure his seat in the carriage. Sarah follows him].
CUSINS. [moodily walking across to Lady Britomart's writing table] Why are we two coming to this Works Department of Hell? that is what I ask myself.
BARBARA. I have always thought of it as a sort of pit where lost creatures with blackened faces stirred up smoky fires and were driven and tormented by my father? Is it like that, dad?
UNDERSHAFT [scandalized] My dear! It is a spotlessly clean and beautiful hillside town.
CUSINS. With a Methodist chapel? Oh do say there's a Methodist chapel.
UNDERSHAFT. There are two: a primitive one and a sophisticated one. There is even an Ethical Society; but it is not much patronized, as my men are all strongly religious. In the High Explosives Sheds they object to the presence of Agnostics as unsafe.
CUSINS. And yet they don't object to you!
BARBARA. Do they obey all your orders?
UNDERSHAFT. I never give them any orders. When I speak to one of them it is "Well, Jones, is the baby doing well? and has Mrs Jones made a good recovery?" "Nicely, thank you, sir." And that's all.
CUSINS. But Jones has to be kept in order. How do you maintain discipline among your men?
UNDERSHAFT. I don't. They do. You see, the one thing Jones won't stand is any rebellion from the man under him, or any assertion of social equality between the wife of the man with 4 shillings a week less than himself and Mrs Jones! Of course they all rebel against me, theoretically. Practically, every man of them keeps the man just below him in his place. I never meddle with them. I never bully them. I don't even bully Lazarus. I say that certain things are to be done; but I don't order anybody to do them. I don't say, mind you, that there is no ordering about and snubbing and even bullying. The men snub the boys and order them about; the carmen snub the sweepers; the artisans snub the unskilled laborers; the foremen drive and bully both the laborers and artisans; the assistant engineers find fault with the foremen; the chief engineers drop on the assistants; the departmental managers worry the chiefs; and the clerks have tall hats and hymnbooks and keep up the social tone by refusing to associate on equal terms with anybody. The result is a colossal profit, which comes to me.
CUSINS [revolted] You really are a—well, what I was saying yesterday.
BARBARA. What was he saying yesterday?
UNDERSHAFT. Never mind, my dear. He thinks I have made you unhappy. Have I?
BARBARA. Do you think I can be happy in this vulgar silly dress? I! who have worn the uniform. Do you understand what you have done to me? Yesterday I had a man's soul in my hand. I set him in the way of life with his face to salvation. But when we took your money he turned back to drunkenness and derision. [With intense conviction] I will never forgive you that. If I had a child, and you destroyed its body with your explosives—if you murdered Dolly with your horrible guns—I could forgive you if my forgiveness would open the gates of heaven to you. But to take a human soul from me, and turn it into the soul of a wolf! that is worse than any murder.
UNDERSHAFT. Does my daughter despair so easily? Can you strike a man to the heart and leave no mark on him?
BARBARA [her face lighting up] Oh, you are right: he can never belost now: where was my faith?
CUSINS. Oh, clever clever devil!
BARBARA. You may be a devil; but God speaks through you sometimes. [She takes her father's hands and kisses them]. You have given me back my happiness: I feel it deep down now, though my spirit is troubled.
UNDERSHAFT. You have learnt something. That always feels at first as if you had lost something.
BARBARA. Well, take me to the factory of death, and let me learn something more. There must be some truth or other behind all this frightful irony. Come, Dolly. [She goes out].
CUSINS. My guardian angel! [To Undershaft] Avaunt! [He follows Barbara].
STEPHEN [quietly, at the writing table] You must not mind Cusins, father. He is a very amiable good fellow; but he is a Greek scholar and naturally a little eccentric.
UNDERSHAFT. Ah, quite so. Thank you, Stephen. Thank you. [He goes out].
    Stephen smiles patronizingly; buttons his coat responsibly; and crosses the room to the door. Lady Britomart, dressed for out-of-doors, opens it before he reaches it. She looks round far the others; looks at Stephen; and turns to go without a word.
STEPHEN [embarrassed] Mother—
LADY BRITOMART. Don't be apologetic, Stephen. And don't forget that you have outgrown your mother. [She goes out].
    Perivale St Andrews lies between two Middlesex hills, half climbing the northern one. It is an almost smokeless town of white walls, roofs of narrow green slates or red tiles, tall trees, domes, campaniles, and slender chimney shafts, beautifully situated and beautiful in itself. The best view of it is obtained from the crest of a slope about half a mile to the east, where the high explosives are dealt with. The foundry lies hidden in the depths between, the tops of its chimneys sprouting like huge skittles into the middle distance. Across the crest runs a platform of concrete, with a parapet which suggests a fortification, because there is a huge cannon of the obsolete Woolwich Infant pattern peering across it at the town. The cannon is mounted on an experimental gun carriage: possibly the original model of the Undershaft disappearing rampart gun alluded to by Stephen. The parapet has a high step inside which serves as a seat.
    Barbara is leaning over the parapet, looking towards the town. On her right is the cannon; on her left the end of a shed raised on piles, with a ladder of three or four steps up to the door, which opens outwards and has a little wooden landing at the threshold, with a fire bucket in the corner of the landing. The parapet stops short of the shed, leaving a gap which is the beginning of the path down the hill through the foundry to the town. Behind the cannon is a trolley carrying a huge conical bombshell, with a red band painted on it. Further from the parapet, on the same side, is a deck chair, near the door of an office, which, like the sheds, is of the lightest possible construction.
    Cusins arrives by the path from the town.
BARBARA. Well?
CUSINS. Not a ray of hope. Everything perfect, wonderful, real. It only needs a cathedral to be a heavenly city instead of a hellish one.
BARBARA. Have you found out whether they have done anything for old Peter Shirley.
CUSINS. They have found him a job as gatekeeper and timekeeper. He's frightfully miserable. He calls the timekeeping brainwork, and says he isn't used to it; and his gate lodge is so splendid that he's ashamed to use the rooms, and skulks in the scullery.
BARBARA. Poor Peter!
    Stephen arrives from the town. He carries a fieldglass.
STEPHEN [enthusiastically] Have you two seen the place? Why did you leave us?
CUSINS. I wanted to see everything I was not intended to see; and Barbara wanted to make the men talk.
STEPHEN. Have you found anything discreditable?
CUSINS. No. They call him Dandy Andy and are proud of his being a cunning old rascal; but it's all horribly, frightfully, immorally, unanswerably perfect.
    Sarah arrives.
SARAH. Heavens! what a place! [She crosses to the trolley]. Did you see the nursing home!? [She sits down on the shell].
STEPHEN. Did you see the libraries and schools!?
SARAH. Did you see the ballroom and the banqueting chamber in the Town Hall!?
STEPHEN. Have you gone into the insurance fund, the pension fund, the building society, the various applications of co-operation!?
    Undershaft comes from the office, with a sheaf of telegrams in
his hands.
UNDERSHAFT. Well, have you seen everything? I'm sorry I was called away. [Indicating the telegrams] News from Manchuria.
STEPHEN. Good news, I hope.
UNDERSHAFT. Very.
STEPHEN. Another Japanese victory?
UNDERSHAFT. Oh, I don't know. Which side wins does not concern us here. No: the good news is that the aerial battleship is a tremendous success. At the first trial it has wiped out a fort with three hundred soldiers in it.
CUSINS [from the platform] Dummy soldiers?
UNDERSHAFT. No: the real thing. [Cusins and Barbara exchange glances. Then Cusins sits on the step and buries his face in his hands. Barbara gravely lays her hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at her in a sort of whimsical desperation]. Well, Stephen, what do you think of the place?
STEPHEN. Oh, magnificent. A perfect triumph of organization. Frankly, my dear father, I have been a fool: I had no idea of what it all meant—of the wonderful forethought, the power of organization, the administrative capacity, the financial genius, the colossal capital it represents. I have been repeating to myself as I came through your streets "Peace hath her victories no less renowned than War." I have only one misgiving about it all.
UNDERSHAFT. Out with it.
STEPHEN. Well, I cannot help thinking that all this provision for every want of your workmen may sap their independence and weaken their sense of responsibility. And greatly as we enjoyed our tea at that splendid restaurant—how they gave us all that luxury and cake and jam and cream for threepence I really cannot imagine!— still you must remember that restaurants break up home life. Look at the continent, for instance! Are you sure so much pampering is really good for the men's characters?
UNDERSHAFT. Well you see, my dear boy, when you are organizing civilization you have to make up your mind whether trouble and anxiety are good things or not. If you decide that they are, then, I take it, you simply don't organize civilization; and there you are, with trouble and anxiety enough to make us all angels! But if you decide the other way, you may as well go through with it. However, Stephen, our characters are safe here. A sufficient dose of anxiety is always provided by the fact that we may be blown to smithereens at any moment.
SARAH. By the way, papa, where do you make the explosives?
UNDERSHAFT. In separate little sheds, like that one. When one of them blows up, it costs very little; and only the people quite close to it are killed.
Stephen, who is quite close to it, looks at it rather scaredly, and moves away quickly to the cannon. At the same moment the door of the shed is thrown abruptly open; and a foreman in overalls and list slippers comes out on the little landing and holds the door open for Lomax, who appears in the doorway.
LOMAX [with studied coolness] My good fellow: you needn't get into a state of nerves. Nothing's going to happen to you; and I suppose it wouldn't be the end of the world if anything did. A little bit of British pluck is what you want, old chap. [He descends and strolls across to Sarah].
UNDERSHAFT [to the foreman] Anything wrong, Bilton?
BILTON [with ironic calm] Gentleman walked into the high explosives shed and lit a cigaret, sir: that's all.
UNDERSHAFT. Ah, quite so. [To Lomax] Do you happen to remember what you did with the match?
LOMAX. Oh come! I'm not a fool. I took jolly good care to blow it out before I chucked it away.
BILTON. The top of it was red hot inside, sir.
LOMAX. Well, suppose it was! I didn't chuck it into any of your messes.
UNDERSHAFT. Think no more of it, Mr Lomax. By the way, would you mind lending me your matches?
LOMAX [offering his box] Certainly.
UNDERSHAFT. Thanks. [He pockets the matches].
LOMAX [lecturing to the company generally] You know, these high explosives don't go off like gunpowder, except when they're in a gun. When they're spread loose, you can put a match to them without the least risk: they just burn quietly like a bit of paper. [Warming to the scientific interest of the subject] Did you know that Undershaft? Have you ever tried?
UNDERSHAFT. Not on a large scale, Mr Lomax. Bilton will give you a sample of gun cotton when you are leaving if you ask him. You can experiment with it at home. [Bilton looks puzzled].
SARAH. Bilton will do nothing of the sort, papa. I suppose it's your business to blow up the Russians and Japs; but you might really stop short of blowing up poor Cholly. [Bilton gives it up and retires into the shed].
LOMAX. My ownest, there is no danger. [He sits beside her on the shell].
    Lady Britomart arrives from the town with a bouquet.
LADY BRITOMART [coming impetuously between Undershaft and the deck chair] Andrew: you shouldn't have let me see this place.
UNDERSHAFT. Why, my dear?
LADY BRITOMART. Never mind why: you shouldn't have: that's all. To think of all that [indicating the town] being yours! and that you have kept it to yourself all these years!
UNDERSHAFT. It does not belong to me. I belong to it. It is the Undershaft inheritance.
LADY BRITOMART. It is not. Your ridiculous cannons and that noisy banging foundry may be the Undershaft inheritance; but all that plate and linen, all that furniture and those houses and orchards and gardens belong to us. They belong to me: they are not a man's business. I won't give them up. You must be out of your senses to throw them all away; and if you persist in such folly, I will call in a doctor.
UNDERSHAFT [stooping to smell the bouquet] Where did you get the flowers, my dear?
LADY BRITOMART. Your men presented them to me in your William Morris Labor Church.
CUSINS [springing up] Oh! It needed only that. A Labor Church!
LADY BRITOMART. Yes, with Morris's words in mosaic letters ten feet high round the dome. NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH TO BE ANOTHER MAN'S MASTER. The cynicism of it!
UNDERSHAFT. It shocked the men at first, I am afraid. But now they take no more notice of it than of the ten commandments in church.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: you are trying to put me off the subject of the inheritance by profane jokes. Well, you shan't. I don't ask it any longer for Stephen: he has inherited far too much of your perversity to be fit for it. But Barbara has rights as well as Stephen. Why should not Adolphus succeed to the inheritance? I could manage the town for him; and he can look after the cannons, if they are really necessary.
UNDERSHAFT. I should ask nothing better if Adolphus were a foundling. He is exactly the sort of new blood that is wanted in English business. But he's not a foundling; and there's an end of it.
CUSINS [diplomatically] Not quite. [They all turn and stare at him. He comes from the platform past the shed to Undershaft]. I think—Mind! I am not committing myself in any way as to my future course—but I think the foundling difficulty can be got over.
UNDERSHAFT. What do you mean?
CUSINS. Well, I have something to say which is in the nature of a confession.
Together:
       SARAH.—
       LADY BRITOMART.——Confession!
       BARBARA.—.
       STEPHEN.—
LOMAX. Oh I say!
CUSINS. Yes, a confession. Listen, all. Until I met Barbara I thought myself in the main an honorable, truthful man, because I wanted the approval of my conscience more than I wanted anything else. But the moment I saw Barbara, I wanted her far more than the approval of my conscience.
LADY BRITOMART. Adolphus!
CUSINS. It is true. You accused me yourself, Lady Brit, of joining the Army to worship Barbara; and so I did. She bought my soul like a flower at a street corner; but she bought it for herself.
UNDERSHAFT. What! Not for Dionysos or another?
CUSINS. Dionysos and all the others are in herself. I adored what was divine in her, and was therefore a true worshipper. But I was romantic about her too. I thought she was a woman of the people, and that a marriage with a professor of Greek would be far beyond the wildest social ambitions of her rank.
LADY BRITOMART. Adolphus!!
LOMAX. Oh I say!!!
CUSINS. When I learnt the horrible truth—
LADY BRITOMART. What do you mean by the horrible truth, pray?
CUSINS. That she was enormously rich; that her grandfather was an earl; that her father was the Prince of Darkness—
UNDERSHAFT. Chut!
CUSINS.—and that I was only an adventurer trying to catch a rich wife, then I stooped to deceive about my birth.
LADY BRITOMART. Your birth! Now Adolphus, don't dare to make up a wicked story for the sake of these wretched cannons. Remember: I have seen photographs of your parents; and the Agent General for South Western Australia knows them personally and has assured me that they are most respectable married people.
CUSINS. So they are in Australia; but here they are outcasts. Their marriage is legal in Australia, but not in England. My mother is my father's deceased wife's sister; and in this island I am consequently a foundling. [Sensation]. Is the subterfuge good enough, Machiavelli?
UNDERSHAFT [thoughtfully] Biddy: this may be a way out of the difficulty.